Pamela Aidan - These Three Remain

“So that, at all costs, you may avoid her, sir!” Fletcher replied adamantly.

Darcy pursed his lips and looked narrowly at his valet, weighing their seven-, almost eight-year relationship, and the faithful part Fletcher had played in the terrible events at Norwycke Castle, against what they both knew to be his “improbable fiction.” Fletcher must have had his reasons. Given his exceptional service, Darcy would press him no further, and he acknowledged to himself, he would probably have ample time to regret his generous motion later. Besides, the man had provided him with just the information he required.

The walking path from Rosings to the lane that passed by the parsonage of Hunsford was refulgent with the bold trumpets of spring and the softer colors of their more retiring bedfellows, but Darcy spared their beauty no more than an occasional glance as he followed behind his cousin and Mr. Collins. The good reverend had presented himself in Rosings’s hall at the earliest possible hour that could not be considered an imposition and had immediately pled that Rosings’s guests do him the honor of meeting his new wife. “We also may boast the felicity of guests.” He preened under the Colonel’s fascinated regard. “My wife’s sister and a cousin on my father’s side, whom Mr. Darcy has already had the pleasure of meeting, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire.”

“My nephews are already aware of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Collins.” Her Ladyship had cut in sharply as Fitzwilliam was accepting the invitation. “I informed them of her visit yesterday, almost upon their arrival, and of my disappointment in not having the joy of a first introduction. Now you deny me the joy of Fitzwilliam’s introduction as well!” Mr. Collins had flinched visibly at her words and apologized profusely for his error. But the invitation had already been extended, and here they now were on the flower-bordered path to Hunsford.

Insensible to the lavish beauty freely bestowed by Providence, Darcy concentrated on catching the words of the one-sided conversation that drifted over the shoulders of the men before him. Fitzwilliam’s keen sense of the ridiculous had recognized a fountainhead in Mr. Collins, and he was unabashedly monopolizing the man’s conversation in their stroll to the parsonage in hopes that more of the same would gush forth. For this, Darcy was more than grateful. The emotions and apprehensions battling in his mind and disturbing the balance of his bodily humors rendered him in no fit frame to entertain Collins’s absurdities; yet it was from the parson’s studied speech that bits concerning Elizabeth might be gleaned in preparation for this, their first meeting since the ball at Netherfield. Darcy strained to hear what Collins was saying without giving the appearance of attention, but the odd tricks of the wind carried the man’s words off willy-nilly into the grove, or his sentences so convoluted themselves that any sense of them was lost.

Giving up in a frustration exacerbated by the undisciplined tangent his emotions had taken, Darcy applied himself instead to shoring up the eroded edges of his composure. Although rather earlier than he had planned, they were to meet. Well, what matter the time? Morning or afternoon, soon or late? Had he not committed himself to a course of action when he released those embroidery threads to the winds? Those convictions, hard-won but held as firmly as his honor, would not be abandoned merely because the reality would soon stand before him! However, he was not a fool. The power his imagination had led him to allow her would be as nothing to the delight her actual person would bestow. His hand, he sternly reminded himself, was irrevocably withheld from her — there was no danger there — but his present discomposure was proof that his heart remained in danger. To that end, he must show her no favor, no attention, regardless of her temptations. Remember who you are! His father’s oft-repeated admonition sprang to the fore. His back stiffened. There was Pemberley, Georgiana, family to consider. Think on those! he commanded himself. Resolute, he set his jaw.

They were now at the lane and, shortly, at the door. His face suffused with amusement, Fitzwilliam stepped back to join Darcy as their host rang the doorbell. “Ah, finally I am to meet la Bennet of the straitened society of Hertfordshire, whose previous introduction to you our aunt so laments!” Fitzwilliam murmured into his ear with a laugh. His satirical words caused the muscles of Darcy’s stomach to bunch and twist. He looked at his cousin sharply. Did Richard suspect something? There was no time to consider the question, for Fitzwilliam was already halfway up the stairs to the parsonage’s main floor, following close upon the heels of his latest amusement. Ahead of him, Darcy heard the door to the sitting room open and then the scraping of chairs and soft footsteps from within as its occupants rose to greet the newcomers. Fitzwilliam’s broad shoulders disappeared into the room first; and before he could think, Darcy was face-to-face with Collins, who was already making his introduction to his wife. “Mrs. Collins.” The rector addressed his helpmeet with formality. “Mr. Darcy, whom you will remember from his visit to Netherfield last autumn. My wife, sir, Mrs. Collins.”

“Mrs. Collins, ma’am,” Darcy replied. As he bowed to her curtsy, the fresh scent of new lavender drifted over him, tickling his nostrils. Elizabeth! He forced his eyes not to wander from his hostess, though a host of emotions within immediately set up a clamor against such reserve, urging him to seek her out against all his fine resolve.

“Mr. Darcy, welcome,” Mrs. Collins answered warmly. “How fortunate that you visit Rosings when Hunsford also entertains guests who are known to you; for my sister, Miss Lucas, and my dear friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, are also with us.” A young woman whose features Darcy vaguely recalled from the Netherfield ball bobbed him a curtsy, which he solemnly acknowledged; and then he was before her.

In that moment, Darcy knew himself undone and all his fine resolve as substantial as smoke before the warm and luminous vision caught in the bright rays of the morning sun. Elizabeth! His heart exalted against all his precautions. Before he could bid it stay, her glorious eyes, deep pooled and fraught with intelligence, flashed up to him from under their fringed veil, meeting his — holding his — in such a bold manner that his breath caught in his chest, the questions contained in them rooting him to the very floor. The treacherous organ inside his chest bounded painfully against his ribs as those intriguing, maddening eyes changed in their expression; and alight now with a mysterious, womanly intuition, they narrowed upon him in curious study. For what did she search? More unnerving still, what had she already discovered? Did she so easily discern all those secret places within him that he’d dutifully, painfully locked and barred?

Helpless to look away, he could only await her conclusion. An eternity passed; the very air between them become charged and still. Then, her brow arched in that provoking manner that had so captivated him from the beginning. Her chin tilted up, and a sparkle of amusement illuminated her knowing gaze. The provocation of those enticing features caused the tightness in his chest to threaten to explode into a groan. Lord, how he had missed the challenge, the fascination, the uncertainty of her! How many times had he imagined her thus? All his defenses against her turned to ash as, like the rarest of wines, her effect upon him sped throughout his body, engaging every sense and nerve. It recalled him to the intoxication he had known those months ago in her presence and had carried within him, however he berated himself, ever since.