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His dream had been beautiful for awhile.
Elizabeth had been his, no questions, no doubts. There had been no Clara. There had been no He. There were no complications, just Elizabeth held tightly within the strong circle of his arms.
It was like she was there with him. He could smell her soap-and-water scent on the air and feel her energy crackle through him, but it wasn't real. Elizabeth wasn't his.
Thinking about that hurt. Even here, in his own mind, he couldn't be happy with the woman who made him feel alive, who sent his heart racing.
Out of nowhere appeared Clara. She stood next to him, holding his hand as if she still had some right to touch him. She smiled up at him, oblivious to the fact that William was beginning to hate her because he loved her.
"What are you doing here?" He asked her. "Why can't you just stay away?"
She looked at him angrily and spat Elizabeth's name, bemoaning the loss of her hold on William's heart. She walked toward Elizabeth and began screaming and yelling at her. For a brief moment, she stood there, taking it, and the look of hurt and shock on her face seemed so very real.
Finally, William could no longer take the pain being inflicted by his current lover. She was being mean and spiteful, something that just could not be tolerated when it gave Elizabeth such heartache.
"Clara," he growled.
After that, they both disappeared from sight. He stood alone in the dark, surrounded by echoes of things he should have done. The sounds slowly died away save one. Somewhere in the distance, Elizabeth was telling him that she loved him.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that funerals were absolutely no damn fun. Funerals were nice, respectful, and classy, but nobody ever described them as fun or exciting. Because they weren't and, if people ever decided to be honest, they might have eventually chosen to use "depressing," "unhappy," or "bloody terrible."
George begged for Elizabeth to come and save him from the hours before the funeral. He was beginning to panic and he didn't want to scare Elie, who was increasingly more upset as she began to absorb the fact that her mother was really never coming back. George's parents had insisted that he go and that they would bring the girl with them to the funeral parlor.
He babbled over cup after cup of coffee as they sat in a coffee shop not to far from the funeral home. After the seventh time George told Elizabeth that she would meet Neil and Ivy there, she gently smiled at him.
"George, it's time to get a hold of yourself," she said firmly. "You have a little girl who needs you and you can't fall apart. For her sake."
He looked at her, then down at the hand she'd put over his. He was thankful that she had chosen to be there for him, even if it was in such a horrible situation. George had always loved Elizabeth, but he'd loved Annabel more. It had never been a struggle to choose his wife. Elizabeth was his best friend, though, and it had hurt to lose her. Until that moment, he never realized how much it had hurt him to give her up.
"Lizzy, I have to tell you something," he said, softly.
Elizabeth felt her jaw tighten. Tension suddenly bubbled up through her. Nothing good had ever come of those seven words.
"I thought I could make you feel better by lying to you. We both know that Belle would never have assumed that a lie would soothe you. However, I was never as smart as her.
"I've felt guilty for telling you that Belle understood. She didn't understand, Lizzy. She was angry with you for a long time, but not because of your feelings for me. She angry that you took it upon yourself to make a decision that she felt should have been hers. You left us and gave her no choice in whether or not she still wanted you. She was upset about that for a long time," George added. He gave her a weak smile. "She hoped that you would come around, but she doubted that it would ever happened. She had no faith in you."
Elizabeth took an unsteady sip of her coffee. "Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it could have been worse. You're right though. Belle, given the chance to really talk to me, would have told me exactly how she felt. She would have made sure that I knew she was disappointed me."
"I didn't want to lie to you, Lizzy."
"I know, George."
Looking at her watch, Elizabeth gently pointed out that it was time to go. She watched his body stiffen for a moment then George Wickham shook off his ghosts to stand and go meet a new one.
"This makes it real. She's really dead. I keep telling myself that, but I haven't believed it until this moment. I want her to walk through that door and kiss me like she's just come back from the grocery, but she won't, Lizzy, because she's dead."
Elizabeth stood and put her hand on his arm. "Just remember that she loved you, and that you'll always have that moment you spent together. She also gave you a beautiful little girl to remember her by."
George just shook his head. No words, however pretty, would ever make him feel better. "Let's go," he muttered and turned for the door.
Four Bennet sisters awaited the arrival of the fifth at the Milne & Hunt Mortuary. Jane, Mary, Kate, and Lydia had all loved Annabel Hawthorne Wickham like one of their own. It had made a mark on them when things had gone sour between Elizabeth and Annabel for she was what Thom had called the "lost Bennet" because she never seemed to go to a home of her own.
Mourners had begun to gather outside, giving their condolences to the Robert and Nathalie Hawthorne, her parents, and the Wickhams that were present. So far, there was no sign of the widower or Elizabeth. People gushed over the beauty of Annabel's daughter, but none mentioned that she could've been her mother at the age of three.
A hush fell over the crowd as George Wickham appeared on the walk, followed a few feet behind by Elizabeth Bennet. He walked with his head down and his fists shoved into the pockets of his slacks. The scowl on his face was black with simmering rage and hopeless agony.
He approached his parents and Elie spied her father. She ran from the clutches of Nathalie Hawthorne to George. She buried her face in George's shoulder.
"Daddy," she whispered. "Wanna go home now. People are crying for Mummy. Wanna go."
George held his daughter close to him. "Be brave, Spot. We'll be brave together. Okay? We'll get through this and then we'll go home."
"On the plane?"
"Very soon."
Elizabeth watched as a couple appeared and Elie gave the woman a warm smile and went directly to her. The man put his arm around George's shoulder. Neil and Ivy. The family, along with Neil and Ivy, went inside and mourners gave them their privacy to see Annabel alone one last time.
The Bennet sisters met Elizabeth and silently stood, waiting for perhaps yet another explosion of sobbing from their sister. Instead, Elizabeth, looking around at people she recognized from college and people that she knew Annabel had never liked and vice versa, was struck funny. An inappropriate, nervous giggle bubbled up and into the sullen air. All the red, puffy eyes turned toward her and had their connection with Annabel before them. Suddenly, people swarmed her a spirited her away from her sisters.
Thousands of questions flew at her from every angle. They all wanted to know what happened. They all wanted to disbelieve Annabel's death to deny their own mortality. It was a symptom of the death of somebody young.
Finally, the Bennets reached Elizabeth once again and encircled her, this time forming a tight wall around her. They were the first people inside the lobby of the funeral parlor. A few moments later, as other people spilled inside, the doors to the visitation were opened and Annabel's last rites of passage began.
Elizabeth could see tears in the eyes of her party, but her tears were done. She was through crying. Maybe because she just didn't have any tears left, or because she knew that Annabel would never have wanted her to cry. In any case, there would be no more tears shed on this occasion.
Nathalie Hawthorne appeared before Elizabeth then as Jane and the rest of the Bennets took seats. For a moment, the two women just stared at each other. Then Nathalie wrapped her arms around Elizabeth.
"I thank you for coming," Nathalie whispered into her ear, "but please stay away from Annabel's husband. This isn't your chance to finally make him your own."
Nathalie pulled away and returned to the place where the family had been seated. Elizabeth, anger and indignation welling inside her, fought hard to swallow the denial that was lingering on the tip of her tongue. She slowly approached Annabel's coffin and waited her turn in line to say good-bye.
Annabel's injuries had all been internal and there wasn't a single mark on her face except scratches that had been covered by make-up. Her eyes were closed forever and, as with every corpse Elizabeth had ever seen, there was that moment when Annabel appeared to breathe.
Elizabeth stood next to her friend's coffin and stared down. She leaned close for a moment.
"You'll be pleased to know, Belle, that your mum is still a world class b___h. I love you. I can still say that so it must be true. In another life, Belle. In another life."
Elizabeth straightened and smiled at her friend warmly. She had come to say good-bye. With that done, Elizabeth walked out of the funeral parlor.
Jane had never kept a secret before and was quite surprised to find out how good she was at it. It had been a week since Richard Fitzwilliam had stopped by the office of Bennet Building and Design; four days since Jane dialed the number scrawled across the bottom of the note he'd given her.
Richard had told her that she could have her pick of places to dine at, money was no object. She had nearly joked on the laugh that had swelled in her throat at the thought that a show of wealth would impress her.
"This is not a date, Fitzwilliam," she reminded him. "This is a meeting."
"I would never assume, Bennet," he replied, his tone slightly haughty.
"Good. You won't mind if I cook dinner then. You can drive out here to dine at Longbourn."
She's ignored his grumbles and planned the meal in her head as they arranged a time and date for the dinner to take place. With Richard coming to Meryton, Jane wouldn't have to lie to Elizabeth or Lydia about where she was off to during the evening. At Longbourn, Jane was on her own turf, so to speak, and Kate had been spending more and more time in London with Lydia and Elizabeth.
With one last look in the mirror, Jane glanced over the outfit she'd chosen. It was a very simple moss green dress with a puffy skirt that fell just below her knees. It reminded Jane of something that Audrey Hepburn might have worn. She chose a white sweater to cover her sleeveless arms and left her room.
Hill, Longbourn's housekeeper, had been given the night off. She and Jane had prepared the meal earlier that day and she'd readied everything before leaving for the evening. Jane always took the time to thank her lucky stars for Hill, who had been with the Bennet's since just after Jane had been born. She was as much a part of their family as sure as night turned to day.
Jane's other strategy in inviting Richard over for dinner was to avoid the inevitable bit of becoming a rich man's showpiece. Men like Richard, powerful and spoiled, were the kind of men who bought beautiful women just to have them walk into a room on their arm. It gave them pleasure to be the envy of all the other men. Taking away that part of Richard's fun might make him more docile and less deadly to her physical attraction to him. She doubted that his arrogance would be put off, but it was worth a shot.
She was coming downstairs when the doorbell chimed that Richard had probably standing at the door for three minutes just to ring the bell precisely at seven o'clock. Having no time to check particulars, Jane Bennet headed for the door.
Richard stood there, having the grace to look uncertain and somewhat nervous. His blonde waves had been scolded into place with just a touch too much mousse. His suit was crisply pressed and he smelled like the woods after a summer rain. His aqua eyes shone bright and clear.
Jane her palms begin to itch, a sure sign that she was nervous.
"Bennet." Richard smirked as he called her by her last name. His smile widened at the hint of one creeping over her lips.
"Fitzwilliam," she replied, standing aside. She gestured him inside. "Welcome to Longbourn. Would you care for a drink?"
"Martini, please."
"Shaken, not stirred?" Jane asked wryly, which gave Richard pause.
He chuckled. "Sure. This is a lovely home."
Jane walked over to the bar and began splashing ingredients about. "Thank you. It's been in my family for ages. Rumour has it that one or two great novels were written in what used to be Lizzy's bedroom. I can't imagine which ones though," she added, her voice hinting that if she could imagine, she wouldn't tell. She squeezed a slice of lemon for just a drop of juice and handed the drink to Richard.
Taking a sip of the martini, Richard paused, astounded, and exclaimed, "Bennet, this is the best bloody martini I've ever had!" He gave her a brilliant grin meant to impress.
Instead, Jane just rolled her eyes. "There ever been a woman who turned you out into the cold?"
Richard blinked, caught offguard. He was so accustomed to getting what he wanted through flirtation that he (almost) no longer realized that he did it. He'd come here tonight for Will, but a part of him thought that this charming woman before him might be good for a bit of fun as well. Now, however, it seemed he'd been caught.
"I can tell," Jane continued, "by your silence that the answer is no. How very droll for you. Always getting what you want and never actually working for it."
"I didn't come here to be insulted," Richard declared.
"I didn't invite you here to insult you, Fitzwilliam. It isn't my fault you make it so bloody easy."
Richard narrowed his eyes to say something, but a peel of laughter wafted into the air. Jane displayed a brilliant smile. Two could play at this game.
"Shall we eat dinner?" She asked.
She had been standing the entire time and Richard had completely let it slip his notice. Where were his manners? He should have waited for her to sit before taking his own seat. She must think me absolutely uncivilised, he thought.
"Fitzwilliam?"
He blinked at her.
"Would you care to eat now?"
"Oh, yes. Of course," he replied, quickly. Why was he so flustered?
He followed as she led the way into the dining room. Even beneath the rather large puff of skirt, he could still appreciate her fine legs. He suspected that the skirt was a bit of a defense tactic to remove her bottom from the equation, but he didn't care. She was stunning and he found himself wanting her.
As she disappeared into the kitchen, Richard reminded himself of his purpose in enlisting her in the first place. This wasn't another empty conquest. This woman had a mission, a goal to help him accomplish. He was here to secure the happiness of a most beloved cousin.
Richard knew he could never be as good or as noble as William was. that was just the nature of the beast. William was the boy scout; Richard was hoodlum. He was reckless and not a little bit unscrupulous. Where his cousin was dependable and loyal, Richard found himself, on more than one occasion, toying with hearts as it pleased him and never desiring to be saddled with affairs of the heart.
Jane slid back into the room, graceful as a cat, carrying a soup tureen and looking very much like the quintessential fifties American housewife, which Richard was surprised to find himself attracted to. She didn't seem to have a single bad-girl bone in her lovely body, which wasn't Richard's style. He loved women who were naughty just for the sake of being naughty.
She served the soup and sat down across the table from him, completely unaware of the jumble of nerves she was creating just over the maple expanse before her. She took a sip of the potato soup and smiled. It was her mother's recipe and nobody had ever made better potato soup in the history of the world.
"What do you do for a living, Bennet?" Richard asked.
"I'm a teacher."
Richard nodded thoughtfully, letting her describe her job and her favorite students while he focused on the soup and then the next course, which was roasted pork with gravy and sweet carrots.
"Lizzy is a complicated woman," Jane said suddenly. "She isn't easily manipulated."
Richard stopped thinking about the feel of her skin under his fingers and focused on the objective: Will and Elizabeth. "Then how would you propose we go about this? My cousin, Georgiana, Will's younger sister, is ready to help. She is their liaison now."
Poking at a carrot, Jane nibbled at it, considering the facts (and lovely mouth) before her. The only solution was trickery and deceit.
"First, we must get rid of Clara," Richard muttered. "That droll twit has got to go."
"You're right. Lizzy will never accept your cousin as long as he belongs to another."
"I could pay to have her shipped off to a deserted island," he suggested.
Jane chuckled. "She can't be as bad as all that."
"No, she's worse. Dull. Dry. Depressing. She's like Wednesday Addams without the wit. She has no style, no grace. I suspect she doesn't even have any real feeling for Will, but she's too afraid to let him go."
"You're very passionate about Clara, Fitzwilliam," Jane remarked, sipping her wine and arching her brow. "You sound like a jilted lover."
"Ha!" He spat.
"You've never been jilted in your life, have you?"
Suddenly, sheepish and somewhat ashamed, Richard pushed his plate away. He didn't like the way she kept calling him out and making him face little unhappy truths about his character. It was like she was intentionally belittling him and that had never happened to him before in his life. Richard Fitzwilliam was a man's man. He was the man that other men wanted to be and women wanted to be with.
"Bennet, have I done something to offend you?" He asked.
In that moment the mood in the room shifted. What had been a silly covert little meeting of conspiratorial matchmakers had instantly become something heavy and intense with something that crackled like the air before a storm. His aqua eyes were no longer bright, but ringed dark with a brew of emotion that Jane had never seen before.
"Of course not. I'm merely teasing," she whispered, fearing that anything louder might crack the delicate air around them. "I admire you for coming to me and asking my help for Elizabeth and your cousin. It shows how much you care for him."
He darted from his chair and around the table. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into his embrace in what seemed like mere seconds. The kiss that fell on her lips was firm and his lips were soft and hot. His hands found their way under her sweater and Jane barely noticed that it drifted to the floor like a feather falling from a bird in flight.
Finally parting for a moment to breathe, they stood looking at one another. He took a step back, his hands falling to his sides and sorrow spilled onto his fine features.
"I apolo-" he began.
Her finger flew to his lips and she glared at him. "If you apologize for kissing me like that, I'll slap you all the way back to London."
They glared at each other a moment and, in seconds, their lips found their way back to one another. Jane pushed his suit jacket off his strong torso and tossed it into a corner that didn't even exist for her anymore.
When the kiss broke, Jane leaned against him breathlessly. "This was by no means an easy seduction, but I think the end result will be worth it," she whispered against his neck.
With that, Richard scooped her into his arms and begged directions to the nearest bedroom.
William scowled as Laurelen rattled off his list of afternoon appointments that he had in the clipped Rosalind Russell accent from "His Girl Friday" that she'd recently perfected. He wished he could blow off the meetings and take Georgiana's place at Pemberley, which was very near to completion. Or, more to the point, Georgiana's place with Elizabeth.
He hadn't been to Pemberley since the dream he'd had about her. Shortly after that vivid unreality, Elizabeth had invaded Pemberley like, according to Tate, a general with. She commanded her crew to hammer, mold, and smash things with the vigour of a man who thrived in battle. With such ferocity before him, William knew he couldn't step in. She was concentrating on her job and he would distract her, though he wasn't sure if the distraction was welcome.
So, instead of being underfoot at Pemberley, William tried desperately to bury himself in work that his heart wasn't into. He tried to use his work as a way to escape her, but it was useless, like ice cubes on the sun.
Still, she plagued his thoughts. The three months that separated them seemed at once like an eternity and only a moment ago. Her taste, once so vivid and fresh, seemed like a whisper that you weren't quite sure you heard in the first place. Her face had grown soft around the edges in his mind, but he fought to maintain the memory of the smell of her skin. However, while he struggled to keep her alive in his heart and head, Elizabeth seemed to have moved on.
William, who could now freely admit that he was deeply in love with Elizabeth, could not be sure of her because she had given Georgiana details about He. Although, He now seemed to have a name. George. Elizabeth seemed quite attached to him.
Through the stories related to him by his sister, William learned that George had been her best friend in college and he had just recently lost his wife in an automobile accident. George and his wife had a daughter who was Elizabeth's namesake and the little girl had become enamoured of Elizabeth (as people were prone to do, he mused). Auntie Lizzy had accompanied George and little Elizabeth to several family-type places, including the zoo and an amusement park.
He wanted to pretend that she really was the cold, unfeeling girl that had walked into his office on that first day. She seemed to have forgotten the moment they had beneath a moon that would keep their secret. He had to believe it to make himself feel better. How else could he explain to himself how she could move on so quickly?
He knew the answer to that also. William simply had not given her a single reason to think there was something worth waiting for. Clara was still in his house, sometimes even still in his bed. It was no longer loyalty that kept him bound to her. It was resignation. If he couldn't have the love he wanted, he could settle for the love he'd had. Not great reasoning to be sure, but it was all William had. Clara was his rebound lover and he'd never even broken up with her.
He shook his head as if he could jar all the unhappy thoughts loose and be done with it. Trying to focus on something cheerful, William forced his thoughts to turn to Georgiana and Jeremy's fast approaching nuptials.
His sister had, in the past few weeks, grown increasingly more insane. Between overseeing every wedding detail (because she refused to let somebody else plan the event regardless of how many times she threatened to chuck it all) and maintaining her budding photography career, Georgiana had barely been around.
Selfishly, William resented her happiness and wished that his little sister were still ten years old and sliding down the banister of the Darcy townhouse as their mother scolded her. It was too much to ask, he knew, to steal just a few more moments where he was still the most important man in her life, but William felt that he wasn't just losing his baby sister. He was losing his very best friend.
With a sudden burst of anger, William threw his pen down to his desk. He bolted from his chair and out to Laurelen's office. He paused for a moment at the end of her desk.
"Have fun at Pemberley," she said without looking up from her newspaper.
He gave an exasperated sigh and left the office for the day.
It was absolutely amazing the changes that had occurred at Pemberley. Somehow, it had become shining and gorgeous, as if veils that had been in place for years had suddenly been dropped to allow the reality to be seen. Old wood had been refinished, new marble had been set into ruined mantles and floors. The glass windows that hadn't been transparent for years were suddenly letting light flow into rooms that were appreciating their new lease on life.
Georgiana Darcy, heiress and fabulous dancer, took another turn around the ballroom. She pirouetted and settled her gaze upon Elizabeth, who stood nearby nervously awaiting her opinion.
"Oh, Lizzy, it's grand!" Georgiana gushed. "Do you realize how jealous my girlfriends will be when Jeremy and I have our first dance on this floor?"
Elizabeth smiled in relief. This was her second favorite room in the house. (The first being the east morning room.) She had desperately wanted Georgiana to like it. Her wedding was fast approaching. It was less than a month away at this point and the poor girl had been running mad for the last few weeks. Elizabeth knew Georgiana had more important things to do than inspect her work, but it couldn't be helped. She still couldn't breathe when she thought of William, let alone having to see him. It would have been unbearable.
Georgiana turned away, walking toward the balcony doors. Once out on the balcony, she faced Elizabeth. "This will be a perfect spot for a photo, don't you think, Lizzy? When the sun sets right there this balcony will be backlit and beautiful."
Elizabeth smiled in agreement.
Georgiana liked Elizabeth a great deal and wished that she could dump her off on William once and for all. She knew William loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt, and wanted what was best for him. There were no ill feelings toward Clara, except when she noticed the neglect her brother suffered at her hands.
Jane and Richard, however, were biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to bring the two together. All Georgiana could do was wait, because she had a wedding to plan and couldn't let herself be dragged about by the soapy lives that surrounded her.
"There are a few rooms that won't be done by the wedding, but nobody should be going near there. The rooms are all in the south wing," Elizabeth added. She traced the inlay of the wood floor while she went down her mental check list and ticked things off.
"Lovely, Lizzy. It's all lovely. You've done a beautiful job. William will be pleased," Georgiana said, intentionally slipping her brother's name into the mix.
Elizabeth's face darkened as it usually did whenever Georgiana mentioned William. Wisely, she never reacted to the gesture so Elizabeth thought she was getting away with it. However, the look was duly noted and reported back to Jane or Richard in terrific detail. To the unaware observer, Elizabeth's broody demeanor might have indicated a severe dislike for William Darcy. To those who knew what had transpired between the two, the dark look was filled with pain and longing.
Every time she saw (but pretended not to see) the sorrow pass over Elizabeth's face Georgiana thanked her lucky stars that Jeremy had simply spilled a pint on her at a football match. She'd known at that moment that he'd been the one for her and things just fell into place after that.
She glanced at her watch. "Oh, dear, I do have to go."
Elizabeth followed suit with a look at her own watch and agreed.
"Oh, really, Lizzy?" Georgiana asked, teasing. "Hot date?"
"Not exactly. Neil and Ivy are back from the States and George and I are having dinner with them."
"Oh," Georgiana replied softly. Elizabeth and George had never gone out without his daughter before. Were they getting closer? Were the she and her coconspirators too late to make her brother happy? Instead of showing her emotions on her face, Georgiana gave Elizabeth a smile. "Well, have fun and don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
Her mind racing, she flew down the steps that she and her charge had come to. She raced through corridors to a back entry door and reached the garage with her chest aching. She got into her red BMW with every intent of tearing through the countryside at breakneck speed, hoping that it wouldn't take the usual hour and a half to get to Longbourn.
She knew Richard would already be there, but didn't concern herself worrying about the affair that they thought they hid so well. She suspected that part of the reason they were so cautiously lying in wait for William and Elizabeth was to continue telling themselves that it would be over when their "project" was done.
"The whole bloody world's gone mad!" She puffed and angrily snapped the volume up on the radio. Her anger quickly dissipated with the coincidence suddenly presented to her. A song called "Secret Lovers" poured out of the speakers, bring Georgiana Darcy, heiress and fabulous dancer, to uncontrollable laughter on the road.
There was no denying that Richard Fitzwilliam was the best lover Jane Bennet could recall, but there was no way she would ever confirm that fact to the arrogant, cocksure man who had taken to cooking brunch at Longbourn every Sunday morning. There was something charming about the way he brought her breakfast in bed and read the paper as she buttered her toast.
Jane sometimes pretended that this affair was more than just mutual attraction. She sometimes allowed herself to believe that after William and Elizabeth were a secured item, she and Richard would have one last moment together and, when he went to leave, he would stop at the door and tell her that he loved her and that he always had.
Then Jane would return to reality. She wasn't even sure she wanted that much from Richard. Really. She wasn't even sure why she liked being with him like this.
Richard held Jane as they lie together on the sofa. His meeting had run late and they were expecting Georgiana anytime. There was no way to be presentable to her if they went to bed now. He noticed lately, though, that he was as content to just be with her, to just spend time with her.
He heard her snore softly, her head tucked under his chin. He felt her chest rise against him in that slow and perfect rhythm that he knew meant that she felt safe. He wondered at the fact that she felt safe with him when they both knew that he could break her heart.
They had started out as coconspirators, but now they were something else. Not quite lovers, but no longer involved in something as base as just shagging.
She hadn't told anybody about them. The only sister still at Longbourn never seemed to be there and there was never any danger of being discovered at his house. They never went out, but it didn't bother him. He was willing to lock her away from the rest of the world as long as he could, allowing himself the pleasure of having the planet's most beautiful secret asleep in his arms.
He kissed the crown of her head, letting his lips linger in the golden silk that he'd come to relish. It wouldn't be long now before Georgiana arrived and they would have to return to being just man who didn't know that Jane liked to be held when she slept or that she had a birthmark on her hip. Richard wished that they could just remain the lovers that they were in this room that was bathed in the last embers of a lazy summer day and never have to discuss anything with anybody else.
She stirred and her hand ran up his chest to strum one of the dark blonde curls that had slipped over his collar. In her sleep, Jane murmured his name.
Richard's breath caught. He held her tighter as the feeling washed over him, ensnaring him helplessly like a blade of grass bending to the will of the wind. He buried his face in her hair.
"I love you," he said.
It was the truth.
The light seemed different now. Brighter. It was as if Pemberley shone from the inside out, making the light of mid-afternoon glow more brilliantly, like a diamond in candlelight. The facade of the great house radiated warmly, like a fire lit inside a cozy country cottage.
William wondered if it was because Pemberley felt new or it was because it had grown to love Elizabeth too. Surely, when he dreamt of her, he shone like that. It was as if Elizabeth were the match and he and Pemberley were the wick, waiting for her spark to make them flare to life.
He parked the still unnamed gunmetal grey BMW in front of the house instead of the garage. William slipped up the stone steps slowly. He entered Pemberley with the reverence of an altar boy in church. Not because this was where Elizabeth had poured out her heart and soul into gallons of plaster and paint, but because this house had been the seat of generations of Darcys for hundreds of years. Darcys had been born here, had died here, had been laid to rest here, but, most importantly, Darcys had lived here.
For the first time in his life, William Darcy felt like he had come home. His family's long and illustrious, sometimes infamous, past enveloped him and filled him like it never had before.
As he looked around, steadying his breath to keep from crumbling in the embrace of history, he took in the grandeur that generations of his family must have breathed in. The foyer had been installed with mahogany; deep, rich, and fragrant with the heady aroma of fresh stain. It covered the three walls of the entry halfway up, where the stairway branched off before him. The higher walls were a rich, warm cream that reminded him of the way Georgiana took her coffee. The enormous Persian rug beneath his feet glimmered in the rich jeweled tones of ruby, sapphire, and emerald. There were a scattering of paintings on the wall, however one thing stood out. It was on the wall of the stairway landing. A large framed photograph of Pemberley taken at sunset, when the house was backlit, just as he'd first seen it. As Elizabeth had first seen it.
He took the steps two at a time and examined the photo more closely. It was the only modern thing in the entire foyer, but it seemed to fit with its brushed tones of gold, rose, and salmon. In the lower left corner, a small silver "G" lilted in his sister unmistakable manner. A smile touched William's lips.
He continued up the steps. There were subtle changes everywhere and only the occasional massive change that would make him look twice, but a second look is all he would allow himself for now. There was one room in particular that he needed to see. He took a deep breath as his hand touched the latch.
The east morning room had not changed at all. Except for the draperies and Elizabeth sitting on the hideous settee that she loved so dearly.
She looked up as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. For a moment, it seemed as if all the air slipped out of the room so that it could avoid whatever argument might ensue.
It had to be a dream, she thought. He couldn't be standing before her, like she'd wished a thousand times before when she'd sat in here. She must be exhausted. She had been working so hard lately and taking care of George and Elie just to not think about him.
"William," she whispered, still not quite sure if he was real.
"Elizabeth, I-"
"Oh," she breathed. He was real.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said quickly. He struggled to keep his arms at his sides and not grab her. "It looks amazing."
She beamed in spite of the awkwardness. Her eyes fairly glowed with pride. "It does, doesn't it?"
William made the trip across the room in a few quick strides and took the place next to her on the settee. "I thought Georgie was supposed to be here today."
"She left just a bit ago. I had a few things left to do," she replied, picking at an invisible string on overalls that were smudged with paint, caked with plaster.
The silence between them stretched for little eternities, each trying to determine if they should stay or go and each finding a reason not to leave. The silence gave way to the crackling air that seemed inevitable whenever they were together for very long.
"I've missed you, Elizabeth," William said quietly, reverently. He slipped his hand over hers, feeling the warmth of her smooth skin and scolding himself for being such a bloody dolt. Just touching her felt right, in a way that he'd never felt when he touched Clara.
Suddenly, William realized that Pemberley felt like home not only because of the Darcy blood that had ran through the house, but because of Elizabeth's blood. And her sweat and tears. She had given this job her everything to make it perfect not because it was a job, but because she loved it. It return, Pemberley fell in love with her.
Elizabeth had become home to him.
She wasn't sure how, but Elizabeth found herself wrapped tightly in the embrace that she'd dreamt of for months. She didn't allow herself to think of Clara because she wanted this stolen moment with the man she loved. If Clara had him for the rest of her life, Elizabeth could beg him away for this one moment and live with it for the rest of her life. She didn't want to think about Clara or consequences or anything but William and the taste of him upon her mouth.
When the kiss broke, both of them panting and sweating, Elizabeth leaned her head forward to nuzzle William's neck. She was now convinced that this room held a special magic that only they could feel. She felt it in the dream she'd had a lifetime ago. She'd watched him sleep, his head full of darkness, in the spot where they now sat. She'd whispered those words to his dreaming self, words that she could not utter in the real world.
Elizabeth clung to him, never wanting to leave the east morning room for fear of the reality beyond the door. She loved feeling his breath in her hair, his hands on her back. She had fought him as best she could and lost her heart, but she couldn't find it in herself to be a sore loser.
"My God, Elizabeth, we've been such fools. Look at all the bloody time we've wasted," he muttered. "I can't be apart from you. Don't make me go through that again. I beg of you."
She pulled back far enough to look into his black, coffee-coloured eyes.
"It was torture," he continued, "We spent so much time together before that I'd forgotten that I'd ever lived my life without you. I lost my best friend."
"It was hell for me too," she replied, quietly. A wash of bitterness flowed over her face and was gone. "I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hate Clara, but I only hated myself for letting you go and not fighting for you."
She reached up, cupping his face in her hand. He turned his head and kissed her palm.
"To hell with Clara," she spat.
"To hell with George," he returned.
Elizabeth's brow knit in confusion. "George? George Wickham? How do you know about George?"
"You are working with my sister, Elizabeth. You may have become great friends, but she is still my blood."
She started to giggle. When it was his turn to be confused, that clever little giggle exploded into a great, huffing chortle. He let go of her and she fell back against the arm of the settee, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Elizabeth, what's so bloody funny?" William demanded.
"You," she replied between snorts that were very much, she noted, like Lydia's.
"Wha- Why am I funny?"
Elizabeth made every effort to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and took several short breaths to calm herself and when she was sure that she could look at his confused puss again, she opened her eyes. After another moment to make sure she was in control, Elizabeth graced his with a wide grin.
"I believe that you're jealous, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth began, "of my dear friend, George Wickham. William, George and I were at college together. He was my best friend and he married my other best friend, Annabel. I did fancy myself in love with him at some point, but after the infliction you have caused on my heart, I'm quite certain that I was confused terribly about George."
"So, you aren't seeing him?" William's voice was hopeful like a schoolboy's.
She shook her head, smiling at him. She held open her arms.
He embraced her gratefully. After all this time, William Darcy had finally come home.
Addie was elated. For the first time in nearly three months she was being driven as she was meant to be driven: with the top down and breaking every speed-related traffic law in England.
Dusk was giving a slow, glorious birth to what was sure to become an incredible summer night. Displaced air fell back viscously, snapping Elizabeth's flame-kissed ponytail into a frenzy. A grin seemed to be permanently tattooed onto her suddenly bright face.
Addie was elated, but Elizabeth was ecstatic.
He loved her! He had walked her to the car to see her off when she realized how very late she was going to be meeting George at his house. It was almost too much happiness to bear, but she was nearly positive that she would find a way to survive.
"Elizabeth," he'd said. William's lovely, sculpted mouth was very close to her ear while his cheek pressed against hers. "I could no sooner live without you than I could live without air. Don't make wait another three months to see you again."
"Never," she replied weakly.
"Then come back to Pemberley tonight. I'll wait for you."
Elizabeth began to pull back, foolishly thinking she should disagree, but he caught her, held her firmly against him.
"It's just us, Elizabeth," he'd growled. "Only us. I could care less if the rest of the world fell away."
His lips had assailed upon hers then; the soft, smooth flesh of his lips smashed into hers with a need that was so fierce she could scare draw breath. His hands tangled in her hair, slipped over her back, and stroked her face as if to reassure himself that she was really entangled in his arms.
When the had kiss broken, Elizabeth swayed as she tried to gain her bearings. She couldn't answer him. The best she could do was merely nod that she would come to him in the house that had brought them together.
"Go to George, Elizabeth, but come home to me." His voice had been low and gravelly as he opened the car door for her and his eyes never left hers as she sagged into Addie's waiting body.
"Yes," she replied and closed her eyes as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
As she drove now, Elizabeth replayed the events of the last few hours again and again in her mind's eye. The way William's eyes had scorched whatever body part they happened to look at or the feel of his lips on her neck.
She was so caught up in the sensations her mind kept visiting that she was barely aware of the breakneck speed at which she was racing through the countryside. Addie took each obstacle smoothly by sheer habit. She flowed up and down each hill and around each curve like mercury tossed about in a test tube.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, her grin widening. She could still catch William's scent on her as it clung to her body like a talisman. It was strong and clean, an odd combination of brandy and cucumber. She wanted to wrap it around herself and soak it in.
Suddenly, she found herself at her destination. Pushing aside her complete happiness for a moment, she had the good sense to be unnerved by her lack of recollection regarding her journey to George's house.
Wouldn't be smart to find the love of your life then get killed, eh, Lizzy? She mused.
She was still a total mess from her workday at Pemberley, which was sure would only add to Sydney Wickham's dislike of her son's friend. It made her wish (not for the first time) that George would make a decision about his and Elie's future. Every time the subject of his return to the States was broached, he became pensive, sometimes angry. He wasn't ready to return to the house where he'd lived with his dead wife. He couldn't bear the memories. He didn't want to answer the questions that Elie would surely ask about the mother she'd lost. There were so many reasons to not go home that Elizabeth rightly suspected that George's next trip back would be to settle his affairs then end up someplace that wouldn't remind him of Annabel. The only thing was, though, George was apt to think of Annabel wherever he saw a blue sky, the exact shade of her laughing eyes.
Before she was even out of the car, Elie was streaking out of the house, wearing a prissy white blouse and pleated skirt. As a victim of a prestigious (pretentious, as she had called them) boarding school upbringing, Annabel would have disapproved. The child ran toward Elizabeth. They had become great friends and Elizabeth loved every moment she spent with the little girl.
"You're dirty!" Elie cried when Elizabeth picked her up. She wrinkled her tiny nose and stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Put me down! Girls aren't s'posed to be dirty."
"Who says?" Elizabeth asked, brushing her chalky cheek against the squirming child's face.
"Grandmama Nat."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The last thing in the world Annabel would have wanted was Nathalie influencing her daughter. Annabel had once been convinced that Nathalie was the devil himself, but then realized that her mother had more balls than the devil ever could. Nathalie was once quoted in the press as saying that the Princess of Wales was a mousy little thing who would never be more than a footnote in history. After she had died. Elizabeth guessed that Nathalie Hawthorne was one of the deciding factors in the choice to move across the Pond.
"Girls can be dirty anytime they want," Elizabeth said, grinning. "Makes it easier to beat up boys."
Elie smiled at that and rubbed her nose to Elizabeth's. Her mummy had always called it an Eskimo kiss. The gesture reminded Elie of her mother. She knew her Aunt Lizzy was as special as her mother was. It gave her comfort to be able to keep the kiss alive.
"What's with the outfit?"
"Grandma took me to school today."
"A new preschool? Was it fun?"
Elie, now dusty from Elizabeth's embrace, shrugged indifferently. "It was just okay."
"Cheer up. I say tomorrow you should play in the sandbox and take over the playground."
Elie beamed.
"Are you teaching Spot bad habits?" George asked from the doorway, where he had been watching the exchange.
"As many as I can. Right, Spot?"
"Right!" Elie exclaimed.
Elizabeth noticed that he looked better than he had in ages. His handsome, chiseled face held colour instead of the whitish pallor of the previous weeks. His black hair flopped casually across his forehead, giving him a slightly boyish appearance. The green in his eyes was brighter today. George had somehow become his old, beautiful self.
George shook his head while Elizabeth returned Elie to the earth and retrieved a bag from the trunk. She walked toward the door, giving him a sheepish smile.
"Lizzy, you are very late," he scolded, his eyes narrowing. "I even got dressed up for you and you look like crap."
"I know. I'm sorry. Had a bit of a day at the office. I look a fright, I'm sure."
They watched Elie scamper off into the house and George took her hand. He kissed it then released it. If it hadn't have been for Elizabeth being there for him, George was sure that he would have joined Annabel in the ground. She had saved his life just by being herself with him and with Elie. He could never pay her back for all she had done and he was sure that she wasn't even aware that she'd done anything.
"Lizzy, you look as beautiful as always. In fact, I'd wager that you're glowing."
Elizabeth smirked at him. "I'll tell you everything on the way to the restaurant."
"Ooh," George said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "News! I love news."
Elizabeth laughed and left him to go make herself presentable.
Dinner with George, Neil, and Ivy was pleasant enough, but Elizabeth couldn't focus. Her mind was more agreeably engaged by visions of the handsome man who was awaiting her. George, apprised of every sordid little detail of it, made happy excuses for his friend that might have proved embarrassing had she been attentive to the situation.
The food that was placed before her was barely touched; her wine was barely sipped. She kept drumming her fingers absently on the tabletop in her anticipation for the dinner to be over.
When the party finally finished off the last bite of dessert and sip of coffee (which, Elizabeth was sure, was a ploy to keep her away from Pemberley even longer) she all but pushed her friend out of the door and into the car. When she pulled to abrupt stop in front of George's house, she glared at him impatiently.
Instead of moving, however, George just sat there. He gazed back her, his expression bemused. He was irritating the hell out of her and relishing every moment. He let a beat pass, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.
"You look beautiful tonight. It isn't the slinky little dress or the amethysts twinkling with every movement. It's being in love, Lizzy. It suits you."
"Yes, yes," Elizabeth muttered impatiently, only half-joking. "Be sentimental on your own time!"
George snorted, but didn't move. "I want you to be happy."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and tried to shoo him out of the car.
"Liz, I'm serious. Will he make you happy?"
She stopped for a moment and looked at him. Really looked at him. He was looking at her like he had the night he'd fought for her in the pub. The night she'd told him that she loved him.
"Yes, George. William will make me deliriously happy."
"If he hurts you-"
She nodded, cutting him off. "Now, if you don't get out of my car, you'll be sleeping in the garage at Pemberley."
"It's a huge house, Lizzy! You wouldn't even allow me a room?"
"It's a huge house, George. I plan on using every room to my full advantage!"
He laughed and exited the vehicle. He barely had time to move his feet out of the way before she was peeling out of the drive and toward the lover who was waiting for her.
After deciding that the best way to throw William and Elizabeth together was to have a party for Georgiana and Jeremy, the Conspirators engaged in a lively conversation about soccer. When the debate between Richard and Georgiana (viscously defensive fans of bitterly rivaled teams) subsided, Jane, ever the perfect hostess, made an offer of tea.
"Oh, please tell me that you baked more of those incredible lime biscuits!" Georgiana pleaded. Then she added: "As if I should be eating them when I have a wedding dress to squeeze into."
Jane rolled her sky blue eyes at Georgiana Darcy's lithe form, but smiled while she did it. Jane genuinely like Georgiana and hoped that things went well for Elizabeth and William so that she would have an excuse to see Georgiana when their little plan was over. If things didn't work out, Jane was sure to never see Georgiana again because her connection with the family would be severed. No Georgiana, no Richard. No Richard.
She was almost sick with the thought of him never walking through her front door with a bottle of wine and a faggot of sticks for the fire. She didn't want to think about a Sunday morning where she wouldn't wake up lazily in his arms, seeing his grinning face and tousled hair. She couldn't begin to consider ever taking a bubble bath once he was gone. No Richard. How would her world exist without him?
To keep from bursting into tears, Jane stood, smoothing her grey plaid skirt down in the front. "Now, George, you know that I make those biscuits especially for you. A girl as skinny as you should at least have to have her wedding dress taken out once!"
While Georgiana scoffed, Jane started to hurry into the kitchen. She didn't count on Richard offering his help with the tea tray. Being too polite to refuse, she gave a weak smile of acceptance and they disappeared.
"They'll be exchanging more than lime biscuit recipes," Georgiana remarked to no one as she took a tour about the room.
The parlor was one of the coziest rooms she'd ever been in. There were obvious traces of Elizabeth scattered about like stray pieces of confetti after a party. A brass carriage clock with clean lines, a beaded chenille coverlet thrown casually over the back of an overstuffed floral armchair. On the mantle were smiling faces of Bennets past and present. A single family portrait sat in the center. A younger Jane and Elizabeth, neither barely out of their teens, flanked their parents while Kate and Lydia sat behind. The one Georgiana didn't know stood glumly in the back, her potentially pretty face dull and waxy.
"Ah, yes, there's always one that doesn't fit in," she said, thinking of her droll cousin, Anne.
Georgiana, by sheer coincidence, had met Kate and Lydia at the gallery where her photographs hung. Having been exposed to all but the one, Georgiana was excited by the prospect of having two Bennet sisters in the family (because she was sure Richard was in a fair way of falling madly in love with Jane) and, by default, gaining Kate and Lydia, who were utterly charming. They'd met for coffee on several occasions since that first encounter at the exhibit. Kate was brilliantly creative, though Georgiana could see that very few people, Kate herself included, realized it. Lydia, on the other hand, was just plain brilliant. In spite of her age, she could talk politics, religion, and current events like nobody's business. She joked that if it weren't for the Internet and all news channels, she'd be a flighty gossip. Georgiana could see Lydia becoming the political powerhouse she aspired to be.
By another token, aside from her fascinating family, Georgiana wanted Elizabeth as a sister. She had known Clara since she was small and had always liked her, but lately Georgiana had noticed a change in Clara's demeanor. She had closed up, cutting herself off from William. It seemed ungrateful to Georgiana, as if Clara had played hard to get by fighting William on moving, then, once she'd been "gotten," figured she didn't have to be thankful because she was a hard won prize.
It made Georgiana angry. William was so good. He didn't deserve to be used by some wench who wouldn't even join him for dinner. She realized that she could count the number of times she's seen Clara below stairs since she'd moved in on one hand.
No, indeed. William did not deserve to be treated like a roommate. He needed a lover, and Elizabeth was that woman. Georgiana knew; she'd seen it in Elizabeth's eyes.
Her fists clenched into tight balls, she grunted. Then she heard angry words ripple in from the kitchen. The thought of a lover's quarrel between people who weren't lovers (she chuckled at the thought) intrigued her. Her own anger quickly dissipated, she decided to see how the tea was coming along.
"I love my dear cousin," Richard said, "But I do wish she'd leave. I long to go to bed."
"That tired from your journey, Fitzwilliam?" Jane asked, arching her brow sarcastically.
"You know better than that," he replied, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck. "It's been ages since I touched you."
"You're touching me right now," she muttered. "Be a dear and get the teacups ready. The water's hot."
Richard sighed heavily, like a child who'd been told that he couldn't have a treat, and did as she asked. He pulled the cups down, preparing the tea tray with milk and sugar, spoons and the lime biscuits. From her cool demeanor, Richard could tell that Jane had woken from her nap in a foul temper.
"Have I done something wrong?" He asked, adding a small jar of apricot jam and some crackers to the tray. It was his favorite to go along with tea.
"Now, Fitzwilliam, whatever could you have done wrong?" Her voice sounded sweet, but her blue eyes flash a cold anger that sent a chill down his spine.
"Bennet," he began, trying to apologize for whatever had offended her. His mouth snapped shut when she glared at him.
"I'm tired of this," she spat. "I'm bored with your overproduced arrivals, your heated kisses, your perfect seductions. I'm exhausted, actually. I'm tired of being a prop in your dramas of romance."
Jane felt the shock of her words as they exited her mouth. Did she really mean that? Certainly not. However, she had executed them perfectly and, by the look on Richard's face, he certainly believed them.
Lately, whenever Jane had awaked in his arms, she couldn't help but think that the number of times she would get to was dwindling. Something broke inside of her, letting loose the realization that he was more than capable of leaving her. Richard was the quintessential billionaire playboy. He'd never had an emotional attachment in his life. Why in the world would Jane be any different? Why would Jane be the one to change him? She had sadly arrived at the realization that she wouldn't.
She could admit now that she was in love with him, but it didn't mean anything because he was Richard. After he walked out her door, what would she be left with? The memory of his touch, his kiss? It wasn't good enough. She found she didn't want to prepare for his inevitable departure. It was better to run first. If she destroyed him, ended their affair in anger then Jane could pretend a little that she hadn't lost a piece of her heart to him.
"What?" Richard asked, obviously confused.
"Have you never had a woman tire of you first? Or are you always the first one out the door?" Jane asked bitterly, not realizing the statement could have given her away completely had Richard not been in shock. She knew this wasn't the time or place with Georgiana in the parlor, but she had to do it while she had the chance, before her heart could forgive him any trespass.
"Where is this coming from?" He demanded. He crossed the space between them and stood before her. Richard didn't understand. The moment he'd walked through the door, he'd been in her waiting embrace. When he'd kissed her hello, he'd felt no animosity.
"From my need to be rid of you," she said simply. The words felt like a knife across her tongue and, seeing the horror in his eyes, Jane wished the blade had been plunged into her heart. And twisted a few times for good measure.
Never before in his life had a single sentence done so much to wound him. He felt the words sink into him like a million tiny shards of glass.
"You don't mean that," Richard stuttered, his voice a queasy whisper.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because there's...." He was too stunned, too hurt to speak. He hadn't thought her capable of being so cruel.
"Let's be honest, Fitzwilliam," she began, moving away from him, trying to focus on steeping the tea bag so that she didn't have to look at his eyes. Why did they look like she was killing him? "Neither of us were in this for the long haul." Again, the coolness of her own voice shocked her while she thought: Because I could have been. I have to leave now, though, because I'm in love with you.
He glared at the flaxen back of her head then, grabbing her by her arms and spinning her around. There was no in hell she would get away with this. She couldn't just cut him, bleed him, then walk away. He wasn't going to let her surrender, not without a fight.
"How the hell do you know?" He growled, an edge of danger in his words. "How do you know? Did you even bother to ask? You just assume that I'll leave because you're tired of me. It doesn't work like that, Bennet."
"Please, don't make a production out of this too." She tried to sound bored with the situation, but the brutal tone of his voice set her stomach rolling in panic.
"This isn't a game to me," Richard hissed. He leaned close to her face, close enough to kiss her. Her eyes filled his vision and made the core of him ache. "We aren't a game to me. Has it not become painfully obvious to you that there's something between us?"
"My sister's love life and great sex?" Jane asked, bitterly. She hadn't expected him to put up a fight. She'd expected relief and gratitude, and, no matter how much it would have hurt her to see those emotions, it was what she'd been prepared for. She wasn't prepared for him to fight back.
"Christ, Jane!" He exclaimed. "Are you bloody blind? I admit that I've been ignoring it for ages, but what about this intuition women are supposed to have?"
"You're babbling, Richard," she whispered, unsure of everything at the moment he'd spoken her name.
Their eyes met then. Everything fell into place like dominoes lined up in a row.
"Really?" Jane asked, tears trembling in her eyes.
He only nodded. Their emotions were spilling into the air. The words didn't need to be spoken. Richard pulled her into a tight embrace and kept her there until a final shuddering breath escaped from her. Not caring about anything but Jane, he tenderly kissed away the apology that she started to utter.
The kiss still held as Georgiana wandered in, pretending that she hadn't been eavesdropping since the start of the fight. Sensing that their privacy had been breached, the lovers broke the kiss, watching as she plucked two lime biscuits off the tea tray.
She threw them a nonchalant glance as she withdrew from the kitchen. "Oh, don't mind me. Carry on."
Moments later, Richard and Jane heard a peal of laughter drift back to them like new snow. The front door opened then closed, much louder than it normally would have. Their cover had been blown, but, as they gazed lovingly at one another, both of them found that they didn't really care.
At some point during the long, sweaty night the velvet draperies on the massive bed had been pulled back and left open. Now, stray beams of light from the window on the southwest wall crept in like thieves and warmed Elizabeth's bare arms. Her eyes pulled open and she felt herself panic for a moment. The panic, however, passed quickly when she remembered where she was.
In our room.
She could feel heat radiate off his bare skin, warming her from behind. She pushed herself deeper under the scrumptious silk duvet. She wiggled a little, sliding her body over the heavy cotton sheets to come to rest so that their naked bodies were touching. A smile broke wide over her lips as his arm encircled her and came to rest on her belly.
The steady rise and fall of his chest against her back told her that he was still deeply asleep. She marveled how, just the day before, she'd been pining for him, desperately wishing that Clara would fall into a deep pit someplace, or, better yet, that she herself, would develop enough backbone to fight for her own happiness. Now, here she was wrapped in William's arms, lying flesh on flesh, refreshed and content.
It was the first good night of sleep Elizabeth had had since her parents' deaths.
Her conscience was nagging at her, trying to get her to feel bad for loving another woman's man, for stealing him away for her own pleasure, but Elizabeth refused to acknowledge it. She would not let the happiness she'd felt, the peace she'd felt in William's arms be diminished by her own morals. She wondered why she was trying to ruin it. Didn't she deserve to be happy?
Elizabeth knew that she did and she knew that whatever happened between her and William, this moment was right. If it made her feel as good as she felt at that moment, how could it be wrong?
She felt lips press against the nape of her neck and the subsequent shudder it sent through her system. "Good morning, beautiful."
"Good morning. Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in ages. You?"
"Wonderfully." She twisted so that she could look up at him. He propped his head up on his arm and smiled at her. "I'm starved. Care for some breakfast?"
"Sure." Instead of releasing her, however, William playfully nibbled at her earlobe.
"I wasn't planning on being part of the menu," Elizabeth scolded.
"Well, then," he began, "Let's skip breakfast because right now the only thing I want is you."
Elizabeth finally managed to escape from William's clutches toward the middle of the afternoon. Her stomach groaned in agony as she threw together ingredients for pancakes. She poured juice, chopped some fruit, and brewed a pot of coffee. The thought occurred to her that the kitchen was suspiciously well stocked and that her beloved had not sat idle while awaiting her arrival the night before.
She sat two places at the table, considered waiting for him before she started eating but decided against it when he stomach gave another angry growl. Elizabeth was greedily stabbing at a chunk of melon when William appeared in his boxer shorts. Elizabeth's stomach gave another lurch, but it wasn't of the hunger-related variety. His hair stuck up in patches here and there.
"That's a good look for you, Mr. Darcy."
"If a certain brown-eyed girl would've kept her hands out of it, it wouldn't be in such a state."
Instead of replying, Elizabeth merely stuck her tongue out at him then shoved another forkful of pancake into her mouth.
For a moment, William was struck by the enormity of what had happened between them. They were together now, bound. They had joined their hearts, minds, souls, and bodies together. They were no longer just friends, but they were more than lovers. William knew that this woman was the woman he was to spend the rest of his life with, the only person in the world who would ever know him completely.
There wasn't a doubt in William's mind how she felt for him, either. Not after the way she'd kissed him when they'd first gone to bed. He knew that Elizabeth loved him as much as he loved her. He'd never had any such guarantee from Clara.
"You look entirely too serious, Will. You should be jolly after the night we had," Elizabeth added, a coy grin playing over her lips.
He smiled at her in return. "I was just thinking about you."
She feigned a grimace. "Goodness! I hope I didn't inspire such dreadful thoughts."
"Never."
She stood, walked to the countertop, and slid another huge pancake onto her plate. "Are you hungry? Please tell me that you plan on having more than that cup of coffee."
He nodded that he planned on eating and she brought him a plate stacked with pancakes and topped with fruit. She sat across from him, skimming an old architecture digest that she'd never gotten around to reading, and gobbling her own breakfast.
The fluffy, light pancake tasted like heaven. He'd forgotten to eat dinner last night and didn't realize how hungry it was. The tang of the strawberries zipped over his pallet and mixed with the slightly honeyed taste of the cake.
"Lizzy, this is wonderful," he commented.
"Don't get used to it. It's one of five things I can cook well. Jane inherited all the culinary talent in the family."
He laughed and sipped his coffee. "What would you have done about our bedroom if we hadn't have met yesterday?"
Elizabeth leaned back in her seat to consider the question. After a moment, she replied: "I simply wouldn't have told you about it. You hadn't approved it so you wouldn't have known it was redone and you would have had no reason to go look at it. By the time you would've gotten around to it, you would've been mine anyway."
"A bit sure of yourself, aren't you?"
She simply smiled. "Don't I have every reason to be?"
"Touché."
She finished off her breakfast, took her plate to the sink. After she'd finished washing it up, she returned to the table to stand behind William. She slid her hands over her shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her fingertips.
"Darling, while those boxer shorts are quite flattering and an incredibly charming distraction from my magazine, I suggest you dress. I have a surprise for you."
"A surprise? For me?" He asked, feeling his insides knot as she pulled her hands back up his torso.
"Don't be daft. You're the only one here." She tapped the back of his head in a mock smack, darting backwards before he could grab her.
"What about you? You aren't dressed," he pouted.
"I have jeans in my bag, which is in Addie. I think this tee shirt is sufficient enough. I'll meet you back here. Now go."
Ten minutes later, William appeared wearing jeans and nothing else. It was the first time Elizabeth had ever seen him in jeans and she felt her stomach tighten as she watched his bare-chested body enter the kitchen. She pushed her lust aside (no small feat) and focused on the task at hand.
Elizabeth frowned in dismay upon realizing that William was shoeless. "We're going outside. You need shoes."
"I've walked barefoot before, Lizzy. I think I can manage."
"But, William," she began. Her eyes darted from side to side like she was afraid somebody would hear her. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "There are snakes."
He chuckled at her earnestness. In return, Elizabeth's arms crossed over her chest and she scowled.
"Darling Lizzy, would you like me to put shoes on?"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You needn't do it to humor me, but don't whine if a snake eats your foot."
In the mudroom, William slipped his feet into a pair of old, brown work boots. He started for the door, but she stopped him.
"Close your eyes."
"What?"
Elizabeth sighed. "William, you aren't bloody deaf. I told you to close your eyes."
Confused and shaking his head, William did as he was told. When he felt the blindfold being snugged into place he was intrigued. What could possibly be worth such a large production?
He heard the door open and felt the late August sun drip onto his skin like warm rivulets of candle wax.
"Where are we going?" He asked her.
"Now if I told you there'd be no need for the blindfold, would there?"
"Oh, I can think of a number of uses for the blindfold," he replied, grinning.
He felt her quick tap on his arm. "That's quite pervy really."
"Yes, I'd like to think so," he said, his voice bordering a growl.
Elizabeth fought the urge to molest him on the spot.
"There's a step here, darling," she told him a few minutes later. "And another."
"Where the blazes are we, Lizzy?"
She released his hand and remained silent as she watched him stand there. Although she couldn't see his eyes, Elizabeth could see that William was confused and not a little bit annoyed by the way his lips were pursed together. She stepped behind him and undid the cloth, unable to torture him any longer.
For an instant, William blinked against the sudden brightness around him. As his eyes adjusted, he studied his surroundings. He was facing a bank lined with trees that he recognized, but as he looked down, he realized he was standing on a newly constructed limestone bridge. He ran his fingers over the curved railing and felt the peculiar not-quite-smooth sensation of the material. The rail, carved to look like so much ivy, was supported by thick pillars that had ornate depictions of animals carved into them, animals found in Pemberley's park...all except the snakes. The walkway was strong and firm and would never budge an inch.
And there was water running beneath the bridge, clear and gurgling.
"Elizabeth," he breathed. It was another project he'd heard nothing about, but he didn't care. It meant more to him than any room, save two, could ever mean.
"You said you hired me to build you a bridge. I was merely doing what the boss said," she added with a sly smile. "The reason we fell into that mudpit that day, besides some lame excuse for a bridge, was some furry little creatures upstream had dammed it. There was barely a trickle getting through, but it was enough to keep it messy.
"I called in a couple of favors. My friend, Gus, has this Italian associate who carves limestone. I turned the order in the day we broke the bridge. He did an amazing job on these pillars.
"Gus also knows this landscape architect, Carrie Billings. She's going to be doing royal gardens someday. She's amazing."
William cut her off with a kiss, knowing that, if given the chance, Elizabeth would simply tell him everything she did to Pemberley, and, while he was interested in the project, he was more interested in her at that moment.
"I love you, Elizabeth," he said. He stood there with her in his arms, looking up at him.
"Really? Damn. Here I thought this was simply a one-night stand. What am I going to tell Mick, Steve, and John?"
He shook his head, laughing. "I'm afraid, darling, that you're quite stuck with me. To put it very simply, you're mine and Mick, Steve, and John are dead men walking."
She graced him with a brilliant smile. "Well, you really only had competition from John. Mick and Steve are poofs."
He laughed again as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, his mouth.
"I love you, William," she whispered into his ear.
"Care to watch the sunset this evening?" He asked.
"From the bench," she replied, nodding. "You know Georgiana and I sat through three weeks of sunsets to get the perfect photograph for the foyer."
"Fascinating," he said, wanting to care but he found that he couldn't. "And what are we doing after the sunset?"
"Well, if you can't come up with something then I'm afraid I'll have to give John a call."
William's grip tightened around her. "Ah, darling, forget this John. I'm sure his entertainment wouldn't be nearly as impressive as mine."
She was blasé. "Typical male."
"Last night you said I was anything but typical."
A sly smile spread over Elizabeth's lips. "I seem to have forgotten how atypical you are. Perhaps you should show me."
William took her to the grass and did just that.