Mr Darcy's Mistress Read online

  As soon as stepping outside she paused in consideration of the chestnut horse and the curricle awaiting them. She then placed her bonnet to head and tied the ribbons whilst casting a brief glance to the glorious vista of the parkland. “Are we to escape the confines of the estate?” asked she, whilst stepping to the low-slung two-wheeled curricle, and when it wobbled whilst ascending, sense of panic prevailed. “Are you sure this contraption is safe?”

  In striding to the far side he chuckled to self, for if nothing else it was a fast contraption with Matlock to the harness, and the master was of devilish spirit this day.

  Two

  ~

  “Darcy, do not make light of my sense of danger simply because you are familiar with this conveyance,” said she, gripping the side wall as though in fear for her life. “I shall have you know, never have I ridden in less than a proper carriage.”

  “Proper carriage?” charged he, whilst scooping the tails of his coat to either side to lessen crush marks of fine cloth. Determined to have his way in this instance, the carriage and four-in-hand quite unnecessary for a short morning jaunt on a glorious sunny and unusually warm day for October, he settled beside her.

  The groom, with trusted and steadying hand on the bridle of Matlock, immediately relinquished his hold as soon as the master had the reins. “Thank you, Hanley, he’s remarkably calm this morn.”

  With a nodding bow and grim expression his groom stepped back two paces. “As maybe, sir, though of goodly spirit is that feller, hence I drove him up to gates and back to lessen his steam.”

  Warning dutifully extended in regard to Matlock’s propensity for imparting sense of docility when he was anything but, he responded accordingly. “Indeed, then a tight rein is called for.”

  “Aye, sir. A few miles will see him proper right.”

  In application of gentle tap to Matlock’s offside upper hindquarter with the carriage whip, and, “Walk on, Matlock,” Elizabeth gasped as Matlock pressed into the neck collar and forged forward with enthusiasm.

  “Sitting between two wheels and open sides is all very fine for young gentlemen,” said she, fussing over her skirts as they rode up her ankles on the sudden rush of air. “Pray tell, how am I to retain sense of modesty?”

  “Did we not walk at Longbourn in wind aplenty and ne’er a word of bared ankles for male appreciation, as I recall. What of later excursions and the clambering over stiles in which much leg was exposed, and no doubt you remember the occasion of our sitting on a river bank. Shall I continue reminiscing on past excursions across fields and stopping to rest a while?”

  “I had my feet firm to the ground on each occasion.”

  “Not on every occasion, as I recall, but no matter.”

  “How like a man to recollect a moment of mutual passions.”

  “Oh come now, Elizabeth, you were as amorous as I that day and momentary it was not,” said he, quick in urging Matlock onward at a faster pace: “Trot on, Matlock.”

  And with that said, he relished the wind riffling Elizabeth’s skirts until she braved the motion of the curricle and drew the folds of fabric tight about her legs. Braver still she lifted her derriere, and tucked folds beneath. The expedient action caused her bonnet to slide from head and fall to rest on her shoulder, and a little curse thus slipped her lips, and then: “I believe you did that on purpose.”

  In biting his lip he suppressed laughter as the curricle sped along the carriageway and up a gentle slope, as she in turn gathered her bonnet to hand for safe keeping. She was most definitely a spirited woman, not in the least given to sparing him an inch of credible standpoint if he so much as rose to her contrary nature. Indeed, man’s generosity in conceding defeat from time to time was paramount; else, as he had heard tell, the exceedingly pleasurable aspect of the marital bedchamber might become lesser and require alternative distractions. Not that he would be short on alternatives with the estate and its surroundings, and of course, Bonnie and Belle.

  “Darcy, do you have a large social circle hereabouts, or is it a select circle of friends and acquaintances?”

  “Tiresomely select, as Wickham oft claimed, though markedly of my choice in entertaining asides”

  He dared not reveal his social standing had been reduced on news he had married a woman of no consequence in the considered eye of those who adhered to money must wed money, and good blood must abide to the same principal. Hence lesser invitations to dine within the upper echelons would be a matter of course, inevitably irksome, though in every respect for Elizabeth he would bear it. Yes he was a man of wealth and of substantial property holdings, a man whom young ladies of good breeding had afforded preferential glances throughout his youth. But the majority had soon shied away from his brooding nature, and the more frivolous and empty headed deferred affections to young Wickham, who had with dashing aplomb stirred the young pretties to heights of passion with a smile and mere wink of eye.

  Nonetheless, far from given to the dance at social gatherings, the indignity of prancing in foolish manner fell intolerable and best avoided in the company of strangers, thus occasions of that bent were duly suffered as one suffers affliction of pained head and clogged nasal passages. Indeed, Fitzwilliam Darcy had merely hovered on the sidelines of the more frolicsome and distasteful county set, barring those of close acquaintance. Unfortunate as life was, mere loyalty to others out of sheer politesse had oft led to disagreeable engagements, his preference entirely given to elegant private soirees and the quietude of gentlemen clubs. And yet, if not for Bingley’s penchant for rose-water dabbed country damsels, Mr. Darcy, judged as Bingley’s most esteemed friend, would never have encountered Elizabeth Bennet.

  Ah how Lady Fate, she of devilish influence performed miracles of inciting desire and inevitable lust where formerly none had stirred.

  “You appear ponderous, Darcy. Have I offended your sensibility and attachment to this modest carriage, which is little more than a dog cart?”

  “Modest in your mind, Elizabeth, whilst others view Matlock as the finest of horseflesh harnessed to this excellence in sporting equipage. I shall have you know, this conveyance is second to none in the district and drew forth great admiration when driven along Rotten Row and within Hyde Park.”

  She laughed, quite mocking in manner, a hand raised to shield her exceedingly jolly countenance, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh Darcy, you so easily fall foul to tease.”

  “Do I indeed?” said he, and with an equal notion to mischief he applied a light flick of the driving whip to Matlock’s flank, “To the canter, Matlock, dear boy.”

  Duly granted licence to equine verve, Matlock’s strides had the conveyance hurtling along the high ground toward the main gateway.

  “Darcy, must you be so irascible, so quick in taking umbrage over a merry remark of no consequence?” Her tone markedly curt, no doubt her knuckles were turning white in gripping the seat and the side wall, her expression was a revelation of indignant female. “Your recklessness in this instance defies all that I had imagined possible from a man who looks on the dance as a ridiculous demonstration of gaiety. Gambolling along as we are is madness, utter madness.”

  Reining Matlock back to the trot, and finally to the walk, a sigh of resignation befell the master. Elizabeth’s county bred aspirations to better her position in life, seemingly revolved around riding in his carriage sporting a four-in-hand team, along with eagerness to announce to all and sundry that she was the new Mistress to Pemberley. Heart and head at odds, he mulled his present situation.

  Was it too much to expect a wife to embrace the one thing he enjoyed above all else when in residence at Pemberley? After all, driving had become his favoured sporting activity, and damn it all, Belle gave her all to driving and gambolling about the countryside in a curricle. Born of a light whip-hand few men had bettered that young adventuress. She was a sight to behold and would rise to any challenge put forth by a man who dared to assume he and his horse were superior to the equines she bred,
schooled, and drove in harness. Wagers were oft laid, and Belle would meet a betting young buck on a given course, win or lose she cared not. In general she won by meticulous observance of riding the course whilst her opponents were given to the benefits of liquor at a nearby inn to boost their courage.

  Further annoyed by his wife’s indifference to his sporting needs; the sound of steel shoes on stone as he reined Matlock out through the gates and to the left fell soothing to the ears. But a few equine strides along the way comprehension to his error dawned and he near cursed aloud. With the left turn now taken it was imperative to proceed onward, else suspicion may arise if all of a sudden he bade Matlock turn-about. A diversionary route was called for in avoidance of Farthingly, and reining Matlock into a narrow lane he set him again to a goodly trot. And so they continued over a gentle hill, walked down into a dell, over a humpback river bridge, and began ascending through a wooded slope and onto barren hillside in the opposite direction to Farthingly.

  A mile of moorland traversed they passed onward in a wide sweep, the views magnificent across to higher peaks, the sound of curlews and lapwings drew Elizabeth’s attention until she finally spoke: “The countryside of Derbyshire is far more dramatic than I remember, do you not think so, Darcy?”

  “In comparison to Hertfordshire’s unprepossessing climate throughout, then yes, one can say the countryside hereabouts embodies the surging wildness of the peak crags along with lower rolling slopes and woodland dells.”

  “Unprepossessing climate?” Elizabeth edged round in her seat. “Did you not relish the quaint cosiness with abundance of hedged byways and tree-lined highways?”

  “Moderately enjoyable as other places I have paid visit to, but as you said, Derbyshire is dramatic. Indeed extremely dramatic when gales rush in from the western reaches and snows embrace us in winter.”

  Hertfordshire too has high points with glorious views, and we suffer the inconvenience of snow flurries and storms as you do. In summer the more gentle slopes are readily accessible for ladies to venture upward, and the slopes admirably suited for country picnics. Here it is bleak and barren.”

  “Derbyshire accommodates the needs of its ladies well enough. Why Belle, our lady adventuress, drives a curricle better than I, and has out-stripped many arrogant young bucks who’ve challenged her to driving duals.”

  “Belle?”

  He could have kicked himself for mention of Belle. “Lady Sanders.”

  “Then this lady is a close acquaintance of yours?”

  “A neighbour; so to speak.”

  “Oh come now, Darcy, clearly there is more than mere nodding neighbourliness; else you would not refer to her as Belle.” Elizabeth suddenly shifted in seat, hauled the wrap tight about her, and eyes to the fore, her tone implied mark of interest, perhaps even tinged with jealousy. “I would dearly love to be introduced to any lady who has bettered Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  “Would you indeed, and why might that be?”

  “It seems improbable; that is all.”

  “Improbable?” Damn it, he’d slipped in tongue with mention of Belle, and to deviate from present course was wholly advisable.

  A haughty chuckle preceded, “Strange then, as a less literate person would say.”

  “Ah, and do you not agree we face testing times throughout life?” He certainly viewed marriage a learning curve, and whilst he could sympathise with long-suffering Mr. Bennet, whose wife was little more than an amusing embarrassment, he would never countenance Elizabeth taking his friends to task as she had with Caroline Bingley: or self for that matter. “Is marriage not a challenge in itself?”

  “Marriage?” said Elizabeth, thus drawing him from reverie, her eyes to the barren slopes of a rugged peak. “If wedlock is looked upon as a challenge, such would define you and I as opponents when I had thought we had reached a compromise, and both of like minds on many things.”

  “Are you not of high-mind and present opinion you outsmarted me, several times?”

  In swinging round to face him, her dark eyes bored into his. “I do recall several occasions in which we begged to differ, and indeed, one incident where you owned to your failings in life.”

  “Ah, as I recall, you declared my defect was propensity to hate everybody.”

  “Oh, I remember it well, and you accused me of setting out to wilfully misunderstand everyone I met.”

  “Impasse befell us thereafter, I believe.”

  “Indeed, for Miss Bingley charged to your rescue with notions a musical recital was order of the moment.”

  “Just as well, or we may have resorted to words drawn at dawn.”

  Elizabeth erupted into laughter, and he prayed Belle was utterly forgotten.

  “Oh Darcy, just when I think you cannot possibly evade a direct question, you indeed do so, and what is more, you turn a perfectly amicable exchange into a fiery dispute.”

  “Must I remind you, we are man and wife now?”

  “Forgive me, how does marriage impact upon our present discourse?”

  “You agreed to honour and obey me. Therefore, it lies within my power to take you to task for setting about me in a most contrary and contradictory manner. If I were to put you across my knee it would satisfy inner desire to enact recompense for your argumentative bent, and in the doing of afford a pleasurable distraction. I therefore suggest you do not tempt that outcome.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Would I not?” He thus reined Matlock from trot to the walk, and then: “Whoah, boy,” as they drew near to a milestone.

  “Darcy, you cannot mean to—”

  “Oh but I do,” said he, in gliding from the seat and then stepping out of the curricle. With sleight of hand he wound the reins around the whip ring and drew a loop tie, and with equal dexterity lifted a contraption from a hook situated below the lamp on his side and strode forward to Matlock, there to place a dual fetter-lock to the equine’s front legs. Not a word spoken he fetched a nosebag from a pocket beneath his seat, and with consummate skill affixed the device to Matlock’s bridle. Well assured the horse was going nowhere without its master he strode to Elizabeth’s side and proffered his hand. “Now, down you step.”

  “I shall do no such thing, for what you are proposing is outrageous.”

  “Would you have me lift you down, and do not doubt I will do so if you prove obdurate.”

  “What purpose can be gained from— from forcing me against my will?”

  “A great deal of pleasure,” declared he, sensing anguish in her faltering voice, his former haughty wife as contrary as their first verbal spat. “Trust my word on that.”

  “I care not for your word, nor for your falsehood in taking me for your wife to love and to cherish, and now this, when I had quite thought ours was a happy union.”

  “Step down, Elizabeth.”

  “I shall not ease your conscience by compliance to a despicable act, in a public setting at that.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “This is private land, my land, and your proclivity to assume the worst of me is quite beyond comprehension. Whilst I dismissed the notion my aunt was correct in her estimation of the Elizabeth Bennet she encountered, there is an element of truth in it, nonetheless.”

  “Am I to surmise from your words and action I have in some way misconstrued your intentions?”

  “Dash it all, indeed you have.” Hadn’t she? Of course she had, for he was far from about to thrash her derriere, though of mind it would serve swifter purpose in his aim to set her to rights, thus: “In consideration of all that I have and all that you wished to be a part of, you have without any shadow of doubt set yourself on a moral pedestal, from where you bicker and attempt to ridicule all and sundry. Perhaps, had your father put you across his knee when first you fell to transparent contrariness, you would be less given to criticisms and sharp wit, which can be construed by other persons as little short of rude interjection. Is that not the very trait of a highly contentious and opinionated young woman? Ma
y I remind you, you were formerly in wont to press those very accusations against Caroline Bingley, for being ill-mannered, contemptible, and socially inept?”

  She snorted with disdain. “Miss Bingley was all three, and more.”

  “And you not in like?”

  “No, and I bear no desire to excessive encroachment on your privileges, nor shall I ever believe prudence is a virtue when others faults are obliged and disregarded as high-spirits to the expense of those who suffer in humility.”

  “You could never be accused of humility suffered in silence.”

  “You discredit me, Darcy. How can you know the suffering of a young woman, the extent to which hopes and dreams are dashed before they are fully realised, or the insanity of another’s bid to exact love and romance from an illusion and then a mother begins planning a wedding in her silly head? What of senseless romance and elopement, of love found and lost and all on account of misunderstanding. Oh, I should speak so of my family is unconscionable. What am I thinking, and why have you brought me here?”

  Not entirely immune to sense of inner distress emanating from her, there was no sign of welling tears as would be apparent in his sister Georgiana’s eyes in similar circumstance. He again proffered his hand: “Step down and I will show you the extent of that, which one day, God willing, a son of ours will inherit.”

  She rallied in spirit, as though not a harsh word had escaped her lips; or his for that matter, “Can it be seen from up here?”