Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (30 page)

And then there were the inevitable
questions he struggled to answer. Was allowing free rein to his passionate
musing while alone a wise move? Was self-gratification while dreaming of her
proper and enough to appease? Would it then be easier to regulate the limited
intimate exchanges with Elizabeth? Or was he only baiting the beast with
partial satisfaction and tasty samplings? Was he capable of restraint for
another six weeks and then, a horrid scenario to contemplate, fail to be gentle
on their wedding night?

If there was one thing Darcy hated
above all else, it was not being able to intellectually and rationally work
through a problem and come to a sensible plan. Methodical and confident in the
extreme, being at a loss as to how best to proceed with Elizabeth was galling.
Of course, as he had to concede, even if it did conflict with his need for disciplined
logic, love was, by its nature, fluid and variable. As an emotion, love did not
follow set rules, could not be forced to behave a certain way, would refuse to
be contained, and gave no guarantees it would flourish.

At the end of the day—as the
chiming clock alerted him it literally was—Darcy trusted that somehow,
like every man down the corridors of time who waited to wed the woman he loved,
he would survive, rejoice in their happy after, and laugh at his current
anxieties.

At least that is what his intellectual,
rational mind grasped on to.   

* *
*

The
lower edge of the sun had dipped behind the roofs of neighboring townhouses
when Darcy’s carriage halted before the polished white stones of Darcy House on
Grosvenor Square. Waiting for the footman to open the door, Darcy exited with
the bundle of signed papers from Mr. Daniels tucked under one arm. Gesturing to
the bags and boxes arranged neatly on the bench opposite where he had sat,
Darcy said, “Peters, please see that these are placed in my chambers. Thank
you.”

The footman acknowledged his
employer’s orders, but Darcy was already heading toward the entrance. It had
been a long day, and while satisfying in that he had accomplished much, he was
more than ready to relax.

Mr. Travers took his coat,
welcoming the master home as he did, and added, “A package arrived by private
courier from Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley, sir. I placed it on your desk.”

Darcy inclined his head and thanked
the butler. Heading straight to his office, which served as the townhouse’s
library as well, he opened the door and crossed the dimly illuminated room to
the large desk. Plopping the tied bundle of documents on the surface, he nearly
jumped out of his skin when a deep tenor spoke from behind him.

“About time you finished gallivanting
about Town and wandered back to the house. I was beginning to think I would be
dining alone tonight.”

Darcy whirled around, a delighted
smile already forming as he exclaimed, “Richard!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was sprawled on
the sofa, his booted feet crossed at the ankles on a pillow laying over the
armrest. He was grinning smugly, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes even as he
raised one brow quizzically.

“Richard? That’s it? And why are
you smiling like that? Where’s the tongue lashing about my boots on the
cushion?”

Darcy leaned against the desk and
crossed his arms over his chest, his smile widening. “My humor is too high to
chastise about a piece of furniture.”

“Are you sure it’s not a fever?
There is a frightening radiance about you, and that smile is suspicious. Plus,
you may well be delirious because you have yet to notice the tumbler in my hand
filled with your private stash of Scotch moonshine. The second helping, I
should add.”

“Oh, I noticed, rest assured. I
simply do not have a problem with your unwholesome proclivity for pilfering…this
time. In fact, I intend to have a glass with you.”

Richard frowned, only partly
feigned, as he asked, “Who are you, and what have you done with my fussy
cousin?”

Darcy laughed. Grabbing one of the
empty tumblers, he snatched the open bottle from Richard’s hand, pouring a
healthy shot of the whiskey while answering, “Oh, never fear. I am still ‘fussy,’
as you put it, with admirable restraint considering the adjectives you could
have chosen—”

“Uptight? Persnickety? Fastidious?
Punctilious?”

“I have always preferred
meticulous
or
proper
, but I know those are words you do not comprehend the
definition of.”

“Aha! There it is! The bite I was
waiting for. Thank God. I was beginning to think you had suffered a head injury
while I was gone. And here I thought I was the one with the life-threatening
occupation.”

“Please!” Darcy snorted. “You sit
in a tent and bark orders to your soldiers. Hardly life threatening.”

“Now that hurts, Cousin. Truly. I’ll
have you know I stay in my tent only if I have to. I prefer to be on my horse
giving those orders.”

“On a bluff well away from the
intense action.”

Richard shrugged, ignoring Darcy’s
grin while swallowing a mouthful of the illegal liquor, and then adding airily,
“It is called the burden of command. Someone has to make sure they do the job
correctly. So what have you been up to, besides pining away from missing my
charming personality? I was surprised to have a note from you at my house. I
thought by now you would be holed up at Pemberley, ready to hibernate like a
bear.”

“I would be, and shall be by the
end of November, but other concerns diverted my usual agenda.”

“Sounds messy, especially knowing
how you abhor anything upsetting your regulated agenda. What drama has addled
your brains this time?”

“Stand up so we can toast, and then
I shall tell you.”

Darcy waited silently as Richard
complied, grousing all the while and shooting strange glances his way. Rarely
did Darcy ever do anything that was overly unusual, so startling his cousin
when he had the opportunity was a treasured event. This promised to be one for
the record books.

“So what are we toasting to? Did
Anne finally have enough of the old battle-axe and lock Aunt C in the cellar?”

“Even better.” Darcy lifted his
glass. “Congratulations are in order, Cousin. Standing before you is a newly
engaged man.”

“Engaged!” Richard spluttered, so
surprised he nearly dropped the whiskey. “You must be joking?”

“I would not joke about a serious
matter such as this. I am betrothed and will be a married man come the
twenty-eighth of November.”

“How long was I gone? Did I suffer a
head injury and no one told me a couple years went by? How did you…When…Who…?”

“How is a lengthy story. When was
last week. And who is a woman I have admired and adored for a long while now—”

“You
never
showed interest
in any lady! Lord knows Mother has shoved innumerable Society debutantes your
way, and of course there is…Oh God! Please do not tell me you caved and are
marrying Anne! I will not allow it, Darcy—”

“Rest easy. It is not Anne. She is
safe from me forever, much to Aunt Catherine’s chagrin. But that is another
story for later.”

“Thank goodness. Guess I should
have known, since I doubt the prospect of marriage to Anne, dear as she is,
would cause you to grin like a deuced idiot.”

“I am grinning because I am
supremely happy. You are incorrect that I never showed interest in a lady, as I
am sure you would recall if you thought about it long enough.”

Richard frowned, Darcy observing as
he mentally filtered through the women they were acquainted with. Darcy
suspected Richard had perceived his attraction toward Elizabeth Bennet while at
Rosings Park in the spring, and so would eventually recall her.

However, before he started blurting
out the names of any woman Darcy had ever spoken to or danced with, Darcy announced,
“The woman who has made me the happiest man in England is Miss Elizabeth Bennet
of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”

An indecipherable series of
expressions crossed the colonel’s face, and for a handful of seconds, Darcy
wondered if his cousin held romantic feelings for Elizabeth. During the spring
interlude at Rosings, Richard and Elizabeth had established a friendly
relationship, their easy natures and witty humors similar. At the time, Darcy
was caught up in his own confused emotions and so sure that Elizabeth would
rush to accept his marriage proposal, he had spared scant thought as to whether
there was something more happening between the two. Another symptom of his
towering arrogance, perhaps in part, but Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was
confirmed in his bachelorhood and wildly adverse to the prospect of marriage.
Darcy was a romantic at heart, but convinced nevertheless that his cousin was
the last man on earth to swiftly succumb to love, even with a woman as
beautiful and charming as Elizabeth, so any stabs of jealousy had been brief
and faint.

Thus it shocked him how rapidly and
intensely the present blaze of jealousy fogged his vision and choked his
airway. Colliding with the jealousy were sharp pangs of regret for causing
Richard any sadness, however unlikely or unpreventable.

“I knew it!” Richard’s loud whoop
jolted Darcy out of his tumultuous rumination, and he was further caught off
guard when Richard clapped him hard on the shoulder. Darcy staggered, but the
negative sentiments evaporated instantly by the combination of his cousin’s
jubilant grin and next words.

“I was right! I could tell you were
attracted to her, maybe even in love.” The last was spoken gaily and without
his typical dramatic shudder or feigned retch. “But then figured I was wrong
when you did nothing about it. I’ll be damned! Congratulations are indeed in
order, Cousin. Miss Bennet is a fine woman, probably better than you deserve,”
he laughed gaily, “so I am pleased you got over your insane struggles to accept
your feelings for her. Would have saved you months of self-imposed torment if
you had been less dense.”

“As much as I want to argue your
assessment of my intellect, I cannot. I did struggle, for a long while, as
stupidly as you intimate. Where you are wrong is in the when and why of my
struggles and torment.”

“Come again?”

Darcy chuckled, holding up his
glass once more. “Before story time, toast to my superb fortune in winning the
hand and heart of the most incredible woman I have ever been privileged to know—my
intended, the beautiful Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Richard held up his drink, adding
before he clinked Darcy’s, “To Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy. May they love each
other eternally, beating the odds by having that rarest of treasures: a happy
marriage.”

They knocked their glasses, each
drinking deeply before Darcy responded. “That was an uncommonly saccharine
speech coming from you, Cousin. Downright poetic. I do thank you for it.”

“The benefits of a classical
education and noble birth do show through from time to time. I shan’t make a
habit of it.” He winked, smiling sunnily, and then shook his head. “You and
Elizabeth Bennet. Truly the best of news, Darcy, my opinions of marriage
notwithstanding. Aware of your longing for matrimony, I frankly expected you to
tie the knot years ago.”

“It was not being married that I
wanted, Richard. If it were that simple, I
would have
‘tied the knot
years ago,’ as you eloquently stated it.”

“True. I feared it, actually, that
you would grow desperate enough to marry Anne or, worse yet, Miss Bingley.”
Both men shivered at the latter vision, gulping more whiskey to wash away the
bitter taste left behind.

“I doubt I would have ever been
that desperate, as much as it pains me to be unkind about Bingley’s sister.”

“How is she taking the news?”

“Not well, but that too is another
story.”

“With all these stories, it’s
fortunate I planned to impose upon your hospitality for tonight. Might be wise
to get some food into my belly before drinking further, so I can remain
coherent for the whole saga. Besides, knowing you as I do, and judging by the
drippy expression, I am in for a nauseating recounting. I better eat
before
my
appetite is ruined.”

“Trust me, there are portions sufficiently
riveting to stave off nausea or incoherency. As for the rest, I promise
restraint.”

“Normally restraint and Darcy go
hand in hand. Now?” Richard shook his head. “Challenging with a belt of whiskey
each time you blurt a romantic word is tempting, except I doubt even my famed
resistance to inebriation would persist beyond the first chapter or two.”

Darcy rubbed his chin and furrowed
his brow. “Perhaps you have a point. Sonnets have spontaneously burst forth
while in public, and today I was nearly trampled by a coach and six while
crossing the lane to pet a lady’s puppy.”

“Good God! Seriously?”

Rolling his eyes at Richard’s appalled
expression, Darcy snatched the empty tumbler from his hand. “Of course not, you
ninny! I am in love, not a brainless idiot.”

“I have always been of the opinion
they are one and the same.”

“Someday, cousin. Someday. Now,” he
boomed crisply, ignoring Richard’s grimace, “let us hustle the staff to serve
our dinner. I am famished.”

Luckily for them, no hustling was
required. The unembellished, informal-style meal Darcy preferred when alone or
with the colonel was ready to be served. Not bothering to change clothing for
dinner, they sat at one end of the enormous table and within minutes commenced
dining. Between sips of wine and feasting on the simple but delicious fare,
Darcy chronicled the past months to his spellbound friend.

Segments were glossed over, or
deleted from the narrative entirely, and as a man uncomfortable with baring
personal sentiments or discussing private topics, he was characteristically
succinct. Nevertheless, in light of the tumultuous course trod and his intense
happiness at the outcome, Darcy’s temperate delivery was remarkable. Richard
made a point to comment on his impressive scarcity of melodramatics, adding
with a wink that he was keeping a mental tally of how often Darcy dropped the
word
love
into the accounting! Twelve utterances were noted by the time
the meat course was carried in, and it was then that Darcy reached the scenes
involving Lady Catherine de Bourgh.