Tempted Chapter Two… For Real This Time

Tempted is a story that has ever been the bridesmaid, but never the bride. I typed the first chapter in April of 2018, and all that time, I would tinker with it, then put it aside in favor of something shinier and… dare I say… easier. I’m not going to lie, this story has been a beast to wrestle. However, after the more light-hearted The Rogue’s Widow, I was ready to get back to it, and I’m actually sticking to it this time.

You may remember that I posted bits of this story last year, and then I ran off and wrote other books. Yes, it’s acceptable to yell “Squirrel!” now. I won’t re-post Chapter One, but here is a link to it.

Other scenes have been re-sequenced and in some cases deleted, so today I am posting the New and Improved Chapter Two. I’ll keep posting  a few chapters (this time I mean it) until the story is polished and ready for publication.

By the way, isn’t this lady pretty? NO, this will not be the final cover, but for now, she is the face… or perhaps the heart on display.

Tempted Chapter One

So, let’s get on with it! Chapter Two, coming up!

“Lizzy, did you see all the marble?” Jane whispered. “I did not know so much existed!”

Elizabeth’s eyes had not found one flat or dull surface since setting foot in the opulent house. Surely they were there—they must have been, for there was nothing garish or in poor taste, but the decor was so masterfully wrought that she, with her fresh eyes, had not yet discovered the base tones among the brilliant.

“Look at that mahogany,” she murmured back to Jane. “I have never seen wood so rich.”

“And the crystal! Why, I would be afraid that chandelier would fall on me.”

“Shh.” Elizabeth tipped her head towards the maid they followed. They were being shown to a guest room, and though it was hardly a thorough tour of the house, Elizabeth had begun to wonder how they would ever find their way back to the parlour… or perhaps it was called a drawing-room in such a house. The blue drawing-room—as opposed to the white, the gold, and the red, she supposed. Precisely how large was this place?

She had her answer a moment later when the maid opened the door to a guest room the size of their uncle’s entire first floor. Jane gaped openly as the young maid went to the window to draw aside the drapes.

“Is there anything you require, ma’am?” the girl asked.

“N-no!” they stammered together.

“That is,” Elizabeth added, “I am sure we will be quite comfortable here.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is only Miss Bennet’s room. Yours is just through here.” The maid opened a door which led into a sitting room, then another bedroom just as large as Jane’s on the opposite side. Elizabeth felt her palms beginning to sweat. Her host must be even wealthier than she had imagined!

“Mr Darcy has appointed the sitting room for your private use, and tea will be served directly.” She bobbed a curtesy then—the first time Elizabeth had ever been the recipient of such a gesture—and left them.

Jane was wandering about the sitting room, her bright blue eyes round with amazement. Elizabeth smoothed the rich upholstery of the sofa, the shining damask of the pillows, and then finally allowed herself to sink wearily onto them. All her simple wonder at her surroundings, all the astonishment of the regal welcome she had received, were nothing to the fatigue, the confusion, the thorough upheaval of all her expectations and the dark fears clouding her heart. Richard….

“Lizzy, are you well?”

Elizabeth sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, as her handkerchief was long gone.

“Lizzy?” Jane lowered into the sofa beside her. “Come, Lizzy, it will be well. You will see.”

Elizabeth managed a rueful, strangled sort of laugh. “I am not sure how you can say that. What good can come of being lost in battle? Poor Richard! What must have happened to him? That is the worst of it, Jane—imagining him wounded, dying, and alone.” Elizabeth shuddered and a great heaving sob shook her.

“You don’t know he was shot or wounded. He may be perfectly well.”

“Then he is a prisoner, or worse! Do you know the things that are done to prisoners of war? I have read a bit, and I am ill just thinking of it.”

“Did not Mr Darcy say that Richard’s family are doing all that can be done? They are obviously not without their resources. And what of the Army? They will surely find him, if…”

“Oh, Jane! Do you not know how vast, how far away, how brutal it all must be? It is probable that nothing at all is to be done. What he must have suffered!”

Jane fell silent, leaving only her hand patting uncomfortably upon Elizabeth’s knee.

A knock came at the door, and another maid appeared when summoned. “Your tea, ma’am. And Mr Darcy asked if you would speak with him in the study after you are refreshed.”

Elizabeth surveyed the tea tray. She had eaten little since morning, and her stomach grumbled in approval.

“Thank you, miss… may I please know your name?”

“Margaret, ma’am.” The maid dipped another curtsey. “May I tell Mr Darcy you will join him in an hour?”

“I… yes, of course. Thank you, Margaret.”

The conversation with her host was a halting, uncomfortable one. He had asked for the privilege of speaking to her alone, without the benefit of Jane’s company or the distraction of Billy’s. However, a footman was conspicuous at the door, and the maid Margaret waited just outside.

Mr Darcy was stiff. All that Richard had told her about him had prepared her for a gentle being, blessed with kindness and good cheer. Perhaps these things were true, but Richard’s description had failed to capture the austere mien, the formal attitude, and the ingrained hauteur of the man. Nor had Richard made any mention of his impressive stature and chiselled features—why, it almost hurt her eyes to look upon him!

Elizabeth sat before his desk, fully conscious of the age and style of her clothing, the wear marks on her shoes, and her own unsophisticated manner. If she were disposed to whisper meekly or to hang her head before scrutiny, she certainly would have done so now. Instead, her spine stiffened, and she lifted her chin, daring to meet his penetrating gaze with an impertinent one of her own.

“Shall we begin the examination, sir?”

The smallest crack appeared in his facade. “I beg your pardon?”

“Is that not your purpose? Surely, young ladies turn up every day claiming to be married to one of your relations. Am I to understand that you are the guard dog, barring the gates and catechising the claimants to discern the truth?”

His mouth twitched. Perhaps he did have a sense of humour… or perhaps she had merely annoyed him. “I can see that you are not inclined to mince words, madam. Very well—yes, if you must know, my intent is to shield my aunt and cousin at such a time. However, I am willing to examine your claims and to offer you what protection I may while we wait to hear word of Richard.”

Elizabeth swallowed and blinked, but squared her shoulders. “I thank you for that. Richard told me before that you were a gentleman of honour.”

Mr Darcy paused in the middle of shifting papers about his desk. “He said that?”

“He spoke very fondly of you, as well as your sister, Miss Georgiana. He even had some rather… warm praise for a Miss Anne de Bourgh. She sounds an intriguing lady.”

His eyes narrowed. “He told you a number of things, I see.”

Elizabeth braced herself. “Do I pass the first part of your test, sir?”

He coughed, then nodded briskly and gestured to some papers on his desk. “I have looked over your marriage license and the letter my cousin wrote to you. I recognise his hand and freely acknowledge your assertions that you have a peculiar connection to him. However, I should like to enquire about the marriage document.”

“I am certain its particulars are unfamiliar to you, but I am not mistaken, I believe, when I state that a lawful marriage is binding even in another country.”

“Of course. Am I to presume that this William Collins named as the officiant at the ceremony is one and the same as your escort?”

“He is.” Elizabeth watched the dark eyes harden and noted for the first time the little gold flecks sparking from their depths. She consciously straightened herself—oh, no, she could not afford to keep looking at him. He would induce her to say too much, would weaken her own cause, and he might even discover the whole truth. She glanced down and smoothed her skirt.

“My cousin is something of a lay parson. He has undertaken all the appropriate studies and holds the necessary credentials, but has neither chapel nor flock to shepherd. So, he worked for my uncle… or, rather, he made his appearance and collected his pay, until it was decided that I should have some manner of escort. I am certain my uncle has not found it a hardship to replace Billy.” She chuckled under her breath, then sobered at once when she dared to meet those studious eyes again.

“You will forgive my insistence, madam, but I would like to have some validation of his office. I shall speak with him after we have finished here.”

She nodded. Billy could speak for himself… unfortunately.

“May I ask how you met my cousin?”

She ought to have expected this question, but somehow it had caught her by surprise. Her brow furrowed as she recalled, and then she could not help a small laugh. “I was out riding, and he tried to stop my horse because he thought I had a runaway.”

“Not the most conventional way to meet someone.”

“Are there really conventional ways to meet people? It seems each is unique—or, perhaps that is only because I have not met so many people as you must have.”

His lips thinned, and those eyes almost twinkled. Was he amused, or angry?

“Am I to understand that it is difficult for a lady to meet a man of marriageable age where you come from?”

Elizabeth’s shoulders went rigid. “Sir, if your implication is that I was an opportunist, hunting a husband—”

He held up a hand. “I implied no such thing, madam. I am only trying to understand the situation. You must confess yourself that to those of us who have known the man all his life and have never before noted a desire for matrimony, this development after such a short acquaintance is… surprising.”

“No more so for you than it has been for me, I assure you.”

“Then you understand my reservations? My duty is to my cousin’s family and to his honour, so long as he is not here to defend it himself. I am only trying to discover the truth of your assertions and perhaps discern his motives for acting as you claim he has done.”

Elizabeth bristled, the last of her composure fleeing in the face of his bold-faced accusations. “Let me be perfectly clear: I admire Richard’s character and think him the finest man of my acquaintance—barring perhaps my father, who has owned my loyalties since childhood. I will not stoop to feather my story with embellishments of romantic passion or timeless love such as can only be found in my sister’s romantic novels. I am more pragmatic than that, and you are no fool. Such a feeling would require more time to develop than we had. However, it must spring from somewhere, and where better than two characters well-matched in mind and equally disposed to felicity?”

He spoke not a word, but merely steepled his fingers on his desk, waiting for her to continue.

“In no way have I ever sought to manipulate or coerce a relationship. I counted Richard a respected friend, one in whom I could confide a great deal, until he offered more. And sir—” here, she leaned forward in her chair, almost prepared to stand—“I care little what your sentiments on the matter may be. Mine are this: when a woman receives an offer from the kindest, most gentlemanly man she has ever known, in such an earnest and honourable fashion, she would be a fool to reject that worthy man.”

Mr Darcy raised one dark brow and shifted back in his chair. “It was not my intention to provoke you, madam.”

“Yet, such you have done! I do not care to be accounted a liar or a fortune-hunter. Why, he even told me what his expectations are, and I did not anticipate a life of luxury as his wife. Richard and I married each of our own free will, and I had looked forward to happily spending the rest of my days with him, when he returned. If he truly is….” she stopped, put her fingers to her forehead, and lowered her eyes. “Forgive me, sir. I shall not embarrass us both by weeping.”

Mr Darcy waited in silence as she drew a few short, measured breaths. Then she raised her head, dashed a genuine tear from her eye, and faced him. There was something unreadable in his expression… skepticism mixed with sympathy, perhaps?

“I do not wish to distress a lady, madam. If you wish to retire, we may continue this conversation at a later time.”

“No, sir, I would like to explain myself. I am not often given to displays of grief or ill humour. It is not in my constitution. Nor is it my way to attempt to win sympathy by disingenuous outbursts. If anything, I am more likely to compel my spirits to cheer that is unfelt than to forcibly cast my woe-begotten self upon the sympathies of others. I truly am stricken, for I fear for Richard. I cannot stop thinking of him—what he must have suffered, the fear and pain of what he must have endured…”

“What he may presently endure.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

Mr Darcy pushed up from his chair and sighed. “We are not so ready to consign him to the grave, madam. I have not yet lost hope that he is alive somewhere and waiting to be ransomed.”

Elizabeth rose unsteadily on her side of the massive desk. “Do you truly think it possible? I have wondered, but not dared to believe it.”

“It is likely enough. A colonel is generally a man with connections, and a prize on the battlefield if he can be captured alive. We are doing all we can, and I intend to speak with the earl this very afternoon. Meanwhile, you may be interested in this.” He indicated a side table, where a map was laid out with an assortment of flagged pins pushed into different locations.

“The Daily Mail keeps us well informed of troop movements,” he said. “One of the marvels of this modern age of ours. See here—Richard said in his last letter that he was ordered to Johannesburg and then to Pretoria. They are both in British hands now, so we are sure to hear more very soon.”

Elizabeth surveyed the map, with its patriotic markers and unfamiliar names, and was struck by how cold and impersonal it all seemed. Richard must have seen it for a far different thing.

“I will see you have a map of your own,” Mr Darcy said. “If you will please excuse me, I am afraid I have much business to attend. However, I have made arrangements for you and your party to journey to my country estate in Derbyshire tomorrow. I believe you will be more… comfortable… there.”

She swallowed. Yes, she certainly would be. “Thank you, sir.”