These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  “Then it is settled!” he cried, and offered her his arm once more. Elizabeth took it, noting again with some concern the band settled just below his shoulder.

  He caught her gaze, and his expression sobered. “I shall have to ask her to wait—that is, if she accepts me,” he sighed. “It would not be right, would it? So soon… but if I have learnt anything, it is that the deferral of hope is not as noble as the world would have us believe. No, perhaps we shall not delay over-long.”

  “It was a dear friend you lost, sir?”

  “None could have been a truer friend, Miss Elizabeth.” He swallowed and looked for all the world as if he would next shed tears of deepest agony. If Elizabeth were not mistaken, there was that still about his face which suggested that he may already have spent many hours so employed.

  “I am sorry, sir.” She lapsed into silence as they walked back to the house and took some comfort in noting his expression lightening. Perhaps his joy at reconciliation with Jane would overshadow his loss.

  As they drew near to the door, she dared to try a little levity with him once more, hoping to clear the last of his melancholy before he entered the house to face Jane. “My father tells us it will be an excellent season for shooting this year. Do you intend to remain at Netherfield for some while, sir?”

  “Indeed. There is nothing for me in Town, and if my darling Jane accepts me, I shall wish to remain close.”

  “Surely you have many friends, sir.” Elizabeth brightened with the full force of her charm. She slanted her teasing brow up at him, plying him with a light smile and an easy tone. “You will no doubt host a shooting party? I cannot but think that many among your acquaintance would be delighted with the opportunity to view your home and meet your betrothed, if there is to be such a lady.”

  He permitted a flicker about his mouth. “Perhaps I may invite one or two….”

  Elizabeth fought a shiver of delightful expectancy as she at last dared to ask the preeminent question on her mind. “I believe Mr Hurst and Mr Darcy found the local sport much to their liking. It is not too late in the season, surely, for them to make such arrangements?”

  Bingley’s calm shattered, and he covered his face in his hand. His shoulders shook with the effort of commanding himself, and Elizabeth politely pretended not to hear the agonised moans shuddering from his heart.

  “Sir, do forgive me. I did not mean to recall a painful subject!” she pleaded. Was it Mr Hurst who had died? She had not thought Mr Bingley so fond of his brother-in-law as to cause such abiding grief!

  He turned his frame slightly, concealing from her the task of drying and composing his features. “No, Miss Elizabeth, it is not your fault. I see that you have not heard the news, although it is not surprising. The family have kept it from the papers.”

  She shook her head, mystified. “News? No, sir, we have heard of no one who—”

  “It is Darcy. Darcy is dead.”

  Elizabeth’s world went suddenly black. Distantly, she heard Mr Bingley calling her name, but no words could reach her. She was numb, utterly beyond recall. Her lips mouthed again and again, as Mr Bingley bent to assist her into her house—Oh, Darcy!

  3

  “Mr Bingley! How delighted we are that you have come. I do hope you intend to remain in the area some weeks—perhaps longer, for the shooting?” Mrs Bennet nearly pranced in delight, maneuvering her own body about the room so that Mr Bingley was forced to retreat in the direction that brought him closest to Jane’s seat in the drawing room.

  He glanced about nervously, searching Jane’s rosy countenance for any signs of discomfort. If he did not take the seat on his own, he feared Mrs Bennet would shove the chair under him herself—and he did desire to be close to Jane. She, however, could not be his first concern at the moment.

  “I do indeed, Mrs Bennet, but might I inquire after Miss Elizabeth’s health? She appeared very unwell a few moments ago. Has she retired?”

  “Oh! Lizzy is hale as a horse, Mr Bingley. I do not doubt that she has caught the sun. That girl is forever giving herself new freckles, for she will not wear her bonnet!”

  “Miss Elizabeth has a lovely glow of health about her,” he affirmed gallantly, “but she seemed rather distressed—”

  “And so we all are!” lamented Mrs Bennet. “To think that such a fine gentleman should be struck down in his prime, unmarried and with ten thousand a year left to goodness knows whom! Such a tragic loss. If only my Lydia had taken a fancy to him last year, but do you know, there was nothing to a red coat for her! Oh, if only Mr Wickham had two or three thousand per year,” she sighed. “He intends to send for her, you know, as soon as he may. Such a pity that he did not get the living Mr Darcy promised him, but I suppose it is too late for that now.”

  Bingley’s face suffused with mortification and grief, but he sought courage from Jane’s sympathetic expression. There was a tenderness about her eyes, a sincere softening of her mouth. Whatever her own embarrassment, whatever modesty might have required of a maiden, she chose instead to extend comfort to him.

  His heart began to beat once more. This was the woman he wanted by his side, and never more than now, when the loss of his closest friend had staggered and crushed him. Her mother was positively ghastly, but perhaps there was none better to stand by him than one who had already learnt to weather trials with grace.

  “If you please, Mrs Bennet,” he swallowed, “I should like to speak of other things.”

  “Oh, but of course! You will want to learn all the news of the neighborhood. Now, let me see, you already know about my Lydia. She wished so much to go to Newcastle with her husband, but I think the usual soldier’s accommodations would have been very bad for her health. How glad we all are that he allowed her to stay the winter here! And have you heard that Miss Lucas is married and settled? She is wed to our cousin, Mr Collins, and a fine match it is for her! I always declared she would make a dowdy spinster, but after Lizzy rejected Mr Collins, she saw her chance, and so there it is!”

  “Mama!” Jane, thoroughly red, scolded her mother under her breath. She darted a pained expression to Mr Bingley, apologising with her eyes. Some empathy passed between them, an understanding sealed but not spoken. He smiled hesitantly, absolving Mrs Bennet of every shocking thing she could ever utter, if only Jane might continue gazing at him.

  Mrs Bennet snatched the moment like a carrion bird scouting a fresh kill. “Mary, my love,” she fluttered her hand, “will you come with me a moment? I have just remembered there is something I wished to speak of with you, and it was of the greatest import! And Kitty, you, too.”

  The girls traded looks of astonishment, but at another command from their mother, they rose to go. Jane shrank a little in her seat, her cheeks pink. She both longed for, yet dreaded, the words which were to come. Mr Bingley wasted not an instant of his opportunity.

  His colour high, he reached across the space between them toward her hand. “Oh, Miss Bennet! Can you ever forgive a selfish boor, an inconstant fool who could go away for so long without word or hope?”

  Jane gazed longingly at his hand, but she did not touch it. Her eyes raised shyly to his. “That, I suppose, depends upon your intentions, sir.”

  He gasped, then fell to the floor on his knees, his hands clasped in supplication. “Miss Bennet, you are too good, too gracious to trifle with me. Would that I could claim such nobility! You have possessed my heart since the first time I saw you. These many months, I have known what it is to go about with only half a soul, for any sensible part of me has remained constantly with you. I would lay my life at your feet, if only you could offer me the slightest hope! Miss Bennet, I have behaved unforgivably, abominably ill, but never again! If you will have me, I wish to spend the rest of my days caring for you.”

  Jane’s eyes shone. Biting her lip, she nodded vehemently as tears started down her cheeks. Bingley released a great cry of joy and relief as she at last took his hands. He rose to sit close at he
r side, and their heads bowed together in the first shared moments of lovers.

  Bingley clasped her hands tightly, trembling. “Oh, Jane, my darling angel! How I have longed for you these many months! Can you truly forgive such a foolish man?”

  “Freely, sir,” she smiled, her voice tight. “I believe I have loved you almost since that first night as well. I scolded myself for a simpleton, but I hoped so dearly that one day I might see you again.”

  “Every day, my dearest love!” he swore fervently. “We shall never part again, even for the very most prosaic of reasons. Life is too fragile and precious a thing to be attempted alone.”

  Jane hesitated, then her fingers lifted to trace his cheek. “I am so very sorry that you have lost your friend,” she whispered.

  He blinked in astonishment, then his hand caught hers, eagerly cupping her slim fingers. “You cannot know my anguish! Darcy was more than a friend, he was… he was a brother. He bridged the gulf for a tradesman’s son when we were boys in school, and he has advised and befriended me in the most remarkable ways. You would never have guessed, had you not known him as I did, but never was there such a gentle friend nor such an able counselor. I only now begin to fathom what I have lost in him! There is no other like him. I…” his eyes grew hot and his mouth worked in agony. “I never imagined doing without him, my dear Jane! The only thing in this world that could be worse would be to lose you as well, and I believed I had done so.”

  “Never, sir,” she vowed. “And if it gives you relief to either speak more of your friend or to remain silent in his memory, I shall be honoured to pay my respects in the same manner.”

  He stared, amazed and humbled. “My sweet….” He swept down and brushed a tender kiss to her lips, but drew back almost at once. “Forgive me! I have not even spoken with your father, and I ought not to have taken such liberties!”

  Jane, crimson from her breast to her cheekbones, hid her beaming smile modestly behind her hand. “You are indeed abominable, sir!”

  “What must you think of me? One moment I am mourning my brother—for I cannot think of him as less—the next I am falling on my knees to declare my undying devotion and plead forgiveness, which you ought rightly never have granted. Oh, my Jane, I feel I will be constantly and flagrantly trespassing upon your goodness, but I find that humbly begging your pardon is sweeter even than indifferent accord with any other! I had hoped it could be so, for I come to you a broken, lost man, my Jane. How Darcy would chide me for my disordered feelings!”

  Here, he drew a choking little laugh. “‘First duty, then pleasure,’ he would have counseled, but is it not a pleasure to remember my friend and to break my heart anew at each moment I am reminded of him? And is it not a duty to you and to my own heart to right the great wrong I wrought in going away as I did? No, I cannot know what to think or feel—only that I am grieved, and your love is my consolation.”

  She touched his hand lightly. “Grief and love are easily confused. Would it ease your mind to speak more of him? I do not mean to intrude upon your feelings, but while the heart may hold a multitude of emotions, the mind seems only capable of managing one at a time.”

  His countenance washed clean in relief. “You are wise and gentle beyond my desserts, my dearest.” He heaved a weary sigh, then scrubbed his face with his hand. When he lowered it at last, the joy had dissipated from his expression, replaced by the agony that had lain hidden beneath. Another breath shuddered from him, and Jane tightened her caress over his hand as he began to speak.

  “The internment was only three days ago in Derbyshire—a quiet affair, much quieter than one might expect for one of his station. His uncle, the Earl of Matlock, had insisted that it be so. Only the earl, the viscount, the colonel, and myself were in attendance. I only found out because I tried to pay a call on Darcy last week, and it was returned by his cousin. It was he who gave me the news. He told me that they found him in the street… I suppose it was just under a fortnight ago now.”

  “Found him? He was not at home?”

  “No.” Here, a pain flickered in his eyes. “He was… he was in a most disreputable part of town. I cannot think that Darcy would have gone there for the usual reasons. I knew him very well, you must understand, but there he was found, nonetheless. I know others suspected less noble reasons, but I cannot help but believe he was there on some errand of mercy. I must believe that, or all else I knew of the man is a lie.”

  Jane straightened. “An errand of mercy! Sir… are you fully aware of the circumstances of my sister’s marriage?” Jane cringed, he cheeks flushed in shame.

  “No—I never knew Mr Wickham well, but he is not a man I would expect to marry without some… consideration. I had heard rumours about an elopement, but I did not believe half what I heard. My dear, I beg you would not be concerned on my account, for rumours could never cause me to—”

  Jane shook her head, interrupting him, but her expression was one of warm gratification. “You are generous, sir, but that is not what I meant. They were induced to marry against Mr Wickham’s will—by Mr Darcy.”

  “Darcy!” he cried. “How did he become involved?”

  “I do not know the details. Perhaps my Aunt Gardiner knows more. I am told that he assisted them in the search for my sister and the subsequent arrangements. My aunt had seen him on Monday afternoon, and he was to go again to Mr Wickham’s residence that evening. He was to have met them again for Lydia’s wedding in the morning, but he did not appear.”

  Mr Bingley’s brow furrowed. “Now that is an interesting bit. Certainly, Fitzwilliam must know this.”

  “Fitzwilliam? Do you mean Mr Darcy? I do not understand.”

  “No! Forgive me. I meant Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, his cousin. It was he who was called upon to identify the body, for he is the executor of Darcy’s estate and guardian to Miss Darcy.”

  “Oh, how dreadful!” Jane groaned in sympathy. “I am glad it is not the lot of ladies to perform such a task. Was the colonel very close to him?”

  “I think I answer with all humility when I say that Fitzwilliam was the only man closer to Darcy than I was. I understand he had been beaten, almost beyond recognition, and his purse was empty. Fancy that! The finest man I have ever known, brutally struck down for the thirty coins he always carried. There can be no justice in a world where such things occur!”

  “Surely there was an investigation?”

  Bingley shrugged helplessly. “Naturally. A man such as Darcy commands the top inspectors, but there was little to find. Footpads, that is their assumption. A… girl… claimed to have seen him, and she produced a gold coin that had likely been his, so the inspectors considered that explanation enough for his presence in that part of town. It does not suit with the character I knew, however.”

  “How shocking for his family! They have not only the death, but the disgrace of the circumstances. Poor Miss Darcy!”

  “Yes, the poor child. I understand she is taking it very hard. I have known her a long time, of course, and I can but think that this has quite broken her. I believe Fitzwilliam is sheltering her from the more shameful details, and, of course, he runs the whole affair like a military deployment, but it is inevitable, I suppose, that one day she will hear all. I must ask your secrecy, my dear, for I ought not to have repeated what Fitzwilliam shared with me in confidence.”

  “I would never dream of speaking such things—particularly to my sisters!”

  Bingley raised thoughtful eyes to the door, behind which now approached hurried footsteps that could only belong to Mrs Bennet. They came to a stop, then there was a faint creak against the door as a hand cupped against it. Jane groaned softly.

  Bingley smiled tightly and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have confidence in Miss Elizabeth’s secrecy. I know how close you are to her, and I would not share such griefs with you so soon while denying you the comfort of relief. She seemed quite distraught when I first gave her the news, which I credit to her as
sincerity. She has a faithful heart, I believe, and it comforts me to know that others may also share in my sorrow over a good man.”

  Jane cast a doubtful look toward the door. “Elizabeth abhors disguise, so I have no doubt that her shock was genuine. However, she was never fond of Mr Darcy, so I would not depend upon her for empathy over his loss, but I know she will respect your grief.”

  “That is all one may ask of a friend,” Bingley smiled sadly, then squeezed her hand as his voice took on its usual volume once more. “I believe you were right, my darling. My heart does feel somewhat lighter after speaking of my sorrow, and I find myself most eager to turn to that other feeling now. Did you say your father is to return this very afternoon?”

  Jane was unable to answer before the door burst open. Mrs Bennet, flushed with the triumph of a second daughter well engaged, raised both hands in praise. “Lord bless us, I thought it would never happen!”

  ~

  Matlock House,

  London

  “Oh, Aunt, has it all really happened? I still feel I am in a nightmare, and unable to wake from it!” Georgiana Darcy burrowed her golden head tightly within her folded arms, collapsing once more on the side of her chair.

  “Come, my dear, you will feel better after a hot bath and a rest. ‘Tis hard, I confess, but you are a Darcy, you know. It will not do to set up such a scene! What will your uncle and your aunt Catherine think?”

  Georgiana dared to raise a scandalised glare to her aunt. Regina Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock, was her favourite female relative, but the woman was not known for her compassion. A rebellious spark of anguish flared, and she choked on the lump swelling in her breast. “I do not care what they think!” she sobbed afresh. “Fitzwilliam was my brother, not theirs!”

  Lady Matlock rolled her eyes. “You must not carry on so, my dear, for you shall only excite yourself and bring on a fit of apoplexy. Young ladies must look very carefully to their constitutions!”