Chapter 46

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

T he constable arrived immediately, and all witnesses gave their accounts of the calamity. Bruises and bullet wounds also told the story. Darcy's physician examined all the wounded and approved Elizabeth's work, though Lord Akers's wounds proved to be more serious. He would not be returning to Norfolk any time soon. His brother's bullet had torn ligaments and nicked a bone just below his left knee. Still, he insisted on being transported to his own townhouse.

Maltravers never regained consciousness and died the following day. It was determined that he had found his way into Darcy's house through a disused coal hole that had been thought sealed. He had hidden in the wine cellar and servants' passages for one or perhaps two days, biding his time. Once the constable had gone, Darcy's servants worked diligently to remove all traces of the incident and inspect every possible opening to the house and seal those in disuse.

Elizabeth a little reluctantly returned to the Gardiners' home. Their families' relief was beyond measure. Elizabeth was safe; Darcy's wounds were minor. Their loved ones expressed their joy by surrounding them constantly: embracing, talking, and laughing, barely letting them out of their sight. Neither she nor Darcy were able to find a moment's privacy. Even their servants hovered. Quite often they found themselves at opposite ends of a crowded room gazing longingly at each other.

She took him aside as they stood in the small garden behind her aunt and uncle's house. "I should return to Windward House. I have been gone far too long."

Darcy lowered his head to speak in her ear. "You wish to leave London? Should I be disappointed?"

She cast a quick glance around her to see if anyone was listening. "My home is quiet and very private, if you take my meaning. However, I am not averse to some company." She raised her eyes to his. "To one particular person's company, I mean."

"Ah, I see." He nodded slightly, eyeing their assembled relatives. "I also miss the country. I rarely stay in town this long. Although I have been longing to carry you off to Pemberley, it would be difficult to be completely private there. Some time spent by the sea would be quite beneficial."

She smiled. "I should like to see Pemberley. I shall inform my family of my plans."

"Let me make the travel arrangements for you. When would be convenient? Will two or three days be enough to make your farewells and notify your housekeeper?"

"I do believe it would."

Lowering his voice, he said, "Let us marry there. I shall bring the licence."

"You do understand, Aunt? We wish to be alone. Our courtship has been rather too eventful, and we have not enjoyed much in the way of privacy."

"While we shall miss you very much, we do understand. You are both old enough to know what you want and do as you wish. You want to begin your life together. And after this hectic summer, we could all use a return to a familiar routine." Mrs Gardiner opened her arms, and Elizabeth embraced her tightly, then her uncle. "Write to me, my dear, and we shall see you for Christmas at Pemberley."

Elizabeth smiled. "I also look forward to the Festive season, my first as mistress of a grand estate! We shall see if I have my sea legs under me by then," she said with a rueful smile.

Darcy accompanied the carriage to Gracechurch Street, riding alongside it. He would be a day behind her, staying in town long enough to get the licence.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner had greeted him and then entered their house, leaving them to themselves. As her trunks were loaded, they stood partially hidden by the side of the carriage. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, his lips leaving a trail from her mouth to her neck. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her flush against his body. She could feel his desire and knew it matched hers. They exchanged a burning glance, and without another word, he handed her into his carriage and watched as it drove away.

Her journey, complete with maids, guards, and postilions, changed horses several times along the way. She had never travelled with such fuss and rapidity before, and now, after two days' journey, she was home at Windward House. The weather had held, and a fresh breeze was coming off the channel. The postilions and maids were settled at an inn in the nearby village and would set off on their return trip the next morning, crossing paths with Darcy's carriage.

They would marry at the parish church in two days, the rector presiding, with Agueda and Youssef as witnesses. There would be no giving away the bride. They would give themselves to each other, standing side by side.

Elizabeth spent the day restlessly preparing for his arrival, freshening linens that did not need freshening, examining food stocks in the pantry and wine in the cellar that had already been inventoried. Agueda had moved easily into her role as housekeeper years before and had all preparations well in hand. She and the maid they had hired from the village had the house immaculate. She had also hired a cook, and delicious aromas drifted from the kitchen. Youssef and the part-time gardener had prepared the park, gardens, and small stable equally well.

Tomorrow they would marry, but tonight they would be together at last. She was not nervous. Her state of disquiet was caused by her agitated impatience. She was wild to have Darcy in her arms, in her bed, his large hands roving over her, his weight pressing against her, his skin against hers. She was tired of being a maiden, of being a spinster disguised as a wife.

After picking fitfully at a small luncheon, she stood by the windows facing the sea. She noticed some clouds forming far to the west. She stepped out onto the balcony with her grandfather's telescope in hand. They were only a thin line on the horizon, though they were dark, darker than the sea. The breeze had shifted; it was stiffer, coming from the west, though not unpleasant. The sun had passed its zenith. Darcy should arrive any time now.

Elizabeth went inside and forced herself to play the small pianoforte she had purchased when she had moved in. The music soothed and drew her in, she knew not for how long, when she was interrupted by the sound of a loose shutter hitting the side of the house. The breeze had gained in strength, with heavier gusts of wind. The sun had disappeared behind heavy roiling clouds, but the mantel clock told her it was time for dinner. Where is he? Had he been delayed in London?

After a time, she heard the first heavy drops of rain strike the windows, then the clouds opened up. Rain pelted the roof, increasing in intensity till it became a roar. The gusts of wind became a gale. Constantly checking her watch was not helping; it had gone past eight. She took it off and put it away. He would be safe. He was a sensible man. He was her sensible man. Where is he? Had he been forced to take shelter from the storm?

Hours later, Elizabeth conceded that their reunion would not happen that night. She changed from the revealing silk gown she had wanted him to see her in and put on a night-rail and robe.

Not that she would sleep. Agueda appeared in the doorway to the sitting room as she paced back and forth. "I built up the fire in your chamber, missus," she said. "Youssef has put out extra lanterns."

"Thank you. You and Youssef may as well retire. I expect Mr Darcy has taken shelter and will not arrive this night." Somewhat dejectedly, Elizabeth sank into a chair and stared at the fire.

"Oh, we shall wait a while longer, ma'am." Agueda was of the opinion that if this man's feelings ran as high as her mistress's, he would not let a little rain stop him.

Elizabeth had fallen into a doze when the outer doors burst open. She jumped to her feet and ran out into the hall, calling his name. Darcy hastened through the entry and into the hall, dropping a bag, shrugging off his wet greatcoat and jacket as he came through, letting them all fall forgotten to the floor. Then she was in his arms, and he was devouring her. Between kisses, she rasped, "My room," flapping her arm towards the stairs.

He grunted, threw her over his shoulder, and took the stairs at a gallop.

Agueda was picking up the wet coats as Youssef came through the front door, which still stood wide open. "I put his horse in the stable. Don't think he even saw me." He looked at his wife and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. "Lovebirds already upstairs then?"

"Aye," said his wife. "'Bout bloody time, I'd say."

Between fevered kisses, Darcy muttered about a horse, an inn, and rain. Having disposed of his waistcoat, Elizabeth pulled his shirt off, and he was lowering her to the bed when she began to laugh. "Your boots!" she yelped. "Let me get them. You must relax."

Darcy, on the bed, rolled over onto his back, a small weary smile on his face, and wordlessly held out one leg. She pulled and tugged at the boot, but the soaked leather was stubborn. Babbling her relief all the while, she finally straddled his leg, her back to him, and pulled. Minutes later, one boot was off, and after another brief struggle, the other followed it in the same fashion. She turned to share her triumph, one boot raised in the air, to the sight of a beautiful, dishevelled man in her bed, sound asleep and snoring.

Elizabeth dropped the boot to the floor and sighed. Darcy was safe and dry; that was the main thing. She removed his wet stockings, blew out the candle, crawled in next to him, and pulled up the covers. She was asleep before her head touched the pillows.

Darcy opened his eyes. All was quiet. He was warm and dry in a bed, a comfortable bed, in a dark room lit only by glowing coals in the fireplace. His clothes were gone, excepting his breeches. Someone had covered him with a quilt. He was warm and sleepy. His muddled brain could not remember where he was, but he felt safe, though his arm ached badly. He had dreamt of battling a fierce storm. There had been a lamed horse in the dream. And something had happened to his boots? He closed his eyes to slip back into slumber.

Near his ear, he heard a soft sigh. His eyes popped open, and he slowly turned his head in the direction of the sound.

There was Elizabeth, on her side facing him, sound asleep. He watched her breathe and let his mind return to the previous night. It had not been a dream. He had thought himself to be making good time on the second day of the journey until the afternoon when one of the post horses went lame. They had unhitched the beast and limped to the next posting inn, and by the time they got back on the road it had begun to rain. After another hour it had become a downpour with no signs of diminishing. They came to a small inn at a crossroads, and he hired rooms for his coachmen. He was determined to get to Elizabeth, but he would not endanger his men to do so. Another fresh horse and he started out on horseback. He reckoned he was perhaps one or two hours away, but as the storm strengthened, the roads became a quagmire. Several times he and the horse took shelter, in derelict buildings or under trees along the way. The wound on his right arm had been healing nicely, but holding the reins of a frightened horse in a storm was aggravating it. He knew not how long he had been riding when he realised that underneath the howl of the wind, he could hear the sea. At last, he had seen the lanterns, glowing lanterns hung by the doors and windows of a house and outbuildings. He had been exhausted, soaked through, and chilled to the bone.

Watching her sleep was worth every second.

He could not help it; he had to reach for her. He rose onto his elbow and carefully moved a lock of hair away from her face. She stirred slightly, her hair in her eyes and wildly tangled about her shoulders. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly, but sleep did not yet release her. Her eyes closed again, but after another moment she blinked several times and was alert. "Darcy!"

She reached for him, her fingertips skating lightly along his cheek. "Are you well?"

"I am now."

"You must have been frozen! I did not know whether to hope you would come or that you had taken shelter somewhere."

"I probably should have taken shelter. I was not in a rational state of mind. Often, I am not, where you are concerned."

He reached for her, and she shifted readily into his arms. He kissed her, running his hand down her back.

"Can this come off?" he said, his hand full of the fabric of her nightgown. "Shall I offend you if I admit to wanting to see you without a shirt?"

Elizabeth laughed. "How adept you have become at using my words against me." Even in the dim light he thought he could see a deep blush rising across her chest and neck.

She took a breath. "I have never…you are the first. The only." But she rose to her knees, threw off the offending article and curled against him once more, burying her face in his chest.

"I want to see you, my love," Darcy murmured. He stroked her side, her back, her legs until she relaxed and adjusted herself so he could see. Her eyes were closed, her soft skin and tousled hair reflected the dark golden light of the coals. She was all delicious curves, from her waist to her hips to the sweep of her back, from her delicate neck to the hollow of her shoulders. He was going to kiss and touch every inch of her. She sighed and reached for him, her hand on his neck, her fingers touching his hair.

Instantly he was up, discarding his breeches and back in bed before she could even open her eyes. "Do not go away. It is cold without you," she grumbled.

He pulled her close. "Let me warm you, then," he whispered.

Elizabeth could not breathe. In truth, she could breathe but she could not take a deep breath. There was a rather large man lying partially across her, sleeping deeply, his face buried in her neck, his heavy arm around her. It was not comfortable, but she would not complain. What was air to love?

It had been…oh, there were no words. Glorious? Magnificent? Fun? Elizabeth had understood the mechanics of it. She had not anticipated all they would share, the intimacy of feeling, the sense of oneness. There had been something sacred about it, yet her lover's playful side had been much in evidence. The corners of her mouth turned up at the thought. My lover.

This man was everything she had ever dreamt of and some things she had never imagined. Her love for him was overwhelming. They had been in accord since their reacquaintance, but they were both strong-willed. They would quarrel, then they would talk. They would share their feelings and work through their disagreements. How wonderful it might be to make up with Fitzwilliam after an argument.

It was morning, but Elizabeth would not have chosen to rise from her bed even if there had not been a heavy obstacle in her way. She wanted to linger with him in her chamber all day, to share their bodies again and again.

They could not, for today was the day they were to be married. Elizabeth carefully ran her hand along Darcy's arm in an attempt to slip out of bed, but instead it tightened around her.

"Where do you think you are going?" his rough voice rumbled against her neck.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. Rising for the day was going to take some self-discipline on her part.

"Fitzwilliam, I have no idea what time it is. I would not wish to be late to the church because we lay abed."

Darcy raised his head, his eyes clouded with sleep and disgruntlement. He heaved a deep sigh. "Our wedding is the only reason I shall leave your bed today."

Elizabeth rose and stepped into her dressing room. "I had a change of clothing with me," she heard him say. "And the licence."

"They are here," Elizabeth called from the dressing room. Now wrapped in a robe, she put her head round the door. "Agueda has our clothes all ready. We have just enough time to wash and change and have something to eat. I rang for hot water."

Darcy's eyes lit with interest.

She laughed at him. "Just a wash today, my dearest. We shall have time for more later."

Laughing in sheer joy, they tidied and dressed each other, feeding each other fruit and bits of bread from the tray the housekeeper had left on a small table.

There was a knock on the dressing room door, then Elizabeth heard her housekeeper's voice. "Youssef has the cart ready, missus."

"Are you ready?" she asked Darcy.

He was peering sceptically into the cheval glass. "It is not often that I must shave myself, but it will have to do. Your housekeeper has done wonders with my clothes."

Elizabeth led him out through the garden to the stables, where Agueda and Youssef were waiting with a farm cart hitched to a sturdy cob. Darcy stopped short.

"We are riding a farm cart to the church?" he exclaimed.

"It is the only conveyance we have here. Unless you would rather walk, and the road is ankle-deep in mud," replied Elizabeth. "And it is more than a mile."

"That has never stopped you before," he grumbled, but he lifted his bride into the back of the cart and then jumped up beside her. Elizabeth's servants, who would serve as their witnesses, sat up on the box. The bride and groom sat side by side, their legs dangling over the back of the cart. As they neared the village, Darcy jumped down and quickly picked a bouquet of wildflowers, handing them to Elizabeth as the cart rolled to a stop before the church.

They walked in together, arm in arm. The rector was waiting for them.

Standing face-to-face, clutching each other's hands, they spoke their vows. At the ceremony's conclusion, rector or no rector, Darcy pulled her into his arms.

"I have never been so happy," he said softly in her ear.

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in tears. "I do not think I have been either," she whispered.

They pulled themselves together and signed the documents the rector provided, making polite conversation all the while.

The rector excused himself, and the wedding party boarded the cart for the ride home. When they arrived, Elizabeth took her husband by the hand and led him all over Windward House—the house, the outbuildings, the gardens, and down to the cove. "It is your home now too," she said, taking great pleasure in his interest and delight in the beautiful building and its grounds.

Later, as the sun traced its downward path to the western horizon, they sat on the balcony, looking out at the sea, listening to the sound of the waves rushing onto the shingle below. Elizabeth was in Darcy's lap, her head on his shoulder.

"It is so beautiful here. Calming, somehow," he said softly.

"We shall be at Pemberley most often, I think," she said. "It is very beautiful there, from everything I have been told. I greatly anticipate calling it my home. Let us come here on holiday, as often as we can."

"Aye, and bring our children," he said. He cupped her face in his free hand. "Will it be difficult for you, my darling, leaving this place and only being able to visit it in future? Will you miss your home?"

" You are my home, Fitzwilliam. I am at home whenever I am with you, anywhere you are."

"And I you, my one and only love."