These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  Lydia’s mouth had dropped open in shock. “If that is not the most pompous, audacious speech I ever heard! I cannot think how Lizzy tolerates your arrogance, Mr Darcy.”

  “She scolds me on that topic with regularity, I assure you.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and for just a moment, he could imagine Elizabeth standing there, great with child and arguing with him in the hedges. Her younger sister had something of the same clever spark, the same unruly curls, the same hot-headed boldness. Little wonder that Lydia Wickham had not meekly surrendered her feelings and accepted her fate.

  “Mrs Wickham,” he added, more gently now, “I pray you to come rest yourself. You will not face the future alone, and you discredit those who care for you when you give way to despair.”

  She glanced down, sighed, and then nodded. “Very well, Mr Darcy.”

  She allowed him to take her by the elbow, which was well, for her steps faltered somewhat, and more than once she tried to take them along a wrong turn. She spoke not another word, but the tears dissipated with the fortitude of youth as they neared the house.

  “I think I can manage now, Mr Darcy,” she shook him off as they neared the last bend.

  “You will not retire without speaking to Miss Elizabeth or Georgiana?” he enquired.

  “If they are available,” she promised half-heartedly. “I was trying to catch cold out there, you know, but perhaps it is just as well I did not.”

  “Indeed,” he smiled faintly and allowed her to out-pace him toward the house. He had fallen a step or two behind her when she turned abruptly.

  “Oh! My bonnet! I believe I dropped it. Oh, I shall have to return for it, but I think it would take me an age to find it again.”

  “Have no fear, Mrs Wickham, I can retrace our steps in a matter of moments.”

  He turned back, both relieved that she was safely entering the house, and grateful that he needn’t keep up conversation with her any longer. She certainly had the Bennet disposition! If only her passion had been tempered with grace and education, as had her elder sister’s….

  He smiled as he walked, this thought leading him to the rather diverting question of Elizabeth’s own innate passion. By all appearances, the young Mrs Wickham had leapt eagerly into the arms of connubial felicity. Perhaps her sister would share some of that same enthusiasm—at the proper time, of course.

  Another turn to the left, and one to the right… and then darkness descended over him.

  Darcy cried out in terror. Strong hands wrenched his arms behind him, then he was falling forward, down on his face.

  He could not breathe, was too panicked for several seconds even to fight back. It was all happening again! The rope was pinching his hands together, a knee was shoved into the centre of his back. The sack over his head tightened, and then someone was pulling him roughly to his feet. He cried out again, only to be struck in the back of the head. “Walk!” a voice ordered.

  Darcy’s knees failed. It was just as well, for if he did walk, he would be bound to go in the direction his latest captor desired. If he fell, even if he were beaten for it, he would still be in his own garden, however long it took for someone to discover him.

  He was being hoisted to his feet again, then the hands abruptly fell away, and he dropped to his stomach, helpless to brace himself. There were sounds of an altercation, and he could make out one or two oaths in an Irish brogue. He could spare no thought for what was taking place over his head. He spun about, shaking his head and trying to rip the sack, free his hands—anything!

  A body fell somewhere to his left. There was the sound of crunching hedges, another Irish curse, and then soft, glorious hands were at his chest. “William! William, can you hear me?”

  He arched up toward Elizabeth’s voice. He was still breathing in wild shrieks, still writhing furiously, but her sweet fingers were reaching up to pull the tight sack from his face. “William, please, I cannot—oh, hold him, Mr O’Donnell!”

  Darcy was still struggling, but a firm weight lifted him from behind. In an instant, his hands were free. He stilled, just long enough for Elizabeth to find the knot securing the sack over his head, and she ripped it from his face.

  He collapsed on her shoulder, gasping and shaking like a child. Her shawl was wet—was it his tears? He crushed her to him, trembling and heaving.

  Elizabeth’s arms were about him, her hands stroking over his back, into his hair. “You are safe, William! They are gone. You are safe, I am here,” she repeated.

  Still, he did not loosen his grip. His body racked with panicked spasms as he drank in great draughts of fresh, free air. Elizabeth had given up on speech, and merely crooned nonsense into his ear. He pressed his eyes against her neck and held her for dear life.

  56

  It had been over two hours, and William was still not speaking more than one or two words at a time. Elizabeth allowed him to retain her hand, never losing contact for a moment, but the fear still haunted his soft, dark eyes, and he still sought her face before attempting a response to anyone.

  Georgiana and Lydia came and went, as well as Mrs Reynolds and Mr Hodges. It seemed that every servant on the entire estate had rallied to form a party of warrior sentinels, all crying justice for their master, but mercifully the two senior staff members were able to quell the tide of outrage. All save they, and Mr O’Donnell, had been ordered from the room where Darcy held a drink in his trembling hand.

  “You are certain, Mr O’Donnell, that you saw no others?”

  The tall, red-haired footman shook his head with energy. “None, Miss Bennet, just those two. I saw them come from the woods near the lake, and they cut through the rear of the garden maze. That was when I alerted the house.”

  Georgiana passed a cup of hot tea to Lydia. “I do not understand,” she frowned. “I thought all the entrances to the estate had been watched more closely these last days. From where could these men have come?”

  “With all due respect, Miss Darcy,” Hodges put in, “a determined man may come round where there is no path.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Have their horses been found?”

  Hodges hesitated, then looked to the footman. Mr O’Donnell swallowed. “I found a fishing boat, Miss Bennet. The streams flowing in and out of the lake are still wide enough at this time of year that boats come through on occasion. No one would have thought a thing about it, until after they had gone.”

  Elizabeth glanced down as Darcy’s hand flinched within hers. She could well understand his frustration. Pemberley had always held the reputation as a gracious, accommodating estate to visitors, but now its master was made to suffer for his hospitality.

  Georgiana seemed no less agitated. The girl’s eyes flashed with a rare anger, and she sat straighter and taller than Elizabeth had yet seen. “So, what are we to do with these men? You have questioned them, have you not? Who is their employer?”

  “Unfortunately, Miss Darcy, they both claimed Mr Jefferson’s name.”

  William’s eyes found hers. Elizabeth waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. His jaw worked, his breathing quickened, and he looked as uncomfortable as he had on that day in the Hunsford parsonage. She squeezed his hand, understanding.

  “Thank you, Mr Hodges and Mr O’Donnell,” she dismissed them. “I think that will be all for now. Please send word if anything more is found.”

  The men left the room, and William seemed to sag in relief. She turned to him. “Do you think Mr Jefferson truly hired all those men? Could he have sent them on behalf of more than one person?”

  He pursed his lips, took a calming breath, and nodded. “Jefferson had the money.”

  “So that explains all of it,” Georgiana decided. “It was he, all along!”

  William shook his head and gripped Elizabeth’s hand painfully. He looked to her one more time for reassurance, then his gaze traveled wistfully to his sister. “Someone wanted you, and I was in the way.”

  Her eyes
rounded in horror, then her features hardened. “I want to know who is behind this! I have had enough of hiding away here at Pemberley, Fitzwilliam, and I have no intention of losing my brother again! Let us go to London right now!”

  “What shall you look for?” asked Elizabeth. “How are we to know where to begin?”

  “The deed,” Darcy sighed. “We begin there, if it exists.” A tremor passed through him, a remnant of the day’s terror, and Elizabeth wrapped her second hand over his.

  “William, perhaps you should take some refreshment,” she urged.

  He made no response, merely stared ahead at the bookshelves. He was pale, his eyes still dilated, and she could feel the bounding pulse in his wrist. She feared for his state of mind. Finding himself again in the same helpless position—blinded, bound, and unable to free himself—seemed to have thrust him back into that dark place of his captivity. What would be his reaction when she must inevitably separate from him for the night? Even adjourning to their rooms to change for dinner seemed beyond him at the moment.

  Elizabeth sent a glance to their respective sisters. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “we will take our refreshments here this evening.”

  So it happened that the delayed afternoon tea became an abbreviated and highly informal evening meal in the library. Elizabeth waited, Georgiana coaxed, and Lydia watched in unaccustomed silence, but William was no more at peace by ten that evening than he had been several hours earlier. Elizabeth stretched her hand within his and stifled a yawn.

  He turned to her. “I am keeping you from rest,” he admitted.

  “I like libraries,” she smiled and caressed his forearm. “I have spent many a sleepless night in this one.”

  His eyes returned to the shelves she had reorganised. “That much is obvious,” he answered quietly. “I understand you worked a miracle here, but I would hardly have noticed the difference.”

  She smiled, warmed by the compliment. “I’ve an idea, William. What if Georgiana and Lydia and I all took turns reading aloud? You have so many fine books here, and I have been longing to explore them.”

  His eyes lit hopefully, and Georgiana was quick to volunteer to read first. She sat across from them, beside Lydia, and opened a book of poetry. She read skillfully, employing her melodious voice to best advantage, but despite her efforts, Lydia was snoring loudly after ten minutes. Georgiana glanced at her in some amusement, and continued to read for well over an hour.

  At length, Georgiana was obliged to take some water, and Elizabeth looked to William. His head tilted toward her shoulder—almost, but not quite resting upon her— and his thick dark lashes were low over his eyes, but his hand clutched hers as tightly as ever.

  “What of something different?” Elizabeth glanced at the side table nearest her, and smiled when she saw that scandalous diary, so reviled by Lady Catherine. She had brought it back down only that morning, and could think of nothing better than Lady Georgina Darcy’s peculiar sense of humour to ease her grandson’s cares.

  She opened it to the beginning, judiciously omitting the more scurrilous passages. Even so, Georgiana was blushing and giggling behind her hand, and William’s dark brows knit together more than once in bafflement. Lydia, who would have derived the most enjoyment from it, never heard a word. She started once at a loud bark of laughter from Georgiana, but settled back into her sleep with an indignant little snort.

  The diary wove through all the details of life at Pemberley sixty years earlier. Some were intriguing, others mundane, but Elizabeth found that her greater familiarity with the estate now breathed life into some bits she had skimmed over before. It seemed, however, that eventually even Georgiana’s amusement gave way to fatigue. Elizabeth looked up when one particularly humourous remark was met by silence, and found that the girl had dropped off to slumber beside Lydia.

  She glanced up at the clock on the mantel. After one in the morning! Little wonder the girls were asleep. “William?” she whispered.

  He made no response. Elizabeth tilted her head to look at him better, and nudged him slightly with her elbow.

  “Hmm?” he answered, but his eyes were closed.

  “William, I think we ought to retire.”

  “Hmm,” was his only response. His head dropped, resting fully against her shoulder now.

  “Well…” she smiled, then with affectionate abandon nuzzled her face into his disheveled curls. “I suppose we might rest quietly… for a few minutes,” she murmured.

  ~

  Elizabeth grimaced in her sleep. Oh, she must throw off those heavy blankets! Jane’s leg must have draped over her in the night, and it pressed most uncomfortably on her stomach. Her sister was forever stealing the bed. She squirmed and pushed against the inert weight on top of her body.

  Her eyes flew open when her fingers snarled in thick, soft curls, rather than Jane’s light cotton chemise. She stared straight ahead, not daring to glance down at her lap. Those were decidedly the shelves of Pemberley’s library before her, and there were Georgiana and Lydia in the opposite sofa, which meant… she swallowed and braced herself.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy, the man who had once declared her merely “tolerable,” lay with his head upon her knees, one arm tucked beside her thigh and the other thrown about her middle. He was breathing deeply, utterly lost to the world and more at peace than she had ever seen him.

  Elizabeth stretched against the corner of the sofa—how had she come to half-recline upon that soft pillow? — and looked self-consciously about the room. Each of the girls had been draped over with a blanket, and another was lovingly tucked over William’s torso. She groaned. It was bad enough that she and William had spent the night wrapped in one another’s arms. Far worse that Mrs Reynolds had seen it all! What must the servants be saying? And what would William say, when he realised what they had done?

  He stirred slightly at her movement, but did not wake. Rather, he nestled more closely back against her, and his breathing resumed that deep regular rhythm. She shifted again, but he seemed most contentedly settled where he was. What was she to do?

  She glanced again at the mantel clock. Just after five, and if the maids did not enter soon to light the fires, it would be because they knew the room to be occupied by the master and three ladies who had slept the night there with him. She truly must wake him, but it seemed a kindness to grant him even a few more moments of genuine rest before recalling to him the terror of the previous evening. Her fingers stroked through his hair. Oh, William. How long before they could put these hideous nightmares behind them and he could truly begin to heal?

  His eyelids were fluttering, and she heard the rhythm of his breathing change. She traced his cheekbone, just at the upper edge of his beard, and smiled when a long sigh signaled his wakefulness. He lay still, blinking for two or three seconds, seemingly as surprised as she had been to find himself there.

  “Good morning, William,” she whispered.

  He turned his head abruptly back, dark brown eyes wide. “Elizabeth!” He jerked to sit upright, but she stilled him with gentle hands.

  “Shhh,” she held a finger to his lips. “It would perhaps be best if we did not wake Georgiana and Lydia.”

  He glanced at their sisters and nodded, his head pressing against her thighs. “All the more reason I should go now.”

  “Stay a moment,” she cupped a hand over his face and leaned down to look into his eyes. “They will not rouse for some while, I do not think. I must know that you are well.”

  He drew a long breath and his hand slid up to capture hers. He did not speak, but he pressed her fingers to his lips in a long, sweet kiss of gratitude. His eyes, when he looked back to her, spoke the rest. Elizabeth leaned her forehead down to touch his, her fingers teasing through his beard. She brushed the softest of kisses to his mouth, then nuzzled the dark hair on his lip.

  “I should shave,” he mumbled self-consciously, but he gasped in overt pleasure when she brought her second hand up to
trace the other side of his face and tickle through each furrow of coarse hair. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and he could not prevent a luxurious sigh from escaping.

  “I do not mind,” she whispered back, a hint of laughter in her tones. “I find that I like this rugged new appearance of yours quite as well as I did the impeccable gentleman I once knew. You are very imposing and rustic—rather like a sea captain or a farm labourer you look.”

  He managed to force one eye open—the other had drifted closed under the bliss of her ministrations—and understood the teasing light in her expression. “You will like it even better when I take to wearing sail-cloth and Wellingtons.”

  “Why, Mr Darcy, I do believe you have just made a joke! I am most impressed with your progress for one day. We may now return to being serious.”

  “I am afraid we must. Chaperoned or not, we are in an untenable position, Elizabeth.”

  “Do you think? It seems very tenable to me.” He had half raised himself again, but she pressed him back against the arm of the sofa and bent over him. He made no objection when she kissed him again, less gently this time. So far was he from objecting, in fact, that he shifted to draw her closer, and his fingers began exploring deeply through her hair.

  The pins that had once held her hair in place had loosened during the night, and it was the work of a moment for them to tumble and slip beneath the cushions. Elizabeth scarcely noticed, but Darcy emitted a soft, pleased sound when the coil of her hair fell freely into his hand.

  Never had a man played with her hair. Thrills raced down her scalp and she shivered, hoping the exquisite torment might never end. William’s eyes were closed, but both of his hands were now deliciously twined through her long dark spirals. He swept it back, following each strand down to its tip by turns, then returning his fingers to come through again. Little noises of helpless pleasure whimpered in her throat.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered, “this—this is what I dreamed of. I longed to hold you like this, for you to wish for me.” He cupped her jaw and brought her mouth back to his, and the only response she was capable of giving was a soft moan.