Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (39 page)

As soon as he could manage, Darcy
cornered Elizabeth to clasp her fingers and bestow an earnest kiss to her
knuckles. “Elizabeth. My dearest Elizabeth.” He crooned her name caressingly.
“It is my supreme joy to welcome you to Darcy House. Tonight you are my honored
guest, and my happiness is immense. Greater still shall be my euphoria when you
are here as Mrs. Darcy.”

Darcy straightened before she
responded, not trusting his restraint if she extended a similar sentiment.
Slipping her arm under his and pressing her dainty hand firmly, Darcy broadcast
to his guests, “Dinner will be served at precisely seven o’clock. Miss Darcy
and I thought a stroll on the terrace and garden in the fresh, autumn air would
be beneficial prior to a bountiful meal.”

“Dare I hope you have a trout pond
here, as you do at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?”

“Alas, I fear your hopes must be
dashed, Mr. Gardiner. There is a fountain, a large one, in fact, but it never
occurred to me to utilize it as a home for fish. Somehow I doubt more than four
or five trout would deem it a sufficiently ample habitat.”

The fountain he referred to was
heard before seen. The mullion-paned glass French-style dual doors opening to
the walled rear yard gaped wide, and the musical cadence of bubbling water
drifted inside. Leading through the doors with Elizabeth on his arm, Darcy
stepped to the right, so as not to obstruct the view for his trailing guests.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath and reflexively squeezed his arm.

“Oh! William, it is beautiful!”

Located in the precise center of
the enormous rear yard, the fountain’s water-filled base was eight feet square
with raised sides and a flat ledge for sitting. Constructed of mosaic tiles
painted in vivid hues, the tall, central column was designed as twined stems of
a flower bouquet. The petals of each colorful flower gracefully curved downward
in a cascade, rivulets of water dropping melodiously. A path of smoothly cut
stones extended from the terrace and encircled the fountain.

Surrounding and stretching beyond
into the dusky shadows, past the reach of the glass-domed torches, was a flat
expanse of freshly cut lawn. Bushes and trees of various species were planted
amid the gardens and dotted the periphery—some evergreen and others
transformed with the colors of autumn—the diverse shapes indicating a
rear enclosure enormous and generously vegetated.

 Two gaslight lamps
illuminated the stone patio where the party clustered in awed admiration. The
light revealed cushioned chairs; small, round tables; and potted shrubs and
vines, spaced evenly along the wall and railing.

“Mr. Darcy, this is impressive! I
never suspected some of the houses in Town boasted yards so generous.”

“Some do, Mrs. Gardiner, although
not all. My great-great grandfather was friends with Sir Grosvenor. Married his
cousin, in fact. This townhouse was one of the first Sir Grosvenor built, purchased
before it was completed and designed specifically for my great-great
grandfather. One of the requests was a substantial garden area.” Elizabeth left
his side to join Jane and Georgiana at the fountain, Darcy observing her nimble
steps and pleasing figure even as he expounded on the yard’s features. “The
light of day offers the optimum effect; however, additional torches can be lit
if further investigation is wanted. I do assure the lawn is level and free of
hazards, so strolling in the moonlight is safe.”

Mr. Bennet asked a number of
botanical questions—Darcy answering with superb knowledge of the
subject—while Mr. Gardiner was most curious as to which tradesman
supplied the plants and furnishings. Darcy’s conversation with the gentlemen
was effortless and interspersed with casual humor. The two older men may not
yet technically be Darcy’s relatives, but their kinship and easygoing
personalities created a family atmosphere often missing when Darcy entertained
his own blood relations. Elizabeth interacted with his sister as if she’d know
her for years, and Jane and Mrs. Gardiner joined in with their amiable natures,
Georgiana soon laughing and talking with barely a trace of shyness. That alone
was remarkable enough to melt Darcy’s heart and erase any lingering
nervousness.

But it was when Elizabeth glanced
his direction, as she frequently did outside and when dining, that his soul
soared. Laughter, jesting, and flowing conversation trumped the exquisite
cuisine and expensive wines as the best part of dinner. Darcy amazed himself
with how gregarious and vibrant he acted. He might have attributed it to
intoxication, except that he never finished his second glass of wine. The gay
company contributed to his unusual ebullience to be sure. The main reason was
that, for the first time since inheriting the seat of command, over five years
ago the woman he had long searched for to share in his life with was occupying
the seat to his right. The awareness that Elizabeth would forever be with him
in this room, even if at the far end of the table as proper for Mrs. Darcy,
made him giddy. Indeed, astonishingly and refreshingly giddy!

As they rose from the table, the
others merrily trailing behind Georgiana into the formal salon, Elizabeth
stayed him by gripping his arm.

“Mr. Darcy—”

“William,” he corrected, playfully
pinching the tip of her nose. “You have successfully separated me from the
group, leaving us somewhat alone, and thus you, my love, are obliged to address
me by my Christian name.”

“William,” she repeated, her voice
softly caressing his name, which only made him yearn to kiss her. “I want to
thank you for a fabulous evening, in case I do not have another opportunity. I
also wanted to comment on how pleasurable it is to see you relaxed and enjoying
yourself. I admit it is…startling. I hope I have not offended.”

“Not in the least, dearest
Elizabeth. We have more to learn of each other, I suppose, but it is as I
confessed in the Longbourn garden on the eve of our engagement. I have never
experienced this degree of giddiness. I am light of spirit and as content as I
have no recollection of ever being before, even in my youth.” He traced his
fingertips down her cheek, pausing under her chin. “The reason is you,
Elizabeth. Only you.”

He bent closer, fighting the desire
to kiss her. It was damned difficult, almost painful, but the presence of Mr.
Travers and immobile footmen lining the wall, eyes averted as they silently
waited to clear the table, penetrated his haze. Forcing a genial smile, he
straightened and escorted her from the room without another word.

Per standard protocol, Georgiana
served as hostess for the ladies in the salon while Darcy led the men to the
billiard room. The male bonding interval did not last for long, however. Darcy
doubted Mr. Bennet or Mr. Gardiner were taken aback when he and Bingley
prematurely suggested rejoining the ladies, or that they fully believed his
expressed concern over Miss Darcy shouldering the burden. Neither of them
argued though, and judging by their rapid steps to the low table laden with
sweet cakes and fruit, they were perfectly happy to be there.

Elizabeth sat in the chair Darcy
remembered being his mother’s favorite. As always, her effervescence filled the
room, her light voice lifting above the rest. Whether this was factual mattered
naught, because to Darcy it was the truth, and immediately he felt at peace.

Tea, coffee, and additional snacks
were served as conversation abounded. A blushing Georgiana, after some coaxing,
went to the pianoforte and proceeded to astonish everyone with her talent.
Different guests lent their voices, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner especially skilled
with a trio of duets. Jane sang two songs, Mr. Bingley’s unrehearsed
accompaniment on the second inducing laughter more than awed admiration.

It was when Elizabeth completed her
song, the applause swelling, that Darcy stealthily exited the room. The sudden
need to breathe cooling air was, he knew, a direct result of the impact upon
him as she sang. The sonnet itself was not particularly romantic nor sung specifically
to him. In truth, it was not the song at all but rather the accumulated
emotions of the whole evening. Seeing Elizabeth in one of his homes, not yet
his wife but already fitting comfortably, was overwhelming. Incredible,
wonderful, rapturous—yes. And overwhelming.

Standing on the terrace in an area
at the edge of the gaslight, he stared into the sky. Inhaling and exhaling at a
measured pace, he allowed his love for her to eddy over and through him.

Soon, very soon she will be your
wife. The next time you are here with her, she will not depart. Evenings of
entertainment or serene family reposes will end with a walk to your bedchamber,
and there, restraint will no longer be necessary.

Closing his eyes, Darcy willingly
painted the mental picture of Elizabeth in his bedchamber. Effortlessly he
summoned the image of her stretched atop the burgundy counterpane wearing
nothing but a shift, hair a loose mane spread over his pillows and face alit
with desire. Smiling, the Elizabeth in his dreamy mind lifted her hand, palm up
and fingers wiggling.
Come to me, William…

“William?”

Opening his eyes, Darcy turned
toward the melodious voice echoing the entreaty whispered inside his head.
“Elizabeth.” Not feeling slightly surprised to see her standing in the doorway,
he smiled and held out his hand. “I was dreaming about you, and here you are,
as if conjured.”

She laughed softly, left the
doorway, and slowly crossed the stones toward him. “Not quite that magical, I
am afraid. I saw you leave the parlor and wanted to make sure you were well.
And…I wished to share a moment alone with you.”

Reaching across the narrow gap
remaining, he clasped her hands and drew her into the semi-shadows. Drifting
tender fingertips along her flushed cheeks, he huskily confided, “No, it is
magic, for I wished to be alone with you and here you are.” Bending, he secured
her face within his palms and tenderly brushed his lips over hers.

Perhaps the moonlight was weaving a
magical spell. Perhaps the magic of their mutual love and desire intermingled
with heavenly bewitchment to create an enchantment a hundredfold more potent.
All Darcy knew for sure was that moderation was futile. The moment, however it
happened, was too perfect for chaste kisses and regulated touches. Nothing
rational or deliberate, he merely let pure sensation rule and his desire flare
at will. Judging by Elizabeth’s arms snaking inside his jacket, hands kneading
the muscles of his back, and breasts flattened against his chest, she was of
like-minded opinion.

Groaning, he parted her lips,
insistent tongue delving hungrily into the farthest reaches of her mouth.
Nothing about this kiss was tender. It was consuming and heated, delirious and
passionate. Fire scorched from so many points on his body that none could be
distinguished. His groin tightened, then hardened into a steely rod in a matter
of seconds. The blissful agony of his arousal was desperate for
relief—relief that was only dimly gained by cinching one spread hand onto
Elizabeth’s buttocks and crushing her pelvis harshly into the solid ridge. When
she showed no sign of resistance, and in fact moaned and dug her fingertips
into his back, he responded with an increase in the wildness of their kiss.

God! Blinding ecstasy! Sheer
rapture!

Then, “Elizabeth? Are you out here?”

Mr. Bennet’s baritone drifted
through the open terrace door, as effective as being doused by a bucket of icy
water or struck by a mallet. Darcy released Elizabeth so abruptly that she
staggered. Not in much better shape, he recoiled and melted into the shadows.
Hating himself for…well, everything to be frank—guilt and shame burned as
hot as the remaining passion.
I am sorry
, he mouthed but could not be
sure she saw him.

Surprisingly, she turned and walked
calmly toward the door. “I am here, Papa. You know me and seeking air in the
evening.”

“Indeed I do. I saw that Mr. Darcy
was missing as well and thought he might be showing you the stars of London.”

“No. Not looking at the stars
tonight, and I am not exactly sure where Mr. Darcy is. Come, let us go in. I am
superbly refreshed now.”

For fifteen minutes, Darcy leaned
against the cool stone wall while waiting for his blood to stop boiling and
body to relax. How she had managed to speak coherently, telling the truth
without giving anything away, was absolutely incredible. God knows he could not
have spoken with such aplomb. Nor would he have had the chance. Mr. Bennet
would have taken one look at his glazed expression and massive bulge in his
trousers and either slugged him square on the jaw or hustled Elizabeth out the
front door without a backward glance. Either probability was less than he
deserved.

Covering his eyes with one hand,
Darcy muttered a string of curses. He was so far beyond mortified, even his
command of vocabulary was unable to locate a proper word to define how low he
felt. Recognizing it was sensible to abandon her to face Mr. Bennet alone
failed to expunge his cowardice in doing so.

Coward. Fool. Undisciplined.
Dishonorable. Untrustworthy.

If not for the shreds of his
dignity reminding him that there were guests waiting for him, Darcy might have
been ill. He pulled himself together and returned to the parlor. No one seemed
to have noticed his absence, or at least they had carried on in the same vein
of lighthearted congeniality.

Elizabeth was in his mother’s chair
again and immediately swung her glowing, chocolate eyes to him, smiling
brightly. There was no hint of negative emotion about her. In fact, if he had
to label the arch lift of her lips and tilt of her head, he would say she was
smug.

More confused than ever, he made it
through the rest of the evening. Once in the foyer, amid servants distributing
outerwear, Darcy retrieved Elizabeth’s cloak from the footman. Drawing her
slightly to the side, he draped the heavy fabric over her shoulders and
proceeded to fasten each button with focused intent. The weight of her stare
added to the weight of the disagreeable awkwardness between them.