Read Online Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 1 by Jennifer Lang - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Lang
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seen brawling in public. Boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s gym was one thing: it was allowed and even encouraged for gentlemen. But wrestling in public, in a river in the countryside – no, that was something that was only fit for ruffians.
He did not know how he had forgotten his dignity so easily. He was usually too proud to do anything of the sort, but George had always been able to rouse him to anger. The two men had sparred even as children. There was something in their characters that went beyond the differences in their rank, and went beyond the jealousy that Mr Darcy’s superior status engendered in the less fortunate Wickham. It was something written into their very beings. Like brothers – and they had been raised almost as brothers – they had a need to test themselves against one another and could provoke each other with a single word or gesture, even if they were not trying to do so.
Darcy put his hands on the side of the hip bath and pulled himself upright. His valet had left all sorts of preparations within reach and he washed his hair, ridding it of the mud that had clung to it after his ducking. He smoothed his hands back over his sleek hair, so that it clung to his head, revealing the fine shape of his forehead and cheek bones.
Then he washed his body, vigorously soaping his arms and chest to rid them of the weed and mud that had been in the river. He slid back into the bath, submerging again to rinse himself, before finishing soaping his body.
The bath water was by now full of suds so he stood up, pouring a clean jug of water over himself in a refreshing shower. The water dropped off him, running down his toned body and back into the bath. Then he stepped out of the bath and picked up one of the large towels his valet had left ready for him.
He began to dry himself, running the towel over his lithe body. But then the sight of something out of the window arrested his attention. His window was not overlooked and there was no danger of his being seen, so he went over to it and leaned against the frame. For there in the distance, through the trees, he could see the chimneys of Longbourn, Elizabeth’s home. He could see something of the roof and a little of the side of the house besides. There was a window there – yes, he could just make it out. Was it Elizabeth’s window? Was she getting ready for the ball, even as he was? Was she dressing in one of the soft muslin gowns that became her so well? Was she sitting in front of her dressing table as her maid arranged her hair? Was she fastening a necklace around her smooth white throat?
He fell into a daydream. Once Wickham told her of his marriage, then she would be free. And then . . .
Darcy could not longer hide from himself that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman in his life. He had thought he could forget her by going away to London but he was wrong. He must get to know her better . . .
A new vision of the future stretched out in front of him, one with Elizabeth at his side. His family would not approve, but he did not care. She was beneath him, but he did not care. What did such things matter, now that he had found the woman of his dreams? He no longer cared for rank or fortune. He cared only for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was, at that moment, putting the finishing touches to her toilette. Her gown was a pure white muslin with a satin trim beneath the bust and at the hem of her short, puffed sleeves. Her long white evening gloves were elegant and she had seed pearls scattered through her dark hair. It was arranged in a glossy bun on top of her head, with becoming ringlets arranged around the front.
She was in her best looks and she was glad of it, for she needed all her confidence. Mr Wickham was going to say something of great importance, and she had to be ready for anything.
She turned to Jane.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
Jane nodded.
‘You look beautiful,’ said Lizzy.
And indeed it was true. Jane, too, was in her
He did not know how he had forgotten his dignity so easily. He was usually too proud to do anything of the sort, but George had always been able to rouse him to anger. The two men had sparred even as children. There was something in their characters that went beyond the differences in their rank, and went beyond the jealousy that Mr Darcy’s superior status engendered in the less fortunate Wickham. It was something written into their very beings. Like brothers – and they had been raised almost as brothers – they had a need to test themselves against one another and could provoke each other with a single word or gesture, even if they were not trying to do so.
Darcy put his hands on the side of the hip bath and pulled himself upright. His valet had left all sorts of preparations within reach and he washed his hair, ridding it of the mud that had clung to it after his ducking. He smoothed his hands back over his sleek hair, so that it clung to his head, revealing the fine shape of his forehead and cheek bones.
Then he washed his body, vigorously soaping his arms and chest to rid them of the weed and mud that had been in the river. He slid back into the bath, submerging again to rinse himself, before finishing soaping his body.
The bath water was by now full of suds so he stood up, pouring a clean jug of water over himself in a refreshing shower. The water dropped off him, running down his toned body and back into the bath. Then he stepped out of the bath and picked up one of the large towels his valet had left ready for him.
He began to dry himself, running the towel over his lithe body. But then the sight of something out of the window arrested his attention. His window was not overlooked and there was no danger of his being seen, so he went over to it and leaned against the frame. For there in the distance, through the trees, he could see the chimneys of Longbourn, Elizabeth’s home. He could see something of the roof and a little of the side of the house besides. There was a window there – yes, he could just make it out. Was it Elizabeth’s window? Was she getting ready for the ball, even as he was? Was she dressing in one of the soft muslin gowns that became her so well? Was she sitting in front of her dressing table as her maid arranged her hair? Was she fastening a necklace around her smooth white throat?
He fell into a daydream. Once Wickham told her of his marriage, then she would be free. And then . . .
Darcy could not longer hide from himself that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman in his life. He had thought he could forget her by going away to London but he was wrong. He must get to know her better . . .
A new vision of the future stretched out in front of him, one with Elizabeth at his side. His family would not approve, but he did not care. She was beneath him, but he did not care. What did such things matter, now that he had found the woman of his dreams? He no longer cared for rank or fortune. He cared only for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was, at that moment, putting the finishing touches to her toilette. Her gown was a pure white muslin with a satin trim beneath the bust and at the hem of her short, puffed sleeves. Her long white evening gloves were elegant and she had seed pearls scattered through her dark hair. It was arranged in a glossy bun on top of her head, with becoming ringlets arranged around the front.
She was in her best looks and she was glad of it, for she needed all her confidence. Mr Wickham was going to say something of great importance, and she had to be ready for anything.
She turned to Jane.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
Jane nodded.
‘You look beautiful,’ said Lizzy.
And indeed it was true. Jane, too, was in her
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