Elizabeth rose to pace the garden. “My goodness, Fitzwilliam, she could have been his mother if she hadn’t chosen title over love”

Fitzwilliam nodded. “Please don’t let Darcy know that I have told you all this; however, I wanted you to be aware that there is a special history between the two of them, and both are hurting. If something should happen to Aunt Catherine, it will dearly affect Darcy.”

***

It was later, alone with her thoughts, that Elizabeth realized the full impact of what she had learned. No wonder William had been so unnerved by the news of Lady Catherine’s illness. She immediately felt she should do something or say something to him, but Fitzwilliam had sworn her to secrecy. She vowed to herself that she would think of something, some opportunity of repairing the rift between the two.

Chapter 6

It was soon after Fitzwilliam’s departure, only a few days, while preparing for bed that Elizabeth mused again about Catherine—one of the few people who had ever taken a great dislike to her. It was human nature to want to be thought well of, and the notion that someone harbored such a disgust of her was unsettling. She could not think of another soul who had turned against her in that way, looking upon her with jealousy and hatred in their heart.

But wait. She was seated before her mirror, hairbrush in use. Wasn’t there was another person who had taken an instant aversion to me, and on as grand a scale as Catherine? The name itself sent shivers of resentment down Elizabeth’s spine.

Caroline Bingley.

Her hairbrush paused for just a moment. I haven’t thought of that harridan in months. She smiled to herself, embarrassed by the sheer depth of her own dislike. Caroline Bingley had been vicious and cruel when they first met, deliberately hurting not only Elizabeth but also inadvertently hurting the sweet Georgiana. Since her sister Jane’s marriage to Caroline’s brother, Charles, an uncertain truce had been called.

Jane had written her of Caroline’s newest affaire de coeur, a titled gentleman once again, a viscount and friend of both Charles’s and their sister, Mrs. Hurst. It was hoped by all that this time, Caroline had finally found happiness. Caroline Bingley and Lady Catherine. Two women she had known in her life who absolutely detested her. She absentmindedly braided her hair as she pondered.

Why? What could I have possibly done to either that they hate me so? The only common thread Elizabeth could imagine was Darcy. Yes, it had to be Darcy. Unthinkingly, she undid her braid once again, ran her fingers through the long tresses to unwind them, and began to brush. What was the main reason that caused women to hate other women?

Jealousy.

Elizabeth stopped her hairbrush in midstroke. They both loved Darcy. In different ways, of course, but the intensity of their love for Darcy had turned them both against the one person whom they perceived had taken him from them. Jealousy.

Caroline was in love with Darcy. Oh! Good heavens, Elizabeth. Only took you a year and a half to figure this one out—so much for your quick mind. I must ask him about this. I wonder if he knew how much Caroline may have loved him. Lizzy wrinkled up her nose in revulsion while a surprisingly belligerent-looking female stared back at her from the mirror. One eyebrow arched. Upon further reflection, perhaps it would be unwise to remind him. If he did know, it would only bring back those memories. If he did not know, it could cause him to think of what might have been. No, no, no, that’s ridiculous. I’m surely more secure than that.

***

She entered their bedroom to see her husband at the windows, staring pensively out over one of Pemberley’s beautiful small lakes, brooding thoughts apparently taking him a dozen miles away. There was a troubled look on his face that cleared immediately upon seeing her. “There you are, little one. Did you know I was watching you brush your hair for quite a while? You were so lost in your thoughts you braided and unbraided your hair twice.” Wearily, he rubbed his hand across his eyes as he walked toward her. “Have a care, Lizzy, you’ll be bald within the year, brushing with that much ferocity.”

He came to a stop before her, a contented smile on his face as his eyes swept lovingly over her. It was a pleasant surprise to him how her young woman’s body was already changing subtly with her expectancy—her delicate breasts beginning to swell, her slim hips becoming rounder. “How are we feeling? Has the child moved yet?” He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them protectively about her as he hugged her close.

She nuzzled into his chest. “Heavens no, we’re not even two months into this. I shouldn’t even have begun to show yet—or have I?” Like a purring cat, she rubbed her cheek against the exposed part of his open shirt and kissed his skin, the smell and warmth of it always arousing. “Do I look heavier?” Although she was laughing, she appeared nervous, vulnerable.

“No, of course not. You look beautiful, incandescent. You are Mother Earth.” He gave her bottom an affectionate pat as they walked toward the bed. Lizzy’s side had already been turned down, the counterpane folded neatly across the foot. She climbed in, and he tenderly covered her, then he blew out the candle on her nightstand.

“William…” she began as she held up his side of the comforter, smiling sweetly at him as he climbed in.

“Yeeessss, Mrs. Darcy…” He drew her body to him, kissing her soft, white neck, his hand moving sensuously down her side and around to cup that darling little bottom he loved so. Deeply inhaling the sweet powder scent at the swell of her breasts, he tugged the tiny bow of her nightgown open with his teeth.

“I have a rather delicate question to put to you.”

He groaned and chuckled. “Can’t it wait, Lizzy?” he murmured into her cleavage and then licked her there delicately. “I am otherwise occupied at the moment. Just getting to the good part, if you catch what I mean.”

He felt her body stiffen in his arms. “No, William, it cannot wait. Not if you want my full participation.” He stopped at once. It was very quiet as he lifted his head up to rest on his hand.

“Well, this sounds a trifle ominous. Very good, Mrs. Darcy, I am at your service. Ask away.”

In the darkness he felt more than saw Lizzy lean back onto her pillow, uncharacteristically hesitant and unsure of herself. It had been difficult for him to put brakes to his lust, but he sensed that something was bothering her this evening. Suddenly he became fearful about the pregnancy and braced himself up onto his elbow, trying to make out the look in her eyes. His hand brushed hair from her face then covered her stomach. “What is it, dearest? Is it the babe?”

“Did you ever have the feeling that Caroline Bingley was in love with you?” She blurted the question out before she could think twice.

He was startled, but initial relief quickly rushed through him, an amused grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “From where, in heaven’s name, is this question coming?”

She let out the breath she had been holding. “Nowhere, really. My mind just wandered as I brushed, grown weary, I suppose, of being concerned with nursemaids and new clothes for after the confinement. I believe it is a fairly straightforward question, however. Was she in love with you?”

“Caroline Bingley was involved with several men, Elizabeth.”

A premonition, only a slight quiver, touched at Lizzy’s heart.

“So I have heard repeatedly; however, that is not what I asked, is it?”

He remained very still for several moments, the room in quiet shadow. “Something must have motivated this line of thought. What has made you ask such a thing, Elizabeth?”

“Well, I was making a sort of mental comparison between Lady Catherine and Caroline.”

With that, Darcy gave a short laugh and quickly apologized. “Go on, dear, you were saying?”

“I believe that Lady Catherine took such a dislike of me because she loves you deeply and felt that I was taking you from her and her plans for your future. Caroline is the only other person I have ever known to take me into such disgust.”

They stayed without speaking for several moments. Either he has fallen asleep, or he’s upset with me. She fidgeted with the blanket edge, frustrated at not being able to clearly see his expression in the dark. Her heart was pounding.

“Elizabeth, I don’t wish to lie to you, and I really don’t think there would be any advantage to either of us if we continued with this conversation.”

Elizabeth stopped breathing before the sentence’s end. It was a while before she found her voice again. “It is a simple question, Mr. Darcy.” Raising herself onto her elbow, she turned toward him, steadying her voice as best as she could. “It requires a simple yes or no answer. I will not think badly of you if you realized that she was in love with you, and I will not think badly of you if that was something of which you were ignorant.” And I hope that’s all there is to this.

Abruptly, Darcy lay back down and turned his back to her. “I don’t believe it is in our best interest to converse about this any further. End of discussion, I’m afraid. Good night, Elizabeth.”

She had been dismissed.

It became deadly quiet in the surrounding universe, not a breeze nor a whisper nor a breath could be heard. Even the cicadas and frogs were stunned. Only the snores of the two mastiffs lying before the foot of their bed interrupted the quiet night. Elizabeth waited, terribly alone it seemed, for several minutes.

“William, are you angry with me?” she whispered but received no answer from his side of the bed.

Elizabeth was becoming extremely alarmed. Darcy was never cruel, always a gentleman. Oh, he could still be aloof at times, but never with her. She sat up in their bed to try for a better look at his countenance. The faint outline of her husband’s back in the dark revealed him to be facing the opposite wall of their bedroom.

“William?” she said softly. No answer.

“Fitzwilliam?” Still he did not answer.

Suddenly, a flash of perception, the unerring intuition of the female brain, illuminated her mind. She gasped.

“Mr. Darcy, did you have a love affair with Caroline Bingley?”

His silence was deafening. Elizabeth’s heart pounded as she repeated the question, a little louder and much more strident. She roughly shoved his shoulder.

“Mr. Darcy, did you have sexual congress with Caroline Bingley?!”

His continued silence was all the answer she really required by that point. She scrambled from the bed, refusing to allow any part of her body to be contaminated by him, and stared down at that dark and now-evil form. It was as if Satan himself had crawled into bed between them. Eventually, he rolled onto his back then ran his fingers roughly through his hair. Next, he sighed. He then said the words all women dread to hear.

“Elizabeth, it was such a long time ago.”

***

The following morning brought a surprise to Darcy’s majordomo. When he entered the couple’s bedchamber, the fire in the grate was completely cold, and the bed was empty. He looked in mild apprehension around an apparently deserted room. He knew instantly that something was dreadfully wrong as he scanned the broken vases and overturned books. The two dogs, Buck and Milo, looked up. They had been calmly ripping apart several bed pillows between them, feathers laying everywhere. Happy woofs were their greeting to Bradford, anticipation of their imminent run outside and breakfast sent tails loudly thumping. There was, however, no sign of human life anywhere.

It was clear that the bed had been entered at some point, but the covers were still in an almost pristine condition, not wrestled about, half off the bed and half on, as on most mornings. A movement on the settee in the adjoining sitting room, a figure covered by a great quilt, caught his eye.

The form groaned and turned toward the light streaming in through the windows where Bradford had just pulled back the curtains to reveal the extent of destruction. The form was Mr. Darcy!

He shielded his eyes quickly from the brightness, and once he had made out who the intruder was, put up his hand in greeting. “Bradford, good morning. Terribly sorry for this mess.” He waved his arm vaguely to encompass the bedroom and then the rest of London. He let his head crash back down on the sofa.