Page 15 of Once He Made a Beginning

Ten

That particular day,Darcy ventured to the temple, a stately structure with towering columns and stone walls, nestled in the peaceful woodlands a short distance from Rosings Park. He doubted he might see Miss Bennet even if he wished it. It was just as well. He needed time to sort out his feelings—a feat better accomplished in solitude. He could conceive of no more fitting place than that very spot. Looking all about, part of him wondered if Miss Bennet had ever come across the place, for he was sure she would love it.

Thoughts of Miss Bennet were always uppermost in his mind of late. Perhaps it was a consequence of their spending so much time together during the past weeks. He was beginning to think his cousins were conspiring to throw Miss Bennet in his path and always making excuses to leave them to their own devices. Darcy’s resistance to her gave way to admiration with each encounter and he was now looking forward to her company.

He was mindful of his commitment to Anne, but it was not as though she showed any enthusiasm over the prospect of sharing her life with him. He scoffed. A peculiar engagement indeed.

More than once, he wondered at the possibility of changing his mind. No formal announcement had been made. He doubted he would meet with any opposition from Anne, who seemed far more intimate with the colonel than with Darcy. Lady Catherine, however—he would rather not think about that. Not at that moment.

A booming thunder roared across the sky, and his muscles tensed. By the sound of it, a fierce storm would soon follow. Mere moments later, the rain poured from the sky in buckets. How fortuitous that he was sheltered from it all. His thoughts tended toward Miss Bennet, and he hoped she was not out and about on one of her solitary rambles amid such a raging storm. As though thinking of her had the power of summoning her presence, she suddenly appeared before him. Soaking wet from head to toe. Her bonnet and spencer were no match for nature’s fury.

Judging by her reaction to seeing him, he could not tell if she was merely surprised or terribly embarrassed, perhaps a mixture of both. Hurrying to her side, Darcy removed her bonnet, and he began unfastening the buttons of her soaking wet spencer.

“Sir, what are you doing?” Elizabeth asked, clutching her garment with both hands.

“We must get you out of your wet clothing, Miss Bennet. You may use my great coat instead to keep you warm.”

“I see.” Brushing his hands aside, she continued, “I can do it myself.”

Darcy immediately surrendered his coat, and he wrapped it around her shoulders once she removed her spencer.

Elizabeth had tried her best not to give a hint of how his tender ministrations affected her. Until that moment, she had not noticed his rather informal attire—his crisp white cravat draping his neck and the top button of his pristine shirt undone. She tried to ignore the sight of him thusly—the dark hairs on his chest. But it was proving an arduous task, indeed. She watched in awe as he gathered her wet things and then, taking her by the hand, led her to the stone bench he had abandoned upon her sudden arrival.

“We may as well sit and wait out this deluge together,” Mr. Darcy said, inching closer. How odd that he now found himself so at ease in her company. Upon seeing her when he had awakened after his accident, he had detected nothing extraordinary in her features. Now, thoughts of the beautiful expression in her dark eyes and her light, pleasing figure were his near-constant companions, and he could not help but consider her one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance.

“I did not know you ever walked here—although I cannot say I am surprised. I was given to think you would naturally be drawn to such a place.”

Elizabeth trembled a little and she could not say whether it was from the chilly air or his deep, melodious voice. “I am guilty as charged. I love it here, having come across it soon after my arrival in Kent.” Rarely did the two of them speak about her time in that part of the country before his accident. She was certain this was not the time. Instead, she said, “Pray, forgive my intrusion, sir.”

“Pardon?”

“Were I to judge by the state of your attire, I would surmise you were here before the storm began.”

“How fortuitous indeed, for the thought of you being here, soaking wet and shivering in this cold, is untenable.”

“Instead, you are the one who is suffering from the damp, cold air owing to your chivalry.”

“I would have it no other way.”

“The least I can do is share your coat with you,” she said, spreading it open in invitation.

Wrapping his coat closed tightly around her, he said, “I can think of another way to enjoy the warmth of my coat without depriving you of yours.”

Not awaiting a reply, he drew her into his arms. “How is this for a mutually satisfying means of staying warm?”

“Satisfying indeed,” Elizabeth heard herself say. “But hardly proper. I believe I ought to be protesting.”

“Do we not have the excuse of wanting to ensure each other’s well-being amid a raging storm?”

“There is that, I suppose. However—” Before she voiced further protest, a blinding bolt of lightning accompanied by a deafening crash prompted Elizabeth to press even closer in Mr. Darcy’s arms.

Remembering herself, she eased away a little. Elizabeth peered into Mr. Darcy’s dark eyes, wondering what he must think of her, and she was amazed by what she beheld. There was no judgment, no bafflement—the likes of which she had grown accustomed to. She recalled it had been some time since she had last seen such sentiments in his eyes.

The look he bestows is that of kindness, affection—dare I call it desire?

Darcy was mesmerized by her nearness. It dawned on him that the woman in his arms did not befuddle him—she did not bewilder him. She has bewitched me as no other woman has ever done before.

Tearing his eyes from hers, they fell on her lips—slightly parted, moist and inviting. Was she looking at his lips too, he wondered, even as both were leaning in—coming closer and closer.