She stood in a darkened alcove in the hallway, breathing heavily and unaware of her surroundings for several minutes. Gradually, her misty eyes focused, spying Darcy and Elizabeth on the balcony.
Elizabeth sat on the stone bench, leaning against the wall with eyes closed, Darcy kneeling in front. He was fanning her vigorously and holding her hand.
“Thank you, beloved. That truly helps.”
“Do you need something cold to drink, my love?”
She opened her eyes and smiled, softly caressing his cheek. “It is passing. Here, sit next to me.” She patted the bench and he complied, leaning first to plant a kiss to her lower abdomen. He sat near, circling an arm about her shoulders and drawing her close. He kissed her forehead, free hand gently rubbing her belly.
Lizzy sighed and shut her eyes. “I think I am just tired. My mistake. I felt so well today that I did not nap and now it is catching up with me.” One hand lay on his inner thigh, the other over his caressing one.
“As soon as you wish, we shall extend our apologies and go home. Jane and Charles will understand. Then I can hold you in my arms and ensure you sleep the night through.”
“Hmmm. What a delightful thought. I want to be well rested for tomorrow.”
He smiled, burying his face in her hair and kissing softly. “I have planned an easy day, my heart. Nothing too strenuous. Just you and me, alone, with plenty of opportunities for me to tell you how deeply I love you.”
Elizabeth lifted her face to his with an unabashed glow of love. He cupped her cheek, running a thumb over her lips and chin. “Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered, meeting her mouth with a tender but thorough kiss.
Caroline observed and heard it all, a fist at her mouth preventing the choked sob from escaping. With a lurch she retreated to the first room available, the dark library. Never in all her life had she witnessed such a scene. With a stab to her heart she nonetheless recognized it for what it was: love. The elusive emotion spoken of in fairy tales and poems and songs, but rarely seen, at least so openly. Caroline did not quite know what to feel. The anger at losing Mr. Darcy was still there, the resentment at the inferior ranked country chit for becoming Mistress of Pemberley remained, yet she could not deny what she had seen. They truly loved each other. Any interpretations of enchantment or nefarious designs were baseless.
For the first time in her life, Caroline Bingley wondered if such an emotion could be hers. She visualized their countenances as they gazed at each other and her stony, selfish heart melted minutely. Still, she quickly reasoned, what profit is love without status and wealth? With much to ponder, Caroline sought the sanctuary of her bedchamber. Only time would reveal if these epiphanies would usher in a permanent character alteration.
Chapter Seven
Happy Birthday, Mr. Darcy
Gracefully escaping from the Bingley Townhouse was an easy task, all parties solicitous of Lizzy's needs. No one commented on Caroline's absence; in truth, only Charles noted her omission from the group. Once safely returned to Darcy House, Darcy ordered his wife to their chamber while he bid the girls wishes for pleasant dreams and performed the ritual task of assuring the house was secure. Lizzy sat on the balcony sofa when Darcy rejoined her, patting the waiting space next to her.
“Night dreaming, my love?” he asked with a soft kiss to her temple.
“Speculating on the morrow and recollecting your birthday. I did surprise you greatly, did I not, William?” She turned, draping her legs over his lap. He smiled, beginning his nightly custom of fondling her belly gently.
“You certainly did! I knew on some level that my birthday was approaching, but all my thoughts during those days were on you and November the twenty-eighth, willing time to hurry. As I was departing London the day before, Mrs. Smyth bid me birthday wishes. I covered myself well, I believe, but the truth is she caught me completely unaware. For a moment I had to perform rapid mathematics, as I had not consciously noted the date since jotting it on a correspondence three days prior!”
“Were you never going to tell me? Keep me thinking you were eight and twenty forever?” She tickled him, earning a chuckle.
“Yes, that was the plan,” he answered drolly. “Perpetual youth. Actually, I fretted all the way to Hertfordshire. I was stuck, you see. If I mentioned it was my birthday, I feared you would feel guilty for not inquiring. I did not wish this, as I truly do not care about such celebrations, at least as regards me. However, if I did not confess, I feared you being hurt, thinking I was withholding a portion of myself. Never would I want you to think this!” He spoke the last with vehemence, Lizzy lifting to hug him close and bestow a kiss.
“I would never harbor such a thought, beloved. Even then we were nearly one flesh, despite not yet being wed.”
He beamed, stroking her downy cheek. “Yes, this is true. In the end you were a step ahead of me and proved, once again, how deeply you love me.” He paused, staring intently into her eyes as he caressed. He resumed, his voice low and husky, “What a road we have traveled, Elizabeth. So many delightful memories already, all which testify to our unique love. I will never forget my birthday, my soul, nor not treasure your gift to me. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she replied, words then lost to passionate kisses as memories of that special event swirled.
Setting: Evening at Longbourn some three weeks after the engagements of the Bennet sisters.
Dinner had finished, the young couples had taken their evening stroll about the grounds, and now all reposed in the parlor. It had become a sort of routine the past three weeks, although on occasion Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had hosted their fiancées at Netherfield.
Darcy, as always, felt an odd mixture of supreme elation to be with his Elizabeth and annoyance at the presence of the members of her family. Mary was in the other room pounding out a particularly morbid tune on the old pianoforte. Kitty was off somewhere, probably playing with her puppy, Darcy supposed. Jane and Bingley sat on the other sofa in placid companionship. Mr. Bennet sat hunched in the corner chair, alternately reading as he sipped his port and gazing with amused pleasure at his two eldest daughters. Mrs. Bennet bustled about the room, chattering constantly, and being ignored by all.
Darcy sat in one corner of the sofa with a book in his lap propped on a pillow and a tumbler of brandy in his other hand. Elizabeth sat next to him, close enough to feel her warmth and catch an occasional whiff of perfume, yet not actually touching him. She bent diligently over her embroidery, luscious neck arched and oh so very tantalizing.
He shifted uncomfortably, sensuous musings again assaulting his self-control, and forced bedazzled eyes to the page in front of him. He momentarily could not remember his place and, when he did, realized that he had read the same paragraph at least a dozen times and had no idea what it said. In fact, he who could normally devour a book in a handful of days had been attempting to read this one for some two months! To make matters worse, the truth was he had absolutely no clue what the book was even about. He sighed. In point of fact, he had not managed to complete a book since the horrid events at Rosings in April. He kept picking up a different one, telling himself that the book was at fault when he patently knew that was not the root cause of his distraction.
He managed to focus attention enough to finish the current page, but he was again distracted when Elizabeth stretched her neck and brought one delicate hand up to rub her muscles. How he yearned to be the one massaging her aching shoulders! The mental image caused him to grip his glass so tightly that fingers turned white. The all too familiar clench in his groin made him abundantly thankful he had a pillow on his lap. To his increased mortification, he glanced up to see Mr. Bennet staring at him over the top of his book with a wise smile. Darcy flushed and quickly turned his eyes to the book.