Page 19 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry

Finally alone, they just looked at one another in silence, as though speech might disturb the new and delicate happiness that had so unexpectedly arisen between them.

Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Darcy drew near and took her into his arms. Only moments before, neither could have imagined such felicity; it was as novel as it was unexpected, yet seemed at the same time so entirely natural that they wondered it had not always been thus.

“I feel almost guilty to be so happy,” he murmured beside her ear, the sound making her tremble; then, shifting, his gaze sought hers with a hunger that would not be denied. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” His arms closed more firmly about her as he spoke.

“I shall, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she replied.

No further assurance was required; no other words were necessary before she felt his lips cover hers.

She lost control under their gentle touch, only to sigh in amazement when his mouth became more demanding, intimately tasting hers in a kiss she did not know existed.

She sighed as he gently forced her to open her mouth while his hands caressed her body in a frenzy of emotion.

“Stop, stop,” she whispered, attempting to calm the tempest that was overwhelming her—an intoxication of the senses that seemed to dissolve her will, leaving her defenceless against his caresses.

“I cannot,” he breathed, his lips straying to her throat, while she made a token effort to free herself, only to abandon the struggle and permit him to teach her the first, bewildering lessons of love.

“I love you,” he said, and at the sound, she nearly swooned in his embrace.

He laughed softly by her ear, and a wave of exquisite sensation swept through her, culminating in a strange, almost aching pleasure that shook her to her very depths, concentrated in those feminine parts of her body still a mystery even to her.

“I love you,” she cried, scarcely believing her own joy. “Thank you—thank you!”

“What for?”

“For this,” she said and blushed as pleasure engulfed her body again.

“We must be reasonable,” he pleaded against his will, still holding her.

Then he let her go, but their eyes still clung to each other.

“Yes,” she admitted, already longing for the return of his lips upon hers, for the warmth of his hands upon her form.

Only the thought of Richard’s danger could persuade them to part. Elizabeth sought to dispel the tumult of their passion with wise words that could make them remember the outside world. “We must find Richard and end this madness before that woman can do any harm.”

He inclined his head, resisting—though barely—the temptation to draw her once more into his arms. She stood before him in all her beauty and animation, and his whole being yearned towards her.

“I must go home,” he said.

“Home?” She spoke with such astonishment that he laughed.

“Yes, madam, we possess a house in London.”

“You possess a house in London,” she repeated, as though the notion itself were a source of delight. “Is your house beautiful?”

“Our house,” he corrected, his hand lightly caressing her arm.

“Our house,” she whispered.

“Yes, it is beautiful, though if it does not please you, you shall alter it as you wish.”

She smiled, and he, curious for her reason, asked it of her.

“I shall have a house,” she said softly, still as one marvelling.

“You shall have a husband first, madam,” he returned, half playfully; then, more gravely, “We must seek my aunt and your sister.” Yet both found it difficult to leave that room which, for the first time, had been the scene of their happiness.

“Lady Matlock left the house a few moments ago,” Elizabeth murmured, remembering as in a dream the voices in the hall.

“It seems to me, madam, that you were less wholly engaged in a declaration of love than I was,” he said, his tone lightly tinged with irony, though there was a note of concern beneath. Did she love him with a fervour equal to his own?

“Only because I feared she might enter and find us—”

“Kissing!” he completed the sentence that she could not.

She turned her eyes upon him in confusion, a blush rising in her cheeks.

Only minutes before she had yielded to his boldest touch, yet her purity remained unshaken.

He, meanwhile, was conscious that in proposing to her in such a fashion, he had robbed them of those earlier tokens—glances, stolen touches, and tender phrases—which new lovers often cherish before an engagement.

Yet he was not repentant; his only wish was to make her his wife and take her to Pemberley without delay.

∞∞∞

They found Mary in the library, almost hidden behind a small fortress of volumes, which she would open with enthusiasm only to set aside after a few pages, reaching for another in a sort of blissful intoxication.

She blushed to see them together; she had read many times about love, but it was the first time she had perceived the reality of that emotion. It was a discovery, like a new road that had opened in front of her.

“Where is Lady Matlock?” Elizabeth asked.

“Gone to see a friend. She apologised for not taking me, but she was like a crusader before a fight.”

Elizabeth smiled at that image—the fragile yet determined lady ready to engage in any war for her son.

Darcy, however, understood more fully. “My aunt commands an army of friends who can be merciless towards those they dislike. They destroy reputations with a few words murmured in the right ear. Yet, if one of their circle is threatened, they unite as an impenetrable wall against the common foe.”

“Is she going to tell them of our discoveries?” Elizabeth asked, somewhat concerned, as she took a seat upon a nearby couch.

“No, certainly not. She will wish only to learn whether her friends know something about Miss Henry that a prospective mother-in-law ought to know.”

“Goodness, I do not know if that is wise. What if the colonel has already married her?”

Darcy sank into a chair, and once more his countenance betrayed both anxiety and fatigue. Elizabeth saw the deep lines of weariness about his eyes; doubtless, he had slept little of late.

“You should rest,” she said.

“I shall rest when the matter is resolved. I trust my aunt knows what she is about, for our aim is to rescue Richard from a perilous situation, not to endanger his standing in society. Were he married, it would be disastrous for her to unleash damaging tales of his wife.”

“Unleash?” Elizabeth echoed, startled by the force of the word.

“Yes. In London, such rumours do not circulate unless released by someone of influence.

“It is so strange and different. In our world, if someone makes a mistake, gossip spreads, and no one can stop it. When my grandmother told her daughters that Sophia was increasing , nobody cared about Sophia’s reputation or that of her family.

In Meryton, the gossip is ruthless, and no one can survive such a story.

In London, it seems someone has to ‘unleash’ the news before the party destroys someone’s life. ”

“I cannot say which method is worse,” Darcy replied.

“I never thought about gossip’s appearance and spread.

While Lady Matlock’s society would not harm Richard because of an affair of the heart, they would be ruthless for a story of treason.

If he married her, I do not think it would be possible for them to live near his parents.

So, at this point, I would have preferred my aunt to stay home. ”

“Perhaps Miss Henry is not guilty at all—merely an instrument,” Mary ventured, feeling for the first time as though she were living inside the very pages of a novel.

“I doubt it. No innocent woman would deliberately seek an officer in Brighton for the sake of matrimony.”

My sister Lydia would , thought Elizabeth, but she refused to tell him of such thoughts. He must like my family…as much as possible .

“Remember,” Darcy continued, “my aunt once praised Miss Henry for influencing Richard to take up a post in London. I believe her aim was less to protect him from the dangers of the war than to have him working in the War Office. She is clever—that much is certain.”

“Still, she might be innocent,” Elizabeth made a last attempt, but Darcy shook his head vigorously.

“If your French father urged you to marry an officer employed in the War Office, what would you conclude?” he asked them both. Mary blushed, flattered by his including her in so direct a question.

“You are right, sir,” Mary answered. “Even without full disclosure, I should suspect something odd.”

“At least odd,” Elizabeth agreed.

“Unless we act with the greatest caution, my cousin may face very grave consequences.”

He was desperate, and Elizabeth could do nothing. She wanted him to join her on the couch and take him into her arms, yet it was impossible.

“I have to go home,” he whispered.

“I shall see you out.”

They departed the library, leaving behind a new Mary who smiled with happiness and felt worried at the same time.

“I am so sorry,” he said, caressing Elizabeth’s face. They were in the hall, where nothing ardent could happen between them.

“What for?” she asked, a sudden fear stealing upon her—could he repent of his decision made in such haste?

“Do not think foolishly, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, as though her very thought were revealed before him. “I am wholly possessed by you—”

“Possession is no virtue,” she murmured, her voice low, her spirit steadied by the warmth in his gaze, yet still disposed to oppose him.

“Think not so of me. This is only a part of my immense love for you. I would want to know each thought that moves within your exquisite mind.”

“Then tell me why you are sorry.”

“Because our first day of love is darkened by worry and frustration.”

“Do not be sorry; without these circumstances, perhaps you would never have proposed to me.”

“My angel has claws,” he said with a smile.

“Angel?” she exclaimed. “No one has ever thought me an angel.”

“No one knows you as I do. You are an angel—until the she-devil appears…in my chamber.” He whispered the last in her ear, and she trembled, caught between excitement, anticipation, and still shyness.

“You…” she breathed, that single word containing all her mingled emotions, from love to playful reproaches.

“Lady Matlock has invited your aunt and uncle to dine with us this evening. We shall have news to share.”

“Yes, you must make it official—Mr Darcy.”

“I thought I had already done so before my aunt and your sister.”

Elizabeth smiled, still marvelling at her own fortune, still uncertain whether she was betrothed to such an incredible man.

“Are you walking?” she asked, noticing the absence of carriage or horse.

“Yes, my love. Our home lies but ten minutes distant.”

He was gone, leaving her in a state of happy bewilderment. She had a house—and did not even know its location.

In her chamber, she wondered if it were all a dream; yet the tingling of her skin from his kisses, the memory of his hands and eyes, proved its reality. He had asked her to be his wife.

She sat at her writing-desk to compose a letter.

Dearest Jane,

You will not believe what has happened. Mr Darcy has proposed, and I have accepted.

So full was her heart that she could scarcely set down the words. A discreet knock brought a letter—Jane’s own hand.

Dearest Lizzy,

You will not believe what has happened. Mr Bingley has asked me to be his wife. We are to be married in September, upon the very day we first met last year.

Elizabeth could read no further. Joy welled within her for them both, though part of her mind returned to the colonel’s plight.

Yet in her room, she could freely surrender to the happiness that filled her heart.

Was she ready to be a wife? Every part of her answered yes, though she knew not all that it entailed.

Still, if Darcy had come to her that night, she would have yielded to whatever he desired.

She trusted him utterly, both as a man and as her beloved.

I am ready to be your wife, my love.