Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World (18 page)

"Fifty
pounds would be adequate, madam," the steward said.

Sylvia
burst into tears again and grabbed at Elizabeth's hand, holding it against her
forehead.

Darcy
addressed Sylvia's father. "Will this be acceptable to you?"

"I
suppose, sir." He did not look pleased.

"Dunstan,
look into the situation with Tom Morrison. If you find any cause for concern,
dismiss him and tell him not to set foot here again."

"Yes,
sir," Dunstan said.

Even
then it was not simple. Sylvia, fear evident in her face, clung to Elizabeth
when her father tried to take her away. Finally Elizabeth rang for a maid to
take her to the kitchens until she could speak with Mrs.

Reynolds.

When
they were finally gone, Elizabeth said, "I wonder what she thought would
happen if she went home with him? Well, no matter. They can no doubt put her to
work in the kitchens until we come up with something more satisfactory."

"You
will have a devoted servant for life, Elizabeth."

"I
hope you do not object to my decision."

"Not
in the least. It will not cost much more than it would have to bring the
marriage about, and the girl will be far happier."

He
gestured to Dunstan to leave, but before he could, Elizabeth said,

"Mr.
Dunstan, could you set aside the dowry money from my funds now?"

"Certainly,
madam."

"There
is no need for it to come from your pin money, Elizabeth. It can come from the
general estate funds."

Dunstan
cleared his throat. "Mrs. Darcy pays for all her charity work from her own
money, sir. I have explained to her that it is not necessary, but she prefers
it so."

Darcy
raised his eyebrows and looked over at Elizabeth, who seemed to have found
something intensely interesting outside the window.

"Henceforth
please take the money from the general account."

Elizabeth
turned to him, a teasing smile hovering about her lips. "Perhaps, sir, you
might wish to examine my expenditures before you make such rash
statements."

Dunstan
took a step forward and reached for an account book, but Darcy waved him back.
"There is no need. Spend what you wish, Elizabeth.

It
will not bankrupt me."

Her
smile grew wider. "Or at least Mr. Dunstan will warn you before it reaches
that point."

"No
doubt." At least Elizabeth looked happier than she had prior to his
accident. Perhaps his absence had given her time to adjust to her situation
here without the strain of his presence. He would not think about the way she
had kissed him the night before. He would not. "Your judgment was a good
one."

"Thank
you. I am glad it meets with your approval. I confess, I had not thought to
have any involvement in these matters now that you have returned."

"Do
you object to it?" It would be just his luck, that what he intended as a
statement of confidence in her instead should be a burden.

"Not
at all. I enjoy being aware of what is happening on the estate. Mr.

Dunstan
has been kind enough to educate me somewhat in that regard during your
absence."

A
stab of jealousy hit him. She had never cared to ask him about the estate. Did
she prefer Dunstan to him? Was he the reason for her good
cheer?
He swallowed the bile in his throat, reminding himself of Dunstan's loyalty to
him. "I take it you knew something of the circumstances."

"In
fact, no. I have met Sylvia when calling on her mother, but that is all."

Here
was his opening. "Someone mentioned yesterday that you have been making
visits to the tenants."

Her
eyes widened. "Yes, for some time. I thought you were aware of it, or I
should have said something. Do you object?"

Damn
it, why did she always assume he would object to everything she did? "Of
course not. It is good of you to take the trouble. Perhaps at some point you
could tell me about your visits."

"I
would be happy to. Or, if you like, you are welcome to join me." She had
moved next to his desk, so the light from the window was behind her, and he
could make out the shape of her legs through the sheer blue fabric of that
damnable dress.

"Perhaps
I shall. When do you plan to go next?"

Again,
the look of surprise. "Tomorrow morning, if the weather is fair.

But
are you certain you are well enough?"

"I
am quite well." Well enough to carry her warm, responsive body in his arms
last night. No. He would not think about that.

"Then
I should be delighted to have your company." She bent down and her lips
brushed his cheek, the scent of rosewater drifting past him.

If
he had turned his head, he could have caught her lips with his own, but he sat
stock still until the danger was passed. He was determined to take this slowly,
to allow the new warmth she seemed to feel for him to grow before testing it
with his demands. "Very well, madam."

Darcy
arose early the following morning to avoid missing Elizabeth's departure. She
had said nothing more about his accompanying her after their conversation the
previous day, so he was uncertain if she would wait for him.

But
she had been to all external evidence in good cheer, and she had chosen to sit
beside him after dinner as they listened to Georgiana play.

At
least the previous night had been less of a torment for him than the previous
one. The knowledge that Elizabeth would not turn him away if he went to her no
longer tortured him after her judgment about Sylvia. Once he had the
opportunity to think it through, he had realized why she had leapt so quickly
to the girl's defense. She knew what it meant to pay the price Sylvia had paid,
and it was because of him. The very thought that

Elizabeth
might feel that pain and distress with him was enough to keep temptation in
check. For now he would have to settle for the knowledge that her dislike of
him seemed to be waning, and she did not find it unpleasant to kiss him.
Perhaps if he did not impose himself upon her, the seed of warmth she seemed to
feel for him might have the chance to flourish. Perhaps. It was a word he was
coming to detest.

Darcy
reined in the horses and brought the phaeton to a stop, but before he could
step out, Elizabeth's warm hand descended upon his arm.

She
put a finger to her lips, then rummaged in the basket until she found several
twists of paper. Without a by-your-leave, she slipped them in the pocket of his
topcoat. Darcy could feel the pressure of her hand against his hip. Was she
deliberately trying to drive him mad, or had she no idea?

He
circled the phaeton and offered her his hand. The bewitching smile she gave him
as she stepped down left him barely able to think clearly, but he took the
basket from her and followed her down the rough path to the cottage.

When
Elizabeth knocked at the door, he could hear cries of "Mrs. Darcy!"
and scurrying footsteps inside. The door eventually opened to reveal three small
children fighting over the privilege of being first to greet their guest.

Their
spirited bickering stopped suddenly when he entered. The youngest of the
children, a toddler, grabbed Elizabeth's skirt and tried to hide behind it.

A
voice from the shadows at the back of the cabin said, "Children, say good
day to Mr. Darcy."

"Good
day, Mr. Darcy," the eldest two children chorused timidly, but the
youngest hid his face again.

"Good
day," he greeted them with equal civility.

Elizabeth
handed the basket to the little girl, who lifted up the cloth to peek inside. A
disappointed look came over her face, but she curtsied to Elizabeth and said,
"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Darcy."

"They
did not give me any sweets this morning in the kitchen," said Elizabeth
with a sidelong glance at Darcy. "I am sorry, for I know how much you like
them."

Darcy
suddenly understood her meaning. "Let me see." He patted his pocket.
"I am certain I have something ... " He pulled out the twists of
paper. "Would these be of interest?"

The
little girl's face lit up. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Darcy!"

They
were charming children, he decided. It was a pleasure to watch Elizabeth's
playful manners with them. He wondered if she would be like that with their
children as well, and again returned to the damning question of what she felt
about her condition. She showed more enthusiasm over choosing dinner menus than
she did about the child she was expecting. Did she not want children? He could
not believe that, having seen her pleasure in the tenant children. Did she
simply not want his children? Was that why she had been so sympathetic to young
Sylvia's predicament--because she knew all too well what it was like to carry
the child of a man who had forced himself upon her?

Or
was she disguising her feelings as she had in the past?

He
watched as she crouched down to let the youngest child whisper something in her
ear. It was one of the first things he had admired about her, the natural way
she had with everyone. Everyone but him, it seemed.

He
wished he could see into her mind, to discover what lay behind her new warmth
toward him, but he dared not ask. He had forced too much intimacy on her
already in the course of their marriage, and now he needed to give her time if
he wanted to earn her affection, to have her kiss him again the way she had two
nights previously ...

Or
perhaps that was just a dream. After everything he had done, it would take a
miracle to convince her to trust him, and miracles had been in short supply at
Pemberley for many years.

It
was more than an hour since Elizabeth had heard Darcy's footsteps going down
the hall to his room. An hour of waiting, first with hope, then with increasing
anxiety, to see if he would come to her tonight. They had been in accord so
much more these last two days, and it seemed as if he had enjoyed her presence.
He even sought it out to some extent, joining her on her tenant visits and then
later asking her to ride with him. But he had stayed in his own room tonight,
as he had ever since their quarrel.

She
tried to silence the voice within her that suggested he might have lost
interest in sharing her bed. She could not believe that, given his kiss two
nights ago. Perhaps it was not an urgent desire, but it was there. The difficulty
must be something else.

Perhaps
he was concerned about his reception if he appeared in her bedroom. It did not
make sense, since she had made every attempt to show him he would be welcome,
but she was beginning to understand he was sometimes less certain of himself
than he appeared.

Apparently
she would have no answer tonight. It was a disappointment; she wanted to be his
wife, not an acquaintance living in the same house, and this was the strongest
assertion of that. Or would be, if he would only come to her again.

She
missed the sensation of his arms around her. Would she ever feel it once more?

She
smoothed the fine silk nightdress her Aunt Gardiner had given as a wedding
present. She had never worn it before, choosing instead simple shifts. She had
been too embarrassed by its translucent fabric and low-cut neckline in the
early days of her marriage, and then there had been no reason to wear it
afterwards. It had been her hope that tonight it would be an indication to
Darcy that she welcomed his presence.

But
what if he required more than welcome? He had been hurt badly by their quarrel;
of that she had no doubt, now that she had experienced what such rejection
meant. Perhaps he needed more reassurance that she would not again throw harsh
words at him.

There
was a way to test it, if she dared. In a moment of desperate resolution, she
took up the matching silk dressing gown and wrapped it around herself. A last
look in the mirror showed she was as ready as she would ever be. She rinsed her
damp palms in a basin of cool water, then dried them on the embroidered towel.

It
seemed a long distance across the sitting room which separated her bedroom from
her husband's, but at the same time it was too soon when she reached his door.
But she would not back down now. She forced herself to knock.

"Yes?"
Darcy's voice was barely muffled.

She
opened the heavy door. She had spent so much time in his room when he was ill,
but now it was like a foreign country again.

"What
brings you here, Elizabeth?" He was in his nightshirt, reclining on his
bed. He laid down the book in his hand.

"The
same thing that would bring any wife to her husband's bedchamber." She
smiled in what she hoped was a winsome manner. She untied the sash of her
dressing gown and slipped her arms out of the sleeves, then laid it over the
back of a chair. He could not possibly doubt her intent now.

"There
is no need for this." His eyes travelled down her form and lingered for a
moment before returning to her face. Apparently her aunt's ideas of what would
appeal to a gentleman were correct.

Emboldened,
Elizabeth sat on the bed and laid her hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of
him through the fabric of his nightshirt. "You do not come to me,
therefore I must come to you." She leaned forward to press her lips against
his, but there was no answering response.

"Elizabeth,
I will not have you sacrificing yourself for me."

Her
smile faltered. This was not the response she wished for, but she had gone too
far to stop now. She moved her hand, stroking him lightly from shoulder to
waist, hoping he would not think her wanton. "It is no sacrifice."

He
caught her hand and removed it from his body. "This is not what I
want."

He
was turning her away, although he was clearly tempted; his face showed not even
a hint of warmth. Her gamble had failed, and now she was in worse straits than
she had been before. She rose to her feet. "Then I shall trouble you no
longer. Good night, sir."