Page 39 of Desired By Mr Darcy
He could not wait to make Elizabeth Bennet his wife.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth
Hertfordshire felt dull and empty without Fitzwilliam’s presence, and she did little but think of him. Her departure from London had been difficult, and she felt a sense of melancholy that was unwarranted. After all, she would see him shortly, and then they would never need to be parted again. Their intimacy had only made her more desperate for their wedding day, for she had had no idea that a man and a woman could share such exquisite pleasure.
“What’s the matter, Lizzy?” Jane asked as they darned dresses they would hand down to Mary and Kitty upon their marriage. “You cannot sit still.”
“I am quite still.”
“No, you are not. You are wriggling in your seat, setting down your work, picking it up again, staring off into space…you are quite distracted.”
“I am sure I am not. My eyes are a little tired; the light is dim today.”
Jane eyed the bright autumn sunshine, before turning to her sister.
“You never were a good liar, you know. I never liked to say anything, but I can always tell when you are hiding the truth from me.”
“I do not know…”
“Something happened in London, didn’t it? You have been away with the fairies since we returned, and I have tried to ignore it.”
“Nothing happened, Jane; nothing but I am certain I am helplessly in love, and I am all the happier for it, I assure you.”
“You hold no anxieties about the future?”
“None whatsoever. Any apprehension I may have felt has melted away. I liked London very much, and I believe being Mrs Darcy will be very pleasant indeed. Are you worried, sister?”
“Only that I do not know how to be a wife. Mama makes it sound so very difficult. I should not like to disappoint Mr Bingley.”
“I do not know how many times I can say this, Jane, but Mr Bingley would not be disappointed even if it transpired you were a werewolf. I believe he would cheerfully welcome you back after every full moon had passed.”
“Lizzy! You are silly. You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If you were keeping a secret.”
“Then it would not be much of a secret, would it?”
“Lizzy!”
“Hush. There is nothing to talk about.”
Lizzy would never tell another soul of what had happened on that delicious night in Mr Darcy’s library; not even her sister, her closest confidante. It was a precious secret, shared between her and the man she loved more than anything.
Jane sighed but said nothing more, though her eyes lingered on Lizzy’s face with a knowing softness. She returned to her needlework, and for a time, they sewed in companionablesilence, broken only by the occasional snap of thread or rustle of fabric.
But Lizzy could not focus. The memory of that night - his hands, his lips, the way he had murmured her name - lingered too vividly. How could she be expected to think of anything else when every part of her longed for him? When the days stretched on endlessly, and the nights were worse, because it was then that her mind most cruelly replayed every whispered word, every stolen touch?
She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile at the thought of him. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the proud and enigmatic master of Pemberley, had undone her completely. And yet, she had never felt more herself.
Jane’s voice pulled her from her reverie.
“I do hope Charles and Mr Darcy will not delay their arrival,” she said, her tone light but betraying the same eager anticipation that Lizzy felt. “Mama is beside herself with preparations. I know it is tradition that the wedding breakfast be held at Longbourn, but it would have been far easier to host the affair at Netherfield.”
Lizzy barely heard what her sister said as she stared out of the window. Somewhere, far beyond the rolling hills of Hertfordshire, Fitzwilliam was preparing to return to her. Soon, she would see him again, feel his touch, hear the warmth in his voice when he spoke her name.
Once reunited, they would never be parted again.
The day of Mr Darcy’s arrival dawned crisp and golden, autumn wrapping Longbourn in its gentle embrace. Elizabeth spent the morning feigning patience, pretending to listen as her mother chattered endlessly about the wedding details, while Jane, ever serene, only smiled at her sister’s restlessness. But inside, Lizzyfelt nearly undone. Every tick of the clock stretched unbearably, and every sound of hooves in the drive sent her heart racing - only to leave her disappointed when it was merely the delivery of flowers or fresh linens.
