Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge (31 page)

"Well, I admit I caught you eyeing me rather blatantly; and although I strived to be perfectly calm and cool as a cucumber, my feelings were quite the opposite. I assure you such warm regard was entirely mutual."

"Oh, please do continue and give a faithful account of your vigorous admiration upon first beholding me."

"Are you fishing for compliments, my love? Very well, I shall indulge you this once. At first sight, I wondered how I could possibly withstand such beauty; and when you first raised those sparkling, intelligent eyes, I was well on the way to being lost. I could not resist such impertinence; and then you proved the liveliness of your mind, and I ... I thought it wrong to be so instantly attracted to my younger sisters' friend. Nonetheless, I could not stop thinking about you and ... desiring you. Forgive me, Elizabeth, but you are a very beautiful woman. When you dined with my family that first evening here in London ... well, you must realize the effect you had on me, for I acted like a blushing, stammering schoolboy with a crush."

Darcy looked at his fiancee with great fondness as the corners of his eyes crinkled and dimples appeared. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, since most serendipitously making your acquaintance, I have been a hanson barberin, a buffoon, a cork-brained mooncalf, an alliterate art admirer, a riled rival, a green-eyed monster with the blue devils, a befogged and besotted sot, an old-fashioned prig in a pickled panic, a dancer not bearing waltz fitness, locked in an embrace with Bingley, locked in a library with you, afraid of what might come from the mouth of a three-year old babe, a sparrow's undertaker, out on a limb, a mortified nephew, Sir Fitzwilliam, Fitz-William the Conqueror, and a purveyor of puny puns ... all in a span of less than three and a half months. Whatever shall become of me once we marry and spend the rest of our lives together?"

"Oh dear. Fitzwilliam, are you getting cold feet?"

"Most certainly not! I have no intention of walking around with brr-feet. In fact, I have been quite swept off mine by you, Elizabeth. I am head over heels in love and not the sole owner of my heart any longer."

"I am relived you have not changed your mind, sir."

"There is nothing wrong with the one I have, madam."

The heavy moisture in the evening air had begun to bead on their clothing and eyelashes; and not being one for mist opportunities, Darcy said, "Speaking of cold feet, we can return to the carriage now if it is too damp and chilly for you."

He very much favoured the idea of being enclosed and alone with Elizabeth; but when she shook her head, he immediately opened his umbrella and was glad, at least, to have an excuse to draw her closer against his side.

"I am fine, Fitzwilliam. Moisture is good for the complexion; and I will not melt, you know."

Five minutes later, she was melting. In order to fully bring Elizabeth under the shelter of his umbrella, Darcy had pulled her tighter; and his hand remained on her waist. Lizzy glanced up and found him staring at her rather intently. To be precise, Darcy was gazing at his fiancee's dewy mouth, wondering whether or not he should dare attempt a stolen kiss. Because of the lateness of the season and the foggy weather, there were not many others wandering the lanes. His decision was further influenced by the fact Elizabeth had previously mentioned that the pleasure garden's paths were well known as ideal for romantic assignations, so he opted for boldness and steered her toward a massive horse chestnut tree. When they were under its autumn-gold leafy protection, he lightly brushed his lips across the top of her gloved hand. Darcy entwined their fingers, never losing contact with her magnificent eyes, took another step forward, closed his umbrella, and rested it against the trunk.

"Elizabeth, there is something I have desired to do all evening and, in truth, ever since I first laid eyes on you. I long to finish what we began amongst the branches of a certain oak tree in another park before we were interrupted."

His impassioned, smouldering gaze caused a shiver of excitement as well as a quiver of nervousness, which Lizzy attempted to conceal with a flippant remark. "Cato is now living in the lap of luxury, so our rescue mission was successfully completed."

"As you are well aware, I am
not
referring to the kitten; and you are shivering from the cold." Darcy repeatedly stroked her arms from shoulder to elbow and back again as he gently brushed his lips against her forehead. She sighed and closed her eyes when he placed light kisses across her damp, rosy cheeks. His deep voice rumbled, "Elizabeth ... Lizzy ... Lizzabiff ... Lisshybit ... Deelishybit."

She nervously giggled. "Sir! In what manner did you just address me?"

Darcy smiled down at her and longingly stared at her mouth. "I believe, madam, I referred to you as Deelishybit, a rare, delicious ..." He interrupted himself to place a quick, teasing peck on her luscious lips and then another on her delectable jaw. His long eyelashes flicked against her sensitive skin, and the sensation matched the fluttering in Lizzy's heart. Darcy whispered sweet nothings and then gently held her head with both hands while he tenderly kissed her eyelids. Elizabeth melted into his warm embrace and steadied herself by grasping the lapels of his greatcoat. He took another step forward, and her back made contact with the tree. Darcy dipped his head and ignited new sensations as his lips found her earlobe and then nibbled up and down her neck.

Again she shuddered as he whispered near her ear, "May I kiss you properly, sweetheart?"

Laughter threatened to bubble up as she nervously replied, "Properly, sir, or improperly, I hardly know the diff ... " Her words were abruptly cut off, and Elizabeth Bennet suddenly felt the world around her disappear into an overwhelming, mind-boggling explosion of colour, sound, and sensation; and she belatedly realized the fireworks had commenced at the very same instant Darcy's mouth claimed her own with tremendous passion and fervour.

As for the gentleman, he was not as inexperienced as his innocent fiancee; and their first real kiss definitely left something to be desired ... more of her. Fitzwilliam Darcy had never felt anything that even came close to that earth-shattering smouldering smooch. When they finally surfaced for air, he marvelled that his timing had been so well synchronized with the onset of the fireworks display. He breathlessly exclaimed, "My God, Elizabeth, that was ... positively ... astounding!"

Elizabeth finally opened her eyes as he spoke; still all she could manage was to nod in agreement and utter, "Oh, yes!"

After being far too occupied to keep track of time, the engaged couple discovered at last, on examining their watches, it was way past the hour to join the others. Darcy grasped Lizzy's hand as he led her out onto one of the lanes.

"Um, that is the wrong path to take, Fitzwilliam."

"It most certainly is not, my darling. I have an impeccable sense of direction, and this lane will indubitably lead us back to the agreed meeting place."

When their course did not indubitably bring them to the assigned spot, the disoriented gentleman looked around in bewilderment. "Perhaps my faultless sense of direction is a bit hazy this evening because of this confounded fog." He motioned for her to take a left turn down what Lizzy was sure was another incorrect pathway.

After going around the bend, Elizabeth said, "Fitzwilliam, your sense of direction is, indeed, impeccable. We have just completed a circuit and have returned to the exact spot from which we left not ten minutes ago. Are you ready to admit you have lost your way hereabouts in the lanes? We can always solicit someone for direction."

"Absolutely unnecessary! We have not passed another soul; and, furthermore, I realize precisely where we are now, so we most certainly do not require anyone else's assistance."

"Well then, which avenue will lead us to your family?"

After leading her along the garden path, the two lovers ended up at a dead-end. Darcy took advantage of another golden opportunity to thoroughly kiss Elizabeth yet again ... and again ... and again.

"Fitzwilliam, as much as I have enjoyed the benefits of privacy with you, we really must return to the others at once. It is certainly becoming quite late. How do we find our way out of here?"

"I am unsure. Kissing you has obviously left me befogged."

"It is not my fault you do not have the foggiest idea where we are."

"I admit my senses are somewhat clouded this evening."

"So you finally admit to being mist-ified and lost?"

He sheepishly nodded.

Despite several hit and mist attempts, Elizabeth finally guided her fiance in the right direction; and the two met up with the rest of their party. Georgiana and Anna waited beside one of the carriages while George Darcy, his wife, and Ellis Fleming paced back and forth in the cool, damp night air.

"My dear Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, where have you two been wandering?" was the question they received from Lady Anne as soon as they appeared and from all the others as they approached the carriages. They only said in reply that they had wandered about till they were beyond their own knowledge; however, the guilty couple coloured up as they spoke and awakened suspicions of the truth.

Fitzwilliam Darcy put his foot in his mouth and further raised their skepticism when he changed the subject. "I am sorry we did not join you at the appointed time. All the same, I hope you enjoyed the magnificent display of fireworks as much as we did. Tonight's pyrotechnic spectacle was truly ... breathtaking."

Anna gave her brother a puzzled look, Georgiana giggled, Lady Anne sighed, and a smirking Ellis tried to warn his friend with an 'ahem', a frown, and a slight shake of his head.

Elizabeth inquired, "Mr. Fleming, did you not consider it a most dazzling extravaganza of stimulating sight and sound? Why, it was almost beyond belief."

Feeling somewhat awkward, Ellis scuffed his foot and said, "Well, yes, Miss Elizabeth. Beyond belief is definitely one way of putting it."

George Darcy scowled at his son and announced the evening's fireworks had been cancelled due to inclement weather.

Lizzy Bennet and her fiance turned matching shades of pink. Fitzwilliam Darcy tugged at his cravat and again changed the subject by saying, "Ah, yes, how unfortunate. Speaking of inclement weather, it is regrettable the cooler temperatures at this time of year cause more and more people to burn coal. The fog we are experiencing tonight is not only natural but man-made as well, because of all the smoke."

"Where there is smoke, there is fire," remarked his frowning father, "and perhaps smoke and mirrors, as well. Somehow you two magically managed to conjure up your very own personal fireworks. Fitzwilliam, I hate to dis-
illusion
you; nevertheless, as soon as we return home, remind me to remind you about proper public comportment."

C
hapter IV

Aberration, Altar-ation, Fabrication,
Aspiration, and Anticipation

Almost two weeks previously at a country assembly in Tutbury, near the border between Staffordshire and Derbyshire, Miss Caroline Bingley was obliged by a deplorable scarcity of interested gentlemen to sit down for all the dances. She impatiently listened to Miss Endura Chatsworth's blathering until the third last set ended. At that moment Miss Bingley's attention was not at all on her wearisome new female acquaintance but rather on the fascinating young male who had mingled and danced all evening but, to Caroline's frustration, had apparently not been interested in obtaining an introduction to her. He was tall, devilishly handsome, smartly attired, and somehow familiar; but she could not place where she might have seen him previously. Miss Bingley knew he was intelligent and well-spoken, because by then the fellow stood not five feet away conversing with her aunt and an elderly neighbour, Sir Lance Boyle. The three suddenly looked in her direction; and Caroline fidgeted and played with her bracelets while she watched the smiling, swaggering stranger approach.

Sir Lance said, "Miss Bingley, please allow me to introduce to you Mr. George Wickham, the son of an acquaintance of mine and, coincidentally, a good friend of your brother. Mr. Wickham, may I present Miss Caroline Bingley, who is the niece of Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett Piers." The elderly gentleman then introduced Wickham to Miss Chatsworth.

The young man bowed and said, "It is my very great pleasure to meet you both. Miss Bingley, if you are not already engaged for the last set, may I have the pleasure of standing up with you?" He smiled charmingly at her friend and added, "I must apologize, Miss Chatsworth, but not having been introduced to you before, I regret I have already asked for the remainder of the dances with other young ladies."

So, during the last set, Wickham spoke enthusiastically to Miss Bingley about his long-standing friendship with her brother as well as with the esteemed Darcy family, his extensive education at Cambridge, and his thorough knowledge of the grand estate of Pemberley. Caroline was enthralled.

To give credit where credit is due, the hard-working fellow was truly on his way to becoming an exemplary steward. Be that as it may, George Wickham had not abandoned his rakish behaviour. While knowing it was wrong to lead her astray, he could not convince himself to discontinue a seduction. If Bingley had been present, Wickham would never have dared to pursue a friend's sister. Caroline had a lovely smile when she took the bother to do so and possessed a sharp, cutting wit. He admired her audacious fashion sense, and Miss Bingley was certainly handsome enough to tempt him ... as were most young women.

And so it was that Caroline met her future husband and was granted her wish of never relinquishing a connection to her precious Pemberley.

Never before the object of such admiration and attention, Miss Bingley let his fawning and flattery go to her head; and Wickham put considerable effort into wooing and weaselling his way in there. He traveled to and fro between Derbyshire and her uncle's Staffordshire estate and picked wildflowers along the way to present to her. With masterly finesse, he smooth-talked his way straight into her heart.

One fateful afternoon as the couple strolled the grounds, Mrs. Ann Teak complained of a terrible headache. Caroline nittered and nattered, jibbered and jabbered without intermission about how much she was grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad headache, and how excessively she disliked being ill herself. She finally insisted the elderly woman go inside to rest and then thought no more of the matter.

Carpe diem!
Wickham wasted no time that day and immediately seized the carping young woman in a passionate embrace.

Overcome by the manly smell of shaving soap and his well-placed grope, down the slippery slope Caroline tumbled and breathlessly asked, "Shall we elope and end my forlorn hope?"

Overcome by the womanly smell of jasmine soap and her well-placed grope, down the same slippery slope Wickham tumbled; and, without thought, he recklessly answered, 'yes' instead of 'nope'.

Miss Bingley had dropped all her prior resentment of Elizabeth Bennet and, instead of writing to Charles about her suitor, she took advantage of that lady's kind invitation to correspond. In her letter, Caroline succinctly explained she had never been romantic and wanted only a home at Pemberley. "My dear Miss Elizabeth, considering Mr. Wickham's connections and situation in life, I am convinced my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. I hope, my friend, once you are settled in the cold northern clime, you will not be blue with envy over my living on the finer Darcy estate. Your also-engaged friend, Caroline." Although usually quite fastidious with her penmanship, Miss Bingley had written the direction remarkably ill; and the letter had been delivered elsewhere and would only catch up with its recipient many weeks later in Northumberland.

The scheming couple met at midnight and headed for Gretna Green under cover of darkness. But Wickham did not get far, neither with Caroline nor with the inadequate spending money he had in his possession. Although very conscientious with Pemberley funds, George had been drawing his own bustle too freely and soon found himself nearly on the rocks. It became necessary to stay at an inn on the second night; and at the lady's insistence, it was spent in separate rooms. Until they were legally married, she refused to give in to any of his further advances. Wickham then had to sheepishly explain to Caroline he needed to return with important estate papers for his father; and because of having to rent two rooms instead of one, his lodging allowance was already spent. They would barely have enough blunt to buy meals on their way back to Pemberley; and after that, he would be run quite off his legs. The trip to Scotland was, therefore, abandoned.

Waiting to leg-shackle the disgraced couple upon their return were Mr. Hugh Wickham, Mr. Bartlett Piers, and the Reverend Mr. Wingrave; the parson's mousetrap was to clamp down on Caroline and George in a pretty little chapel in Lambton the following evening.

With money provided by her outraged uncle, the uneasy bride, in company with the parson's wife, went shopping the next morning in the small market town for a new dress to wear at her impromptu wedding. Caroline Bingley was in a daze and hardly noticed the pretty ivory gown with palest of blue pinstripes. It was the only readily available option in her size; and the young woman knew she would probably never don it again, for it just did not have enough vibrancy for her taste. Mrs. Wingrave thought the frock was quite fetching and said, "Miss Bingley, orange you glad you could not squash yourself into that appalling pumpkin-pigmented garment? Who on earth would have the ghastly fashion sense and audacity to wear such a horrid hue?" The older woman was mortified to realize her companion was, in fact, already attired in an atrocious carroty creation.

At the chapel later that same evening while waiting for the menfolk, Mrs. Wingrave could not help but notice the bride was extremely fretful. Earlier in the day, the clergyman's wife had the onerous task of explaining certain aspects of married life to the unfortunate, motherless bride. However, the matron correctly assumed Miss Bingley's apprehension was unrelated to that awkward conversation.

When asked the reason for her anxiety, Miss Bingley said, "This is all very sudden. I ... am ... " Caroline had begun to worry she was about to become a tenant for life with a loose fish. While shopping, she had overheard whispered remarks about George Wickham being quite the rake. Unwilling to admit to Mrs. Wingrave, or herself, that she had possibly made a very grave mistake, Caroline raised her chin and voiced a totally different concern, "I am afraid I will not remember what to do during the ceremony."

"Ah. Well, my dear, it is very simple. You only need remember three things. First is the aisle you will have to walk down; second is the altar where your groom will be waiting; and third is the hymn we will sing during the service." Miss Bingley nervously gulped and nodded her head in understanding.

When everyone was finally in place, the ceremony commenced. Armin-arm with her uncle, Caroline stared straight ahead and softly repeated the three words she needed to remember. As she approached the petrified groom, he was horrified to hear, "Aisle-altar-hymn. Aisle-alter-him. I'll-alter-him." On the other hand, the rest of the tiny congregation hoped it just might be possible.

It was done. Caroline Bingley became Mrs. George Wickham during a wedding ceremony conducted by candlelight. Unfortunately, their passion burned for only a wick. In spite of that, with her marriage Caroline got a new name and a-dress. She should have been pleased by the fact her new address was a cottage on a three-hundred-foot cliff at the very edge of Pemberley's border; and perhaps Caroline was content, or it might have been a big bluff. Regardless, one thing was certain ... the Wickhams were a fastidious couple. He was fast, and she was tedious.

Any thought of those two actually reproducing would be almost unbearable and rather inconceivable; so, fortunately for the world, Caroline proved to be quite impregnable. Mr. and Mrs. George Wickham remained childless and childish. Of course, people may only be young once; but they can be immature forever.

While Jane and Elizabeth shopped with their mother and Mrs. Gardiner, Darcy had arrived at the Bennet townhouse and was directed by Baines to the sitting room to await Elizabeth's imminent return. Mr. Bennet read the newspaper while his two youngest children sat on the floor, under the watchful eye of Miss Edwards, the governess. Lydia played with her favourite porcelain doll, Miss Michelle, which Robert's tin soldier was persistently attempting to engage in a kiss.

"Papa, please tell Robert to stop. Mish does not care to be kissed. Gag a maggot, boys are icky!"

"You keep on believing that for another fifteen years or so, Lydia. However, I highly doubt your eldest sister would agree with you about kissing a soldier. I am reasonably certain Jane does not consider Colonel Fitzwilliam the least bit icky. Robert, leave Miss Mish alone."

Darcy was more often at the Bennet home than his own and was already considered another member of the family rather than a visitor. Mr. Bennet nodded as the young man entered the room and picked up a discarded section of the newspaper. Cato the Philoso-fur immediately leapt onto his lap, and Darcy stroked its gingery coat as he perused the articles. After a few moments he commented, "I see the Prince Regent has coined a new phrase. Whenever someone curses luridly, 'Prinny' says, 'He swears like Lady Lade.' I daresay Lady Letitia Derby's profanity could not hold a candle to my aunt, Lady Catherine der Bug ... I mean de Bourgh. Her long-winded cusses would make a sailor blush."

Prissy and missish Miss Catherine entered the room, frowned with reproof at the mention of bad language, curtsied to Mr. Darcy, and then said to her sister, "Lydia, as requested, I have done a reproof, edited, and written out a good copy of the foolish folly you and Robert composed."

Mr. Bennet put down his Morning Chronicle and reached for the handwritten sheets containing the story, which was titled The Hanson Barberin. The tale was inspired by Robert Bennet and composed in collaboration with his precocious seven-year-old sister, Miss Lydia. The anecdote was then edited by strait-laced one-and-ten-year-old Miss Kitty, who somehow missed expurgating a certain section pertaining to where a young lady was kissed. Their father settled back in his chair, adjusted his spectacles, and began to read aloud:

"Once upon a time there was a handsome barbarian. A barbarian is a barber who works in a library. His name was Mister Daresay because he always said, 'I daresay'. Mr. Daresay loved books. He slept between the covers, wore a dust-jacket, ate from a bookplate, and put a bookworm on his hook when he went fishing. One day his dog-eared hound, Mythter E. Tail, started to eat a spine-chilling mystery novel; and Mr. Daresay had to take the words right out of his mouth.

Mr. Daresay did his barbering in the library. He shaved and cut hair for lots of customers who were aristocrats. The library had more nobles than the royal court because of all the titles.

Mr. Daresay had a good friend who was a Knight. Sir Cular wrote handbills for Mr. Daresay's excellent barbering. Whenever Sir Cular read a book from Mr. Daresay's library, his Page was always at his side. Sir Cular had a sister, Miss Bizzy Lennet. Mr. Daresay and Miss Lennet loved one another very much. One day the handsome barbarian got all gooshy and kissed her in a very private place.

They were hiding behind a bookshelf. They thought no one saw them, but her brother and sisters all did. Mr. Daresay gave each of Bizzy's siblings a pony. Then they all lived happily ever after. The end."

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and looked over his spectacles to the spectacle of his blushing future son. "Is this enlightening account a product of my children's over-active imaginations; or is it, in fact, based on fact?"