“Are you laughing at me, Miss Bennet?”
“Yes, entirely, Mr Darcy. It is but our first day together, and already you are so impatient. What will you do in a month—or in six?”
“I shall die—most likely of wanting to see you, to touch you, and—” He stopped, perceiving her embarrassment.
He stepped towards her as she raised a hand to restrain him. “A maid may come,” she whispered.
“I think not—they are all engaged in attending my valet.”
He advanced once more and drew her into his arms. Before she could speak, his lips claimed hers in a kiss that was neither calm nor gentle. It was all urgency and desire, and in his embrace, her whole being yielded without reserve. It was like a summer storm. Had Elizabeth opened her eyes, she might have fancied she saw lightning, while the thunder in her breast broke in the cadence of his kiss.
“I am so afraid to let you go to London. Stay here—if only for a while.” Even as she spoke, she knew it could not be.
“Nothing will happen to me. Gossip has never killed anyone,” he said, with a lightness that did not wholly disguise the truth. “I shall be an object of ridicule in London for a month or two…”
She studied him with anxious attention. For a man of Darcy’s pride, such a prospect bordered upon torment.
“Look at me, Elizabeth. I have known hell. That foolish step—my marriage to Anne—that was hell. Now, when I think that you are mine, all the rest is but an inconvenience.”
“Liar,” she returned, with tenderness.
“No, I do not lie. Never have I been placed in such a grotesque situation. Still, I am persuaded Fitzwilliam will contrive some way to laugh at it. And let us be just—I am the injured party. I shall adopt a disguise for a few weeks, grow a beard, or something equally absurd; then, by degrees, I shallrecover, and before long I shall fall under the charm of another lady. It is what they will expect…”
“You make it sound the easiest thing in the world.”
“It is—if you come to London.”
They kissed again, already sensible of the separation before them.
“You fit so perfectly in my arms,” he said.
“Because I am yours,” she answered softly, and he drew breath as though the words had struck him.
His hands lingered over her with a tenderness that soon demanded effort to command. At last, he forced himself to step away. “Come, my love—walk with me to the carriage.”
When he was gone, she could not return indoors at once. Her eyes followed the carriage until it turned onto the London road. She shivered, though not from the cold.
It was impossible to imagine that they might endure such a state for a year or more. Her whole being ached in his presence. Desires, unknown to her but the day before, now declared themselves plainly as passion. She wished to be with him as ardently as he wished for her, and she saw no ready solution. There had been no time to settle so many questions. The most pressing concern was his return to London, there to announce to his family that his wife had left him; then at least a fortnight must pass before the news could be made public, the time required with Lord Matlock and their solicitors to arrange the legal matters of the divorce.
She grieved for the trials that lay before him; still, in the same moment, she felt she could spin about the yard and sing, as she had in childhood.
They had resolved that no one—not even Jane or Bingley—should know of their meeting in Hertfordshire, nor of the plans they had formed together. Indiscretion is not always malicious, but it may do considerable harm. It was far better thattheir attachment should appear to have grown in London, and at a proper interval after his…misadventure.
“I shall go first to my uncle’s house, and in two weeks we will announce the news,” he had told her.
“And how will the news be made known—to everyone?”
“I neither know nor much care in what manner it spreads. Once one person is informed, it will travel of itself, like a contagion.”
He had disclosed to her all he intended, and his eagerness to put an end to his marriage was such that he went directly to Lord and Lady Matlock.
∞∞∞
It was raining heavily when he arrived at Matlock House. The carriage drew up, but he did not immediately alight. From Longbourn to London, he had thought only of his eagerness to deliver the news and let the whole affair unfold; now, before the familiar town house, his resolution faltered. Once admitted into the well-known library or his aunt’s parlour, his life would be altered. He could not precisely determine what such a step might signify for his place in society. He knew of one man who had been divorced, but no particulars came to mind to guide him through what must follow. In the worst case, he would take Elizabeth to Pemberley, remain there until the divorce was secured, and return with her only after their marriage. That, however, was not what he wished for her. Elizabeth deserved to have London at her feet, not to suffer for his errors. In this, he had little command.
This time, his plan was well conceived. The servants were paid by Lord Matlock, but they were all devoted to the countess, who knew how to win both affection and loyalty. When heplaced a finger to his lips, asking the butler for silence, and then whispered, “Lady Matlock,” the man, without a word, led him to his mistress and left him to knock and announce himself.
“Darcy!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, with such deep surprise that she nearly overturned the small tea table beside her. Darcy sprang forward and saved the delicate china cups from falling.
