The month of March arrived in much the same manner as that of a hungry lion—ferocious and unpredictable. The Darcys found themselves overwhelmed by countless social obligations, many of which the couple would have been perfectly content to forego. Nevertheless, at the urging of Lord and Lady Matlock, they steeled themselves and accepted the invitations with a sigh of resignation. There were still many within the exalted ranks of the ton who had not yet had an opportunity to make the acquaintance of the new Mrs. Darcy and, thus, were hesitant to accept the descriptions circulating about her being a witty and intelligent lady, rather than a clever fortune hunter who had used her arts and allurements to seduce the ever-vigilant master of Pemberley.
Throughout it all, Elizabeth bore with finesse the tedium of attending such events. To those who had come to know her well, it was no surprise to see her charming many of the naysayers with her easy, unaffected manners, her intelligent repartee, and her reputed beauty. Her affection for her husband—and his for her—was apparent to all who saw them together, and except for a handful of bitter mamas and their petulant daughters, who had long had their sights set on the highly coveted gentleman from Derbyshire, Elizabeth’s introduction to most of those who moved within the higher circles of London society was declared a success.
As the first day of spring approached, so did Jane’s wedding to Bingley. It was with great relief and a lightness of spirit that the inhabitants of Darcy House quitted London and headed for Hertfordshire once again. The trip was easier going than the one they had made previously. Elizabeth was now far enough along in her pregnancy to be feeling quite well all of the time. She no longer experienced bouts of nausea, fits of light-headedness, exhaustion, or much discomfort of any kind, to the immense relief of her husband.
Darcy had always admired her slender waist and inviting curves, but with the onset of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, he was surprised to find even more to admire in his wife’s figure. The knowledge that she was carrying his child in her womb was enough to send a flood of warmth through him, but the added inducement of seeing the slight bulge of Elizabeth’s increasing waist, her widening hips, and the more pronounced swell of her breasts was enough to drive him to distraction. She seemed to glow from within and, to Darcy’s very great pleasure, had an almost insatiable desire to lie with him at all hours of the day. He was always willing to oblige her.
Rather than sitting beside his wife on the carriage ride to Hertfordshire, Darcy found himself occupying the seat opposite her. Georgiana had never been able to ride backward in a coach for more than a few miles, and as Elizabeth had recently discovered that facing any direction other than forward agitated the heir of Pemberley and, thus, the contents of her stomach, Darcy was forced to endure a long, agonizing ride in which his eyes were constantly focused upon his wife’s most intoxicating attributes.
To her amusement, Elizabeth caught him staring at her bouncing breasts many times as the carriage rocked and swayed over the bumpy roads. Darcy’s lips would part, and his tongue would dart out to moisten them; his eyes would flare, and then, just as quickly, he would avert them, crossing and recrossing his legs as he stared out of the window with a heavy sigh or an occasional quiet groan, his desire for Elizabeth apparent.
Elizabeth smiled at his obvious vexation. She passed the time by chatting with Georgiana and Lydia—who remained with them still—and, to add fuel to an already blazing inferno, Elizabeth further amused herself by attempting to draw her suffering husband into whatever conversation happened to be at hand, but with little success. From the dark, penetrating looks he sent from across the coach, she was left in little doubt that he had no desire whatsoever to engage in any such act with her, but rather a different act altogether, and one that did not require words.
Indeed, once they had arrived at a small inn where they had determined to stop and water the horses, it had taken all of Elizabeth’s powers of persuasion to convince Darcy that demanding a room for a mere hour would very likely give rise to talk, to say nothing of the reactions they would receive from their impressionable, young traveling companions.
“I hardly care what anyone will say,” he whispered urgently as he leaned in close. His hot breath against her neck caused her to stumble as they followed Georgiana and Lydia while the innkeeper’s wife led them to a private parlor abovestairs. He placed his hand upon the small of her back to steady her and stroked his thumb in a lazy, circular motion. “I daresay our sisters shall think only that you need to rest. Elizabeth, I am begging you! I will never survive this torturous ride to Hertfordshire without first burying myself within you, teasing woman.”
Elizabeth blushed at his uttering such words in public and shook her head, causing the curls framing her face to bob. A slight smile of satisfaction quirked her lips. “I am afraid you will just have to wait, Mr. Darcy, but,” she murmured seductively, “I can safely promise you that the reward you will receive for your patience shall be well worth the effort of your restraint.”
They entered a modestly furnished but pleasant private dining parlor and took a seat at the table. The proximity of their two sisters restricted their continuing with such a topic, but the master and mistress of Pemberley were now seated close enough for Darcy to place his hand upon Elizabeth’s leg—quite unnoticed—and caress the length of her thigh with his fingertips. If, in the course of conversation, she happened to falter somewhat or drop her fork during the meal, wisely, no one ventured any comment.
True to her word, after their arrival at Netherfield Park, Elizabeth did indeed reward the master of Pemberley most handsomely for his saintly patience. After exchanging the required pleasantries with their host and hostess, Elizabeth led Darcy upstairs to what they had now come affectionately to think of as their own room in Bingley’s house. The following hour or so was spent expressing their fervent passion for each other—several times—and, though Darcy and Elizabeth tried to be discreet about their chosen activity, they found it difficult not to voice at least some of the pleasure they were giving—and receiving—from each other’s society.
After resting and bathing, the entire party dressed for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty, and Jane, who had returned from Town the previous week with the Gardiners, would be joining them that evening for a family dinner. As it seemed to be taking Elizabeth far longer to complete her toilette than it had taken Darcy to perform his ablutions, he informed her of his intention to pass a quarter of an hour or so in the billiard room with Bingley and made his way toward the main staircase. On his way, he met Lydia.
He bowed to her and said, “You look lovely, Lydia. Is that not one of the gowns Georgiana urged you to purchase? The color suits you very well.”
Lydia smiled at such a generous compliment from her brother-in-law. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I received the gown just yesterday from Bond Street. I have another for Jane’s wedding and also for the ball Mr. Bingley will hold in her honor tomorrow night.”
Darcy smiled. “I am glad to hear it. According to your mother, a lady can never have enough gowns.”
Lydia’s expression grew serious, and she said, “I have been wondering, Mr. Darcy…”
Darcy waited, then inclined his head and raised one brow.
“I have been wondering if I might speak to you of something very particular?” she asked. Seeing her brother-in-law, again, incline his head, she forged on, this time in a rush. “I have been talking to Georgiana about it, you see, and she said she thinks it a very good idea, and that I should ask you and Lizzy—especially you—but I am afraid I cannot possibly tell you unless it is in some place more private. I could not bear it if anyone else were to overhear. Especially Miss Bingley. She can be an awful, gossiping shrew, you know, and—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Lord! Forgive me. I know I should not have spoken so. And I have been doing so well, too. Lizzy would be very disappointed in me.”
A smile threatened to turn up the corners of Darcy’s mouth, and he cleared his throat to regain his composure. “No, indeed, you should not, but I do hope you know you may always speak with me of anything you like, Lydia. And, if you prefer, Elizabeth need not hear of this slip of the tongue. It can remain just between us.”
Lydia gave him a small smile, and he escorted her to a well-lit parlor, which happened to be fortuitously empty. They took a seat upon two chairs by the fire, and Darcy waited for her to begin.
“Mr. Darcy, I… I suppose I will have to return to Longbourn tonight,” she said.
“Yes, I suppose so. Was that not what you and your parents had discussed while you remained in London?”
“It was, but I was wondering if… actually, hoping that, perhaps, well… you and Lizzy might consent to keep me? At least for a little while longer, I mean. Certainly not forever.”
Though Lydia had certainly become more relaxed within his household since the first weeks of her recovery, Darcy had thought she would now be eager to return to her own home. Mrs. Bennet had been impatient for her youngest daughter’s return to Longbourn, but Darcy had taken it upon himself to speak to Mr. Bennet on the subject and had managed to persuade his father-in-law to allow Lydia to extend her period of convalescence in London, much for Elizabeth’s peace of mind, as well as to ensure Lydia did not suffer any further ill effects from her experience. He observed her closely for a few moments and tapped his finger against his lips. “Longbourn is your home. You do not wish to resume living with your parents?”
Lydia dropped her gaze to her lap. “It is not that. I am afraid to return to Longbourn, Mr. Darcy. I have not behaved very well at all. Everyone must know of my running away and how very bad I have been. I am sure Mama and Kitty have spoken of it to the entire neighborhood by now, to say nothing of Mary and her tiresome sermonizing.”
“No,” he said. “No one knows the truth of what really happened, Lydia. After we read your letter, your mother took to her room immediately, and your sisters were instructed never to speak of your absence. Colonel Fitzwilliam and his men were very discreet when making their inquiries in Town, and though, perhaps we should have done so, your father and I decided it was best not to inform Colonel Forster of what had transpired. We were all very careful, including your mother. There has been no talk of this in London, and there shall be no talk of it here. You need not worry yourself. If anyone asks, you need only say you were visiting your sister in Town. After all, it is the truth, is it not?”
Lydia nodded slowly. “It is,” she said. “I have stayed with you and Lizzy now these two months. It was far more than I deserve, I know, especially considering all the trouble I have caused you. I know Lizzy was very frightened for me, and she did not look after herself as she should. The danger to her was so very great. Wickham wanted to do terrible things to her, you know.”
“I was there to care for Elizabeth while she cared for you. I would not have allowed her to make herself ill, and I would not have allowed Wickham to harm her in any way. I am only sorry I failed to do the same for you,” he said. “You are my sister now, and I did not do enough to protect you from him.”
Lydia swallowed. “He was a very bad man. Lizzy and Jane tried to warn me, and so did you, but I did not want to listen to the truth. I know how lucky I am, Mr. Darcy. I am so very sorry I caused so much trouble, especially while Lizzy is expecting a baby. If you want, I will go home to Longbourn tonight. I have since learned many things about conducting myself as a proper lady from observing Lizzy and Georgiana. Perhaps I will never be as good as they are, or Jane, but I promise you I shall never stop trying.”
Darcy was reminded very much of how Georgiana had sounded after Ramsgate. He reached out and touched the back of Lydia’s hand. “I believe your parents would be disappointed not to have you with them while you are here, and, indeed, Kitty and Mary, as well. But I will speak with Elizabeth of your wish to stay with us, and if she agrees, and if you feel you would still prefer to remain with us for a while, you may accompany us when we leave for Pemberley after your sister’s wedding to Mr. Bingley—with your parents’ consent, of course.”
Lydia’s pleasure was evident in her smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy was correct—you truly are the best man in the world.”
Dinner was a pleasant affair. For Elizabeth, it was the first time while dining in the company of Miss Bingley and the Hursts that she found herself seated next to her husband. It was clear by observing Miss Bingley’s scowling countenance that she had no hand in the arrangement of the place cards, nor did she appear to take any pleasure in her own placement, which saw her seated between Mr. Hurst and Kitty, and across from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.
It did not, however, stop her from eying Elizabeth with distaste each time she noticed Darcy turn toward his wife with a small smile or a private look. On several occasions, Miss Bingley was almost positive she had witnessed him slipping his hand beneath the table to caress his wife’s leg, though surely, she thought with abject horror, that could not possibly be the case!
Miss Bingley’s anger only grew as the evening wore on. She knew nothing could be gained and everything lost by maintaining the contempt she harbored for the new mistress of Pemberley, but she could not seem to curb her deep resentment. She had been disgusted months ago when Darcy had shown the first signs of burgeoning interest in Elizabeth and, later, was shocked and insulted when he had actually chosen to make the reputed local beauty his wife—an upstart country miss with little breeding and no elegance, so different from herself, whose superiority as an accomplished lady and dowry of twenty thousand pounds should have been his obvious choice.
The fact that Darcy had cut Miss Bingley in Bond Street shortly after his marriage made her stiffen in indignation. He could not possibly have been moved to act in such an offensive and demeaning manner toward her without the influence and manipulation of his wife. She obviously held a great deal of sway over him, though Miss Bingley could hardly understand why, especially after noticing how Elizabeth’s fashionable gown seemed to fit her somewhat unfashionably, a clear indication she was not quite as slender as when they had all first known her. This, Miss Bingley decided, could only be to her advantage, and she would certainly use it to turn Darcy’s attention from Elizabeth and toward herself.
“Pray, Eliza, might I persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room? It is so refreshing after sitting for so long in one attitude.”
Her brow raised, Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, whose equal surprise at having heard words very nearly identical to those uttered by the same woman many months prior showed clearly upon his face. The entire room seemed to quiet, much as it had six months earlier, as all eyes became fixed upon the two ladies.
“Thank you, Miss Bingley, but I will decline. I am feeling a little tired, and if everyone will be so kind as to excuse me, I do believe I will retire.” Elizabeth knew precisely what her calculating hostess was about and smiled ruefully to herself. She would not fall victim to whatever scheme Miss Bingley had devised. She was not in the mood.
Elizabeth rose, and Darcy with her. “I shall join you, as well. I believe we have both had a long day.”
Miss Bingley made a slight sound of protest, but her brother’s amicable voice overpowered hers. He rose and said, “I am very sorry to be losing your company so soon this evening, but perhaps you will consent to a ride in the morning, Darcy? I am in desperate need of a good gallop—that is, if Elizabeth is feeling well enough to spare you. I cannot pretend to know anything of the particulars in these delicate matters, being a man and all, but…” His words died on his lips when he caught sight of the look of exasperation upon Darcy’s face. Striding toward them, his cheeks flaming, Bingley took both of Elizabeth’s hands in his and, under the pretense of giving her a brotherly peck on her cheek, whispered, “I certainly know how to put my foot in it, do I not, Lizzy? Please forgive my blunder. Darcy told me of your delightful news when you were last in Hertfordshire. I certainly did not mean to speak out of turn.”
Elizabeth had to laugh at his flustered demeanor and hastened to save him from further distress. “I beg you would think no more of it, Charles. My aunt and Jane know, in any case, as do Georgiana, Lydia, and several of Fitzwilliam’s discerning relations. I daresay the others appear to be none the wiser.” With a smile, Elizabeth inclined her head toward her parents and remaining sisters, all of whom were presently engaged in their own conversations and paying no mind to hers. “Tomorrow I will share our happy news with the rest of my family. There, that being said, you are now at liberty to be completely at ease.”
Elizabeth squeezed Bingley’s hands and bid the room, in general, a good night. She and Darcy then made their way to their rooms at a leisurely pace, their arms linked. “Though I can overlook Bingley’s misstep, I can hardly account for Miss Bingley. What on earth could she have been about, do you think?” Darcy asked dryly, repressing a teasing smile.
“I believe, my dear,” Elizabeth answered in a tone that was half amusement, half irritation, “you know very well what she was about. She saw only my increasing size and wished to draw attention to the distinct differences in our figures, much as she did when she attempted it the first time I was a guest here.”
Darcy laughed and pulled her into a close embrace. “Yes, and with much success, I might add, though none of it in her favor. In my eyes, your figure was by far superior to hers, and as for how I now feel, you are well aware I take nothing but the utmost pleasure in your increasing figure and the reason responsible for it.” He trailed one finger along her neckline with agonizing slowness. “Your breasts alone are inducement enough to lock you away and have my way with you,” he murmured. “You are stunning, even more so now that you shall be a mother. It is all I can do to remain in control around you, for your body seems to rob me of every gentlemanly instinct I possess.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed as Darcy’s hand slipped lower to caress her breast. He drew slow circles through the fabric of her gown with his palm, and she moaned softly. “Mmm…as wonderful as this feels, you know we cannot continue here. Someone may come upon us at any moment.”
“Indeed,” he whispered against her neck. “What say you to the library, then? Surely no one will come upon us there.”
“No one but my father,” she laughed. “Whatever is wrong with our own rooms, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy sighed and embraced her as he rested his forehead against hers. Transferring his hands to her back, he admitted, “Nothing at all, but I have always had a certain fantasy, if you will, of seducing you in Bingley’s library. The delightful image of you in all your maidenly innocence, succumbing to my powers of persuasion, dominated my every waking moment while you were staying here nursing Jane shortly after I had first arrived in Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth pulled back her head and looked into his eyes as a slow smile played upon her lips. “I had no idea. I thought only that you did not wish for me to intrude upon your privacy, which I confess to doing just to provoke your ire. After all, I believed you had done the same to me at the time.”
He stroked a stray curl from her cheek. “Hardly. Though I knew it to be wrong, not to mention dangerous, I confess to seeking you out whenever the opportunity arose. I could not seem to help myself. I was purposely throwing myself in your way—tempting fate, if you will—and wishing for I know not what to happen between us, but, at the very least, desperately hoping to spend some time in your company without anyone else to observe my open admiration. As you well know, it quickly turned into ardent love.” He sighed. “As you can see, Mrs. Darcy, very little has changed.”
“Oh, no. I would have to disagree with that, Mr. Darcy,” she said archly. “You see, I now have a much better understanding of your taciturn nature, and I have come to discover you are not the least bit proud or disagreeable. No, my dear husband, I now find your society to be infinitely satisfying. Never would I provoke your ire, sir, at least not for my own amusement. In fact,” she said, “where you are now concerned, I find my desires to be quite the opposite of what they once were.”
“How very fortunate, then, for me,” he murmured against her lips as his hands stroked her hips and the softness of her derrière. “Let us retire to our room before I take possession of you right here in the middle of Bingley’s hall.” They did retire and spent half the night in amorous occupation, completely oblivious that every word they had uttered had been overheard.
After Darcy and Elizabeth had quit the drawing room, Miss Bingley had passed several minutes in a fit of pique before she finally resolved to retire herself, certain that the following morning would provide another opportunity for her to expose Elizabeth to possible censure. As she made her way toward her apartment, she heard lowered voices. Realizing too late precisely who it was and what they were engaged in, Miss Bingley stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide as her mouth literally dropped open.
Her first impulse was to give them a severe scolding; her next, to run; but then, and quite against her will, she found herself studying them, listening to them. She knew she was infringing upon their privacy—nay, on their intimacy—but, try as she would, she could not seem to tear herself away from the picture they presented. It was at that moment Miss Bingley finally understood it was not some passing infatuation on his part that had forced Darcy to sacrifice himself and all his wealth and consequence to the woman in his arms. Darcy was truly in love with his wife, and even more astounding to Miss Bingley was the realization that Elizabeth returned his love.
As Miss Bingley made her way to her room, she thought back to the time when she had first made the acquaintance of Elizabeth Bennet. None of Netherfield Park’s inhabitants had thought her anything extraordinary, Darcy included, but Miss Bingley soon recalled that the master of Pemberley had not passed three evenings in her company before he had declared her eyes to be especially fine and her face rather beautiful. If Elizabeth had been aware of it, she had never given any indication of such knowledge. As a matter of fact, she had always acted as though Darcy was no different than her stodgy Uncle Phillips.
Contrary to Darcy’s position in society, his great estate, his exceptional looks, his fine clothes, and his wealth, Elizabeth had never treated him with any preference she did not extend to any other person of her acquaintance. If anything, she treated him with less. She had never fawned over him, deferred to him, or gone out of her way to please him, nor, Miss Bingley thought ruefully, did she have to. Elizabeth had succeeded in catching Darcy’s eye with no exertion on her part, but could it have been her open manner, her compassionate nature, and her witty intelligence that had captivated him? Miss Bingley was forced to concede that may have been the case.
She laughed scornfully over the unfairness of the situation. After all those years of trying to win Darcy with her flattery, elegant manners, and constant attention, Miss Bingley now thought it bitterly ironic that the master of Pemberley had never really wanted to be flattered and catered to, but, rather, treated as a simple man with simple tastes, and on equal terms with others. She could kick herself. So blinded was she by what Darcy had represented in terms of status and riches, it had never even occurred to her that he may have wanted to be appreciated and sought for who he was, not for what he had. She now saw with perfect clarity that Darcy had been drawn to Elizabeth in the first place because she had dared to treat him as no other woman ever had—or would, for that matter—and she had accomplished it all with great impertinence. In the end, Darcy had cared not and, in the meantime, had slowly grown to love her for it.
The final piece fell into place, and Miss Bingley knew the only thing left for her now was to come to terms with the fact that, no matter what she did—or would ever do—Darcy would never, ever choose her over Elizabeth. He loved Elizabeth, that much was now obvious, and Elizabeth returned his love, valued him, esteemed him. Miss Bingley had never been in love with Darcy. She had only been infatuated with what he could offer her as her husband—status, wealth, and the distinction of being mistress of a very great estate.
She breathed deeply and raised her hand to her now aching head. Darcy and Elizabeth would become her family in just two days’ time. Family or not, Miss Bingley knew if she could not conduct herself with civility when addressing Elizabeth, it would only be a matter of time before Darcy would no longer invite her to Pemberley or perhaps even refuse to acknowledge her. She knew it would be far worse than it had been that day in Bond Street, for if Darcy happened to snub her again, there would certainly be no healing such a breach. She would never be welcomed among those of his circle. She would never find herself a wealthy husband. She would never be able to show her face in society again.