“You drive me quite mad, Elizabeth,” he whispered against her lips, his hands guiding her towards the bed.
Elizabeth’s heart raced as she followed him. She could feel so much—the heat of his hand on her waist, the brush of his breath against her skin, the pounding of his heart—and it made her feel alive in a way she had never felt before.
As they came nearer, Darcy paused, turning towards her, his gaze intense. “Are you certain, Elizabeth?” His voice was low, but the vulnerability in it was clear. “You have only to say the word, and we can wait until you are comfortable.”
Elizabeth stepped closer, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the feel of his skin sending a shiver through her. She looked up at him, her expression soft but filled with an undeniable desire. “I am,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want this, Fitzwilliam. I am ready to be your wife.”
Without a word, Darcy’s eyes roamed over her form, and his desire mirrored her own. He pulled her close again, his lips capturing hers with a fervency that took her breath away. His kiss deepened, and Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken in response,the world around them fading into nothing but the warmth of his embrace.
She broke the kiss, her breath ragged, and met his gaze. “Make me yours,” she said, her voice raw with emotion.
Darcy’s hands moved to her shoulders, his touch gentle but firm as he pulled her towards the bed. “You are, my love. You always have been. And I am yours.”
The words were like a spark, igniting the fire between them once more. They helped each other undress until she was just in her shift and he was only in his trousers. Laying her on the bed with reverence, he gazed at her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
As he leant over her, his lips traced a path down her neck, and Elizabeth’s breath caught. She arched into him, her body pressing against his as if they were two halves of the same whole. “Fitzwilliam,” she breathed, her voice thick with longing.
“I am here, love,” he whispered, his lips moving back to hers as he joined her, each lost in the shared warmth and intimacy of the moment. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was this connection between them.
Later, they lay together, each feeling a deep sense of completeness. She was his, as he was hers. In that moment, nothing else mattered—only the two of them, wrapped in the intimacy of their love.
Chapter Eleven
THURSDAY, 17 OCTOBER 1811
It was quite late the following morning when the couple emerged from their rooms, looking well satisfied and happy. Georgiana thought this was a result of them finally catching up on their sleep after many days on the road, but Fitzwilliam knew better. He said nothing in the presence of the ladies, but Darcy knew his cousin would have much to say when they were alone.
Regardless, Darcy and Elizabeth were prepared to answer whatever questions the two had for them, as they also had several of their own. Darcy had learned from his valet that Fitzwilliam received a letter from his father the previous night and was anxious to learn what it said. The letter had been forwarded by Fitzwilliam’s batman, who had been finishing his business in Newcastle while Fitzwilliam chased after his cousin.
After answering all of Georgiana’s questions about how Elizabeth and Darcy had been reunited and what had led to their sudden decision to elope, Georgiana’s curiosity was finally satisfied, at least for the moment. In truth, she had more questions than they had answers for, but Elizabeth and Darcy did their best to provide what details they could. Recognising that the men would likely need to speak privately, Elizabeth suggested that Georgiana take her to speak with the housekeeper so she could begin learning more about the management of the household. With a wink and a smile at her husband, Elizabeth left, a knowing expression on her face.
Before they left their rooms that morning, Darcy had commented to his wife how much he dreaded his cousin’s jests at his expense, and Elizabeth had only teased him about the matter. “It is yet another way that women are far superior to men. We would never jest about such a topic, nor do we seek to embarrass each other as men seem to wish to do.”
Darcy shook his head at his wife with a grimace before turning to his cousin. He suggested they retire to his study, where Fitzwilliam hinted that a drink might be necessary for the conversation ahead. Once they were seated with glasses of brandy in hand, Darcy spoke: "Before you start your teasing, Richard, what did the letter from your father say? What does he know—or think he knows?"
“He knows nothing more than he knew when he wrote to me in Newcastle. I intend to write back to tell him I did not find you in Gretna Green. It is the truth, I encountered you in Coldstream. In fact, I would have departed before you arrived, had I not noticed your coachman exiting the kirk,” Fitzwilliam replied. “After I saw him, I decided to have a drink at the inn while waiting for you to arrive. You have the statements from the minister carefully locked away, do you not?”
“I had the minister write and signed three copies. One for my safe here at Pemberley, one for my solicitor, and another to store at Darcy House. However, now I am uncertain if my solicitor’s office is as safe as I originally thought,” Darcy paused, seeming to consider where else he might store the document. “Elizabeth and I spoke of remaining in Derbyshire long enough to establish her residence here, and then having the banns called so we might marry again in the Church of England. If we marry here, then it makes it harder for any to contest the validity of our marriage, though that is the reason we married in the Churchof Scotland. I would think there is nothing your parents or our Aunt Catherine can do to separate us, short of resorting to criminal acts.”
“Are you entirely certain Aunt Catherine would not?” Fitzwilliam asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious. Darcy blinked, caught off guard by his cousin's tone.
“Do you truly believe our aunt would resort to something as extreme as kidnapping, or even worse?” Darcy questioned, his brow furrowing as he studied Fitzwilliam’s expression, searching for any hint of jest.
Fitzwilliam met his gaze evenly, his silence only heightening Darcy’s unease. “You do,” Darcy stated. “Do you know some men who I could hire as footmen to guard Elizabeth? She likes to walk out, though I will have to warn her to never leave the manor unaccompanied.”
“Darcy, I hate to tell you this, but I have suspicions that our Aunt Catherine might have been behind Wickham’s attempt to abscond with Georgiana at Ramsgate. It is possible we will discover the truth of this when that lady arrives here in the next few days,” Fitzwilliam replied.
Once again, Darcy turned to look at his cousin, narrowing his eyes at him to confirm the veracity of his words. “What have you not told me?”
Fitzwilliam let out a slow breath. “When I was in Newcastle, I crossed paths with George Wickham, of all people. Knowing what he had done to Georgie, I thought to… have a chat with our old friend.” He paused, his brows furrowing as he recalled the encounter. “However, before I could confront him, he turned, smirking as if he had been expecting me. I demanded to knowwhat he thought he was doing, attempting to ruin Georgiana’s life in such a way, but he simply laughed. ‘It was not entirely my idea, old chap,’ he said, ‘though I will admit, I saw the benefit in the arrangement.’”
Darcy's eyes darkened. “What benefit could that scoundrel possibly see in such a vile scheme? Other than the obvious.”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “That was my question as well. I pressed him further, but he remained evasive. The only thing I could gather was that someone else was involved—someone with influence. It was only after more probing that he let slip a cryptic remark about ‘powerful friends’ who had a vested interest in keeping you from forming certain alliances. He did not name names, but the implication was clear.”
Darcy stiffened, his breath shallow as the realisation hit him. “Aunt Catherine.”
Fitzwilliam nodded grimly. “I cannot say for certain, but Wickham’s words—and the timing of his actions—suggest she might have had a hand in it. Aunt Catherine has never been subtle in her disapproval of anything that might interfere with her plans for you and Anne. She must have thought that the scandal of Georgiana marrying the son of Pemberley’s steward would convince you to marry her daughter. Of course, I am not certain how she intended to convince Anne to comply, but she may have believed she had a way to blackmail you both.”
