Miss Bingley appeared completely confused, but fortunately Lady Matlock was not slow to understand; before long, the throng was herded back into the ballroom. The firewas reduced to splinters of smoke and ash, and gardeners began the work of clearing out the residue.
With a quiet oath, Darcy stalked towards the tower; the earl, with a lantern, joined him on the way. Elizabeth trailed more slowly, studying the woman above, whose coughing had ceased now that her fiery demonstration was reduced to nothingness. From this distance, Elizabeth could not make out her expression, but she seemed at least a little…satisfied with the hullaballoo she had created.
The tower’s anteroom at its base was not very big—Mr Bingley, Darcy, and the earl filled the small space completely. “I do not know which of these keys fits,” Mr Bingley was saying, sounding frustrated. “Hold that light higher, can you?”
Elizabeth tugged on Darcy’s sleeve, and he turned towards her. She stepped back, and he followed her out into the night.
“Yes?” he asked, sounding a bit impatient.
“I am certain you are keen to join the group waiting to scold your cousin. However, itisthe one dance I was promised with you. I have been looking forward to it, all night.”
Would he think her merely whining about a lost dance? Would he understand that she wanted a few minutes on a very special evening of new beginnings with him, only him? There seemed no words for it, only an ache she hoped he might somehow understand.
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression softening in the moonlight. “So it is,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I daresay I can and ought to leave the scolding to others.” He bowed. “Might I have this dance, my darling?”
Smiling, she took his arm, and they returned to theballroom. Joining a set in progress, he swept her into the intricate figures. Anticipation filled her as they parted, then merged again, as his attention never left her, his gaze heating whenever they reunited. He wanted her, that gaze said. It was everything, a dream of a dance with the man she loved, filling her to overflowing. The unhappiness of the past slipped farther and farther away with every figure, every whisper, every surreptitious touch. When the music finally concluded, they stood facing each other, and as lines began forming for the supper, he spoke.
“Now that I have danced with you, any other partner seems impossible,” he said.
“You are the only one I wish to be with, as well,” she replied.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, nodding towards the tables loaded down with the lavish supper set forth by their hostess.
“Not for food,” she said, taking his hand.
Instead of joining the press of people at the refreshments, he pulled her into the corridor, up the stairs, and into the darkened library, the first room they came to; once the door closed behind him, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, their mouths meeting in hungry connexion.
“I need you,” she whispered. “Shall we find our chambers?”
“I do not think I can wait that long,” he said, taking her mouth once more, his hands fisting her hair, heedless of its careful coiffure. “I have missed you this evening, watching you with others, enchanting everyone who had the pleasure of partnering you. I was stupidly jealous, I am furious with my cousin for attempting to ruin your night, and I now want you more than any man could possibly abide.”
She answered his kiss with an equal passion and impatience—forgetting propriety, forgetting the house was filled to overflowing. All that mattered was this connexion, this craving, this desire begging for fulfilment. Suddenly however, the doors burst open; Lord Matlock and Colonel Fitzwilliam frogmarched between them a small, sulky woman in a dirty white tunic, followed by Lady Matlock carrying a candelabra—and barely avoiding knocking into the embracing couple.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks pinken, although she did not stir from within her husband’s arms. It was not only their embrace that caused her slight embarrassment, but in the candlelight, she could see that she had disordered Darcy’s curls, and somehow his neckcloth was untied.Did I do that?
It was obvious what had occupied their time in this darkened library, and it wasnotreading. Darcy only moved them a bit farther away from the doorway as Lady Matlock closed it behind her, not loosening his hold nor seeming the slightest bit dismayed.
Miss de Bourgh gawped at them with an open-mouthed shock.
“Ah,” Darcy said, his tone one of mild disinterest. “I see, my lord, you have located my missing cousin. Welcome to Netherfield, Anne. I am certain your mother will be gladdened to hear of your arrival. It was cruel of you to have worried her so. Now, if you will excuse us, my wife and I will be off.”
“Wife? Already?” Anne cried.
“I beg your pardon—have I neglected introductions? Elizabeth Darcy, may I make you known to my cousin, Anne de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth nearly giggled at the foolish expression on Miss de Bourgh’s face, but managed to match her husband’s tone. “Very pleased to meet you,” she said, curtseying. Unfortunately, as she did so, her hair—never easily tamed in the first place, and disturbed by Darcy’s prior conduct, came partially loose from its confines, a lengthy waterfall of sable tresses sliding over one shoulder. She peered up at him.
“Your fault,” she reproved.
“My fault,” he agreed unrepentantly. “You have never looked so beautiful.” He swooped her up into his arms, ignoring her gasp of surprise. “I beg your pardon, Aunt, Uncle, Anne, Fitzwilliam, but we have other places to be.”
The colonel winked at her. Lady Matlock helpfully opened the door; Darcy carried his wife through it, and neither husband nor wife spared a thought for anyone but the other for the rest of the night.
44
A SIMPLE CONVERSATION OR TWO
Darcy wakened early, as was his habit, and sighed quietly, contentedly, at the sight of Elizabeth curled at his side.
