Page 2 of Pemberley's Imposter
A creaking noise from below made her assume Mr Darcy was downstairs in the library. It was followed by a thump sounding much like a book dropping to the floor, then a yelp before an unsettling silence. Her husband must have fallen asleep with a book in his hand that had slipped after Morpheus had claimed him. It would not be the first time she had encountered him thus, and he might very well have tumbled out of his chair. He may even have hit his head and be lying witlessin a pool of blood. It would be an act of charity to awaken him and take him to bed.
Elizabeth donned her warm robe, completely indifferent to her tangled hair, and entered her husband’s chamber. By design, the master’s and mistress’s rooms were situated above the library with a secret spiral staircase between the two. She moved quickly but stealthily so as not to notify any servants of the fact that the mistress was roaming the library in search of her husband. It would do her no service to allow them to encounter her in such informal attire. She had enough to prove as it was, entering the household as an unknown country maiden, bringing nothing of consequence to the marriage but herself. Her mind was fixed on earning their respect by being the best mistress she could possibly be.
The staircase gave a loud creak as she descended. Elizabeth froze and listened for approaching footfalls. The hidden steps from the master’s chamber to the library were one of the first features her husband had shown her, and the reason she had not bothered dressing appropriately.
Fortunately, no footsteps could be heard. Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief and slipped into the darkened library through the door disguised as a bookshelf.
The faint embers in the hearth cast long shadows into the room, revealing that Mr Darcy’s favourite chair was empty and neither did he lie prone on the floor. The library appeared deserted. He must have fetched a book and returned to the colonel.
She was not surprised. The two cousins were not only family but close friends. Her husband thought the world of his older, battle-worn relation and often spoke about the honour and prowess the colonel had exhibited on the battlefield.
Elizabeth liked Colonel Fitzwilliam well enough. He was an excellent conversationalist, but she did not worship the ground he walked upon, as her husband did. Their acquaintance was of much shorter duration, though. Perhaps a more profound fondness would grow with time and familiarity.
Elizabeth sighed in defeat. The gentlemen must be lingering in the billiard room, which was on the floor below, on the opposite side of the main staircase. She was not about to venture that far in her nightgown and robe, not when Fitzwilliam was busy entertaining his guest. She might as well find herself something to read while she had the luxury of so many books to choose from. The gentlemen might revel into the early hours of the morning, if the humorous tales her husband told were true.
She drifted about the room, perusing the shelves, searching for something to distract her. Preferably a tome of something utterly dull to lull her to sleep, like geography or crop rotation.
Raising her candle to read the spines, she recognised the section containing novels, which was not what she wanted. Venturing deeper into the room, she cursed her neglect in not taking the time to familiarise herself with the layout of the library; she had found scarcely any spare time between taking on her household duties and the pleasures of her husband’s attentions.
Finally, she found the shelf she had been looking for. A volume on the history of tapestries looked tedious enough to have the desired effect, as well as practical knowledge for an estate owner’s wife. She tried to ease the volume from its cramped position, but the stubborn book would not budge. It was wedged between the many other historical tomes her husband and his ancestors had collected.
She put her candle on a side-table to free both hands to pull out the confined book whilst preventing its neighbours from following in its wake.
A warm breath on her neck made her quiver with pleasure. She loved it when her husband kissed her neck until she grew breathless and needy. His hands slid around her waist and trailed upwards, creating a strange sensation through the multiple layers of clothing. She preferred his hands roaming without the cumbersome fabric obstructing the delicious sensations tingling all over her skin, now that she had become familiar with the notion.
His lips trailed across her neck until her breathing became laboured.This is not the time nor the place. I should stop him before it gets out of hand. There is, however, no doubt that I have married a passionate man.
“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered to deter him as light suddenly flooded the room.Drat.It was probably a footman who had noticed the faint light in the library. The servants of Pemberley were diligent in their work. She could not tell which of them it was until he lowered the lamp and allowed her to see his face.
Fitzwilliam released her, and she was launched forwards by his abruptness. She regained her footing and avoided crashing into the bookshelf before she turned her head towards the door.
“Richard! I have found the last bottle of…what the devil is this?”
Mr Darcy’s voice spoke from the threshold, but that was not possible. Horror flooded her veins, and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she could barely hear her own gasp. She whirled round and looked straight into the colonel’s amused countenance. Her head whipped back towards the door while she backed herself into the bookshelf. Her husband approachedin long strides, and the rage suffusing his features made the hair on the back of her neck rise.
“It is not what it seems…” Elizabeth hastened to say.
“What? Am I blind or asleep? Walking about in a terrifying dream?” Mr Darcy spat.
“I thought he was you!” Elizabeth explained. “He came upon me from behind and acted as you would.”
That tidbit of information did nothing to appease her husband’s anger. His eyes narrowed into thin slits whilst his lips curled in disgust. She glanced at the colonel, who should, if he was an honourable gentleman, confirm her rendition of the event, but he remained silent.
“Fitzwilliam happens to be both our names, if Christian and surnames are comparable, but the similarities end there. How could you? How could either of you betray me like this?” Mr Darcy’s glare shifted between them. “Especially you, Elizabeth! Pretending to be affronted when the colonel wanted to address you by your Christian name whilst not minding giving him your most intimate favours. What a fool I have been!”
“You are no fool, Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth denied vehemently. “Please believe me, I swear to God I thought he was you. It was too dark to see. My candle was on the table beside me, and you often approach me from behind to kiss my neck…”
Elizabeth now understood what it was really like to be regarded with utter contempt by Mr Darcy. The looks he had sent her during their previous dealings in Meryton and Kent were nothing compared to the cold blackness he directed at her now. Not a shred of warmth remained.
Mr Darcy turned his forbidding gaze towards his cousin, who leapt at the opportunity to defend himself—by defaming Elizabeth.
“She is as wanton as you described her, Darcy. Ready and willing at all times.”
Elizabeth balked at the derogatory and utterly false depiction of herself. She stared at her husband, who said nothing to contradict the colonel, who had not finished.
“Do not look at me like that. I am three inches shorter than you, and my hands are half the size of yours. Even if I had not made myself known when Elizabeth entered, she must have noticed the difference. You know how she flirted with me at Rosings, sought me out at every gathering, and hung on every word I uttered. I thought I should give her a test, which she obviously failed miserably.”
“Excuse me!” Elizabeth cried in outrage, but the gentlemen did not acknowledge her.
