Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions Page 6

  “I agree,” said Elizabeth, turning to her sister and smiling.

  Lydia smiled back. “Lizzy, I know it isn’t ideal, but it’s the best a woman in our circumstance could hope for. A long arrangement with a man where he cares for you forever? It is security. And you care for him, so I don’t see why you wouldn’t want that.”

  “I intended for it to be temporary between us,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “Did you discuss that with him? Did you put perimeters on it?”

  “Well… no.” Elizabeth turned back to look at her reflection. “It would be easier if he would not have refused me. I am sure of it.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true,” said Lydia.

  “You said that you thought he would be with me eventually, that he would be overcome?”

  “I do think so, yes.”

  “Well, the sooner the better,” said Elizabeth.

  * * *

  It was late and Elizabeth was pacing the room in her house. She had sent a note to Mr. Darcy to come and visit her, and she had resolved that she would be eager and willing this time, and that she would do whatever it took to render him capable of being with her, and that it would happen. She needed it to happen. She wasn’t sure why she wanted it so, but she was sure that it would make things easier once it was taken care of.

  She felt as though she was hovering on a precipice here, living as a mistress but still unenjoyed. She found she had a newfound appreciation for the monologue in Romeo and Juliet, when Juliet was waiting for Romeo on their wedding night.

  But it was late now, and Darcy had not appeared.

  She worried that he would not come, and she did not know if she could bear the sting of another rejection. She told herself that she should not have planned it thus. She should have made sure that he was free to come and see her. He could have some pressing engagement which was keeping her from him.

  In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that late. Elizabeth knew that balls and parties often went into the wee hours of the morning. When she was younger, indeed, she remembered the balls she had attended in Hertfordshire, and she and her family were often out quite late then.

  Now, why it was barely midnight. If she was to be a courtesan, a lady of the night, she would have to keep later hours.

  But she was yawning.

  She rang for some tea and drank it sitting by the window, looking for his carriage to come up the street.

  She would wait for him, and he would come. He had to.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Darcy stood in the doorway, waiting until the last strains of the piece that Georgiana was playing on the piano were sounded. Before she began to play another, he cleared his throat loudly.

  Georgiana, who had not realized that he was even there, jumped, letting out a tiny squeal.

  Darcy laughed. “I apologize.”

  She got up from the piano. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to speak to you,” he said. “I was going to speak to you at dinner, but you did not come down.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Georgiana, flushing a little. She was a small, delicate girl. He thought she was beautiful, but she did have a bit of an odd look about her sometimes. She could not always look another person in the eye and she seemed out of sorts when it came to trying to converse with others, even those in her family. When she did talk, all she seemed to ever talk of was music. She was consumed by it. “I was working on a new piece.”

  “Yes, I realize. You’ve been playing the same thing all afternoon.”

  “I keep making a mistake,” she said. “I can’t figure out how to correct it.”

  “It sounded perfect to me.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.” She looked at him in the eye when she said that. “It was flawed, marred. If I could just—”

  “Wait,” he said. “I didn’t come to speak to you about the music.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Her shoulders slumped. “You’re going to talk to me about balls again, aren’t you?”

  “That is the entire reason we came to town,” he said. “You are out in society, and you must attend balls and dance with eligible young men and find a husband.”

  She cringed. “Oh, why must you always bring this up?”

  “Because it is what you should be concerned with now.”

  She sat down at the piano bench and let her fingers roam over the keys.

  “Georgiana, please do not start playing again.”

  “I’m not. It’s just, I think better this way. I’m not sure why. But I can find words I can’t always find.” She paused. “I have been thinking that perhaps I don’t want to get married.”

  “What?” he said. “Of course you want to get married. Everyone wants to get married.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “I think it would be a marvelous distraction from playing the pianoforte.”

  “Distraction from…?” He cleared his throat. “Listen, young ladies cultivate themselves in order to find a husband. They do not allow their pursuits to eclipse their true duties in life.”

  “It’s only that the only thing that I really enjoy doing is playing,” said Georgiana. “I don’t like talking to people. I don’t like dancing. I don’t like throwing parties. I don’t think I would make a very good wife. And I really don’t want to have any babies.”

  “What do you mean you don’t want to have babies? All women want…” He didn’t even finish the sentence.

  “Well, it doesn’t sound at all pleasant,” said Georgiana. “I hear that women get ill, and then it’s very uncomfortable to have such a round belly, and then it’s very painful to bring the babes into the world, not to mention…” Her voice dropped. “Dangerous.”

  Darcy swallowed.

  The silence hovered in the air between them.

  All Darcy could hear was the echo of Anne’s cries, coming back to him over the months and weeks, the way she had been in so much pain, the way she had sounded so scared.

  Would he sentence his sister to that? She was even more delicate than Anne was. What if it went badly for her?

  And what was it all for, anyway? Georgiana didn’t need a husband for monetary support. She was quite secure with her inheritance. It was only that he felt that she needed someone to look after her, and he thought she would want to be on her own. She couldn’t remain under his roof forever. She was a grown woman. She needed to start her own life.

  He swallowed again. “We’ll discuss this later. But know that you are going to the masquerade ball that we spoke of. There will be no getting out of it, not even if you are ill.” Georgiana had the tendency to fake illnesses to get out of going to balls. He didn’t trust what she said anymore.

  “But Fitzwilliam!” she protested. “I told you I didn’t want to go.”

  “You must,” he said. “That is all.” He took his leave of her.

  There was silence for a few moments and then the piano began again.

  He strode down the hallway.

  “Sir?” called the butler.

  He stopped. “Yes, Mr. Barnes. What can I do for you?”

  “This letter was delivered for you this afternoon,” said Mr. Barnes, handing him a folded note.

  Darcy saw Elizabeth’s handwriting, and he felt his heart skip time.

  * * *

  “Miss Bennet,” a voice was saying.

  Elizabeth snapped awake, looking about. She had fallen asleep in her chair, holding her empty tea cup. How embarrassing. The housekeeper was bending over her, looking concerned. Elizabeth smoothed at her hair. “I, um, I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Yes,” said the housekeeper, taking her tea cup from her. “Mr. Darcy is here.”

  “He came!” Elizabeth’s heart leapt. She had quite given up on him.

  “He is in the sitting room. Do you wish to go down to him?”

  “Show him into the bedroom,” said Elizabeth, standing up. She was already dressed for bed, with her night jacket over her shift. Her hair was braided, but
he had said something before about her hair being down, about finding that pleasing, so as she waited for him to come up, she deftly undid the braid and let her hair fall around her shoulders.

  And then he was there, standing in the doorway.

  She hurried over to him. “Mr. Darcy, I had thought perhaps you weren’t coming.”

  He looked her over, and he got that look in his eyes again, the piercing one that seemed to penetrate her.

  She could hardly breathe. Forcing herself to be brave, she stepped even closer, so that there was naught but inches between them. “I have been thinking that I want to show you that I am eager for—”

  He reached out and took a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.

  Her voice stopped.

  They stood that way for a few moments. He fingered her hair, and she only breathed.

  Finally, she found her voice again, and it was breathy and affected. “I want us to be together. Tonight. I asked you here for that reason.”

  He let his fingers go through her hair, all the way the tips of it, and then he let the lock fall. “Oh, Miss Bennet, I…”

  She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing her body against his. Oh! He was warm, even through his clothes. “Please,” she whispered.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “I… you know that I do not wish to hurt you.”

  “My sister says it is only the first time, and that there can be pleasure thereafter. It is simply a fact of the initial encounter, and if we were to get it over with… and if you were to be careful and patient and gentle, I think… I do want it. I do want you.”

  He shut his eyes.

  “Say yes,” she said. “And I shall do whatever is necessary to make sure that you are… are…” What was the word he’d used? “Aroused,” she finally remembered.

  He groaned softly. And then he raised his head and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I don’t think that it would take much for that.”

  “Then? You will?”

  He pulled away from her and looked into her eyes. “I don’t know that I am in the right frame of mind for it tonight either.”

  “Truly?” She was disappointed. He had seemed different. And the way his lips had felt against the skin of her forehead, it had been divine. She liked him close, as well.

  He cupped her cheek with one hand.

  She sighed, shutting her eyes. That was very nice.

  “I don’t have the proper associations with… with this sort of intimacy, I’m afraid.”

  She opened her eyes, searching his expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I had a conversation with my sister tonight, and it reminded me of… of my wife’s death.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling deflated. He had spoken of his wife before. He must have loved her very much. Elizabeth must only be a pale shadow compared to the emotion he’d had for the woman he’d sworn to spend his life with.

  “You know that she died giving birth to… to my daughter,” he said.

  “I…” She shook her head. “I assumed it must be something like that. Or perhaps an illness. She was not strong, Miss de Bourgh. I mean, Mrs. Darcy. I mean—”

  “It’s fine, yes, to call her by her maiden name. I know who you mean. And no, she wasn’t strong. Perhaps that is why I should never have…” He moved away from her, further into the room.

  She followed him.

  He moved like a lost man, fighting his way through a storm. When he finally reached the bed, he sank down on it and he hung his head.

  She sat down next to him. Tentatively, she put a hand on his shoulder. It was firm and solid and large, but perhaps she shouldn’t be thinking about such things at a time like this.

  “I killed her,” he murmured.

  “Mr. Darcy, no!” she said, tightening her hand on his shoulder. “That is preposterous. You did no such thing.”

  “I am the one who got her with child, and she died attempting to bring the child into the world, so it seems to me—”

  “Well, you had to get her with child. You had no choice. It is what people do when they get married. And besides, you must have an heir.” Of course, it had been a girl. But Elizabeth decided there was no reason to say anything about that.

  “You wish me to be with you,” he said. “And that means that there could be a risk that you would…”

  She turned away. The thought of children made her uncomfortable too.

  “Even if I could give you pleasure when I bedded you, I could not bear it if you were harmed, if you were killed—”

  “That won’t happen!”

  “It could happen. It happens every day.” His voice broke. “You don’t know what it was like, hearing her scream the way she did. I hear it sometimes, in my dreams, and I am so helpless. There is nothing I can do for her, and I can’t take it back. I can’t take the child out of her. If only I could, but I cannot.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “Mr. Darcy, you punish yourself for no reason. You must stop.”

  He turned to look at her, and there were unshed tears in his eyes.

  She clung to him tighter. “It was not your fault,” she whispered. “It was not.”

  He turned in her arms, resting his head against her chest, against the swell of her bosom. She tightened her grip on him, and his arms came around her, and his broad shoulders shook for a moment.

  And then they fell back on the bed together, and she clutched him to her as closely as she could.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Morning light stole in the room, waking Elizabeth. She had slept in Mr. Darcy’s arms, or perhaps he had slept in hers. They were both still in all their clothes, but they were a tangle of legs and arms, and she was close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin. She let out a little hum of satisfaction. There was something perfect about it. She didn’t quite know what, but she adored this feeling.

  Slowly, she disengaged enough to move so that she was propped up on an elbow, looking down on him.

  His eyes were closed, and he was lovely to look upon. Splayed out next to her, his body was strong and firm. His face was relaxed and there was none of the pride that sometimes marked his countenance. He was a very handsome man.

  Her hand darted out to caress his cheek, almost of its own volition. She was startled to find the faint prickle of stubble there. It made her smile.

  His eyes fluttered open.

  “Good morning,” she said softly.

  “Good morning,” he said. “What are you smiling about?”

  “I…” She smiled wider. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m happy.”

  He reached up and wound his hand behind her neck and pulled her down to him. His lips pressed against hers.

  Stars burst behind her closed eyelids. Kissing him was like a sweet explosion. She clung to him and pressed close, as close as she could get.

  His hand smoothed down her neck and over her spine. She was wearing only her bed jacket and shift, and his touch sent shivers running through her. She gasped.

  He pulled away, smiling at her. “You were kind to me last night.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t think I deserve it. I think I have treated you abominably, making you my mistress. It is unforgivable.”

  “I forgive you,” she said. “Besides, you have tried to get out of it repeatedly, and I don’t seem to be able to allow you to do so.”

  He brushed her hair away from her face.

  She let out that little satisfied hum again.

  He traced the outline of her jaw with one finger and then let it travel over her neck and down to her collarbone.

  She was awash in tiny little thrills. She gasped.

  “You are beautiful, Miss Bennet. Have I told you this before? The most beautiful creature I think I have ever beheld.”

  His words made her shudder.

  They were kissing again, and it was wonderful.

  She could kiss him forever, she decided. They co
uld kiss for eternity, and that would be quite all right with her. She would not mind it in the slightest.

  He broke the kiss.

  She let out a tiny sigh of protest.

  “You truly want this?” he said, and his voice was deep and affected. “You want to be with me?”

  She nodded. “I know there are ways to prevent the creation of babes, if that is what troubles you. It troubles me too, in fact. My sister has told me of something, a French letter, I believe it is called. I can procure those if that is what you wish.”

  “Right, of course,” he said. “Yes, I suppose that is a bit of protection.” He rolled onto his back and he was no longer touching her.

  Had she said something wrong?

  “It is only…” His hands scrabbled at his neck, loosening his cravat. “Lord, it is the very devil having slept in one’s clothes.”

  “Oh, I am sorry about that,” she said. “I should have, um…” What? Undressed him? She blushed and couldn’t help a smile at the thought.

  He tore the cravat off, sitting up in the bed. “I am not sure about all of this. There is still risk, even with the French letter, and there is the manner of honor and…”

  “You said with time,” she said. “So, after the masquerade, then.”

  He eyed her. “Perhaps.”

  * * *

  Wickham was eating grapes in bed, completely naked, while Lydia was lying next to him, similarly unclothed. She kept snatching the grapes from him before he got them to his mouth and laughing.

  “Stop that, Lyddie,” he chided her. “You are often inspired by the devil, upon my word.”

  “And you love it,” said Lydia, giggling as she popped a grape she had stolen into her mouth.

  “No, I don’t,” objected Wickham.

  “Oh, you do, you do.” Lydia rolled away, out of his grasp.

  Because he was going to reach for her and tickle her until she apologized. But she was too smart for that, having been party to that sort of activity before. He set the rest of the grapes down and burrowed down under the covers. He lay down on his side, facing her. “Lyddie, you really must spare—”