Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (37 page)

Only upon spying the green satin
ribbon lying perfectly flat in between the pages of his book did Lizzy realize
she had forgotten all about his sneaky possession of her token. Pressing the
book to her chest, she inhaled deeply to calm the emotional flutters. That day
was the last time he had kissed her, other than on the hand, and had been only
the second kiss granted since his return from London. In every way, Mr. Darcy
was a gentleman, expressing his devotion to her in dozens of ways, yet
physically, he had grown more rigid and undemonstrative. It bothered her more
than she had recognized until finding this ribbon.

Shaking her head, Lizzy headed back
to the parlor. Her betrothed was a complicated man and, she firmly believed,
one with powerful passions. In time, she would unravel him just as he had
unraveled the ribbon from her bonnet—in time.

Mr. Darcy was sitting on the sofa
corner as he typically did, the space beside him waiting for her. Jane and Mr.
Bingley had retreated to the sofa closer to the fire and spoke in low tones.
Kitty and the pup had disappeared who knew where. Aside from Mary’s continued
efforts on the pianoforte, the rustle of her father turning pages in his book,
and her mother chattering to everyone and no one at the same time, the cozy
room was serene.

“Your book, sir. And a pillow.” She
handed each to him and then settled onto the sofa, ensuring a good eight-inch
gap between their bodies as her parents insisted upon.

“My thanks, Miss Elizabeth. I
appreciate your remembrance of my quirk.”

Lizzy bent to retrieve her embroidery
hoop from the basket by her feet, replying through her laughter, “If wanting a
pillow on your lap to prop your book upon while reading is what you consider a
quirk, Mr. Darcy, I shall have little trouble performing my wifely duties.”

“I—I beg your pardon?”

Sitting back, she turned toward
him. Unsure why he had choked on his words or was looking at her with an oddly
twisted expression, she flashed a bright smile. “Mama has been educating Jane
and I on the scope of our domestic responsibilities as proper wives, you see.”

“Oh. I see. Dare I ask what wisdom
Mrs. Bennet has passed along?”

“Let me think.” Lizzy tapped one
finger on her lip, feigning serious thought. “A wife never takes a bite of food
until her husband does first. A wife stays at the table until her husband
rises. A wife listens attentively to every word her husband says and never
interrupts or argues. I may well fail at that one, I should warn you.”

“Duly noted. What else?”

Now he was relaxing, the warm smile
and tender gaze she adored growing pronounced as she ticked off more
nonsensical advice from Mrs. Bennet. “And of prime importance is the fact that
a wife should never pester her husband with asking after his needs, or quirks
as you dubbed them. She should observe keenly to learn how best to service him
and then act in anticipation.”

“That is quite an extensive list.
You have taken all of this to heart?”

“I am trying,” she moaned, sighing
dramatically. “Some of these requirements may well take me years, if not
decades, to master. Thankfully, I am marrying a man with extraordinary patience
who, as he has assured me, demands nothing more challenging than a pillow to
prop his book upon. There may be hope for me at this rate after all!”

In the subsequent hour, they spoke
occasionally but mostly remained silent as they attended to their tasks. Or at
least Lizzy attempted to embroider. In truth, she muddled through the stitches,
her consciousness focused almost exclusively on William. The space separating
them crackled as if alive, Lizzy swearing she could feel his breath on her neck
when he exhaled. He radiated heat, the warmth of his body flowing into her skin
and carrying the fragrance of his cologne to her nose. Cardamom and a woodsy
spice, vaguely pine but sweeter, mixed with a musky aroma she could not
identify. Perhaps it was his natural scent, she thought, a masculine essence
unique to him. Whatever the blend, Lizzy longed to bury her face against his
flesh and inhale until her lungs filled to capacity.

The vivid image was startling, and
for the third time in the past ten minutes, she pricked her finger with the
needle. Pain was instantly forgotten, however, when William rubbed one
long-fingered, elegant hand along his thigh. Riveted, she watch the muscle
tightly sheathed by a layer of fabric harden as he shifted his sitting position
and stretched his legs out a bit further. Lifting her eyes slightly, she
watched his other hand as he raised the glass of brandy to his parted lips. The
tip of his tongue touched the rim, he swallowed a sip, and then the glass was
lowered, leaving a glistening sheen of liquor on his lip.

For a crazed heartbeat or two,
Lizzy truly thought she would die if unable to lick the residual brandy off his
lips. That insanity was followed by a deluge of shivers and a stab of what felt
bizarrely like jealousy at the glass itself. Madness!

“Mr. Darcy, the book you are
reading, is it an interesting one?”

Where that came from, she had no
idea. Clearly he was as surprised, judging by how he jerked, stared at her for
ten seconds, and then cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth.
What did you say?”

“I asked if the book you are
reading is interesting.”

“Oh! Yes. Quite interesting.”

His vague tone and confused frown
brought a smile to her lips. “Do you think it would be of interest to me? You
know how I enjoy reading. Improves the mind, you understand.”

“Yes, it does,” he agreed,
chuckling.

“So, then you believe I may glean
value from reading the book your uncle sent? When you are finished, naturally.”

“If you wish, Miss Elizabeth. I
would be delighted to lend it to you.”

“I assume it must be a particularly
fascinating story. Or possibly it may be too deep for my young mind to
comprehend?” Smoothing her face to as vacuous an expression as she could fabricate,
Lizzy noted the confused furrow returned to his brow. The fun of teasing him
helped dispel the strange, libidinous musings from moments ago.

“I am positive your mind is adept
enough to comprehend any topic.”

“I was concerned, you see, as it has
taken you more than an hour to study this one page. In point of fact, you have
been reading this book for the past two weeks and are only on page fifteen. I
can only speculate, but considering how intelligent you are, the only feasible
conclusion is that the story is so extraordinary you are rereading each
paragraph several times for sheer pleasure. Or it is necessary to do so in
order to decipher the author’s intent?”

“You have caught me, my dear.”
Closing the book, he leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice. “The truth is,
if you must know, I find myself terribly unfocused whenever I am near you. I am
on page fifteen, yet am unable to render an accounting of the content thus far.
Does this shock you, Elizabeth?”

Fixed on his dancing eyes, a tingle
of delight spiraled about her heart. Smiling, she held up the embroidery hoop.
“You see this sampler?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I have been working on this for a
month and should have completed it in a week. These stitches here are all
wrong, and I have had to rip this section out three times! I have lost count
how often I have stabbed my fingers. I judge you and I are suffering from the
same disease.”

Never averting his penetrating
gaze, he enveloped her free hand, squeezed gently, and then raised her fingers to
his lips. His eyes were captivating, Lizzy breathless as the crystalline blue
orbs darkened slightly in what she now recognized was ardor. Pressing her
folded knuckles onto the same lush lips she so recently wanted to suck brandy
off of, he said, “I am
very
pleased to hear you say that, Elizabeth. You
have no idea how pleased.”

His muted, husky timbre imbued with
emotion sent a fresh cascade of tingles and shivers throughout her body.
Look
away from his eyes, Lizzy!
Not that she was listening to rational advice at
the present.

“Are you pleased, Mr. Darcy, that I
have pricked my fingers?”

“I am William to you, and my mother
used to kiss my wounds to make them better. Should I kiss your aching fingers?
Will that relieve your pain?”

Without waiting for her
permission—as if she would have refused a kiss from him—he
separated each finger and unhurriedly engulfed each tip between his soft, warm
lips. Mesmerized, she glanced back and forth from his eyes and lips. Time
seemed to halt and simultaneously crawl on toward the inevitable kiss to her
pinkie. Then what would happen? Would he begin again? Or treat her right hand
to the same therapy? Perhaps she should fib and say she pricked her lips a time
or two.

Mr. Bennet’s not-so-subtle cough
effectively interrupted the enchanted interlude. Fortunately, her pinkie was
not left out of William’s pain-relieving tactic, Lizzy then managing to draw
her hand from his grasp and release a quivering exhale. Surprisingly, Mr. Darcy
appeared unperturbed by her father catching him in the act of an intimate
liberty. In fact, his grin was downright smug!

Picking up her embroidery, more for
the desperate need to have something else to focus on beside his handsome face
and full mouth she still ached to taste, Lizzy jabbed the needle through a
random hole. Searching her numbed mind for a safe topic, she abruptly recalled
a piece of information she had forgotten to mention.

“I received a letter from Georgiana
today.”

“Did you? That would be the third,
yes? My sister seems to have forgone writing to me these past weeks in favor of
writing to you.”

“Oh! I am sorry, William! I have no
wish to keep her from writing to you.”

Darcy laughed and squeezed the hand
she had unconsciously laid on his forearm. “I am joking, Elizabeth. You know how
pleased I am that you and Georgiana are friends. What did my sister have to say
this time?”

“Nothing of consequence. Female
chatter.”

As anticipated, he merely nodded at
that. Who knew what men encompassed under the female chatter generality, but
inevitably it rendered them mute. Probably out of fear that if questioned, even
politely, the female would babble on about cosmetics or bonnet sewing or some
other equally dull subject. Worse yet, they might launch into a maudlin tale,
real or fictional, with syrupy sentiments tossed about and, God forbid, actual
tears!

In this case, Darcy’s wise silence
served Lizzy’s purpose because among her enthusiasm for their scheduled meeting
in London, Georgiana had revealed a fact Lizzy had embarrassingly not thought to
ask about earlier. That is that Fitzwilliam Darcy’s twenty-ninth birthday was
on November the tenth, just two weeks away.

* *
*

“Can I ask you a personal question,
Jane?”

Jane’s hands paused mid-twist with
Lizzy’s hair half-plaited. Glancing upward, Jane met Lizzy’s serious reflection
in the mirror. “Of course you can. Does this have to do with why you are quiet
tonight?”

Hesitating a second more, Lizzy
tried to place her thoughts into words that would not embarrass her shy sister
unduly. “You needn’t reveal too much, but when Mr. Bingley is showing his
affection for you”—Jane flushed and focused on completing Lizzy’s braid
as if an onerous task—“how do you feel? I mean, not so much how you feel
in response to his affectionate gestures. Rather, do you feel he…enjoys the
moment? Perhaps even wants more? Or…oh bother!”

Jane finished the braid, neither
saying more for several minutes. Lizzy detected the unusual awkwardness heavy
on the air, yet also sensed that Jane wanted to pursue the topic but needed to prepare
herself. Sure enough, once her long plait was tied at the end, Jane sat on the
edge of the bed and inhaled deeply.

“I am not precisely sure what is
troubling you, Lizzy, but I know I have my own moments of confusion
with…that…part of our relationship.”

“Do you?” Lizzy jumped from the
vanity stool and joined Jane on the bed. “How so?”

“It is the newness of such feelings
I suppose. And the mystery yet involved.”

“Indeed, I agree it is the
mystery.” Lizzy bobbed her head firmly. “I will never quite understand why it
is believed that girls should be kept uninformed about such things. Why, if not
for Mrs. Hill, I would have thought I was dying when I began my courses. Mama
told us nothing, and even Mrs. Hill refused to explain why it was happening,
only saying it was normal.”

“Thankfully for all us girls, you
never accept the simple answer.” Jane smiled in remembrance.

Where Lizzy had unearthed the book
with the short chapter on female reproduction she never revealed. Not trusting
Lydia or Kitty, Lizzy kept the shelf of questionable books hidden in Sir
William Lucas’s library a secret. She had stumbled across it years ago,
insatiable curiosity overcoming caution or proper manners, but even after
picking the lock, Lizzy rarely risked accessing the books. Nevertheless, she
had learned more from Sir William’s bawdy books than anywhere else and borrowed
the medical text for educational purposes. For one night only, the five of them
pored over every word and illustration with a mixture of grimaces and giggles.
One night of memorizing that one section was the closest they came to serious
education on the subject—that and growing up on a farm, as Lizzy referred
to next.

“I have a radical idea that women
should be educated as men are. Should I scandalize William and tell him?”
Laughing, Lizzy pulled her legs up and rested her chin atop her knees. “If not
for seeing animals mate, none of us would have the vaguest idea what married
people do. Frankly, I presumed the act was similar, in the sense of being a
deed to be done not greatly different than breathing or eating.”