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But it did. He and the first Mrs Darcy were childless, and so it made sense that he would want to marry again, so quickly even, to fill his nursery. Surely a female at the peak of her youth and beauty would be a better choice.
“Why?” My mother was probably rolling in her grave at my hesitation, but it made no sense why he would wish it, other than the fact that I was here, obviously available, and the whole thing could likely be accomplished at very little trouble to himself.
“Because it is my dearest wish,” he said politely, stiltedly, and completely unbelievably.
My pride, that prickly wench, revolted, but I was accustomed to bridling her. This was my fourth proposal of marriage. Mr Collins had been the first; Mr Plimpton—of extremely good fortune and noxious breath—was the second. While I might have overcome his odours, he spoke to me as if I were a not-overbright child. Mr MacAdam was handsome, prosperous, charming, and, to use the slang term, a rakehell. I was, at first, delighted with his courtship, but when Uncle discovered several flaws of an alarming nature in his character, I broke it off immediately. Heaven only knew our family had suffered enough with one of those.
Of the four, Mr Darcy was far and away the best of the lot.
I was not desperate. While the countess would not live forever, by the time she departed this mortal coil and Jane must take me in, the children would be older and I, hopefully, would be more accustomed to the idea of living as my sister’s impoverished relation. I did not need to marry.
I wanted to. I wanted my own home, my own life. Not at any cost, as Charlotte had. Was marriage, to him, a price worth paying?
I had been staring at him while these thoughts blundered and plundered through my mind, my mouth open in shock, when without warning, he leant in.
Is he going to kiss me?I barely had time to think the question before his lips were upon mine. I had been kissed before, as well—once by John Lucas in my fourteenth year, and thrice by the nefarious Mr MacAdam. This was not anything like those. His lips were firm, with nothing tentative about his intent, but neither did he loot and pillage, such as Mr MacAdam was wont to do. This was a man who knew what he wanted to discover, but did not mind searching for it.
He wanted me. It was in the seeking pressure, the restrained hunger, the intensity of purpose, the coaxing pleasure. Within it, I was taken by yet another surprise: I wanted him, as well. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, be held close, to return his seeking with my own. I wanted to know what he thought, and I wanted his thoughts to be of me. I was young again, pretty and proud and powerful.
He drew back; he had never touched me, except with his lips, and yet my whole being felt as if he had.
I was speechless, although I managed one word: “Yes.”
He blinked, as if I had surprised him. Had he thought I would say no? I was not stupid; the life he could offer me was far better than my current one. I had decided upon my three requisites, of intelligence, respect, and character. He met them all, and then some. Love was not a part of it, but there was feeling. It was not a cold transaction, as I first feared. I might have agreed regardless, but that kiss soothed my pride and encouraged…happiness. Or at least its cousin, contentment.
I pulled my disordered senses into some sort of regulation. “I suppose you will wish to wait until your year of mourning is completed.”
“No. Absolutely not. No banns. I will get a licence.”
Again, I was surprised—by his vehemence, if not his words. It was not quite the thing, to remarry so quickly…but most would understand, if not approve. He was childless at close enough to forty. Brows would raise at his choice of bride, however.
“We must find someone for your aunt,” I said. “I cannot leave her in the lurch.”
His expression turned incredulous. “She treats you as a drudge. Your quick departure is the least of what she deserves.”
This was true enough. “But it is not the least of what Dawson, her longsuffering maid, deserves.”
He shook his head, his feelings about Dawson’s plight obvious. “I must go and make arrangements. Your settlement. Will Tilney act for you?”
I had not thought of practicalities. “I am sure he will.”
Nodding crisply, he stood, and held out his hands to help me up. “I shall go to him then, and whilst there, I will order my cousin to find someone for his mother, and do it expeditiously. I shall also make it clear to my aunt how you are to be treated until I return for you.”
I accepted his assistance in standing, noticing how quickly he dropped my hands when I was steady on my feet, astounded at how little he thought of issuing edicts to earls. “I wish you would not do that. In fact, I wish you would say nothing to her.”
He frowned his disapproval.
“I must live in her house for what may become weeks while you settle things. It will be awkward. She will not like it.” Of that, I was certain.
“I will return before Yuletide. This, I promise you.”
“Even so.” I fell into step beside him, wondering why he did not take my arm, while noting that he did not argue the point of his aunt’s displeasure. I understood, and even appreciated that he did not try for more kisses. Mr MacAdam had constantly pushed at boundaries, making me feel as though I must be always on my guard, telling me time and again that he loved me beyond reason…and thus leaving all responsibility for good judgment upon my shoulders. Truly, I ought to have been warned long before Uncle Gardiner’s discoveries that the man was careless at best and dangerous, at worst. His good looks had, briefly, eclipsed my good sense.
Mr Darcy was not the same sort of prettiness. There was nothing angelic or golden about him. He was all hardness—hard muscle, hard expression, hard lines upon his face. His gaze was direct and piercing, his jaw chiselled from tenacity and fortitude. And yet, he took my breath away, and I was glad that he was taking responsibility for my sanity. I was not sure I was to be trusted.
What would he do, I wondered, if I reached for his hand? But it was the sort of thing lovers did. I was too old not to know the difference between desire and affection.
Still, there was every chance affection might grow someday. I was certain my uncle would have approved the match. I only hoped that Pemberley would, eventually, approve of me.
