Truth about Mr. Darcy
Read Truth about Mr. Darcy Online
Authors: Susan Adriani
Copyright © 2011 by Susan Adriani
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Adriani, Susan.
The truth about Mr. Darcy / by Susan Adriani.
p. cm.
1. Darcy, Fitzwilliam (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Bennet, Elizabeth (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. 4. Gentry—England—Fiction. 5. Families—England—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3601.D75T78 2011
813’.6--dc22
2010049268
whose encouragement and
support has made
all the difference.
She came to him late one night as he sat reading in the quiet solitude of Netherfield’s library, the delicate scent of lavender preceding her lovely form. He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back and inhaled her heady fragrance, a feeling of intoxication washing over his senses.
Without pause, she settled herself upon his lap and slid her arms across his chest to his shoulders, her slender fingers wandering to the edge of his cravat to tease the skin of his neck. He swallowed hard, struggling to regain the stoic composure she always managed to rob him of whenever she was near. Tonight, with her dark hair falling past her shoulders in silken curls, she was nothing short of breathtaking.
He looked upon her in wonder as the hint of a smile played seductively upon her rosy lips. She pressed her soft body firmly against his, her curves rendering him utterly powerless, her eyes sparkling with an invitation. Every fiber of his being ached to touch her, to tell her of his ardent—almost painful—desire for her, to finally claim her as his own after so many weeks of fantasies and sleepless nights.
Slowly, she began to feather her lips along his jaw, her hands blazing a path of fire over his chest before moving to unbutton his waistcoat. As her lips came to rest lightly against his own, so lightly they barely touched, she spoke, her voice low and sultry.
“Have you been waiting long?” Her breath was hot against his flesh.
With a throb of longing that could no longer be denied, the last fragments of his resolve crashed around him as he surrendered to her, claiming her lips in a desperate kiss and tangling his hands possessively into her hair. When they parted, their breathing was ragged, and their cheeks flushed.
“You have not answered my question, sir,” she said on a breath. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
His voice was hoarse, and he whispered with feeling, “My entire life, Elizabeth…”
***
Fitzwilliam Darcy’s eyes flew open. He was thoroughly appalled to discover himself in a leather chair in Netherfield’s library, rather than the privacy of his own rooms. To make matters infinitely worse, he was aroused, and Elizabeth Bennet was staring at him from the next chair with a mixture of astonishment and impertinence written upon her face. He quickly averted his eyes, crossed his legs, and groaned inwardly.
Oh, good God!
he thought
with rising panic.
Why is she staring at me like that? Surely she cannot possibly be aware of…?
With as much aplomb as he could muster, Darcy took a shaky breath and returned his gaze to the book he had been holding in his hands. Perhaps if he simply ignored her and pretended nothing was amiss, all would turn out well. After a few moments of this, he hazarded a glance in her direction, only to catch her observing him out of the corner of her eye. He quickly averted his eyes and shifted his weight self-consciously in his chair, willing his inflamed ardor to cool.
“Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired with a slightly raised brow.
He felt the heat of his blush and, without raising his eyes from his book, said as calmly as possible, “Perfectly well, Miss Bennet. I thank you for your concern.”
“It is nothing, sir. I am relieved to hear it.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice that caused his head to snap in her direction. She had returned to her reading but seemed to be struggling to repress a smile. Darcy’s ire rose at her ability to laugh at his discomfiture, but rather than having a cooling effect on his lower body, for some reason he could not explain, he found himself becoming even more aroused. It was disconcerting, and he wracked his brain for anything that might afford him an opportunity to compose himself enough to be able to flee from her company.
Think, man, think! Something to repulse… something to repulse.
He drummed his fingers upon the arm of his chair. He repressed a shudder.
Of course, Caroline Bingley. Caroline Bingley in one of those hideous orange frocks she favors. Hmm… and feathers. I must not forget feathers.
Darcy repeated his mantra, inhaling deeply.
Ah, yes, much better… much better, indeed.
After several minutes, he felt in complete control of himself once again and, as though to prove a point to himself, allowed his gaze to flicker toward Elizabeth. She was reading, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she wound a stray curl around one finger in an absent fashion. She presented a delightful picture, and Darcy found himself enchanted. His mind drifted from Caroline Bingley in her hideous orange frock to musings of a far more pleasant nature.
Elizabeth… my very own, lovely Elizabeth, just arrived at Netherfield, her hem six inches deep in mud, her hair disheveled, her creamy skin glowing. Oh, yes…
Darcy began to feel a familiar tightness in his breeches. “No! Oh, no,” he moaned aloud.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, raising her head.
“No, not at all, Miss Bennet,” he stammered in a strained voice. “I was merely taken unaware by something I had just… read. I apologize for disturbing you.”
With a frown, Elizabeth laid aside her book and rose, averting her eyes as she smoothed her gown. “If you will excuse me, sir, I fear my poor sister must be wondering what has become of me.”
“Of course,” he muttered. Darcy didn’t dare rise. He would rather break with correct etiquette and appear rude at this point than risk exposing himself, quite literally, to any further mortification in front of Elizabeth. Turning his full attention back to his book, he proceeded to give the illusion of engrossing himself thoroughly in its text. Darcy did not move until he heard the click of the door as it closed soundly behind her. Throwing his head back with relief, he expelled a long, slow breath, ran his hands over his face and through his hair, and cursed himself for being so susceptible to her charms.
Elizabeth had never been so happy to leave a place in her entire life. Surely she would always remember with fondness the rewarding occupation of nursing her dearest Jane back to health. Bingley, of course, had been nothing but his gracious, amiable, and generous self. He was an excellent host, forever solicitous of both her welfare and that of her sister
. His
sisters, however, had been everything that was
un
gracious and condescending, and the proud and haughty Mr. Darcy, in her opinion, had been little better.
It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice that the man seemed to materialize everywhere she had happened to venture during the few moments she was able to leave Jane for any length of time. She had met him quite by accident in the library on countless occasions—and also in the conservatory, in the music room, in the morning room, in the garden, and on the grounds. If Elizabeth had not known better, she would have sworn he was deliberately throwing himself in her way, but she
did
know better. Whenever they were in company together, Darcy was usually cool and aloof, yet he chose to stare at her constantly and with a level of intensity that had begun to make her uncomfortable. Surely such a handsome, wealthy, and intelligent man, who was used to nothing but the very finest society, could not deign to look upon a woman of her inferior station and circumstances in life unless it was to find fault, and indeed, she knew he
had
found fault with her, almost from the very first moment of their acquaintance at the assembly in Meryton some weeks ago.
Elizabeth laughed as she recalled his disdainful comment.
“She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”
Yet, while she was at Netherfield, Darcy had paid her no insignificant degree of attention, even going so far as to engage her in several heated intellectual and philosophical debates while in company with the rest of their party, none of whom he had included in their almost-private verbal sparring. To Elizabeth’s amusement, such pointed notice of her often resulted in Miss Bingley becoming angered, and Elizabeth had found herself banished to the far end of the table during family dinners, with only the inebriated Mr. Hurst for companionship, while Miss Bingley fawned over Darcy and tried to monopolize his notice. Yet, even at these times, Darcy’s dark, penetrating eyes continued to seek
her
out. Whatever could it mean?
Charlotte Lucas had often told Elizabeth she believed Darcy admired her a great deal, but Elizabeth could not agree with such a notion. Her usual reply was to laugh it off and tell her, “That is simply not possible, Charlotte, for I know he dislikes me as much as I do him,” before steering the conversation to some other topic. After a while, Charlotte no longer commented on such observations, but she did raise a speculative brow and cast a knowing look at Elizabeth each time she caught Darcy observing her friend, which was almost constantly whenever they were thrown into company together. Elizabeth found this occurred quite often.
***
The two gentlemen from Netherfield had just entered Meryton on their way to Longbourn when they chanced to notice the very ladies whom they were, indeed, intending to call upon, standing on the opposite side of the street. With great eagerness, Bingley urged his mount toward the object of his affection, Miss Jane Bennet, while Darcy remained several paces behind, struggling against the turmoil incited in his breast by the pleasing form and fine eyes of Jane’s sister Elizabeth.
It had been happening for many weeks now and, no matter how many times Darcy reminded himself of the unsuitability of her situation and the lowness of her connections, the lively intelligence, clever wit, and graceful yet unassuming manners of the lady never failed to impress upon him the very great danger he faced in spite of his disapprobation.
He had tried every method within his power to rid himself of his overwhelming—and rather disconcerting—feelings for her, but the bewitching Elizabeth Bennet would not grant him reprieve. When Darcy was awake, she invaded his thoughts constantly, and in the late hours of the night, she ruled his subconscious, leading him to forbidden imaginings of passionate splendor.
Darcy reined in his horse, his eyes fixed firmly upon Elizabeth. She was engaged in conversation with an unidentified gentleman who appeared to be paying her rapt attention. After a few moments, their conversation waned, and in the next instant, she looked up to see Darcy staring at her. She acknowledged him with a small, polite inclination of her head, which caused the gentleman she had been talking with to turn.
Immediately, Darcy felt the color drain from his face as his mind reeled with painful recollections of Ramsgate and his sister, Georgiana… and
Wickham!
Good God! What the devil is George Wickham doing here?
Anger spread like wildfire through his entire body, leaving him fighting to master his emotions. It was not a feat easily accomplished in the midst of Meryton. He was seething as Wickham touched his fingertips to the brim of his hat, his mouth curling into a smirk as he acknowledged Darcy’s glare. Darcy forced himself to look away toward Bingley, who was shrouded in happy oblivion as he smiled down from his horse at Jane Bennet. He had clearly missed the exchange between the two men.
This was not the case with Elizabeth, who had been appraising their interaction with some degree of concern on her face. Her gaze darted from Darcy to Wickham and back again. Without meaning to, Darcy’s gaze came to rest upon her just as a particularly severe look of displeasure spread over his handsome features. Elizabeth started at this, and Darcy, instantly regretting it, softened his expression, perhaps more so than he would have wished, providing Wickham with a private bit of information—information Darcy would never have wanted him to have at his disposal. Turning from Darcy with a sneer, Wickham focused all his charm on Elizabeth and proceeded to engage her, once again, in conversation.
Darcy’s blood grew cold. The idea of George Wickham gaining Elizabeth’s good opinion was more than he could stomach, but what could he do about it? Nothing! Absolutely nothing without laying his personal business open for all the world to scorn. He could not bear to put Georgiana through such humiliation and censure. But what of countless other young ladies? What of
their
honor? What of
their
respectability? And what of his Elizabeth? Darcy suddenly felt all the frustration of his position anew as a familiar ache in his breast reminded him she was not rightfully his to protect.
Lydia Bennet’s wild laughter echoed through the street. Wickham’s easy manners and handsome countenance had most likely already recommended him to Elizabeth’s youngest sisters. Darcy watched with resentment and alarm as Wickham conversed easily with Elizabeth. After several agonizing moments, her eyes turned up to meet his own tortured ones, and in their depths, Darcy could easily discern surprise, confusion, and curiosity.
Surely, the witty and intelligent Elizabeth Bennet would not be taken in by the likes of George Wickham!
But what if he was in error? Wickham was charismatic and dangerous. Yes, she had no fortune to tempt him, but knowing Wickham as intimately as he did, would her relative poverty be enough to ensure her safety? She was certainly one of the handsomest women of Darcy’s acquaintance, and she had a multitude of charms to recommend her to any man. Darcy was agonizingly aware of each of them. Another alarming thought occurred to him then—should Wickham happen to succeed in imposing upon Elizabeth, what slanderous falsehoods might he fill her head with about
him?
Darcy’s relationship with Elizabeth had always held an underlying level of anxiety. Even now, after nearly six weeks of being acquainted, including living under the same roof at Netherfield while she nursed her sister, it seemed tenuous at best, but any lies Wickham might now see fit to tell her could very easily cause irreparable harm to his suit.
But why?
he demanded in exasperation.
Why should that be of tantamount concern? As deep a desire as I feel for her, could I ever sanction myself to act upon those feelings? Could I ever truly allow myself to form any real design on her?
He fought to repress the attraction he had felt toward her since the very first moments of their acquaintance. It had been a constant struggle, one he knew he was losing.
Bloody hell!
It was simply no use! Even the merest possibility of Elizabeth Bennet thinking the worst of him—and at Wickham’s hands—made Darcy’s present agitation all the greater. He could not leave his desire for her esteem to chance, and with an impulsiveness few who knew him in Hertfordshire would recognize, he leapt from his horse.
This action finally succeeded in rousing Bingley from his unabashed admiration of Jane, and he followed Darcy’s lead with enthusiasm. Blissfully unaware of the hostility radiating from his friend, Bingley greeted the assembled group, then turned his attention back to Jane. “It is a pleasure to see you this morning, Miss Bennet, and all your sisters! We were just on our way to Longbourn to call upon you when we happened to see you here. It is certainly an exceptionally fine day, is it not?”
Jane blushed becomingly before replying that, indeed, it was. Denny, one of the officers under Colonel Forster’s command, stepped forward then to introduce Wickham to Bingley’s acquaintance, informing him that his friend was to take a lieutenant’s commission with their regiment, now quartered in Meryton. Bingley received him with his usual unaffected good humor and, though he gazed at Jane every few seconds, somehow managed to maintain an intelligent discourse with the gentlemen.
Darcy silently noted Elizabeth’s continued observation of his thinly veiled hostility toward Wickham. He knew he must speak, or she would certainly think the worst of him for such animosity. With nothing short of a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to assume a semblance of composure and inquire after the health of her parents.
She met him with civility as she replied, “They are both in excellent health, I thank you,” and fell into silence.
“Um, do you often walk into Meryton, Miss Bennet?” he asked, failing to suppress a scowl at his adversary who, at that moment, dared to be smiling at
his
Elizabeth while attempting to speak convincingly with Bingley.
“Why, yes, Mr. Darcy. It is a pleasant enough walk, and as you can see, there are always an abundance of acquaintances to be met with.” Here, she glanced boldly at Wickham. Darcy wrestled most fervently to hide his displeasure. Elizabeth continued calmly, “What think you of the village, Mr. Darcy?”
“Charming,” he muttered, his answer perfunctory.
“And have you had an opportunity to acquaint yourself with the various establishments, sir?”
“What? No, not well. I have been too much engaged since my arrival to have had that privilege.”
Though Wickham’s eyes appeared to be focused most diligently on the rest of their party, Darcy knew with certainty Wickham was paying very close attention to his conversation with Elizabeth. The master of Pemberley desperately wished to say something—anything—that would communicate an appropriate warning to her in some small way, but he knew it to be impossible under the circumstances. His frustration was extreme. Relief, however, came from a most welcome quarter.
“As it so happens, Mr. Darcy, there is a particular item I was hoping to procure this morning in one of the shoppes, just there, at the end of the street. If you feel you can bear my company, sir, I would be quite willing to assist you in familiarizing yourself with all the attractions Meryton holds.”
Though Elizabeth’s offer took Darcy by surprise, the benefit of such a proposal registered immediately. He tore his gaze from Wickham’s profile long enough to offer her his arm, which she took after a slight hesitation. “Thank you, Miss Bennet,” he said sedately, “I am most obliged to you.”
He led her away from the group at a restrained pace, and Elizabeth nonchalantly pointed out various aspects of the town and certain shoppes.
Darcy offered distracted responses, contemplating how best to address her on the unsavory subject of Wickham. After walking far enough to avoid being overheard, Elizabeth startled him once again by inquiring, in a somewhat direct manner, how long he had been acquainted with Mr. Wickham.
Darcy overlooked her boldness and stated, “I have known him practically my entire life, Miss Bennet. His father was my father’s steward, and a very respectable man. We played together as boys, grew up together on my father’s estate, and, at one time, even looked upon each other almost as brothers.” He paused to observe her startled reaction before blurting out, in spite of his better judgment, “You seem to take an eager interest in that gentleman’s relationship with me, Miss Bennet. Why is that? Is it merely curiosity on your part, or something more?”
“Why, Mr. Darcy, I was concerned only for the gravity of your countenance. It appeared to me even more serious than usual, and I merely thought you could use a diversion. Seeing as you do so enjoy staring out of windows whenever something greatly displeases you, I thought, perhaps, you might appreciate the opportunity to stare
into
them instead.”
Darcy, who under normal circumstances and with any other lady would have deemed such impertinence offensive, found it, instead—and when coming from
this
particular lady—to be nothing short of enchanting. Oh, how he dearly loved it when she took it upon herself to tease him! The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he said, “Yes, well, I thank you for your concern, Miss Bennet.”
He then cleared his throat and continued, “After the passing of Mr. Wickham’s father, my own excellent father supported him at Cambridge with the intention the church would be his profession, and a valuable family living would be his once it were to fall vacant. After my father’s passing, which was but five years ago, Mr. Wickham professed a desire to study the law. Knowing by that time his habits deemed him quite ill suited for the life of a clergyman, I hoped rather than believed him to be sincere. He requested and was granted the sum of three thousand pounds in lieu of the living…”