Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 Read Online Free
Author: Anna Elliott
Edward really did was pull me down with him to sit on the hearthrug, wrapping his arms around me so that I was sitting facing the fire and leaning against his chest, the back of my head resting against his collarbone. He'd taken off his dinner jacket, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
I have no idea how long we sat like that, either. That was something else I'd worried over--that Edward and I wouldn't be able to sit and just be quiet together as we always had before, neither of us feeling as though we had to say a word if we didn't want to.
I could have stayed there all night. But then Edward let out a long breath and said, "I'm sorry, I'm not being very good company--I must be boring you to tears."
I was so astonished I pulled away to look up at him. " Boring me? This is--" All of a sudden I felt a lump come into my throat. Because none of the things I'd been afraid of for Edward had happened. He was really, truly here, alive and safe.
I did reach out and touch Edward's cheek then, tracing the line of the old scar. "I'd be happy to go and sit outside in a mud puddle in the middle of a thunderstorm if it meant I got to be with you like this again."
Edward is always so easy-mannered and self-assured that it's not often I've seen him look utterly caught off-guard. But complete and total surprise flashed across his features then. It made him look all at once a little vulnerable, and younger, for all the battle scars and the fine network of lines about the corners of his eyes.
But then he grinned and said, "You do realise you're setting a low standard if I'm supposed to be persuading you into marrying me all over again?"
I laughed. "Well, I suppose you could try kissing me. Just to prove to me that you haven't entirely forgotten how."
Edward was still smiling, but the smile changed somehow. "Oh, could I?" One of his hands slid slowly up my arm, and his fingers brushed along my neck. Just the lightest touch, but it still felt as though flames were spreading outwards, kindling every nerve. Edward bent his head and touched his lips to mine--and I felt as though time had frozen, as though the whole world had narrowed to the warmth of Edward's kiss, the salt smell of his skin, the blood racing through my veins, the sound of his voice, husky again, as he said my name and pulled me into his arms.
When we finally drew apart, I felt as though all the air had gone from my lungs. But I managed to catch my breath enough to smile up at him and say, "Do you know, I don't think I'm entirely persuaded yet. You'll just have to try again."
I suppose I can't exactly be surprised that writing all that down has made the thought of recounting what happened this morning hurt even more.
Today began well. When I came down to breakfast this morning, Mrs. Reynolds took one look at me, shook her head, and said it was tempting Providence to look so pleased with life. But then she patted my cheek and said, "Ah, well, I was young once, too, child. And it's good to see Mr. Edward himself again, and not so thin and worn-looking as he was when he came back from fighting that nasty Frenchman last year."
Edward has spent the last ten years serving in Sir Arthur Wellesley--now the Duke of Wellington's--army. He fought in the campaigns in Portugal and Spain. And this past spring, he was wounded at the Battle of Toulouse. I suppose no man can live for ten years amidst all the blood and death of the battlefield and not return home changed. Not that Edward has ever spoken to me very much of the things he saw and did while at war. Only bits and pieces. But even the scraps he's sometimes let slip are enough for me to guess at the whole.
Last spring, when he came home from France, Edward was suffering from nightmares. And he couldn't be in crowds or hear loud noises without it bringing back his memories of battle. I still remember the way his muscles would tense as he tried to stop his hands
I have no idea how long we sat like that, either. That was something else I'd worried over--that Edward and I wouldn't be able to sit and just be quiet together as we always had before, neither of us feeling as though we had to say a word if we didn't want to.
I could have stayed there all night. But then Edward let out a long breath and said, "I'm sorry, I'm not being very good company--I must be boring you to tears."
I was so astonished I pulled away to look up at him. " Boring me? This is--" All of a sudden I felt a lump come into my throat. Because none of the things I'd been afraid of for Edward had happened. He was really, truly here, alive and safe.
I did reach out and touch Edward's cheek then, tracing the line of the old scar. "I'd be happy to go and sit outside in a mud puddle in the middle of a thunderstorm if it meant I got to be with you like this again."
Edward is always so easy-mannered and self-assured that it's not often I've seen him look utterly caught off-guard. But complete and total surprise flashed across his features then. It made him look all at once a little vulnerable, and younger, for all the battle scars and the fine network of lines about the corners of his eyes.
But then he grinned and said, "You do realise you're setting a low standard if I'm supposed to be persuading you into marrying me all over again?"
I laughed. "Well, I suppose you could try kissing me. Just to prove to me that you haven't entirely forgotten how."
Edward was still smiling, but the smile changed somehow. "Oh, could I?" One of his hands slid slowly up my arm, and his fingers brushed along my neck. Just the lightest touch, but it still felt as though flames were spreading outwards, kindling every nerve. Edward bent his head and touched his lips to mine--and I felt as though time had frozen, as though the whole world had narrowed to the warmth of Edward's kiss, the salt smell of his skin, the blood racing through my veins, the sound of his voice, husky again, as he said my name and pulled me into his arms.
When we finally drew apart, I felt as though all the air had gone from my lungs. But I managed to catch my breath enough to smile up at him and say, "Do you know, I don't think I'm entirely persuaded yet. You'll just have to try again."
I suppose I can't exactly be surprised that writing all that down has made the thought of recounting what happened this morning hurt even more.
Today began well. When I came down to breakfast this morning, Mrs. Reynolds took one look at me, shook her head, and said it was tempting Providence to look so pleased with life. But then she patted my cheek and said, "Ah, well, I was young once, too, child. And it's good to see Mr. Edward himself again, and not so thin and worn-looking as he was when he came back from fighting that nasty Frenchman last year."
Edward has spent the last ten years serving in Sir Arthur Wellesley--now the Duke of Wellington's--army. He fought in the campaigns in Portugal and Spain. And this past spring, he was wounded at the Battle of Toulouse. I suppose no man can live for ten years amidst all the blood and death of the battlefield and not return home changed. Not that Edward has ever spoken to me very much of the things he saw and did while at war. Only bits and pieces. But even the scraps he's sometimes let slip are enough for me to guess at the whole.
Last spring, when he came home from France, Edward was suffering from nightmares. And he couldn't be in crowds or hear loud noises without it bringing back his memories of battle. I still remember the way his muscles would tense as he tried to stop his hands
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