Page 95

Pemberley

The Library

The house was silent except for the footsteps of Mr. Cravets as he made his rounds, checking the doors, windows and vacant rooms. Nevertheless, this night when the footman checked the library, he was startled to find Mr. Darcy still occupying the room with only one small candle and the fireplace for light. It was obvious that the Master was not himself, from his state of undress to the strong smell of liquor saturating the air, and he was not reading a book as he normally did. Undeterred, the long-time servant added more logs to the fire and asked the Master if he could perform any service for him. Summarily dismissed, he bowed slightly before slipping back into the hall leaving Mr. Darcy alone.

After an hour of tossing and turning, William had come downstairs clad in the clothes he had donned after getting out of bed—a shirt, which he had not taken time to button, and breeches. It was late, and he presumed no one would be awake to see him retrieve a bottle of imported brandy from the liquor cabinet. It seemed the only solution for sleep after his conversation with Georgiana. Her insistence on talking before they went to bed meant a sleepless night for him, as their conversation played over and over in his head.

“Brother, may I speak to you for a moment?”

William’s brows raised in question. Something about the way she held herself made him wary. He was not sure that he could handle another difficulty after today’s episode with the wolf.

“We are all exhausted. Can it not wait until tomorrow?” he proffered kindly.

She took a deep breath and blew it out, but did not meet his eyes. “I would like to say this while I still have the courage.”

“That sounds ominous,” he tried to jest, but she did not smile.

Standing aside, he motioned his sister through the door. Once inside, she glanced about as though she had not seen his private rooms hundreds of times when she lived at home. He waited. Finally, her eyes met his, and a lump formed in his throat at the pain clearly visible in the blue depths. He had always tried hard not to hurt her.

“I know you love Miss Elizabeth. Lord knows, even I have come to care for her like a sister. But it is obvious, after what I witnessed today, that you will never be satisfied to live together as friends, and I cannot fathom how this situation can turn out well for either of you. She is married. If she stays here, it can only bring the both of you terrible heartache. Surely you know that. Would it not be better to send her to your estate in Scotland or Ireland where she would be safe from her husband but not a temptation for you?”

William took one step towards her, and Georgiana fell into his embrace, sobbing. He laid his head atop hers, and they stood like that for some time, neither speaking. Finally, almost to himself, he whispered strangled words into her hair.

“I have tried not to love her.” He gathered his strength. “I have no idea what the future holds, but it must include her. I cannot live without…” He trembled, struggling for control. “Please do not ask it of me.”

Georgiana cried harder, and he held her even tighter. Eventually, she quieted. Sniffling, she stepped back to wipe her eyes, then smiled wanly, kissed his cheek and opened the door. Just before going out, she offered tenderly, “You have my support, no matter what you decide. I love you, Fitzy.”

He made a great effort to smile. “I love you, too, Gigi.”

Once in the library, meaning to have only one brandy and leave, William became comfortably ensconced on the sofa. Watching the glowing fire, he was lost in the flickering flames and his own contemplations as he swirled the amber liquor in the glass and mulled over his resolution to stop at just one drink. Instinctively, he realised that the oblivion to be found in a bottle might destroy him. Drowning one’s sorrows might provide temporary relief for manageable struggles, but with unfathomable heartaches, one ran the risk of drowning along with them. Even so, he needed the oblivion tonight—so he poured another glass and then another.

Not a half-hour after Cravets left, the candle on the table had almost burned out, leaving only the light from the fire. Soon afterward, Elizabeth quietly opened the door to the library and stealthily moved inside in search of a book, a small candle in her hand.

William held his breath at the sight. She was dressed for bed—the front of her lace trimmed, yellow silk nightgown, a present from Georgiana, clearly visible. Over her shoulders she wore an eyelet dressing gown which was loosely tied at the waist. Her hair was loose and hung down around her shoulders like a silky veil. It was obvious that she had dressed as quickly and carelessly as he. Unmindful of his presence, she promptly made her way to the wall of books and held the candle higher to peruse the titles. As she did, the sleeves of the dressing gown fell back, revealing the bandages covering her arms. A deep sorrow pierced William’s heart as he wondered if her wounds were keeping her awake.

Since he was in an alcove, Elizabeth could not see him reflected in the light from the fire until she reached a certain point on the bookshelves. Suddenly, he appeared in her peripheral vision, and she turned to gasp. He was half-sitting in the corner of a sofa, his legs and bare feet spread along the length of it. His hair was dishevelled, his beard dark enough to be visible, and his clothes were clearly rumpled. Though he watched her, he said not a word.

“I ... I could not sleep,” she began to mumble disjointedly. “I thought to find ...” Her eyes dropped to his open shirt, where dark hair covered his chiselled chest. She swallowed hard. “...to find a book ... something to read.” She could not seem to form another sentence or gather the strength to move.

William perceived the exact moment she became aware of his state of undress, and he was mesmerized by the way her eyes widened and got even darker. Though the amount of liquor he had drunk made him unsure if he was dreaming, he stood, steadying himself. In spite of all he had consumed, he was surprisingly graceful as he walked slowly towards her.

Elizabeth followed his progress, barely remembering to breathe until he finally stood inches from her. Without breaking eye contact, he took the candle from her hand and set it on a bookshelf. Blue eyes stayed locked with brown, as he ran one hand gingerly along the arm with the least injuries, stopping before he reached her bandages. She was not a dream.

“Are you in pain? Mr. Woodwright left laudanum if you need it to sleep.”

“I am not in pain at present. Between Mrs. Reynolds’ herbal draughts and Mr. Woodwright’s salves, it is not too painful to bear. I shun laudanum, as I do not wish to lose my wits. I have spent too much time unaware, and I will not return to that state.”

William nodded absently, his gaze never wavering.

“Then why?”

“My injuries are not what robbed me of sleep tonight. You were.” His eyes closed briefly in exhilaration, before opening to devour her again.

“Please, forgive me. I should never have presumed to kiss you today. It seems I only bring you pain and suffering.”

“On the contrary, sir, you have been my rescuer, and though we both know it can only lead to heartache, I welcomed your kiss.”

Leaning in until their foreheads met, he groaned her name. His warm, brandy-scented breath was hot against her skin, and she shivered as he pulled her into a tight embrace. In spite of the bandages, she grasped his forearms as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her as close to him as he dared. A few seconds more and he could resist no longer.