Seven Days With Mr Darcy

by Rose Fairbanks

  Richard covered a laugh at Lady Catherine’s slip of the tongue with a cough.

  “Very well,” Lady Catherine conceded. “We shall invite them to tea in the evening. However, I will not have them for dinner.”

  “An excellent and proper compromise,” Darcy smiled.

  Somehow, the remainder of the meal, in which his aunt continued to suggest an attachment between him and Anne, seemed bearable. He would see Elizabeth’s face light up in amusement again. Her eyes would dance not just from the effect of candlelight but in joy. Her need for excellent company would be satisfied—surely, he and Richard qualified as such. Something about picturing her in the drawing room at Rosings set his heart to racing. In his mind’s eye, she seemed to belong perfectly in the place. She belonged at his side.

  *****

  The following morning, Darcy waited impatiently for the others to gather in the entry. They would take Lady Catherine’s barouche box and arrive together. He had nearly made up his mind to walk to the church alone when the others arrived. How did they always arrive together? There was some sort of grace to knowing when others were leaving their chambers and Darcy had never known the secret. As much as George Darcy had grilled pedigree and estate management into his heir’s head, things like that seemed to occur naturally to the set born into them. No education could teach Fitzwilliam Darcy the social niceties he did not experience in his formative years.

  The church service itself seemed to take forever. Mr. Collins’ text varied little from any other Easter sermon, but he delivered it poorly. If he had to earn his keep, the man would be a pauper. As it was, most of the congregants had fallen asleep as the rector’s voice droned on and on. From his position in Lady Catherine’s pew, Darcy could not see Elizabeth. His eyes felt starved for her. Merely knowing she was in the same building as he made his skin tingle.

  When the sermon was over, Mr. Collins did his duty. That is to say, he preened over Lady Catherine and ignored the members of the parish. Darcy noted that Mrs. Collins, and by extension her sister and friend, did the office instead. At least they knew what was truly due.

  Without hearing the words, Darcy knew when Lady Catherine had rendered her invitation. Mr. Collins’ jaw dropped in awe and then snapped up with such a force it forced his head to quiver. Colour rising and eyes widening, he bowed to her ladyship and belatedly called out his thanks as she walked away. Then, Collins raced over to the women of his party. He talked with such rapidity Darcy wondered how he could breathe. Mrs. Collins, although Darcy had always thought she was a sensible woman, displayed far more glee at the news than it deserved. Her sister followed her suit. Elizabeth, lovely Elizabeth with green trimming her gown and bonnet, merely smiled and nodded. Darcy knew the expression well. She was restraining herself; holding herself back from laughing outright and making a spectacle. Seeing her hover between laughter and demurral, she beamed like a lighthouse on a coast and he, Darcy, a frigate in danger of being lost. Her cheerful disposition warmed Darcy’s soul.

  “Darcy, we are leaving!” Lady Catherine commanded as she walked past, ripping his gaze away from the vision of loveliness.

  Interminable hours passed before the Hunsford party arrived at Rosings. Fortunately, Lady Catherine and Anne had spent the hours until dinner in their chambers. Then, Darcy only needed to survive the many-coursed event, allowing his aunt’s words to flow in one ear and out the other, as usual. After the meal, he fidgeted in his seat, pulled on his waistcoat, and fiddled with his cufflinks.

  “Would you cease all that?” Richard exclaimed as he tapped ash from his cigar. Taking a long draw, he puffed the smoke out in circles.

  “My behaviour annoys you?” Darcy chuckled at the irony.

  “And there is no reason to stare at the clock so often.” Another puff of smoke exhaled from his mouth. “They will be here soon enough.”

  “They?” Darcy swirled his port and pretended to not know of whom Richard spoke.

  “Do not worry,” Richard drawled. “I will not tattle on you and let them know your better nature.”

  “I cannot conceive what you mean.” Why was it taking so long for an hour to pass?

  “Darcy, only you would refuse to visit people and sit stiffly and silently when you are there, but go out of your way to ease their feelings in a way that will likely cause far more discomfort to all.”

  “What does that mean?” A conversation from Netherfield flitted through Darcy’s memory. What must his friends think of him if they can call him an arrogant ass to his face and think he will feel nothing?

  “I mean you choose an extraordinarily inconvenient time and way to show general courtesy.” Richard drew several more puffs on his cigar before continuing. “When we visited the Parsonage, you barely spoke. You have not visited since, although you question me frequently. I mention Miss Bennet’s apparent discomfort, and you manage to invite her to Rosings. You would have done better to visit her yourself than get her to come here when Lady Catherine had not wanted it.”

  Darcy turned away, refusing to allow his cousin’s words their justice.

  An hour or so later when the guests had arrived, Lady Catherine’s behaviour proved Richard correct. She barely greeted them and then spent as much time talking to Darcy as she could manage. Even worse, Richard did flirt with Elizabeth—who seemed to enjoy the attention. Lady Catherine began to insist on knowing their choices of conversation, which suited Darcy perfectly as it was on the tip of his tongue as well.

  However, when the answer came of only speaking of music, it did not seem very likely to Darcy that they were forming an attachment. He released the breath he did not realize he had been holding. Richard was merely a friend, and Elizabeth had simply been lonely and welcomed the distraction. Had he not seen her in livelier spirits in Hertfordshire? There he did not suppose it meant she flirted with every man. Indeed, the only man whom she treated differently than the women of her company was himself.

  “How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?” Lady Catherine asked regarding his sister’s skill on the pianoforte.

  Being brought from the haze of his thoughts, his voice sounded abrupt to even his own ears. “Her masters praise her considerably. They are always talking about giving her more advanced work and wishing for peace on the Continent, so she might study abroad.” A soft smile spread across Darcy’s face. “Her one delight is music and, as such, it cannot be far from my heart.”

  Lady Catherine then began telling Darcy how much Georgiana should practice, how much she and Anne would have practiced had they ever learned, and scolding Elizabeth for not practicing enough. If his aunt could read minds, she would be angry to know how often he mentally asked her to shut her mouth. When she suggested Elizabeth practice in the room belonging to Anne’s companion, Darcy barely restrained himself from speaking them aloud.

  Finally, coffee was over, and Richard asked Elizabeth to play on the instrument. Ignoring his aunt as much as possible, Darcy watched Elizabeth as she played with Richard by her side. How did she feel in this room? She had been critiqued by Lady Catherine but bore it well. She had made a friend of Richard. An image of her playing at Pemberley with Georgiana emerged before he could warn his mind away.

  Drunk on the feeling the picture gave, Darcy approached. Like a cleansing rain, Elizabeth’s wit washed over him. She teased and scolded and begged him to bare some of the deepest recesses of his soul. Before he could think of doing differently, he had made his confession which he had never told another soul. The only secret he guarded more closely was that of his birth.

  “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,” said Darcy, “of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”

  He could not understand people so different from him. The people born in mansions with loving families and had no cause to suspect everyone or keep them all at arm’s length had little in common with him. Every statement said to hi
m was scrutinised again and again. Had they been trying to use him? Did they think he was weak or vulnerable? Did they suspect he was not a Darcy?

  Elizabeth had offered understanding and validation but not pity. As no governess or tutor had managed to explain before, she recommended practicing. Elizabeth boldly stated that her fingers were just as capable of playing anything on the pianoforte if only she applied herself to it. Had he not worked hard to learn about Pemberley and how to be the best master? It did not matter if he was not born to it.

  “We neither of us perform to strangers,” he told her.

  Then, he knew. Conviction pierced his heart even as his aunt tried to turn his attention to Anne. Suddenly, Darcy understood why he could not forget Elizabeth Bennet in all the months since he left Hertfordshire. He comprehended the reason for his concern for her welfare and happiness. At last, he perceived why he desired her like no other lady he had known. Why none of the arguments he made regarding her sister could apply to her.

  He loved her, and he would have her for his own.

  Chapter Five

  Darcy arrived at the Hunsford Parsonage at the earliest hour for town calls. Well, a few minutes past as he had headed down the lane and then turned his horse around twice before firming his resolve. His heart pounded loudly, and he worried the maid answering the door could hear it.

  In his fantasies the night before, he had met with Elizabeth alone during this premeditated visit. She welcomed him to sit on the settee while she served tea and they took turns inching closer to one another. Somehow, she would start them on one of their deep conversations. This led quickly to him confessing how she put him at ease and understood him more than any person in the world. Then, when her cheeks were rosy from his compliments and while sufficiently awed at his admiration but with a witty retort on her lips, he would consume that brightness. Pulling Elizabeth into his arms, he would kiss her breathless, pouring his heart into every meeting of their mouths. With as few words as possible, he would ask for her hand in marriage, and she would accept, preferably showing just how much she loved and desired him as well.

  Calm down, he told himself. Whatever his fantasies were, they would not occur. Elizabeth would not be alone. Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas would be present. Thankful for the small mercy that Mr. Collins would be out, Darcy did not hope for anything more. The air left his lungs in a whoosh, and all thought fled his mind when the maid opened the parlour door and revealed Elizabeth alone sitting by the window with the sun beaming down on her.

  “Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed in surprise before hastily curtseying.

  His mind, so lately very agreeably engaged in improper thoughts, temporarily rendered him mute. His mouth had run dry as he craved the touch of her skin and even more, of her acceptance of him in a way no one had ever accepted him before.

  “I apologise,” Darcy made a hasty bow. “I had thought all the ladies at home today.”

  Elizabeth gracefully assured him all was well and bade him sit. “I trust that your aunt and cousins are well.”

  “Indeed, thank you,” he said.

  She peered over his shoulder. “I am glad to hear the Colonel is well. As we have seen him every morning all week and yet he is not with you, I had worried he took ill.”

  Darcy frowned. Blasted Richard. “He was perfectly healthy when I left Rosings. He simply had other matters to attend to, I assure you.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and nodded her head. “Of course.”

  Silence ensued, and each tick-tock of the clock reverberated in his head. If he had been truly George Darcy’s son, he would know perfect drawing room talk and could rattle off charming platitudes. Instead, he was likely the son of a footman or stable hand. He did not know. He did not care to know. The decision he made upon learning of his mother’s affair was mostly out of deference for Mr. Darcy. However, a part of it was certainly out of cowardice. Such a trait became evident again as he sat in silence, too fearful to confess his feelings.

  After several moments of awkwardness, Elizabeth cocked her head to one side. “How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy!”

  Did she recall their dance? Was she angry for his hasty retreat from Hertfordshire? If she was, her indifferent questioning about Bingley and his sisters gave no indication. Having no desire to discuss them, Darcy only assured Elizabeth that they also were well. She must be as nervous as he about their private tête-à-tête.

  Again, she asked after Bingley and if he would return to Netherfield. Did she ask for her own sake? No, Bingley could not return to Netherfield and see Jane Bennet again. Therefore, Darcy had no other chance to woo Elizabeth than here, under his aunt’s nose. He certainly could not call on her in Cheapside. At any rate, other than a few days in London, she had plans to return to Longbourn. Unsure how to put her mind at ease without declaring his sentiments, Darcy could offer little in the way of information regarding his friend. Although looking displeased, Elizabeth dropped the topic.

  Finally, his mind began to thaw, and he considered a subject of conversation. “This seems a very comfortable house.”

  Lady Catherine had done quite a bit of work to fix the place up when Mr. Collins accepted the position. However, anything that seemed explicitly of his aunt’s taste was considerably subdued which Darcy attributed to Mrs. Collins.

  “Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of wife.” Of course, his wife had married an utter fool. Most would say it was a good match for her, but Darcy often wondered how the woman respected herself.

  Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “…I am not sure I consider her marrying Mr. Collins to be the wisest thing she ever did.”

  Something about her tone of voice when calling it a good match displayed, distinctly, to Darcy that she did not agree. Since they were speaking on marriages…

  “It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.”

  Darcy’s heart stopped when Elizabeth seemed aghast at his words. Did she consider fifty miles of good road too far from her family? Would she ever agree to leave them? He released a breath when she clarified a woman could live too near her family. Unable to stop himself, he scooted his chair closer to her.

  “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn,” he said, his voice rasping in passion.

  Something he had done or said or maybe the warbled, throaty tone of his voice had shocked her. Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she blinked. For a moment, he imagined she wore an expression which said she had never thoroughly looked at him before. The thought startled him. He pulled his chair back and grabbed a newspaper, needing the moment to affix his armour and mask in place.

  Elizabeth was not yet ready to tell him about her feelings on leaving Longbourn. Darcy had come sure of instant success. Now, he saw he would have to woo Elizabeth. She had far too much integrity to jump into his waiting arms after months of abandonment. She certainly could not know about his months of torment and anguish. For all she could know, he was as flighty as Richard—merely looking for an amusing and pretty distraction.

  Plan in place, Darcy finally put the newspaper away. Awkwardness filled the air, but for once he did not mind. He would trouble himself for this and allow Elizabeth to see his admiration. He brought up her travels, and they compared Kent and Hertfordshire for several minutes. Just when he had judged it the appropriate time to ask if she would like a tour of the gardens, Mrs. Collins and her sister walked in.

  Darcy had tried to explain the misunderstanding which involved his calling on Elizabeth while the others were out, but he could not escape Mrs. Collins’ keen attention.

  “I am surprised you did not go for a walk while we were gone, Eliza,” Charlotte said.

  “I have,” Elizabeth laughed. “I had letters to reply to, and so I could not indulge myself as much as I would like.” She looked out the window and gave a wistful sigh. “I hope the grove blooms before I leave.
It must be beautiful in its height!”

  Elizabeth favoured the grove? Quickly, Darcy’s mind considered that he could meet with her there. There, in the privacy they could not have in Mrs. Collins’ drawing room or at Rosings, he could woo her. He could find her on the path one morning. His imagination rapidly creating scenarios, he abruptly stood and made his excuses to leave, aware of the confused stares at his back as he exited.

  *****

  The following morning, Darcy awoke early and walked down the whole of the grove, expecting to see Elizabeth. Once at the end, he tore off his hat and beat it in his hand. Had he come too early? Or too late? Perhaps he walked too fast? It seemed so simple in his head yesterday! Turning back, he lingered where the path forked with the one returning to Rosings. This kind of courtship was for the dogs.

  “Know when to quit and when to seek assistance, boy,” George Darcy’s voice echoed in Darcy’s head.

  He had been a nervous child and prone to wishing to quit. His guardian, although seemingly disappointed at his natural reticence, took the time to teach him the appearance of confidence. He taught Darcy wisdom and when a task or object of his desire was worth the investment. Elizabeth was worth this. He only needed help.

  Arriving at Rosings, he was surprised to find Richard in the drawing room.

  “You are not calling on the Parsonage?” he asked.

  “No, they are at breakfast still,” Richard shook out a newspaper.

  “How do you know?”

  Richard half-lowered the paper and looked at his cousin strangely. “At the first visit, I asked when it would be convenient to call. I did not want to assume what sort of hours they kept.”

  Darcy felt a slight heat creeping up his collar. How simple that would have been! Elizabeth must walk after their meal. Unfortunately, that fell during the time Lady Catherine ordered breakfast. Intent on avoiding thoughts of Elizabeth last week, Darcy had eaten his meal as quickly as possible then removed to the library. He did not know when Richard left for the morning.