A Lady’s Choice Page 5

  “It was Charles Bingley,” he replied without hesitation. “He had taken up residence at Netherfield Park—”

  Felicity brightened at the mention of the estate. “Oh, but I know it very well! A Mr. Maythorpe and his sister were living there, were they not, Lizzy?” Elizabeth shook her head, she did not remember the names of anyone living at Netherfield Park—by the time Mr. Bingley had taken residence it had been untenanted for several years.

  “Even so,” Mr. Darcy said with a smile. “It was he who you are speaking of. Miss Bennet, you will be glad to hear that Mr. Bingley has plans to return to Hertfordshire for Christmas.”

  Elizabeth almost dropped her fork in surprise. Forgetting all her manners she stared at Mr. Darcy incredulously. “Are you certain?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Very certain, indeed, it was my hope to join their party once my business here had been concluded.”

  His mouth bore the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes held something more and as Elizabeth sipped her wine she once again hoped that the blush that crept up her neck was not as noticeable as it felt.

  “But, Mr. Darcy,” Felicity smiled slyly and her eyes met Elizabeth’s briefly, “whatever could there be in Hertfordshire to tempt you to stay in the country? Pemberley is situated in a very similar aspect, and I do not doubt that you will have snow over Christmas.”

  “We do, indeed,” Mr. Darcy agreed, “a great deal these last few years. But I have business in London, and Hertfordshire is not too great a distance. I might still enjoy the tranquility and beauty of the countryside without neglecting my responsibilities.”

  “Of course,” Felicity replied. “How very interesting.”

  “Is it?” It was obvious that Mr. Darcy had guessed the reason behind Felicity’s enquiry, but her friend did not respond to the gentleman’s question.

  “How do you find the pheasant?” she asked brightly. “I do so love the wild game from our own estate.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled. “You do not need me to tell you that it is a wonderful meal. The shooters from today’s hunt have certainly provided a bounty.”

  Felicity pressed her lips together and nodded. “Indeed,” she replied. Her friend said nothing more, but Elizabeth could see that it was a struggle for her. She cleared her throat and set down her fork. “Will you dance tonight, Mr. Darcy? I daresay I have never known you to enjoy such things. Have you, Lizzy?”

  “Pardon?” Elizabeth coughed, taken by surprise, and Mr. Darcy turned his amused gaze to her.

  “In your limited acquaintance with Mr. Darcy have you known him to enjoy a country dance?” Felicity raised an eyebrow and Elizabeth took a quick breath.

  Elizabeth smiled and felt a little of her old spirit returning. Perhaps, for the months of silence she had endured, she had earned the right to tease the gentleman just a little. “In truth, Felicity, I have not. Mr. Darcy does not seem to enjoy such frivolities. I can only assume that he has found more diverting ways to spend his time than learning the steps of country dances.”

  Felicity made a face. “Pemberley must be very dull at the holidays,” she said.

  “Perhaps Miss Darcy does her best to make certain that it is not all dreary,” Elizabeth said. She looked over at their silent victim and her heart leapt in her chest just a little to see that instead of the dark look she had feared, his expression was one of benign amusement.

  Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “Miss Bennet has forgotten that we have spent a diverting evening upon the dance floor—”

  “Lizzy, really? You did not tell me,” Felicity gasped.

  Elizabeth felt her cheeks reddening even more. “I assure you that Mr. Darcy has remembered that evening quite inaccurately,” she said quietly.

  Felicity covered her laughter with her hand and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Does he, indeed? Well, Mr. Darcy, you will be able to prove yourself after supper!”

  “Oh, no, really, Felicity—I couldn’t,” Elizabeth protested, but Felicity would hear none of her excuses.

  “It is my engagement party, Lizzy. I should be very upset if you did not dance!”

  Mr. Darcy said nothing in her defence, or his own, but Elizabeth could feel his eyes upon her. There was no arguing with Felicity—she was correct, after all, this was a celebration of her engagement, and she could demand whatever she liked.

  Elizabeth finished her supper in silence, listening to the conversation that filled the room. The gentleman talked of the shoot, and the beauty of the grounds while the women talked of their lives in London and who their children would marry—some could not believe Felicity’s good fortune, and Elizabeth worried that her friend would overhear such talk, but Felicity seemed deaf to it all. She had eyes and ears for no one but Hamish.

  When the plates had been gathered and a dessert of whiskey bread pudding had been heartily consumed by all except Elizabeth who found that her appetite had faded more than she had anticipated. The exertions of the day and the added strain of seeing Mr. Darcy again had brought an exhaustion over her that she could not chase away.

  Her third glass of wine had not helped matters, and though she could still feel a chill in the air, she was too hot.

  Sir George stood up from his seat and the head of the table and Felicity rose to stand next to him. Hamish, Lord Rackham, stood and took her hand. All conversation died as Sir George struck a silver spoon against the side of his wine glass. “Ladies. Gentlemen. Join me, if you will, for this celebration of my daughter’s engagement. The ballroom awaits us!”

  The room erupted in applause and the conversation resumed in earnest as the guests rose from their chairs and followed their hosts from the dining room.

  Elizabeth did her best to stay hidden within the crowd of guests, hoping to avoid Mr. Darcy and his dark eyes. She did not know if she could bear being surprised in the hallway, or to trusted to speak with him alone. Music from the ballroom grew louder as the group progressed down the hallway and the hope that she might be able to slip away unnoticed grew stronger. But the knot in her stomach did not loosen and she felt certain that Mr. Darcy would appear at any moment.

  Elizabeth let out a gasp of delight as she stepped through the double doors that led into Grenleigh’s ballroom. Some of the other women exclaimed similarly, and Elizabeth was somewhat relieved that she was not the only one impressed with the preparations that Sir George had ordered. The room was heavily decorated with lengths of heavy, expensive velvet and the tartan that the Baker’s had adopted since Sir George’s title had been bestowed upon him, and great swags of evergreen branches were hung on every wall. The mantle of the massive fireplace that dominated the room was heavy with gold-painted apples and berries and a magnificent fire roared brightly.

  Long tables groaned under the weight of sweetmeats, tantalizing desserts, and bowls of rum punch. Elizabeth had never seen a room so grandly appointed, and even Mr. Bingley’s extravagant ball at Netherfield paled in comparison.

  Sir George had spared no expense and it was obvious to everyone present. From the snatches of conversation that she overheard, and much as it had been over supper, the conversation centred around the dashing Lord Rackham and the beautiful young woman on his arm. Those that did not know Felicity well speculated on her background or commented on her beauty and grace on the dance floor, and those that did sought to educate their new friends about who exactly the Baker family was, and where they had come from. Elizabeth could not mistake the lofty voice of Lady Percival as she spoke about her cousin and her opposition to the match. Elizabeth could only press her lips together and do her best not to say anything. Felicity was her friend, but it was not her place to defend her. Felicity’s engagement was proof enough that Hamish’s father approved of the match, which was all that really mattered.

  Oblivious to it all, Felicity and Hamish were partnered for dance after dance, all the while staring into each others’ eyes as if there were no one else in the room. Elizabeth watched them from the edge of the dance floor wi
th a smile upon her face. With one hand she kept a tight grip on the shawl around her shoulders and in the other she held her wine glass from supper. She was reluctant to drink any more, but the prospect of a night of dreamless sleep was also tempting. Her body was sore, and her mind exhausted with the events of the day.

  As she watched her friend turn about the dance floor, Elizabeth could not help but think back to how she and Mr. Darcy had danced at the Netherfield ball. She did remember it very clearly. She remembered how it made her feel to stand opposite him. How it had felt to have her hand in his.

  Elizabeth could not deny that, at that time, her anger with Mr. Darcy had been well deserved, though she did now regret a few of the hard words she had given him in Hunsford. But only a very few of them.

  Elizabeth was lost in her own thoughts, carried away by the lively music and the lightheartedness of the dancing, when she felt a hand upon her elbow. Her heart lurched in her chest, and she turned with a start. Her heart lurched once more as she looked up to meet the intensity of Mr. Darcy’s dark eyes. She swallowed thickly and tried her best to put a neutral expression on her face.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said softly, “are you waiting for your turn on the dance floor?”

  “Indeed I am not,” Elizabeth replied as calmly as she was able.

  “No?”

  “I confess, I am very tired,” Elizabeth said. “If you will excuse me—” Elizabeth turned to leave, but Mr. Darcy’s hand touched her elbow once more and she was frozen in place by the heat of his fingers on her bare elbow. She remembered at once the feeling of those hands on her skin and part of her longed to feel his touch again.

  “Miss Bennet—Elizabeth— I must apologize to you, for what happened at the gamekeeper—” Elizabeth shook her head violently, begging him with her eyes to say silent. Mr. Darcy, observant as always, smiled briefly and nodded. “Are happy Miss Bennet?” he asked instead.

  Elizabeth blinked at him for a moment and then let out a short breath and decided to answer his question as carefully as possible. “I am happy for Felicity,” she said finally. “I did not know what to expect for her after she left Hertfordshire. I am glad that she has found…” Elizabeth paused briefly, considering her words carefully, and then pushed her hesitation aside. “I am glad that she has found what so many of us search for.”

  “And for yourself?”

  “For myself…” Elizabeth looked around nervously, feeling as though every eye in the room was upon them as they spoke so closely in such a public space. “For myself, I believe I need some air… If you will excuse me.”

  She had not intended to leave the ballroom so soon, but the stares of Felicity’s guests were making her feel strangely self-conscious and she could not bear their scrutiny. She was the friend from Felicity’s past—a girl from the country so out of her element and so far away from home.

  Mr. Darcy did not try to delay her this time, and Elizabeth wound her way through the crowd carefully and did her best to speak only briefly to those who stopped her.

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped from the ballroom into the hallway.

  With the laughter and music of the ball behind her, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and looked for a place—a place to hide. Felicity would be angry if she disappeared and went to her chambers. She only needed a moment to clear her mind. Only a moment.

  The door to the library was ajar, and without a second thought, Elizabeth pushed it open and went into the darkened room. A fire crackled merrily in the grate, and the few lamps that were lit burned low and cast a gentle glow over the room.

  Elizabeth went to the window and opened it wide to let the chill breeze caress her heated skin. She took a deep, calming breath, and tried to sort through her jumbled thoughts. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to rage angrily at anyone would would dare to tell Felicity that she could not marry Hamish. But she was also beset by a feeling of jealousy that she could not have the same feelings for herself. She should write to Jane, tell her that Mr. Bingley was returning to Netherfield Park soon… she could not imagine her sister’s happiness at such news. But the bearer of this happy news—it was his presence that had caused her so much conflicted pain.

  What could Mr. Darcy want with her? Why should he be so desperate to speak with her? To enquire whether or not she was happy… Surely there must be another explanation, but she could not think of what it might be.

  “Elizabeth.”

  The familiar voice pulled Elizabeth from the window, and she brushed away the tear that had fallen upon her cheek. Mr. Darcy stood in the doorway, illuminated by the gentle light of the lamps. His broad frame filled the space, and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. Perhaps it was her heart tugging her forward, but before she could stop herself, she was caught up in his arms, and his mouth was on hers. His kiss was hot and commanding, gentle and consuming all at the same time and Elizabeth was swept away upon it.

  “Elizabeth,” he breathed her name reverently against her jaw as their kiss finally broke and Elizabeth tangled her fingers in his curling dark hair as his mouth dragged down her neck and across her collarbone.

  “William,” she gasped. “Why—” He pulled her shawl from her shoulders and laid it gently upon a nearby chair. His fingers traced the bruised flesh of her shoulder and Elizabeth shuddered under his touch.

  “Elizabeth, why will you not speak to me? I have struggled for so many months—”

  “So you told me at Hunsford,” Elizabeth replied. “And yet, after everything you did for Lydia, for my family—”

  “For you,” he replied softly.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “I did it for you, Elizabeth. All of it. I could not stand by and watch as Mr. Wickham destroyed everything I loved with his selfish actions…”

  Everything he loved… Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest as every thought, every wish she had ever had concerning Mr. Darcy and his intentions crashed against her heart. It was true, all of it. From his most ardent declaration of love, as misguided as it made have been, to his actions on Lydia’s behalf… It had all been for her.

  This time it was Elizabeth who closed the distance between them, and her lips that pressed hungrily against his. It was all she had wanted to hear. It was what she had hoped for… it did not matter now that he had not spoken to her. He was here now.

  Mr. Darcy groaned against her mouth and his fingers tugged at the neckline of her gown to expose her chemise. Loosened by his actions, the chemise fell away from her breasts and Elizabeth stifled another gasp as Mr. Darcy’s mouth pulled away from hers to trail down her neck and press gently against her shoulder. Then his lips found her breast and suckled at the swollen bud of her nipple. Elizabeth clung to him as though she were drowning. All the while, as she moaned and shuddered against him, his mouth teased and tormented her. His hands were not idle, working quickly to drag the hem of her gown up the creamy length of her thighs. Her head fell back as his fingers brushed against her secret womanhood and found her wet and ready for him.

  She wanted this, wanted him to take her. But not here… not without—

  “We cannot,” she gasped as Mr. Darcy’s fingers stroked against her silken wetness. At her words, Mr. Darcy’s head rose from her breast and his dark eyes, full of passion and desire, searched hers.

  “What is the matter?”

  “Felicity… this is an important night for her. I cannot… we cannot. If we were discovered...” Elizabeth bit her lip, unable to finish her sentence.

  Mr. Darcy kissed her gently and eased his hand from beneath her gown. Elizabeth moaned against his lips at the loss of sensation and the ebbing of her desire. If he had continued, she felt sure that she would have made no other protest.

  “Then we must wait,” he murmured, “though it pains me to leave you.” He smiled and kissed her again and Elizabeth sighed as he pulled her close and she felt the hard length of his manhood through his breeches.

  He desired her, but that he would wai
t—he loved her as he had said. Elizabeth’s heart felt as though it would burst through her chest, but all she could do was smile and blush gently as Mr. Darcy released her and helped her to adjust her gown. He pressed his lips to her fingertips and then once more to her mouth with a gentle pressure that made Elizabeth want to weep at its sweetness.

  “I shall rejoin the guests and await your arrival,” he said quietly. “But will you dance with me? Just once?”

  Elizabeth brushed her fingers over her lips, bereft at the loss of the pressure and heat of his kisses, and shook her head. “I cannot. I am truly exhausted… and I cannot risk anyone seeing—”

  Mr. Darcy swept her shawl from the chair and draped it over her shoulders. “Of course,” he said. “I must confess, I was quite surprised to see you in gentlemen’s attire this morning…”

  Elizabeth looked away for just a moment before meeting his gaze boldly. “It was liberating,” she said firmly. “And I was quite comfortable.”

  Mr. Darcy chuckled. “I do not doubt it.”

  There were voices in the hallway outside the library and Elizabeth bit back a gasp of terror. If they were discovered— Mr. Darcy turned, and laid a finger upon his lips as she shrank back into the shadows.

  “We will speak again tomorrow, and will give your apologies to Felicity. I am sure she will understand.”

  Elizabeth nodded briefly, bereft to be abandoned and grateful at the same time. It would not have taken much to persuade her to break the unspoken promise of a woman to her future husband—she would have given herself to Mr. Darcy without a moment’s hesitation. She knew that without any doubt. All these months of anger and disappointment, they had been months of conflict and doubt—both emotions that had been broken away by his appearance here at Grenleigh and a few simple words.

  Elizabeth re-tied the ribbons of her gown, leaned against the window sill and breathed in the crisp night air. The skies had clouded since the sun had set, and the night had turned colder and Elizabeth gasped with delight to see that it had started to snow. A light coating of delicate flakes covered the garden and she had no doubt that by morning the ground would be covered in a blanket of sparkling white.