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Mrs. Bennet, as though suddenly realizing the significance of this intelligence, said, “I always knew Jane’s marriage would be the means of throwing her younger sisters in the paths of wealthy gentlemen.” She set her sewing things aside and sprang to her feet. “I shall gather Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, and see that they don their best frocks. We shall all go to Netherfield Park at once.”

Mr. Collins nodded. “No doubt a man of Mr. Darcy’s standing will be eager to find a new wife to give him an heir. He is blessed, in a peculiar way, with everything the heart of mortal can most desire—splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage.” Here, he paused and turned to Elizabeth. “Although my cousins are silly and can hardly be worthy of such a fine man, we must all do our parts to promote a potential alliance between our families for good measure. What say you?”

Chapter 4

Mr. Darcy had married his cousin Anne, seeking to carry out the favorite wish of his mother, the late Lady Anne Darcy, and her sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne’s mother. From your infancy, we have intended you for each other. Both he and his cousin had grown up listening to those often-recited words.

They did not consummate the marriage. Darcy went into the marriage knowing Anne would not live much longer, knowing she would never bear children, and knowing he needed an heir. He devoted what little remained of her time to caring for her. She was his cousin, after all. He bore his fair share of grief when she passed away, for the two had known each other all their lives.

All she asked was that he remain faithful to her till the end. He could do that; despite her situation and her inability to be a wife to him in every way, she deserved that much. His late mother would be pleased that he had honored her favorite wish. His aunt—nay, his mother-in-law, certainly was pleased.

His cousin Anne was an inspiration to all who met her. Although frail and of a sickly constitution, she was a gracious young lady. Though quiet, she was intelligent and very fair-minded. Though subdued, she was brave. She had suffered so much, yet she had the grace to accept her fate with dignity. How could he do anything less than honor her until the very end?

Darcy was now in control of two great estates with the marriage: Pemberley in Derbyshire and Rosings Park in Kent. With such vast wealth, he needed to beget an heir now more than ever. All his noble relations, especially Lady Catherine de Bourgh, were adamant on that point.

Now he was a widower, at eight and twenty, and comporting himself as though he was still in mourning and in no particular rush to do anything.

It was not so much the loss of Anne that had affected him. He had never been one to enjoy the London season, matchmaking mammas, and simpering single daughters—young women eager to say or do anything that might garner his attention. He had never hidden the fact that he preferred the outdoors to the drawing room, his estate to London, his solitary pursuits to those of the ton.

When Anne died within months of the marriage, her ladyship was the first to insist that her son-in-law mourn a respectable period. Then he must go about the business of finding a new wife. Preferably someone in her ladyship’s image: a young lady who was of noble birth, wealthy, beautiful. Always one to carry her point, her ladyship commenced promoting potential prospects.

Rather than remain in England and subject himself to Lady Catherine’s machinations, he went to Scotland, where he spent most of his time in solitude. His subsequent return found him as uninterested in the pleasures and amusements of society as before he left. All too often, when society debutantes with nary a brain cell to their bitty heads would smile invitingly at him, he looked right through them as if they were not even there.

This picture of himself that he presented to the world was most disconcerting to his family, especially his young sister, Georgiana, who was his junior by more than a decade. She made it her mission to see her brother return to his former self. Sentiments such as “Anne would not want you to carry on this way” were a favorite refrain.

Young Georgiana was forced to remind him of his responsibilities to his estate, his position in society, his family, and, most importantly, to her.

“Please, Brother,” Darcy recalled her saying, “I beg of you, take an interest in something. Think of all that you have yet to accomplish. The world will not stop whirling if you accept an invitation to dine or attend a ball. Why, I posit such diversions will do you a steady bit of good.”

Darcy knew he had his sister to thank for his being in Hertfordshire. So eager was Georgiana to see her brother resume his place in society that she wrote a letter to his friend Charles Bingley. By the time he found out about his sister’s scheme, he had no choice but to go along with it and accept Bingley’s extended invitation to visit his country home.

Now, in a small hamlet outside of London, of all places, he had met the most fascinating woman, someone whom he could envision spending the rest of his life with as the mistress of his homes and the mother of his children. A woman who had also suffered the loss of a spouse before they consummated their union. A woman who just happened to be betrothed to another.

Darcy had never had an affair before. He knew it would not be an easy road to travel, but Elizabeth was the woman with whom he wanted to share his bed. He had to marry again, but the thought of being with another woman the way he was with Elizabeth, he was not sure if he could.

She is engaged to marry another.

That hurdle was the only thing that would keep him from completely surrendering himself to Elizabeth.

The whole thing seemed unreal. Could he really have fallen in love with someone so quickly and so easily? Their lovemaking was passionate, yet tender. It was breathtaking. She had given him such fulfillment as he had never known.

When she left him earlier, his body ached, and his heart felt such yearning. Her scent was all around him, filling him with wanting.

Thoughts of Elizabeth aroused his desire so much that he soon imagined himself in her arms again, her soft body beneath his own. There was no use in denying what he wanted. After last night, Darcy ached for Elizabeth. His mind was racing with questions, thoughts of her, of them, of what could be.

He collapsed on his bed, thinking how it would be if he was tumbling in bed with Elizabeth and disappearing underneath the bedcovers.

He felt her soft body beneath him, her fingers on him and her breath on him. But she was not there. He lay there feeling so empty, so alone.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered.

The name of his sweet lover hung on his lips like a drug. His mind drifted off to thoughts of her in his arms, where he could feel her beating heart against his chest, smell her hair, feel her warmth—her silky skin, and almost taste her sweetness. His mind lingered on these memories. The memories fueled his desires. Her face, her smile, and the way she rubbed against him were as clear to him as if she were with him. He ached to hold her. He moaned again in ecstasy, imagining her mouth on him, looking up at him over his body with those bright eyes and taking pleasure in seeing him writhe in excitement at the touch of her tongue.

He imagined his hands were hers. “Oh, Elizabeth!”

Darcy wanted nothing more than to be with her again, and even though he knew nothing of what the future would bring, he could no longer think of it without thinking of her.

He could not wait for her to return to Netherfield under the guise of visiting her sister. He had spent the bulk of his time, since her leave-taking, visiting with his friend Bingley, thinking of ways to find out all there was to know about Elizabeth—her likes, her dislikes. How far away from Netherfield was Longbourn? He and Bingley rode along the outskirts of the Netherfield Park estate, and Bingley pointed out the route Elizabeth often took when coming by foot to see Mrs. Bingley.