When she thanked me that night, I took her hand and said something to that effect. I still could not state with any reliability what exactly Elizabeth was to me—my friend’s widow, a lady worthy of admiration... a friend in whom to confide my deepest secrets. A woman so maddeningly provoking and yet so sumptuously tempting that I wanted her with every fiber of my being, but one I could not conceive of actually having. I was too young and too thick to call my feelings love, but I was capable of comprehending how my body would respond to her nearness. I was no longer my own master in those moments.
She tightened her fingers through mine, and my heart forgot how to beat. Uncertain, I might have been, but I was already far enough gone that the sensation of her lips on mine had never stopped burning whenever she looked at me. As any red-blooded male would, I entertained visions of passion and beyond when she gazed into my eyes.
But the reality was far more tender and sacred even than I could fantasize. She caressed my cheek, her fingertips tracing lightly over my jaw. She looked up into my eyes, and something lurched inside my being. For a moment, my vanity whispered that she desired me, would welcome... something. I tipped my head a little lower, testing to see what she would do.
She lifted on her toes, brushed the hair off my brow, and kissed my forehead.
It was not precisely erotic or sensual, but it was the most intimate touch I had ever known. She lingered there—two seconds, three—and I inhaled softly of her neck. Her lips pulled away, but she stayed there, her breath tingling my skin, settingmy scalp afire, as if she were not certain what to do next. My free hand had just begun to reach for her waist, and I had turned my face to nuzzle her cheek when she eased away.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I am to take tea early tomorrow with Mama and my aunt Philips, so...” She swiped a brandy I had been drinking off the table and downed the last swallow. “Good night, Fitzwilliam.”
Again, she left me a muddled, panting oaf, with my senses screaming and my brain seeping out through my ears. I knew what my duty was. I knew what was expected of me, the place I was meant to fill in the world and the sort of wife I would require at my side. Elizabeth fit none of the criteria I had been trained to seek.
But she fit me.Oh, how she fit me.
I went to my room that night dizzy and ready to tear out my hair. Did the woman want me, or did she not? Most of the time, she acted like I was a pest, albeit a “useful” one. At best, I was an unthreatening friend, someone she laughingly put up with for Charles’s sake and almost saw as yet another meddling brother. At other times, I felt all it would take was a spark to swirl her into my arms to stay, and more than once, I entertained fantasies about what might happen in an unguarded moment.
But she was a tease by nature, and moreover, a widow with fewer social constraints than any maiden. She was free to flirt as she wished, and did not have to mean anything by it. I could never predict what she would do next, let alone interpret her reasons.
If I had been certain of her feelings, I might have been able to resolve my own. I daresay I would have come to the point sooner if I could have made sense of her. So, I decided to bring in an expert opinion. I wrote to my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and politely asked if he could spare a fortnight to come to Hertfordshire.
Eleven
It was about thatsame time that I first met Fitzwilliam’s cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard was the younger son of an earl and a genial, good-humored man. We all (by ‘we,’ I mean my sisters and I) thought him quite dashing with his red coat and easy smile, even if the family features were better expressed in his cousin’s face.
My first meeting with him was something of a surprise. Charles and Fitzwilliam had gone hunting for the afternoon, and I had persuaded Georgiana to walk with me in the dormant rose garden. As Caroline preferred not to join us, we were quite peaceful and content. I seem to recall that we were laughing about something rather silly when a lone figure trotted up the drive and hailed us.
“Hulloa there! Have you seen a great tall fellow around here? Proudish rascal, about seven and twenty, not a patient bone in his body?”
I was squinting at this new arrival and puzzling over his words when Georgiana squealed and raced to him so abruptly that sheunsettled his horse. “Richard! Oh, it is good to see you, but why are you come?”
He laughed and dismounted, then wrapped the girl in a most immoderate bear hug. “Georgie! Upon my word, you have grown since summer. Where is that great ox you call a brother?”
“Fitzwilliam sent for you?” she guessed.
“Yes, I had his letter yesterday. Said something about life or death, I was dead to him if I did not turn up post haste, I think.”
I had approached by this time, and he turned to me with a gallant bow and a flourish of his hat. “But if this is the welcome I am to receive, consider me enchanted. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service, madam.”
The colonel won us all over, even Caroline, for he was a silk-tongued rogue with noble connections. I rather liked him for his wit and goodness, and Charles, who could get on with anyone, formed an instant brotherhood with him. By the evening meal, he had us lapping out of his hand as he told tales of battlefield heroism and the antics of his fellow officers when on leave. I think half of it was made up, and the other half exaggerated, but it made for splendid entertainment.
After supper, he coaxed me to the piano with the promise that he would turn the pages for me and lend his voice to the right song. This was quite an accomplishment on his part because I used to dislike exhibiting with Caroline and Georgiana present. I was by no means deficient in talent, though I lacked formal instruction. They, however, were exceptional, particularly Georgiana. Call it envy, call it conceit if you will, but Caroline never failed to make sure I felt it.
Still, I could not resist the colonel, and to this day, I do not recall when or with whom I have had better enjoyment at the pianoforte. Not that I do not love it when Fitzwilliam plays and sings with me, but his is not a character that relishes performing.He would far rather watch in silence and let others have the limelight.
But Richard made everything gay and joyous. Even when the other ladies took their turns, I could not help but to sing and clap and join the merriment from my seat. My sides ached from laughter that night and almost every other night during his stay.
My sisters were even more frequent guests while the colonel remained at Netherfield. I thought once or twice I would have to peel Lydia off him, but he bore it all with good cheer. Much as I adore my sisters, however, some of my favorite memories were our evenings in. Charles had the notion of inviting Jane to stay with us for a week to make an even table, for Fitzwilliam deemed Georgiana yet too young to join in all our amusements, and this time, I did not try to disagree. Therefore, for a string of late evenings, it was the six of us at cards or parlor games or whatever took our fancy.
One evening, Georgiana played a reel for us before she retired for the night. It was Fitzwilliam’s idea to make a dance of it, to my utter astonishment. I thought at first he was mocking me when he stood and offered his hand, for his countenance was strangely off-color. I had been bouncing my knees and probably making a fool of myself as we all listened, and the last thing I could bear was to let him see me behaving in an even more undignified manner.
“No, no,” I said, “you may despise my taste well enough from here.”
The colonel laughed it off as a good joke, but Caroline was swift to rise to her feet and take Fitzwilliam’s offered hand. He bowed politely and led her through the steps of the lively tune with more agility than I would have expected of such a serious fellow. Before long, Charles had coaxed Jane to the middle of the room, and the colonel came for my hand.
“We cannot let them have all the fun, can we, Mrs. Bingley?”
Naturally, I could not refuse by this time, but I was wishing most ardently that I had accepted Fitzwilliam when he first asked me. It never occurred to me that Fitzwilliam Darcy, the most fastidious man I knew, could have been serious.
