Darkness Falls Upon Pemberley Read Free Page B

respectful for Elizabeth’s sake, as well as his own, Darcy found it difficult to speak without using the authoritative tone he often employed as Pemberley’s master.
    “Mr. Bennet, with all due respect,” he began, but was instantly silenced by the menacing look on the elder man’s face.
    “You, Mr. Darcy,” he hissed, “have been playing a very dangerous game, one that you are shockingly ill-equipped to win. I strongly urge you to keep to your own kind, sir, and give my second daughter a wide berth. She is my favorite and, though it pains me exceedingly to deny her anything that affords her even the slightest measure of happiness, I will endeavour to protect her at all costs and in any manner I see fit. However honourable your intentions toward her are, take heed when I assure you that any romantic designs you have on Elizabeth will bring upon you retribution of the acutest kind.”
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    T hree
     
    A fortnight had passed since he’d last seen her—the arch of her brow, the curve of her cheek, the graceful column of her neck. Fourteen days since he’d heard her melodic laughter, watched her lips curl into a smile, or listened to her speak the syllables of his surname.
    Day after day Darcy told himself that Elizabeth’s absence from society was no cause for concern, but night after night the ache in his breast—the sheer longing he felt to be in her company—only worsened. Nothing eased his hunger for her presence or quenched his thirst to hear her voice. Nothing purged her image from his mind or dulled his intense desire to know her infinitely better than he already felt he did.
    What was this hold she had over him? What sort of spell had she cast with her artless beauty and engaging conversation, her fine eyes and clever wit? How many mornings had he awakened from dreams so vivid he’d confused them with reality?
    Had she truly come to him in his bedchamber, he wondered; her expression and words as tender as her touch? Each time Darcy awoke and stumbled to his door—only to find it locked—the absurdity of such a scenario seemed obvious; but why, then, did his heart pound as though it might burst from his chest? Why did his lungs burn as though he hadn’t been able to draw a breath? Why were his sheets a tangled mess upon the floor, and his nightshirt sweat-soaked and twisted upon his body? For the life of him, Darcy could t hink of no rational explanation…at least none that made any sense.
    The master of Pemberley ran shaking hands through his hair. He was a disaster. If he didn’t speak to Elizabeth soon he was afraid he’d go mad. But where on earth was she? When he’d brazenly called upon her at Longbourn—on a day he knew Mr. Bennet would be absent tending to business in Town—she was nowhere to be found. Neither had she attended church, or visited the village, or called upon her neighbours and friends.
    Clearly, her family was keeping her under lock and key and Darcy feared it was somehow his fault. After passing so many agreeable moments together he flatly refused to believe that Elizabeth’s sentiments weren’t equal to his for her. The idea was simply too painful for him to contemplate. It must be Mr. Bennet who was responsible for their separation, but Darcy could not fathom why.
    Had his private thoughts and desires concerning Elizabeth been known, there was no doubt in Darcy's mind her father would have deemed them wildly inappropriate; but Mr. Bennet was no mind reader, and Darcy’s conduct toward his daughter ha d always been that befitting a gentleman. He could think of nothing he’d either said or done that might have angered the elder gentleman to such a degree as to deny his approval; nothing, that is, except the keeping of Georgiana’s secret.
    That Elizabeth’s father would even suspect what had transpired at Ramsgate was impossible, for no one but Darcy, Georgiana, and their cousin Fitzwilliam knew of it. Of course, one of their