Elizabeth pulled back her head and looked into his eyes as a slow smile played upon her lips. “I had no idea. I thought only that you did not wish for me to intrude upon your privacy, which I confess to doing just to provoke your ire. After all, I believed you had done the same to me at the time.”
He stroked a stray curl from her cheek. “Hardly. Though I knew it to be wrong, not to mention dangerous, I confess to seeking you out whenever the opportunity arose. I could not seem to help myself. I was purposely throwing myself in your way—tempting fate, if you will—and wishing for I know not what to happen between us, but, at the very least, desperately hoping to spend some time in your company without anyone else to observe my open admiration. As you well know, it quickly turned into ardent love.” He sighed. “As you can see, Mrs. Darcy, very little has changed.”
“Oh, no. I would have to disagree with that, Mr. Darcy,” she said archly. “You see, I now have a much better understanding of your taciturn nature, and I have come to discover you are not the least bit proud or disagreeable. No, my dear husband, I now find your society to be infinitely satisfying. Never would I provoke your ire, sir, at least not for my own amusement. In fact,” she said, “where you are now concerned, I find my desires to be quite the opposite of what they once were.”
“How very fortunate, then, for me,” he murmured against her lips as his hands stroked her hips and the softness of her derrière. “Let us retire to our room before I take possession of you right here in the middle of Bingley’s hall.” They did retire and spent half the night in amorous occupation, completely oblivious that every word they had uttered had been overheard.
After Darcy and Elizabeth had quit the drawing room, Miss Bingley had passed several minutes in a fit of pique before she finally resolved to retire herself, certain that the following morning would provide another opportunity for her to expose Elizabeth to possible censure. As she made her way toward her apartment, she heard lowered voices. Realizing too late precisely who it was and what they were engaged in, Miss Bingley stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide as her mouth literally dropped open.
Her first impulse was to give them a severe scolding; her next, to run; but then, and quite against her will, she found herself studying them, listening to them. She knew she was infringing upon their privacy—nay, on their intimacy—but, try as she would, she could not seem to tear herself away from the picture they presented. It was at that moment Miss Bingley finally understood it was not some passing infatuation on his part that had forced Darcy to sacrifice himself and all his wealth and consequence to the woman in his arms. Darcy was truly in love with his wife, and even more astounding to Miss Bingley was the realization that Elizabeth returned his love.
As Miss Bingley made her way to her room, she thought back to the time when she had first made the acquaintance of Elizabeth Bennet. None of Netherfield Park’s inhabitants had thought her anything extraordinary, Darcy included, but Miss Bingley soon recalled that the master of Pemberley had not passed three evenings in her company before he had declared her eyes to be especially fine and her face rather beautiful. If Elizabeth had been aware of it, she had never given any indication of such knowledge. As a matter of fact, she had always acted as though Darcy was no different than her stodgy Uncle Phillips.
Contrary to Darcy’s position in society, his great estate, his exceptional looks, his fine clothes, and his wealth, Elizabeth had never treated him with any preference she did not extend to any other person of her acquaintance. If anything, she treated him with less. She had never fawned over him, deferred to him, or gone out of her way to please him, nor, Miss Bingley thought ruefully, did she have to. Elizabeth had succeeded in catching Darcy’s eye with no exertion on her part, but could it have been her open manner, her compassionate nature, and her witty intelligence that had captivated him? Miss Bingley was forced to concede that may have been the case.
She laughed scornfully over the unfairness of the situation. After all those years of trying to win Darcy with her flattery, elegant manners, and constant attention, Miss Bingley now thought it bitterly ironic that the master of Pemberley had never really wanted to be flattered and catered to, but, rather, treated as a simple man with simple tastes, and on equal terms with others. She could kick herself. So blinded was she by what Darcy had represented in terms of status and riches, it had never even occurred to her that he may have wanted to be appreciated and sought for who he was, not for what he had. She now saw with perfect clarity that Darcy had been drawn to Elizabeth in the first place because she had dared to treat him as no other woman ever had—or would, for that matter—and she had accomplished it all with great impertinence. In the end, Darcy had cared not and, in the meantime, had slowly grown to love her for it.
The final piece fell into place, and Miss Bingley knew the only thing left for her now was to come to terms with the fact that, no matter what she did—or would ever do—Darcy would never, ever choose her over Elizabeth. He loved Elizabeth, that much was now obvious, and Elizabeth returned his love, valued him, esteemed him. Miss Bingley had never been in love with Darcy. She had only been infatuated with what he could offer her as her husband—status, wealth, and the distinction of being mistress of a very great estate.
She breathed deeply and raised her hand to her now aching head. Darcy and Elizabeth would become her family in just two days’ time. Family or not, Miss Bingley knew if she could not conduct herself with civility when addressing Elizabeth, it would only be a matter of time before Darcy would no longer invite her to Pemberley or perhaps even refuse to acknowledge her. She knew it would be far worse than it had been that day in Bond Street, for if Darcy happened to snub her again, there would certainly be no healing such a breach. She would never be welcomed among those of his circle. She would never find herself a wealthy husband. She would never be able to show her face in society again.
Chapter 32
Darcy kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, and her eyes fluttered open. “Your nose is cold!” she admonished with a laugh. “That was hardly a gentlemanly way to wake a lady.”
Darcy smirked and eased his fully dressed body onto her unclothed form as she lay beneath the warm counterpane. He buried his hands in her hair and his face in her neck, causing her to retreat farther under the covers with a small squeal. His guessed his cheeks must be cold as well.
Darcy grinned and murmured in her ear, “I cannot recall you behaving as a lady last night, nor any other night, now that I come to think of it, and I do believe I can also recall several afternoons quite recently where your comportment has been questionable.”
Elizabeth gasped in mock indignation. “Are you saying you disapprove of my behavior, sir? I assure you, I am very much a lady.”
“Disapprove?” he asked as he raised his head. “Certainly not. I have nothing but the utmost approval and respect for everything you do, my alluring wife. I will even go so far as to say it has been many months now I have considered you to be the most accomplished lady of my acquaintance, for a multitude of reasons that I shall be only too happy to enumerate for you.”
With a slow, languorous smile, Elizabeth slipped her arms around his neck and fingered his cravat. “Such flattering words, sir! But I am afraid I must confess to having a very attentive instructor. He has been most diligent, you see, in his duties to the constant improvement of my mind. However, it may be time for another, more thorough, lesson.” Then, quirking her brow, she inquired with an air of seduction, “Do you, Mr. Darcy, happen to know of anyone to whom I might turn for such attentive instruction?”