Page 52 of Pemberley's Imposter
He opened his eyes and discovered an apparition of loveliness. Her hair curtained her cheeks and cast long shadows across her countenance. The striking dark eyes that had enchanted him shimmered in the obscure light from the single candle on his bedside table, arresting his thoughts and compelling him into action.
He reached for her hand and pulled her to him. She did not resist but fell eagerly onto him and blanketed him with her body. He clutched her to his person with only a light linen cloth between them. Elizabeth was in his arms, wetting his chest with her tears. It was cleansing; his own cheeks were equally moist. It would never be the same, they could not retrieve what had been irrevocably lost, but peace and contentment were attainable.
Chapter 17 Return to Innocence
Pemberley, 16thDecember, 1812
A light tap jolted Darcy out of his sleep. He was on his feet within a second, looking frantically about the room in sheer fright. For a moment he did not know where he was. He expected to be in his chamber and stared puzzled at the dying embers of the fireplace in his own study. His knees buckled, and he sat promptly back down. Finding himself safely at home reassured him, but a tormenting dream still lingered vividly in his mind. It was so unsettling, he hardly dared decide whether it was real or not.
Something wet rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away, startled that his eyes were leaking.It is probably catarrh.He shrugged, but the dread did not dissipate.
The impulse to find Elizabeth and assert whether she was well grew intolerable. Then it struck him that if the dream had been real, he would not have been privy to Elizabeth’s struggles and inner thoughts, especially when he was not present. Even more outrageous was Mr Bennet’s lack of aid to a pleading Mrs Darcy. He might be a lackadaisical father, but to imagine he would have cast off his favourite daughter was ridiculous. Mr Bennet loved Elizabethalmostas much as he did. To loveElizabeth more was simply not possible; no one could match his fervent sentiments.
Darcy relaxed into his chair and stretched his aching neck. He had fallen asleep in the rather uncomfortable seat behind the desk. His head had slipped to the left, making it rest at a steep angle his muscles did not appreciate. It must have been the awkward sleeping position that had prompted him to conjecture such horrors… The dream had seemed so real… If not for the fact that he could not have been privy to Elizabeth’s struggles or the colonel’s perfidy on the occasions he was not present, he would not have thought it was a dream at all. Which reminded him of the over-familiar greeting Richard had bestowed on Elizabeth.
Why had he hugged Elizabeth, a woman he was only slightly acquainted with? His wife had stiffened, which he had easily understood as he scowled at his presumptuous cousin. It was not in Darcy’s nature to hug all and sundry, save for his sister on occasion and Elizabeth at every opportunity of privacy.
He had better retire to his bed and practise hugging his wife, or even better, waking her with tender kisses.
There was a firm knock at the door. With a hoarse voice he bade whoever was there to enter. It proved to be one of his footmen. The lad was still in training and looked anxious about approaching him.
“I am so sorry to disturb your sleep, sir, but Colonel Fitzwilliam has requested to see you on an urgent matter in the library.”
“Certainly. I am glad you awakened me,” Darcy assured his young footman. He was a bit embarrassed that the man had needed to knock twice before he revived enough to understand that there was someone at the door. His neck still ached, andhe rubbed it with his fingers, massaging the tender sinews as he righted himself in his chair.
It was not only his neck that protested against the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement. His legs prickled, and it felt like someone had attached weights to them. He rose and stretched his aching limbs as if he were an old man in his eighth decade. Elizabeth would have laughed had she been privy to his predicament, acknowledging it was no less than he deserved when he could not manage to haul his eight-and-twenty-year-old body to his chamber before he fell asleep.
Elizabeth!
The thought of her sent such yearnings through his chest that he instantly became short of breath. His heart beat rapidly, and his ardour stirred from its previous dormant position before icy chills filled his veins. The awful dream reappeared when he had just purged it from his memory, gnawing at his breastbone like a starved carnivore. He stumbled and drove his hand through his hair. This would not do; he must comport himself lest the footmen lining the passages recognise the amount of brandy he had consumed this evening. They did not need to know the master of Pemberley had imbibed too much of the amber liquid. The tattlers below stairs had enough nourishment to chew on as it was. They had surely recognised by now what a besotted fool he was. There was no need to add drunken ignoramus to the gossip.
Darcy walked the perimeter of his study to ascertain he could manage the short distance to his library without disgracing himself by reeling across the floor like a drunkard. He was well, everything was in working order, and he walked out into the dimly lit hall with a lamp in his hand. The house was asleep, and a comfortable peace descended upon him.
Darcy halted; a sliver of light flowed from under the library door, teasing his memory, giving him an illusory feeling of having previously experienced the present situation. He shivered, and the company of his wife beckoned his ruffled soul more than ever. He would join her as soon as Richard had related whatever could occupy him at this ungodly hour. Resolutely, he opened the door to discover what was disturbing his cousin’s sleep.
The sight arrested him on the threshold and sobered his mind to full alert. The intensity of the sense of a past experience robbed him of his faculties. His dream, still so vivid in his mind, had become reality!
Elizabeth stood in rigid annoyance with an expression of distaste suffusing her countenance. She was not his immediate concern; his cousin was, as Richard stood bent over his Elizabeth. He could only see the back of his head, but it was, without a shadow of a doubt, Richard. His eyes lowered, and he discovered another offence, his cousin’s hand on his wife’s breast.
Rage roared in his chest, and he stepped forwards; Elizabeth’s head turned in his direction with a shocked expression that shifted to horror at the sight of his cousin. She turned and backed into the library shelf with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He could see her chest heaving for breath as she hit the bookshelf with a thump, protectively embracing herself with acute distress written on her face.
“It is not what it seems,” she whispered.
He met her imploring eyes with a steady gaze he hoped offered her comfort, but he had to cooperate with the scheme in an effort to make the colonel confess.
“What? Am I blind or asleep? Walking around in a tormenting dream?”
“I thought he was you,” Elizabeth defended herself.
“How could you? How could either of you betray me like this?” Darcy’s glare shifted between the two culprits.
“Especially you, Elizabeth! Pretending affront when he wanted to address you by your Christian name while not minding giving him your most intimate favours. What a fool I have been…”
Darcy hoped Elizabeth would forgive the outrageous accusation once he had apprised her of his reason for acting so.
“You are no fool, Fitzwilliam. Please believe me, I swear I thought he was you. I could not see. My candle was on the table beside me, and you often sneak up on me from behind to kiss my neck…”
Darcy gave her a faint nod and turned his black eyes towards his cousin, who leapt at the opportunity to defend himself by demeaning Elizabeth.
