Mr. Darcy's Promise (36 page)

His eyes flung open to an unfamiliar room. Where was he? He was in a bed, but not at Pemberley. Blinking, he looked around the room, but his body told him who was beside him before he actually saw her. Her chocolate hair rested across his chest, and he could smell her familiar lavender scent. She was
laying on his chest.
Why is Elizabeth sleeping on me? Where am I? What in the world happened last night?
His mind felt foggy, and his head pounded, his eyes dry and hardly able to scan the room. He made himself do it anyway, and saw his trunks in the corner. Realization hit him like a brick wall. He was at Netherfield, in bed with Elizabeth, when he shouldn’t be. He groaned. He drank too much, further explanation for the pounding of his head. He could not remember anything that had taken place after billiards with Bingley right after dinner. He vaguely remembered Miss Bingley interrupting their game but after that he did not know what happened.

Did I take advantage of Elizabeth?
He seemed fully dressed; at least he felt like he had breeches on, but the blankets were covering his legs. He lifted his head slightly to evaluate Elizabeth’s state of dress, but the movement made him regret it immediately. It seemed like she wore both her nightdress and robe, but he couldn’t be certain. All but her shoulders were covered. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what happened. The closeness of her body to his was more distracting than the pounding in his head, and that was saying something. Her chest rose and fell evenly and slowly, her sweet breath blowing on his neck causing goosebumps and chills to run up and down his spine . . .
that explains the wind at regular intervals in my dream.
He kept his eyes closed and evaluated how much of him was actually touching her. That didn’t take long to figure out because he was acutely aware of her closeness. Her arm was draped around his chest, her head on his chest with her face angled up towards him, and her leg was on one of his . . .
that explains the heavy feeling in my dream.
He sighed. If she wasn’t ready yesterday afternoon to share a room, he did not know how he was going to apologize for not only sharing a room but a bed as well. He concluded that he must not have ever asked Bingley about getting a second room. He groaned again. It was the first time he showed himself untrustworthy and he was beyond reproach.

He wanted to chastise himself, to punish himself in any way possible, but his body was responding intensely to having her so close. His heart thudded faster and his palms were sweaty. He was overwhelmed with her lavender scent that he loved so much. He decided that he would chastise himself later because right now he could barely think straight and it would be a lot easier–– and a lot more fun–– to simply enjoy the moment. He spent the next ten
minutes memorizing every area that was warm from her touch. He even could tell where her foot was on his shin. He could tell where her knee was; that was the bony area on his thigh. He willed himself not to think higher, but she moved slightly and her head tilted down away from his neck. Her breath fell in another direction. That helped.
Thank goodness! I must get myself out of this situation!
He had prayed for patience and self-control and never before had he needed it more than the present moment.

It took all his will power to scoot his hips away,
then slide out from under her head and chest. He took both hands and gently placed her head and shoulders on the bed where he had been lying. He slid his leg out from under hers. The movement made her squirm slightly. He froze, watching and waiting to see if she would wake up. Her breathing slowed and became regular again. His body no longer touched hers, and the absence of it was both helpful and painful. He got out of bed and stood up, a task that reminded him of how bad his head hurt. He was relieved to see that he was indeed fully dressed except for his boots. He was not quite sure where they were at the moment. All he knew was he needed some fresh air and a cold glass of water too, if he could find one. A cold bath would help him take control of the moment he was sure. She moaned and rolled over, leaving her face up in plain view of his sore, painful eyes. She was magnificent. He studied her beautiful face for a moment— well, more than a moment— several minutes, in fact. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that basking in her morning beauty would not get him any closer to the door. He slowly turned towards the door. Movement was not pleasant, but leaving her after having been so close to her was even more painful. He stepped out into the hallway in his stockings and carefully turned around to get one more glimpse of her face. He then backed out of the room and closed the door ever so quietly, more to prevent further pain in his throbbing head then in efforts to avoid waking her. He was startled by the sound of footsteps right behind him.

“Why, Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley squealed. “I am so glad to see you this morning! But what are you doing in your clothes from last night and why do you not have your boots on?” She looked him up and down. His clothes were terribly wrinkled and she watched as his hand came up to his head.

He closed his eyes, hoping her screeching would be less painful, but it didn’t help any. All it did for him was cause her words to echo in his head and remind him of his state of dress. He opened them, taking a good look at her. She was elaborately dressed for the morning, primped and decorated with a feathered hat. Her toilette water smelled of old flowers too. He had to say something because she was staring at him expectantly. He knew if he could just think of something quickly her screeching would not start up again, and it was unbearable at the moment. “I was going to find a servant to fetch some water for a shave. I did not know anyone was awake.” He hadn’t realized that speaking sent the vibrations from his voice all the way to his head, making him nearly dizzy.

“I will have them send some up right away. They are very quick with those things.”

He nodded his thanks and turned to leave but where should he go? He decided that he had better find his boots and find a place to hide until the throbbing stopped. “Then I shall wait in my room.” He turned carefully and reopened the door he just exited. He entered slowly, looking at the ground, placing his feet carefully one in front of the other. It seemed to help the head if he was soft footed. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the door with his eyes shut. Keeping the eyes shut helped too.

“Good morning, William. I see you are walking on two legs again. That is an improvement from last night.” She watched his eyes fly open and his head whip around to look at her before, in the same moment, his hand flung up and gripped his head. She chuckled, “Have a headache, dear?”

His head was pounding so hard that he struggled to find his words. He had so much he wanted to say, to ask, but he found speaking to be quite painful. He opened his eyes again, this time carefully evaluating her. She was teasing him. Her face wore a small smile, and she had in fact, just laughed. So, he concluded, she wasn’t too angry at him, which he didn’t quite understand. “I have much to apologize for it seems, but with the state of my head, do you mind if we do so later when it does not hurt as badly? I would really love to know how I ended up in your bed.”

“You do not remember sleeping with your wife? I am offended!” She teased. She couldn’t help herself. She knew he felt miserable, but the situation was quite funny, considering he was so distraught because he couldn’t remember what happened. She saw his eyes show alarm as he took in all that those carefully chosen words she spoke implied. He fidgeted and she heard him groan. She didn’t know how long she could punish him like this.

“Elizabeth, please do not play with me. My feelings cannot be trifled with this morning. Did I do anything to you last night?” The words were painful to say: more out of fear for the answer than the actual pounding in his head.

She wasn’t done teasing him yet. He deserved to be punished. “Your hands were quite bold last night if I remember it right . . .” She saw him wince.

Oh dear Lord! Please don’t tell me my fantasies took over!
He looked over at her once again. She had a smirk on her face that she was attempting to cover up with her hand. “I am so sorry; I should never have done so.”

“I believe you stole a kiss or two as well.” She saw true pain in his eyes and her heart softened. It wasn’t fair to tease him when he was hurting so badly. “Come now William, I was only teasing you. Nothing really happened. Nothing that hasn’t already happened between us unless you count sleeping in each other’s a
rms. And I suppose that was not so bad considering we
are
married.”

He felt no small degree of relief and his knees weakened and he slid his back down the door and sat on the floor. He put his head in his hands and started massaging the temples. He heard her get up and come over to him.

She lifted his head and said, “Come over to the bed and I will rub your head like Serafina does to me when I have a headache.”

He did as he was told. Anything to help the pounding would be welcomed, and he had to admit having her hands move throughout his neck and shoulders sounded heavenly. She sat on the bed and he sat on the ground in front of her. Her small hands started at the scalp and started combing her fingers through his hair, pulling the hair
outward with gentle pressure. She kneaded his tight scalp and massaged his upper neck. Her hands worked their way to the forehead, and she pressed her fingers in a caressing way, smoothing the tight lines etched into his brow away. Her cool hands felt good on his face. He felt the pounding slowly lessen. Soon she was rubbing firmly at his lower neck and shoulders with her thumbs pushing deep. The sensation gave him chills. He was hyperaware of every movement of her hands and fingers, loving when she pressed and saddened when she lifted them away. He kept thinking she was going to stop every time her hands lifted, but she continued kneading and massaging. He didn’t want her to stop, not only because the headache was getting better but because he rather enjoyed having her hands touching him in such a way.

“Is that better?” She finally rested her hands on his shoulders. She may have been in a playful mood earlier, but caring for him in this manner just reminded her of the incredible night’s sleep she had. She had never slept so well. Somehow sleeping in his arms was exactly what she needed and she was eager to do it again. She felt relieved that her previous anxieties about how sharing a bed would alter their relationship were gone. If anything, she felt more for him.

Darcy had known that the moment would not last forever. He reached his hands up to his shoulders and took her hands in his. He pulled on them, slightly pulling her to his back. She complied and hugged him from behind, wrapping their clasped hands around his chest. She nestled her face into his neck and kissed the sensitive flesh there. New goosebumps ran up and down his spine, and his heart skipped a beat. She then sat up, pulling away slightly. He turned around and got to his knees facing her. She was so lovely. “I hope you do not mind but I watched you sleep for a little while.”

“I admit I rather enjoyed seeing your face while you slept too. I seem to be studying it more often lately,” she whispered.

He reached his hands up to her face, “Ah, but your face is one I know better than my own heartbeat.” He leaned in and gave her lips a gentle chaste kiss, sending that very heartbeat racing. “Thank you, I feel much better.”

A

fter breakfast, Elizabeth could see Darcy was feeling better, but he still moved cautiously, wincing at loud noises. He was collecting his belongings at the door. “You will promise to be careful, William?”

Darcy looked at her concerned face. He wasn’t looking forward to tracking down Wickham, especially given the state he was in. His head was better, but admittedly still throbbed a great deal. He had tried to rehydrate himself with water but couldn’t help but drink some of the coffee that smelled so heavenly. Both, at least, had helped to some degree. “Yes, dear, I will be careful. Are you sure you do not want my carriage to take you to Longbourn?”

“No, I want to walk. I am about ready to leave myself. I just have a few things to gather that I wanted to give them. I found a book for my father when we stayed in London and have neglected to send it to him. Now I will have the chance to give it to him in person.”

Darcy looked puzzled. “When did you go to a bookstore?”

She blushed a little. “My Aunt Gardiner took me the day I was fitted for the dress I wore to the theatre. I hope you do not mind, but I put the book under your name. The owner knew you well and was sure you would not mind.”

He touched her pink cheek. “No, not at all, I am glad you did. What book did you find?” He was pleased she had felt comfortable enough so long ago to get what she wanted without having to ask.

“It is new, on the rise of Napoleon in France. I do not know much about the author, but I admit the topic is what will truly draw his interest.” To Elizabeth, it seemed they were talking about everything but what they both knew would happen today. William was going to try to meet with that rake and attempt to turn him over to the magistrate. She was so worried she could hardly turn her eyes from him all morning. She wanted to memorize his face in fear that she would not see it again.

“Sounds interesting,” he said as lightly as he could. “I might have to borrow it from him. Well, dearest Elizabeth, I must be off. Have a nice time with your family.” He opened the door and walked to the carriage, but realized after a few moments that Elizabeth was still following him. “Was there something else you needed?”

“Not so much needed, but wanted . . .” She leaned up on her toes to kiss him firmly on his lips.” He was grinning, his eyes smiling so handsomely. She smiled back at him. “Be careful, and come back as soon as you can. I will probably remain at Longbourn as long as you are gone, so please join me when you can.”

*****

As Elizabeth walked the three miles to Longbourn, her mind wandered to the many events that had occurred over the last few weeks. She had gone from feeling forced to marry William, to knowing he was the only one she could have ever been happy with. She had watched the changes in herself as well. She felt stronger and more devoted to her convictions than ever before. She felt loved and wanted, and had grown to love William slowly, but felt it so deeply that she knew she was ready to be with him completely. She wanted to be his wife and to love him in every way.

She trusted him completely; ironically, she had she realized this after the one incident where he had showed himself to be untrustworthy. She laughed. He gave her his word that he would talk to Bingley, and the fact that he didn’t was the only reason she now trusted him entirely. If she hadn’t seen his peaceful form, she would have never slept in his arms, and finally conquered the fears she once had about becoming intimate.

She had to admit that she understood all too well that any changes to the relationship would be her responsibility. She cringed at the prospect of having to actually admit to such a thing. How does one tell her husband she has been married to for almost six weeks that she is ready to be with him physically? Simply thinking about it made her blush. At one point she had felt grateful for his promise he made in the carriage on their wedding day, but at the moment, the promise was one she loathed. Knowing him, he would be even more trustworthy after he failed with the attempts to speak with Bingley. Although a little vexed with his promise, she loved him all the more. Some promises, Elizabeth had learned, were sometimes made to be broken. Someday she would have to explain it to him.

She opened the door to her old home without alerting any servants. It still creaked when she opened it, something she used to hate when she would sneak out to go walking, but now it brought her comfort. The front hall was empty, but she walked around to see her father’s study door was open. She peeked in to see her father pouring over a book. “Good morning, Papa!”

“Lizzy! Come in!” He stood up and embraced her. He took her shoulders in his hands and examined her. “You look well. How is married life treating you? Sit down, have some tea. Hill just brought in a fresh pot.”

Elizabeth sat, smiling at her father before she poured the tea, adding sugar to both their cups. Even the typical absence of milk gave her a pang of nostalgia. She waited before he had taken a sip to speak. “Married life is good, Papa. In fact, it has turned out much better than I had even hoped it would.”

Mr. Bennet felt relief overcome him. She had written a few times, but it was always more of a travel log then expressing her feelings. He had questioned his decision to insist on her marrying Mr. Darcy many times. His only consolation was that during the engagement Mr. Darcy had shown himself to be a gentleman, and he saw true affection and respect from him. He suspected that Elizabeth resisted the marriage because she hadn’t recognized her own feelings for the man. “So, Lizzy, you are happy?”

“Yes, indeed. Much happier than I would have been with Mr. Wickham.” She sipped her tea to overcome her wave of revulsion at the name.

“Mr. Wickham? That officer? What does he have to do with it? I saw you danced with him once, but I did not know you had feelings for him.” Mr. Bennet had an uneasy sense of being off-balance at the mention of Mr. Wickham. It was like he should know something that he didn’t.

Elizabeth looked at her father in confusion. “I am just glad you did not make me marry Mr.
Wickham, that is all.”

“Why would I do that?” He sat back in bewilderment.

“Because he compromised me at the Netherfield ball! Why else?” Elizabeth had the uncanny sense that she might as well be speaking Ancient Greek.

“It was Mr. Darcy who compromised you, sweetheart. I saw it with my own two eyes, and even though I am advancing in age, I trust that those faculties may still be reliable.”

It came on Elizabeth in a flash that her father did not know about Wickham’s advances, which meant Darcy had never told him. “My husband never explained what happened?”

“Why should he? I saw it for myself. My darling Lizzy, I am beginning to feel there is something I am missing. Would you care to enlighten me? As you know, I do not like feeling ignorant, especially when you tell me it was someone else that compromised you.”

He listened intently to her tale. She spoke first of Wickham’s flattery and partiality for her, which he had already seen for himself, and then returned to Georgiana’s obvious anxiety around the man. It didn’t take Mr. Bennet very long to realize his anonymous letter about Wickham was probably from Mr. Darcy and about Georgiana.

The events of the ball were shown to him in an entirely new light. She told him of them going out to the balcony in all innocence and had been rewarded with Wickham pushing himself on her–– his favorite daughter, no less! He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach as he listened to her detail her unsuccessful efforts to resist. He could not believe the man would do such a thing! And it was apparently comfort and protection that Darcy had been offering. “So it was not Darcy who was kissing you? He had rescued you?”

“Yes, Papa. I attempted to explain— I kept trying to tell you all that night and all the next morning, but you would not listen to me. I finally gave up and concluded that Mr. Darcy would explain everything to you. I take it he did not.” Elizabeth studied her father’s face. Was it all clear to him now? He still looked quite confused.

“Indeed he did not, and I cannot think of a single reason why he would not have done so! What I d
o not understand is this, Lizzy, why did he agree to marry you then? Why did he let me insist on him honoring your reputation? Why did he feel the need to take you as his wife when a little explanation would have absolved him of guilt?” None of this made any sense.

Elizabeth said, “I have asked him twice, and twice he has promised to tell me. I would sorely like to know myself.”

*****

Mr. Darcy had found Colonel Forster easily enough but was not pleased with what he learned. “Wickham is not here? Where did he go?”

“He asked for leave a few days ago and I granted it to him the next day. He was supposed to meet up with us in Brighton. I do not know where he went. And, sir, this question may be impertinent, but may I ask why you are so intent on finding him? I do not mean to offend, but I doubt a gentleman like yourself has need of an officer like Wickham. Unless he has done something? I am afraid that his financial obligations have greatly overcome his income. I have heard quite a few complaints from the other officers about his gambling debts, and as many merchants state he owes them a great deal as well.”

Darcy was most displeased with this news. He had hoped that finding him would not be difficult. He had hoped that Wickham being stationed in Meryton ensured that he would be here for the next five days. “It is both personal and business, I am afraid. He contacted me and wished to meet with me.” Perhaps if he could lay down the hint that Darcy wished to meet with Wickham, rumors would begin to circulate and get back to Wickham. He then had an idea. “Is there anyone I can speak with who might know where he went? I understand he was close to a Mr. Denny.”

Colonel Forster laughed, “Ha, the key word is ‘was.’ They were as thick as thieves up until the night before Wickham asked for leave. Word has it that Wickham owes Denny a large sum of money which was promised a few weeks ago. I can see if Denny knows anything.”

Darcy knew Wickham better than anyone, and consequently knew where Wickham was most vulnerable. His desperation was clearly communicated through his resorting to threats and extortion for money. Money was the key piece here. Wickham needed it and Darcy had it. If he had learned anything from his father it was that money could not purchase happiness, but it might provide him with opportunities. If he could find this Mr. Denny, pay him what Wickham owed him in exchange for information on Wickham, he might just have a chance at finding him. “I think I would like to speak with Mr. Denny myself. I might have a business proposition for him.” He hoped that he made it sound financially promising enough that Colonel Forster would comply. He watched as Colonel Forster rubbed his jaw, obviously contemplating whether or not to hand Denny over to him or not.

“I do not want any trouble. Denny has been a good officer.”

“I do not doubt it, Colonel. I intend no trouble to Mr. Denny. I am simply very motivated in finding Wickham.” He patted his vest pocket to emphasize his intentions.

“He might be willing to speak with you if it is for the reasons you are implying.” He went to the tent door and told the officer waiting outside to get Mr. Denny. He came back and sat down. “I hope you know what you are doing.” They waited in silence for quite some time, broken only by Colonel Forster offering him a drink.

Darcy laughed, “No sir, I do not drink anymore, I have had too many bad experiences with the vile stuff. It makes one irresponsible, mean-spirited, and quite clumsy. I have always regretted it when I do imbibe. I think anything that alters one’s ability to make one’s decisions should be avoided. This lesson I have learned most regretfully.”

“Fair enough, the stuff you are used to is probably much better than mine anyway.” Colonel Forester poured himself a drink and began sipping it. The early hour was no detriment. He was in the army after all, and like all the other soldiers, had a hollow leg for the stuff.             

Mr. Darcy took out his
pocketwatch. It was eleven in the morning. His headache had given him a late start. A few more minutes passed before he heard voices outside of the tent. He stood up, turned, and faced the opening. Mr. Denny came in, looked him up and down, and then turned to Colonel Forster.             

“What is the meaning of all this?” Mr. Denny asked. He felt cornered by the situation. Why was the man who ruined his chances of ever getting paid by Wickham here in the Colonel’s tent? Wickham had promised him double or nothing to retrieve Mr. Bennet, and Denny had done exactly as he was told. He should have gotten paid. It wasn’t his fault that someone else found them before they got there. He eyed Mr. Darcy suspiciously. Was he going to be in trouble? He quickly reviewed his actions that night and deemed that nothing he did was illegal. Conniving, perhaps, but not illegal. If he was punished because of Wickham’s plan he would personally kill Wickham himself! That cheat wasn’t worth it, not in the slightest.

Darcy’s head began to pound harder as his heart rate increased. He needed to speak with Denny alone, but he wasn’t sure that any associate of Wickham would consent to it. He saw distrust and fear in Denny’s eyes; hardly a good start. Mr. Darcy patted his vest pocket where he kept his money and, raising his eyebrows, said, “Would you mind speaking with me for a minute? I might have something you need.”

Mr. Denny looked at him. Was he trying to bribe him into speaking with him? When he looked at his fine clothes and saw his gentlemanly manners, he immediately thought of those “gentlemen” who would take advantage of his mother. He didn’t trust them, especially those that opened with offers of money. It was one thing to live a free life with the women, like he did, but to profess to be a gentleman and act in the same manner was despicable in his eyes. “I do not think there is anything you can say to me that I desire to hear. And there is definitely nothing I need from you.”