Elizabeth folded her napkin. “If she wishes to come, I see no objection,” she said, her eyes meeting her husband’s, hoping to communicate to him the need to recognize Georgiana’s steps toward independence.
He sighed. “Very well, then, Georgiana, you may come if you wish.”
Later, when Georgiana was able to speak to Elizabeth privately, she thanked her for her support. “It is not that I think that there is anything I can do to help, but I do not want to spend the rest of my life trying to avoid whatever part of the country he might be in. This seems as good a time as any to face my fears.”
Elizabeth embraced her. “I am glad that you have the courage to face it now. That is the first step to healing.”
“I cannot help but think that it could have been me, but for the chance of William’s arrival,” she said softly. “I was such a fool. You would never have been taken in so, Elizabeth.”
“I beg to differ, I spent a good deal of time in Mr. Wickham’s company, and I was quite taken with his amiability and manners. I even believed lies that he told me about your brother,” Elizabeth said ruefully.
“I find that hard to believe!” Georgiana exclaimed, then, realizing what she had said, timidly retreated, saying, “I do not mean to doubt your word, Elizabeth; it is only that it surprises me.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It seems we are all vulnerable to having our hearts lead us astray from what is right,” she said, thinking of the principles she had violated in her behavior with Darcy.
When Darcy came to her that night, she was curled up in the window seat looking out into the starlit darkness. He was aware that Elizabeth had been out of spirits since reading Jane’s letters, and had been somewhat at a loss as to how to comfort her. His belief that his presence in her life had been the cause of Wickham’s choice of Lydia made it difficult for him to approach her; he could not help but think that she would consider any joy that they had to have been purchased by the misery of her sister, and that she would resent him for it. The idea that she might withdraw from him was like a knife wound, sharp and intense, and it took all his courage to draw near her.
It was something of a reassurance that she immediately put her arms around him, laying her head upon his shoulder. She had been longing for the comfort of his embrace and the forgetfulness she could find in his arms, even as her sense of shame over her lack of self-control with him continued to increase.
He held her close, awash in the paradoxical feelings of freedom that he felt only at her touch, and, unable to keep his feelings inside him, murmured, “I love you so very much, Elizabeth; I cannot imagine my life without you by my side.” He could feel some of the tension leave her body at his words, but as she remained silent, his anxiety grew. “Dearest love,” he said finally, “please say something, or I shall be leaping to the worst possible conclusion again.”
She looked up at him in surprise, hearing the seriousness of his words beneath the apparently playful tone. Having been caught up in her own concerns, she had given little thought to what his might be. “And what would that conclusion be?” she asked.
He looked into her eyes, and not without anxiety said, “That you could not forgive me for what has happened to Lydia.”
“William, I remain in awe of your ability to concoct reasons for me to be angry with you. Should I ever desire to have a fit of pique, I will certainly come to you to obtain an appropriately far-fetched justification. No, I do not blame you in any way; you have been everything that is kind and supportive, and I have no complaints whatsoever.”
He could not help but smile at her look of amusement. “I am relieved to hear it. It worries me when you are out of spirits and reserved as you have been today.”
She wished for the ability to express her anxieties to him as easily as he seemed to do with her. “I…” she began, but found herself unable to continue, and responded instinctively by reaching up to kiss him in a way that left him without doubts as to her intentions. Surprised, but by no means averse to such a notion, he returned her attentions with interest, tasting the pleasures of her mouth and running his hands down to her hips.
She did not pull back until she was breathless with desire, her body clamoring for the pleasure and release that only he could give her. Feeling their closeness, she was finally able to voice her fears. “I am afraid of this coming between us,” she confessed, her voice uneven.
“No,” he said strongly, taking her face in his hands. “Nothing is going to come between us again—I will not allow it.” He kissed her passionately and deeply, as if branding her with his truth. “My love,” he groaned, his mouth traveling along her jaw and down her neck. “Never think such a thing, never!”
Elizabeth was too caught up in the pleasure of his kisses to respond. When he finally raised his mouth, Darcy said, “I hope you are convinced, my love, that this matter of Lydia will not come between us.”
She smiled, affectionately caressing his chest. “You made yourself quite clear on the subject, William,” she responded.
“That is not quite the same as saying that you are convinced,” he said suspiciously.
Nestling against him, she said, “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that some issues remain unresolved for me.”
“May I ask what those would be?”
She had to kiss him before finding the courage to answer. “I find that I am quite unhappy with Lydia’s behavior, and, at the same time, I find it to be not particularly different from my own, and this is a source of some dissatisfaction.”
He frowned. “Is this because we anticipated our marriage vows?”
“That, and… well, I did permit a great deal before that, as well.”
“Not as much as I asked.”
“Nonetheless.”
It was only a short step in Darcy’s mind from distress over her behavior to anger at the one who provoked and encouraged that behavior. His anxiety rose, despite his efforts to quell it. She would hardly be in my arms if she were angry with me, he thought. For God’s sake, do not try to read more into her words than is there; she needs support, not conflict. Carefully, he said, “While there are superficial similarities, I believe that your situation was quite different from Lydia’s.”
“Yes, in that it is my good fortune not to pay a price for my errors.”
He sighed. “Elizabeth, you once thought highly of Wickham. If he had asked you to elope with him then, would you have done it?”
“No, of course not!”
“Why not?”
“Well, it would have been an imprudent match, and if I chose to ignore that, why elope? There would have been no reason not to follow the normal course, and it would have made me suspicious if he did not wish to do so.”
“Would you have let him kiss you?” Darcy hoped fervently that his question would not be answered in the affirmative.
She flushed. “Of course not.”
“But you let me kiss you,” he said, and followed his words with action.
When he released her, she said mischievously, “You were more tempting.”
“A very attractive answer, my love, but I doubt that temptation would be your only consideration.”
“Mmm… it would depend on how tempting it was. Very well, I shall be serious, if you insist. You had made your intentions clear, and I knew that you would not shirk your responsibilities. I accept your point, sir.”
“And when I took you to my bed, we were formally and publicly engaged, which is not to say that it was acceptable on either of our parts, but it is a far cry from running off with a man for no good reason! But I do have one question for you.”