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“I did indeed,” Elizabeth said upon resuming her former attitude. “However, I can think of no more inconvenient time to be proved wrong. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”
Chapter 9
Leisurely sunny days spent getting to know each other and passionate starry nights spent making love turned into weeks before Darcy and Elizabeth even realized it. Upon discovering each other’s penchant for reading, they spent long hours locked in heated debate on the merits of a particular author, and further bonded over their wont to challenge each other’s opinions on favorite books. There were new discoveries to be made each day, and ideas to be explored, such as their love of nature and art and music. Still, their mutual desire for each other’s touch was never far from their minds.
Their every touch fueled Mr. Darcy’s desire and only made him want Elizabeth more. One day, the two of them were sitting side by side on a wooden bench in a secluded alcove hidden behind a thick stand of trees. It was the sort of day that felt centuries old. The air smelled fresh and clean, and the only breeze was a gentle one, but when it came, it carried the scent of honeysuckle, sweet and subtle.
Darcy placed his hand on Elizabeth’s and squeezed it gently. “I can hardly wait for tonight.”
“As much as I like to suppose otherwise, we cannot always be spending our nights in each other’s arms, sir.”
“I do not know why we cannot. As long as we continue to be discreet.”
Elizabeth gave Mr. Darcy a look.
“There are ways I might satisfy you that will not yield unintended consequences, as you well know by now, nor should your pleasure be impeded by certain natural occurrences, if either is what concerns you.”
“And what of your own pleasure?”
“My pleasure?”
“You once admitted being a selfish man, did you not?” Elizabeth said, alluding to a conversation they once shared when she accused him of being haughty with respect to his opinion of others relative to himself.
“However, I am not selfish where your pleasure is concerned,” he said.
“Indeed, you are quite generous in that regard. How shall I ever repay you?”
“Might I have the pleasure of holding you in my arms tonight and the night after that?”
“Sir, you are incorrigible.”
“Shall I take that as, yes?”
“I shall try my best, but no promises. I fear Mr. Collins is beginning to question my always being at Netherfield—to say nothing of my mother, who believes our family’s interests will be best served were one of my younger sisters to frequent Netherfield in my stead.”
Here, Elizabeth consulted her watch. “I am afraid it is time for me to return to the manor house. I promised Jane I would spend time with her before returning to Longbourn.”
“You go on ahead, Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, releasing her hand.
“Are you certain, Mr. Darcy? Surely the prospect of the two of us arriving at the manor house at the same time is not the most scandalous thing someone might accuse us of.”
“Who knows, Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy said, his tone altered, his eyes brooding.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It means nothing.”
* * *
A quarter hour later found Elizabeth sitting in her sister’s particular parlor with Jane and her guest, Elizabeth’s intimate friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas. What a delightful surprise this was for Elizabeth, for Charlotte had been away visiting relatives and the three women had not spent time with one another in months.
Despite their delightful reunion, Elizabeth’s mind was busily engaged in pondering other matters. She would have been lying if she said her earlier parting with Mr. Darcy had not given her pause, but with so much to conceal from two of the people who meant the most to her, she had no choice but to keep her concerns to herself, sip her tea, and pretend she was not happier than she had ever been in her entire life: the happiest as well as the most tormented.
My love affair with Mr. Darcy is so wrong and yet it feels so right.
Elizabeth’s friend’s return was a mixed blessing, for Charlotte was shrewd. If she and Elizabeth had been in company all those past weeks, Charlotte would have known Elizabeth was harboring a secret. Even if Jane suspected something, she would not speak of her suspicions to anyone, including Elizabeth. Elizabeth could not say the same about Charlotte, who was the pragmatist among them.
“You seem more content than I’ve ever seen you.” Charlotte set her teacup back on the saucer, glancing over uncertainly at Elizabeth as she did so.
