Chapter 24
Mr. Darcy
Ludo leapt a mudpuddle, galloping past a carriage and six, eager to reach the London boundary. Darcy tucked his chin to his chest, shielding his face from the bitter wind. Unlike his horse, he had feared presenting himself at Abbington Park on this day. Indeed, it took a great deal of effort to convince himself to steer Ludo north. Darcy believed he should want a costly afternoon of cards and several strong drinks–preferably a fine cognac. Yet, all he wanted was her, to spend his hours watching her, worrying over her; his greatest obligations were to her. Elizabeth demanded more of him than any other, yet never asked anything of him. He would gladly give her everything; but she claimed nothing. If only Elizabeth could be like the other women, their uncomplicated designs so easily deciphered. Each smile, frown or tip of her chin expressed a thousand different emotions; emotions he would spend the rest of his days lost in. Darcy needed Elizabeth more than he needed breath, she was as compulsory as the sun in the morning.
The park loomed ahead, glorious in the late morning brilliance. Darcy envied little of his cousin. Claridge’s title meant nothing to him. Parliamentary influence gave him but passing whims of greed. This park, however, a sanctuary steps outside of the brume of London, plucked at his jealousies. Elizabeth loved the estate as well, always exploring the dozens and dozens of rooms, ranking those with the best views of the small pond in the courtyard. But above all, she adored the grounds. They were nothing to Pemberley, of course; yet they would do until he could bring her home. Perhaps he would help Elizabeth dress in her warmest cloak and walk with her to the pond this afternoon–following a good deal of argument first.
Footmen opened the front gates dutifully. The cousins never begged entry to any of the families’ estates. Darcy tugged at his jacket cuffs, he wore blue this day. Elizabeth teased him that he preferred blue as it complemented his eyes. He wore it so she would tease him. The great hall echoed an odd quiet, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The butler should have greeted him by now. Darcy’s steps quickened. Breakfast would be long over, sending Cecelia and Agatha to their parlor and Elizabeth with them to wait for him. The large room walled in yellows, however, held not a soul. Darcy nearly ran to her rooms, sensing something terribly amiss. Rather than turning left into Elizabeth’s private parlor, he turned right where soft murmured voices drifted from Cecelia’s suite.
Fleur slumped in a chair against the wall, her eyes swollen and red to match her nose. She jumped to her feet at sighting the gentleman. “It vas not my fault, Mr. Darcy! I did not know ze vater vas tainted.” The maid sniffled and blew her nose into a handkerchief. “I vas gone only minutes to order Miss Bennet’s zupper.”
Darcy swallowed back the horror in his chest, storming for the bedroom just beyond the parlor. Inside stood Berkes speaking heatedly with Mr. Farr and his apprentice. His eyes remained with them a mere fraction of a moment, for there on the sofa facing the fireplace was Elizabeth, unconscious to the world, her cheeks flushed a sickly red. On Elizabeth’s right sat Lady Claridge, holding her hand. Agatha sat to her left with Elizabeth’s face pressed into her shoulder. A blanket loosely covered Elizabeth’s shift. Claridge was in a chair nearby, his head leaned awkwardly against the backrest with his eyes closed. Darcy trembled, hardly knowing whether to shatter in fury or fear.
“There was an incident with the water. Apparently, the water used to wash Miss Bennet’s wounds came from the Thames,” Mr. Farr explained, having come to Darcy’s side without noting his small presence. “A contagion spread rapidly poisoning the sutures and the skin around her waist. I had to remove the stitches and sew in place new ones. Moreover, Miss Bennet appears to have fallen, suffering a setback in the healing of her arm.”
“Darcy,” Berkes said quietly from his other side, “take a breath. You have not breathed since entering.”
“How did this happen?” Darcy begged, stepping closer, listening to Elizabeth’s heavy, agonized breathing.
Berkes answered, “As you well know, she did not sleep well the night previous, nor did her meeting with the Gardiners go well. Therefore, once asleep Elizabeth was left to nap in peace and quiet. When waking with terrible pangs, the room darkened, she desperately reached for the bell-pull but snapped the rope from the tassel. Fortunately, Claridge returned early from his meeting and found Elizabeth at once.”
“Why does he wear but a shirt? Why are you in Cecelia’s rooms? And Elizabeth, dear Lord! Will she be well?” This question loomed above the rest.
“Yes,” Berkes said, “she will recover. The contagion was caught quickly. Lizzy is strong, Darcy.”
“I know, oh how I know that Elizabeth is strong.”
“She vomited on me while the sutures were being removed,” Claridge added sleepily, lifting his head to greet his cousin. “In the panic, I simply removed my coats and resumed holding her in place. Once Elizabeth fell asleep, I did not think of summoning a fresh wardrobe. Moreover, Cecelia ushered us into her rooms when she heard the upheaval in the corridor.”
“Why in the bloody hell was I not informed?”
Elizabeth groaned, turned her head back and forth and pressed her nose to Agatha’s neck. The scent seemed to settle her. Darcy closed the few steps between them, placing his palm to her fiery cheek. He cursed too loudly. Elizabeth shifted and the blanket fell. Darcy hastily tucked the wool over her shoulders. There came a sudden chorus of ‘NO!’ from all quarters. Darcy rocked back on his heels, throwing his hand to the sofa to keep from tipping over.
Lady Claridge spoke first, “The blanket must be loose so it does not touch her waist.”
“Anything which touches the wound burns her. Just back away slowly, Fitzwilliam,” added Lady Agatha.
“Please give her to me, I will care for her.” In answer, Lady Claridge gave him a withering look.
“Right, right, you needn’t say it, I’m a fool. Do excuse me.” Darcy remained squatting, balancing on his toes as his hand floated over Elizabeth, horribly unsure of what to do. “Again, I ask, why did you not send for me directly?”
“Our entire focus turned to aiding Elizabeth!” cried his cousin.
“I imagine all of your footmen were occupied? Perhaps fishing diseased water from the Thames to bathe her in?”
Gingerly, Claridge sat forward, rubbing his forehead, “Those men no longer hold positions in my household, nor will they find work in all of London again.”
“Darcy,” Berkes placed a hand on his shoulder, “we gave Elizabeth laudanum. She will sleep for some time. Come sit, I will pour you a drink.” With nothing to be done, Darcy warily stood and took a chair across from the sofa.
“I apologize, Ash. Thank you for caring for Elizabeth.”
Claridge nodded, understanding.
Lady Agatha and Lady Claridge held her for hours, drifting in and out of sleep themselves. Neither of the ladies could be persuaded to leave her. Darcy observed Elizabeth’s every shift and moan, attending when he could. As the day drew to a close, Elizabeth woke with a startle and sob. Darcy closed the space between them before the second sob wracked her chest, cradling Elizabeth’s face in his hands.
“You are awake, dearest. You are not dreaming,” he said slowly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You are not dreaming.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, exhaling with a tortured hiss. Shakily, she lifted her right arm, reaching for Darcy. Holding his own sob deep within his belly, Darcy reached beneath her knees and around her shoulders. Lady Agatha carefully held the blanket in place while supporting her left arm. He cautiously lifted her up, no one stopping him.
Elizabeth curled into his neck as he carried her through the rooms. “Where are we going?” she questioned, her voice soft and scratchy.
“Where would you like to go?”
“The pond,” she replied. He glanced down, finding a small smile.
“Are we to argue, Elizabeth?” he said in feigned irritation.
“Always.”
Darcy took Elizabeth to a set of glass doors down the hallway which led to a gallery overlooking the twilight shadowed grounds. They remained silently staring into the night for a quarter of an hour. Elizabeth’s weight was nothing as he watched the serenity ease across her flushed face. Eventually they turned back toward her rooms. Darcy sat her on the bed, Elizabeth unable to suffer any other position but sitting upright. She held the blanket to her chest with one hand, breathing deeply and observing Darcy. Fleur appeared bearing a tray of broth and tea. Elizabeth shook her head at the very thought of filling her belly. Darcy kindly discharged Fleur for the time being. Elizabeth reached out to the French woman, expressing her sincerest gratitude. Fleur retreated with renewed sniffles.
Darcy threw another log on the fire. The flames built with each stoke, crackling and coming alive. Night came too quickly on these winter days.
“Will you not stop, Fitzwilliam?”
His heart plummeted into his stomach. Elizabeth never used his Christian name. “S-Stop?” he questioned.
“Yes,” Elizabeth returned heavily. “I am near to melting.” Glancing over his shoulder, Elizabeth’s rapidly rising chest and flushed complexion more than attested to her point.
“I suppose you wish not to dress in your woolen shift?”
“No,” she returned, her breathing yet distressed. “I see you wore blue. Am I keeping you from a gathering? Your admirers will be most disappointed.”
“Indeed, I really must be going.” Darcy straightened his cravat, winking at Elizabeth.
She snickered, then turned serious. “Truly, Fitzwilliam, I steal so very much of your time. You would rather be anywhere but here, tending once more to my ailments. I see it in you sometimes, I think. It’s this… this longing for freedom.”
He stared at her, but she had turned her infinite eyes away. “You do not speak for me, Elizabeth.”
Hesitating, laboring to pull in air, she shook her head. “Am I cursed?”
“I have considered that,” he said lightly. “I do not know what you are, my dearest one. I cannot guess what afflicts you. Nevertheless, you give that beast a hell of a challenge. Thank you for letting me hold your hand through the flight.”
Rather than smile, tears bleared her extraordinary gaze. Darcy felt rooted in place, suddenly frightened of this helplessness. “Do you recall the day I delivered my letter?”
Mirthlessly chuckling, he nodded.
“When I left your home, I started walking. Just walking without thought or destination. The rain no longer existed. I felt nothing. No,” she shook her head, “no, I felt too much. Only, I felt all the wrong things, the worst of everything. The loneliness, the emptiness… Somehow, I ended up on the London Bridge, my toes hanging over the edge, the pitiless currents ready to wash me away…”
Darcy’s world began to quake. A dark, reverberating throb struck his head. He needed her to stop, to say no more. He grasped the mantle to find anything solid.
“Berkes told me I was being followed. They were following me so I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t even be afforded that smallest of reprieves.” Elizabeth laughed and sobbed at the same time.
Hardly knowing himself, Darcy went to Elizabeth, taking her into his arms. “Don’t you ever, EVER, think like that again!” The blanket fell, Elizabeth wept, Darcy held her tightly, unsure if he could ever let her go again.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged.
“Never,” he returned. Leaning back, he let her go and said, “Elizabeth, I simply cannot remain silent another moment.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I have been waiting for the right moment, I have been biding my time, delaying and delaying for much too long. But there will never be a right time for this confession. A new excuse always to replace the last. I have been a coward, such a coward.” Darcy shuddered.
Elizabeth raised her reddened eyes to his, confused.
“I am so sorry, Elizabeth. My dearest, dearest Elizabeth, every nerve in my body churns agonizingly in regret, and sorrow and guilt. Every hurt you suffer is by my hand, by my inconsiderate choices and hubris. I do not deserve you. I do not deserve your smiles, your laughter, your forgiveness. If I had not left you in that cabin, if–”
Reaching for his cheek, her fingers shaking, Elizabeth whispered, “Fitzwilliam, please–”
Placing his own hand over hers, he shook his head. “No, I must say this, Elizabeth. Though I know it will never be enough, I must speak my heart. I have been so selfish, and perpetually late.” Darcy laughed once, hard. “I was late saving you from the storm in Lambton, forcing you to take shelter in the lodge. I was… I left you in that lodge, alone,” his voice trembled awfully, but he carried on, letting her hear his vulnerability. “I did not return until it was too late. I m-missed our son’s birth,” he sobbed.
“My parents raised me to be proud, to be self-serving, to be… No! None of that matters. Elizabeth, I did not find you, I merely stumbled upon you in Hertfordshire–failing once again. Nevertheless, in my pride, I thought we could somehow return to the lovers we were in the lodge. You would turn your beautiful eyes to me and everything and everyone would melt away. I could hold you, and in return, you again would see me as no other ever has or ever would. Yet, almost two years passed between us, the world divided us, we changed as we must. I became two men, Elizabeth. I am the man you knew in the lodge, the one you see before you now. In my eight and twenty years, there has been no other to whom I have been more honest with than with you. Nonetheless, I am also Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley. I must be restrained–”
“Proud, superior,” she added.
“I do not deny it. My legacy, as I was taught since birth, are my lands, my estates and my distinguished repute. Mine is an esteemed name, a venerated name, and with it comes great responsibilities and consequence. Moreover, I must be regarded as such a man. Miss Bingley, indeed, considered me in this manner. I did not wish for her intimacy, only her deference–of which she provided in abundance. For too long, I lived wholly within that second part of myself, shielding the deeper part, hiding it, hiding from it. Elizabeth, that part of me was for you.”
Darcy paused, steeling his emotions. Elizabeth waited patiently, intently watching him; her face flushed and swollen. Taking a moment, he reached for a cloth on the bedside table, dipping it into the ewer of cool water prepared for just this purpose, and pressed it to her forehead and cheeks. She sighed in relief, her glassy eyes closing. “Elizabeth,” he continued, “what can I possibly say to excuse my abhorrent behavior? I have deferred over and again in making this confession, for there truly are no words. I left you alone, afraid and suffering. I left you with child–my child!” Elizabeth blinked, opening her eyes to look on him. “If I could do it all again… but I cannot. Even now, as you suffer, as you heal so painfully, I make mistake after mistake,” he cried. “I should never have left you in Hertfordshire, though I never could have imagined your father would–”
“You found me,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice rasping.
“I was late!” he cried. “Oh how dreadfully, fatefully late was I?”
Forcing air back into his burning lungs, Darcy made to compose himself. “W-Will you not drink something, Elizabeth?” She nodded, and Darcy rose to retrieve the cooled broth. Elizabeth sipped slowly, her stare rapt upon him.
“In those hours I thought you gone, in those years we were separated, I felt nothing, I felt too much,” he continued, using her words. “Only, I felt all the wrong things, the worst of everything. The loneliness, the emptiness, I deserved every moment, Elizabeth.” He swallowed back his sob, lifted his shoulders, and said firmly, “I am sorry, so deeply, achingly sorry… for everything.”
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said quietly, lowering her eyes to her bandaged arm, “you hurt me more than anyone has ever hurt me. I believed what we were, what we had in the lodge was real–”
“But it was,” he pled.
Putting her hand over his mouth, yet keeping her eyes downcast, she shook her head. Elizabeth needed to speak. “You hurt me because I cared so much, if I did not– Lord! I fought feeling for you in Hertfordshire as I did not know if I could suffer the pain of feeling so much again. Now, as I sit here, I believe we can… Fitzwilliam, perhaps a man cannot not know himself at once. He must find and divide himself along the way.” She raised her eyes to his, her hand moving to his cheek to catch the tears. “Perhaps, it is best not to be everything to everyone, but to be everything to only one person. She will see his faults, she will tease and laugh at him in turn. She will treasure the moments he scratches her toes, as she cannot reach them for herself. She will forgive him. For that one person, he will be… whole.”
“Elizabeth,” he wept softly, and pressed his forehead to hers, “Elizabeth, I love–”
“Shh…” she quieted him. “We have time.”
“Yes, we do,” Darcy returned, his voice choking. He started to pull back, but Elizabeth caught him and pulled his face to hers, brushing her lips slowly against his. “R-Right,” he stammered, his head slightly dizzied. Taking her hand, he turned the palm up. Darcy removed the signet ring from his left hand and placed it in hers. “Of all my possessions, this is my most treasured. It has been passed down from father to son for four generations. Will you keep it for me?”
“Fitzwilliam, no, I cannot.”
Darcy closed her fingers over the ring, “Please.”
“No, Fitzwilliam, you misunderstand. It is too big.” With one quick barking laugh, he shook his head and folded his hand over hers. “In true earnestness, I cannot keep this ring,” Elizabeth implored. “This is a symbol of the Darcy name; your ring must go to your… your heir.”
“One day it will, when it is time for him to have it. For now, you must keep it safe.” Elizabeth sighed, leaning into his chest. They did not speak for some time, peaceful in each other’s hold.
“How did you know my aunt took the letter, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked at last.
“Hmm? Oh, I did not. I merely guessed it must be her as no one else would have known. My gamble, regrettably, paid off.”
Elizabeth grew thoughtful, “They are not bad people, my aunt and uncle. They do as they believe is right.”
Running his fingers up and down her back, he said, “What I care for is you, Elizabeth. I will see you well and healed before I consider much of anything else.”
***
The Christmas holiday came and went, Darcy not once stepping beyond Abbington Park. Colonel Fitzwilliam returned from Buxton, having been away for some weeks visiting his eldest sister Augusta. Only positive reports returned with his cousin. Georgiana not only did well but grew more confident by the day through the influence of her cousins. Claridge’s son Edmund arrived to spend the holiday with his family. The young man, so eager to please his father, took on an imperious, condescending air. However, between his mother, aunt and Elizabeth, the young viscount was soon teased and needled into behaving with the jollity of an adolescent.
In these peaceful weeks, Elizabeth steadily, painfully improved. Darcy kept a careful eye on her every movement, becoming her shadow and strength. However, when the holiday came to a close, so did his constant presence, for Elizabeth welcomed a new caller.
From Hertfordshire, the Gardiners came bearing a story, five letters and a niece. The latter two of which they used to play on Elizabeth’s sympathies. The former was adopted by all as an excuse for Elizabeth’s injuries. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet told their family and friends a terrible carriage accident claimed the life of Mrs. Bainbridge and severely injured Elizabeth. As a friend to Mrs. Bainbridge and in great benevolence, Lord and Lady Claridge took in Elizabeth. The story held many flaws and countless lies, yet Lady Claridge and Lady Agatha thought it must do as Jane knew nothing otherwise.
The letters received from her sisters and mother were a small window into the world Elizabeth left behind, though she did not have the heart to open the heaviest one, the one from her father. Darcy gave over his hand one evening to help her compose replies, the longest of which went to Mary. He was surprised to learn of the younger sister knowing James’s true maternity. Still, he chose not to press Elizabeth, not yet. Nothing would be allowed to further upset her healing.
The last of the Gardiners’ gifts, Jane, was a ploy of the aunt in order to call on Elizabeth, and look in on her situation. To Darcy’s regret, Elizabeth welcomed them both. He would rather she remain sheltered away from the Bennets and their tumult perhaps forever.
The first he saw of Jane, the lady blushed so profusely Elizabeth worried she had gone suddenly ill. Darcy hardly recalled his prior interaction with Jane, his mind so warped by Elizabeth’s situation and meeting James, but there was no disguising the lady’s notice. Jane proceeded to repeatedly call at the same time Darcy was wont to arrive at Abbington Park. What was once a solitary walk with Elizabeth soon turned sour as Jane joined them, taking his arm whenever he reached for Elizabeth. Consequently, Darcy called later in the day, explaining to Elizabeth that he wished not to give her sister any misleading notions of regard. Elizabeth understood and agreed. Jane, however, learned to follow suit, calling following the supper hour. Fortunately, Mrs. Gardiner and her niece visited but once or twice a week.
February ushered in a fine inkling of spring. And one late afternoon, Darcy entered his cousin’s study to the guffaws of Berkes and the amused smirk of his cousin.
“Why do you laugh?” Darcy questioned. Berkes gestured toward the veranda. He shifted his sights out the window, spying Elizabeth sitting alone, her face turned toward the heavy sun and a childlike pout at her lips. Darcy smiled, he knew that pout well. “What did you say?”
Berkes came over, a spot of cognac in his hand for Darcy. They looked on the lady together. Health glistened in her cheeks. Nothing compared to such beauty. “Miss Jane Bennet, I am to understand, has asked not to be in the same room as me. She is frightened.”
“To Miss Bennet’s defense, you stare at her as though she were an approaching marauder.”
“Is she no less?” Claridge asked, his attention trained on a pile of parchment on his desk.
“Elizabeth does not see her sister objectively,” Darcy offered. “How did you offend exactly?”
“In all of her visits, how often does Miss Bennet asking after Lizzy’s condition?”
Certainly, she must, Darcy considered. Mrs. Gardiner asked, of course. But Jane… “I have made a point to be absent as much as possible when they call,” Darcy vacillated.
“The first she saw of her sister, Miss Bennet collapsed into tears. To which, indeed, Lizzy comforted Miss Bennet. Thereafter, Miss Bennet has uttered but little of our Lizzy’s suffering.”
Mostly to himself, Darcy muttered, “It is a difficult thing to speak of.”
Berkes furrowed his brow and sipped his drink. “In any case, I told Lizzy the preference was mutual, Miss Bennet and I would stay to separate rooms. I laughed at Lizzy’s pout, she attempted to wallop my arm and stormed for the veranda to wait on you.”
Rolling his eyes, yet smirking, Darcy finished off his cognac and went to join Elizabeth. “Shall we walk, milady?”
“Milady? Do you recall when–” she stopped herself before completing the thought. The heat rose gloriously to her cheeks. Darcy pulled Elizabeth tightly into his side, though always careful of her injuries.
“Did you have any bad dreams last night?”
“No, I slept well.”
“I am glad.” There were nights which continued to plague her, to torture and strangle those hours of sleep. Perhaps twice a se’nnight, the darkness pressed down so meanly Elizabeth called for Fleur to sit with her or left her rooms all together to seek out someone to be with. These nights, happily, came fewer and fewer.
Taking her to their favored bench by the pond, he sat her down. They watched a robin pick at the shoreline in search of dinner. “Elizabeth, I must go away.”
“No,” she returned at once, turning to face him. “Why? No. When will you return?”
Darcy smiled. “Fitzwilliam and I visit my aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh each spring. She lives in Kent, as you must recall from your cousin.”
“Oh… Well, perhaps I will come with you. Surely, Ash must visit his aunt as well. We will allcome.”
Darcy’s smile broadened. “Claridge visits in the autumn. We keep to strict schedules so to appease the lady. She is rather troublesome when displeased.”
Elizabeth huffed. Her pout returned. “Are not we all?”
“Yes, but when my aunt is displeased she does not wear a charming pout.”
“I do not pout.”
Placing a finger beneath her chin, Darcy traced her lips with his thumb. “This is unquestionably a pout.” Elizabeth playfully slapped his hand, the healthy blush rising. “I promise to return as soon as possible.”
“You had better.”
***
Rosings Park delivered just as expected. Lady Catherine de Bourgh ruled over the estate with the aplomb of King Richard II. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy managed to extricate themselves two days earlier than expected. The morning following his return, Darcy dressed carefully, announcing to Jeffers that he would not be home until late that evening. Each day they were separated, the unqualified rawness of Elizabeth’s absence grew more unbearable. Colonel Fitzwilliam took to visiting the Collinses across the park simply to get away from him.
Entering the great hall, spots of sunlight danced across the polished marble. A cool spring breeze took hold of the skies during the night, though no windows were open allow in the fresh air. Within the receiving parlor off of the great hall, servants covered the chairs in linens. Two footmen hustled past carrying a trunk between them. Darcy slowed, puzzlement etched in his brows, but did not stop. Before turning down the east wing toward Claridge’s study, the man himself appeared at the top of the grand staircase along with his brother. The two descended carrying on with a muttered argument. Darcy raised a brow and crossed his arms, amused by their retorts. Where Claridge was austere, Fitzwilliam was profuse. The argument ceased at once when spotting Darcy.
“Come with me,” Claridge said, sighing.
Darcy looked to Fitzwilliam for explanation, his cousin nodded toward the study.
“Where is Elizabeth? I would like to greet her before delving into this disagreement.”
Claridge continued walking without response, Fitzwilliam gestured for Darcy to follow.
“What is going on?” Darcy asked.
“All will be explained,” the colonel said.
Reluctantly, he followed his cousins into the study, glancing at his pocket watch. Claridge pointed for Darcy to sit, his face somber. Something within Darcy began to gnaw at his nerves. “Where is Elizabeth? What is wrong?”
“She is well.” Claridge took the commanding seat behind his desk. “Will you sit?”
“Where is she?” Darcy looked out the windows, searching the grounds. “Has… Has she ran away?”
Claridge appeared taken aback. “Of course not!”
Darcy slid his eyes between Claridge and Fitzwilliam, searching for the answers they would not give. “I am at a loss. Why were you arguing?”
“On the morrow, we depart for Bath. Our stay will extend until the opening of the London season.”
“Again, I do not understand,” Darcy said. “Why are we to leave for Bath at this time of the year? Would Elizabeth not be more comfortable recovering at Abbington Park?”
“Sir Walter and Farr agree that the Bath waters would be beneficial. The journey will be slow, arduous even, but we see this as necessary.”
A quake formed deep in Darcy’s belly. “Tell me now, has she had another setback? Perhaps we should leave at once. I can have my things follow at a later time.”
“Darcy, you misunderstand me. The we I speak of does not include you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Over this last fortnight, Elizabeth has come to the conclusion that she would prefer to have some time away… from you.”
Unwilling to tolerate these games for another moment, Darcy slammed his palm against the desk. “This is ridiculous, where is she? What has happened to her?”
Fitzwilliam stepped forward, putting his hand to Darcy’s shoulder. “Calm down.”
“Will one of you please explain so I can fix this absurdity? I really am at a loss.”
Once more, Claridge indicated for Darcy to sit. Preferring expediency, he did so. To Darcy’s surprise, Fitzwilliam moved behind the desk to stand beside his brother. “Miss Jane Bennet,” Claridge answered.
The tension within him taughtened. “What has she said, what has she done?” Darcy swallowed heavily.
Pushing forward, seconds passing in heated, heavy silence, Darcy opened his mouth to once more demand explanation. Claridge at last answered, “Jane called twice in your absence. First, the day following your departure, she learned of your removal to Kent. She did not return again until two days ago, asking at your return. Jane inquired of Elizabeth if she knew of your intentions for visiting our aunt. Elizabeth told her it was nothing but custom, to Jane’s great disappointment. For you see, Darcy, she believed you might be seeking Catherine’s blessing for your marriage.”
“This is wholly–”
Claridge continued over his requite. “Indeed, Jane went on to divulge of a certain interlude between you and herself in her father’s study. Do you recall?”
Darcy’s thudding heart abruptly came to a halt. “I-I hardly remember anything but Elizabeth,” Darcy stuttered, the floor splitting open between his feet. “I told this to Elizabeth, I explained to her that I was out of my mind.”
“We know, she knows. Nevertheless, Lizzy felt betrayed,” Fitzwilliam broke in, looking on him gravely.
Fortunately, the solid oak desk held firm beneath the white knuckled pressure of Darcy’s grip. “Please understand, I was not–”
“Cousin, come with me,” spoke Lady Agatha, emerging from the doorway. He went to her at once.
“Agatha, I am at a loss. I believed Elizabeth understood, I believed we would be married before the Season began.”
Hushing him, she directed them toward the empty ballroom. “I was married at fourteen. Do recall Lord Burlington?” Despite a murkiness surrounding memories of the heavyset, elderly earl, Darcy nodded. “My father made the arrangement, though my mother was steadfastly against the match. We were married by special license, and that day I traveled to York with a man I met not thrice before. The marriage was an unhappy, unpleasant affair. He died before my seventeenth year, fortunately.
“Fitzwilliam, I had no choice in the matter. My mother championed my cause, yet she was left no choice either. With this in mind, I wish you to contemplate Lizzy’s situation.” Agatha stopped, released his arm and twisted to look on him. They stood in the middle of the ballroom, the polished floor reflecting the earnestness of her countenance. “What choice has Lizzy been allowed? Her father, her family, they each of them have stolen her choice over and over. If I might offer my counsel, Fitzwilliam, allow her to choose you. Allow Lizzy the freedom of choice.” Staring, his tongue thick in his mouth, he knew not how to answer.
Allowing him to ruminate on her speech, Lady Agatha resumed their stroll through the ballroom taking him back toward the great hall. At the lower landing of the grand staircase, Elizabeth halted. The sun shined through the window, beaming on her downcast face. Darcy charged up the stairs to meet her. Placing his finger under her chin, he lifted her eyes to his. “I understand,” he whispered, “I will miss you.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew three letters and placed them in her hand. “Mrs. Collins wished me to deliver these to you.” Darcy stepped back, but could not quite leave.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, grasping for him, her gaze growing wet, “wait, we needn’t depart.” A delicate golden chain glimmered around her neck, disappearing beneath her gown. Darcy presented Elizabeth the chain for Christmas. At the end of the necklace, he knew, hung his father’s ring.
“No, I believe you must.” He bent forward, briefly kissing her forehead. “I will wait.”
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I hope this chapter eased some of angst, and you felt like Darcy and Lizzy got somewhere better. There's only a couple of chapters left!
As always, thanks for reading. Let me know if you have any concerns, questions, etc. You all are awesome.
~ Jenna
P.S. Have a fantastic weekend!!
