His Frozen Heart

by Christie Capps

  Darcy could not fault her. Would he want his beloved sister permanently attached to a man with a paucity of human feeling, someone cold-hearted and distant like himself? Not at all!

  Although his opinion of Mrs. Bennet was ninety-nine percent to her disfavor, that one percent weighed heavily on the scales of what was right and just. She would much rather have her favored eldest daughter wed to a kind, caring man despite his income being less than half of Darcy’s.

  However, it was the third item Darcy learned that disturbed him the most. Mrs. Bennet had challenged Darcy on a point she misunderstood. Miss Elizabeth jumped in with a quick explanation that not only diffused a potential insult, it did so to his benefit.

  He was stunned.

  Had he truly been fighting his battles alone for so long that any defense of him stood out like white against black? It felt like both a victory and a curse.

  Excusing himself to the library once the women had gone from the drawing room, Darcy examined the turmoil in his brain. How could Miss Elizabeth’s comment soothe and unsettle him? Was he so deficient of character, so set on the course he had charted from birth, that he had lost his humanity?

  He harrumphed into the silence of the room.

  Rubbing against the fabric covering his chest, he paced from one end of the library to the other. Pausing to stare unseeingly out the window to the fog-laden autumn landscape, Darcy critically recalled each interaction with Miss Elizabeth. On the four different occasions he had been in her company, she had made him chuckle, smile, and blush.

  There! He was not bereft of human feeling. He could be as happy as the next man. Surely.

  He huffed, his shoulders drooping as his hands hung to his side.

  Who was he trying to fool?

  Perhaps he had taken a few steps on his journey to finding joy in his life. Nonetheless, he had no doubt he had a long way to go.

  A journey of one thousand miles begins with a single step. A mile was…his mind quickly calculated the distance times one-thousand. The number was staggering. What were two steps against so many? Yet, he could not think that way. Two or three steps was not much, but it was a start.

  Miss Elizabeth was pleased to report on the slight improvement of Miss Bennet when she arrived downstairs for dinner. Because her sister was resting, she joined them in the drawing room after. Choosing not to play whist, she instead picked up the book Darcy had left on the side table next to the sofa, opening it to where he had marked the page.

  “You are not to play cards?” Mr. Hurst was appalled with their guest’s lack of competitiveness.

  “She had much rather lose herself in a book for Miss Elizabeth loves books beyond anything else,” Miss Bingley added scornfully.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Bingley. I enjoy many things other than the pleasure of a good story,” Miss Elizabeth closed Darcy’s book and placed it back on the table. “With that said, my father began reading to me the day after I was born. He read aloud one chapter of the Bible each morning until he finished on the last day of the year 1794. After completion, he selected Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. We have been reading together since.”

  As the conversation continued, Darcy’s mind did the math. The King James version printed in the 1600’s had 1,189 chapters. Counting backwards by month he concluded Miss Elizabeth was born in September of the year 1791. She had reached her twentieth year only a few weeks past.

  “29 September 1771,” he murmured aloud.

  Her head snapped up as her eyes met his. “My birth date? How did you…?”

  “Mathematics tend to come easily to me.”

  “Oh, Miss Elizabeth, did you not know of Mr. Darcy’s brilliance? He is never wrong.”

  “Never?” she teased to Miss Bingley’s rash comment.

  He cleared his throat. They were treading on uncomfortable ground.

  “Miss Bingley is too generous in her compliments.”

  “You are not always right?” Miss Elizabeth teased, the sparkle in her eyes lighting the room.

  “I am not,” Darcy stated with certainty. His errors had been grievous.

  “Then I wonder, sir. Which do you consider to be superior, a man who is right or one who is good?”

  His heart almost pounded out of his chest. What a question to discuss! Did she have a theological bent or was this needing a scientific approach? Possibly, a mathematical equation with calculations of qualities being the weight to influence the scales of justice? Darcy wanted to rub his hands together. This was the type of conversation to stimulate thinking and reason. He had not participated in the like since his father was alive or since Cambridge.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I believe you are confused,” Miss Bingley’s voice and intrusion into a conversation not meant for her grated on him. “They are one and the same, are they not?”

  He was on stable ground. “They are not.”

  Standing from the card table, Darcy seated himself in a chair positioned across from their guest.

  “A man of duty and honor strives to do what is right. When he does thus, it is good and fine in the eyes of other men,” he offered.

  “Yes, this is true.” Miss Elizabeth agreed.

  He heard her hesitation as an almost imperceptible smile lifted the corners of her lips.

  Darcy continued. “A good man would want to always do what was right.”

  “I agree.”

  “As to who is superior to whom, I could not say.” As his mind considered all the angles available to his current thinking, it was the best he could do.

  “Ah, a diplomatic conclusion, Mr. Darcy. You are a peacemaker?”

  As Bingley laughed at the idea of his stoic friend suing for peace over proving himself the victor of a verbal battle, Darcy spied Miss Elizabeth’s disappointment.

  Then, he noted her confidence. His viewpoint had to have been wrong.

  Instead of being angry or embarrassed, he was elated.

  “Pray, tell me, Miss Elizabeth, who is superior, the good man or the man in the right?”

  He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and rested his chin in his palm. While he appeared calm on the outside, his insides were quivering with delight. This was what he lived for. This was his joy. His love of learning and intellectual conversation had been like mother’s milk to him from his infancy.

  He wanted to smile.

  As Caroline Bingley tsked at her guest’s temerity at having the gall to suggest Mr. Darcy to be wrong, the man gave his full attention to the response.

  “A man who strives to be righteous is a good thing, of this there can be no doubt.” Miss Elizabeth chewed briefly on her bottom lip, a habit he hoped she repeated often. “Nevertheless, a good man will go beyond the letter of the law. For example, if the law requires a man not to strike a worker or a servant, a righteous man will refrain. A good man will take this a step further by seeing why a worker was not performing to his full potential and seek to relieve the suffering causing a problem.”

  “There is no law against punishing a servant,” Miss Bingley inserted.

  “Then let me clarify.” Miss Elizabeth turned from Darcy and spoke to their hostess. “A man or woman can be termed ‘righteous’ if he fulfills his proper obligations, is just, impartial, and honest. He is known for his integrity of conduct and uprightness.”

  “Your very comment defines Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley insisted.

  In his heart, Darcy agreed.

  Apparently, Miss Elizabeth did not, for she added, “To be good, the individual would need to be righteous to the same extent as I mentioned. Other qualities would distinguish him such as benevolence, beneficence, and a wholesome consideration for and a desire to help others. Therefore, while the man noted for being right may win the respect, even the admiration of his peers, he may not appeal to their heart so strongly as to impel anyone to do good to him. The good man who is warm, helpful, considerate, merciful, and actively beneficent would win affection. His goodness may appeal to the heart sufficiently that, for such
a one, others would be willing and possibly desirous of coming to his aid or doing good to him.”

  Darcy had to close his mouth from where his chin dropped almost to his chest. She was absolutely correct. That she had gained her point with precision without being unkind was an art.

  He looked between the two women. One had her feathers ruffled on his behalf. Was it done out of goodness or out of the fear he would be offended and withdraw from her company where she could no longer pursue him? Goodness was not a quality he thought of when considering either of Bingley’s sisters.

  Miss Elizabeth was not rejoicing at her success. Instead, she picked up the book from the table and reopened it to the marker.

  Sitting back in the chair, Darcy pondered what Miss Elizabeth had said. The discussion had cleverly distinguished between Bingley’s personality and his, for Bingley was both righteous and good. Because of this, he made friends easily and kept those friends for lengths of time.

  Another step forward was this new resolve settling in his heart to be not just a man in the right. He, too, needed to be good. He could almost feel a thin tendril of warmth touch the corner of his heart.

  He looked at the young lady with her head bent to her task. She was a marvel. He was learning lessons from her that would benefit him for the rest of his lifetime. At the same time, he was discovering the power of a smile, of a kind action or word. Would it be enough to thaw the organ so resistant to heat? Time would tell.

  Netherfield Park – Part Three

  “My good opinion once lost is lost forever.”

  - Mr. Darcy (Pride & Prejudice, Chapter XI, Volume I)

  The night was spent in silent reflection mixed with short periods of deep sleep. By morning, Darcy knew what he needed to do. Kindness—no, rather, goodness—required he temper his reactions to Miss Elizabeth. Surely, he was raising expectations by showing a measure of interest in her. What was concentrated focus on his part might be assumed to be romantic involvement by her. This was not the case. Clearly.

  After the discussion about a man’s character, both Louisa and Caroline had displayed their talents on the pianoforte. Bingley had the carpets rolled back for an impromptu dance. With little provocation, Darcy had offered to stand up with Miss Elizabeth for a reel. She had declined with an explanation that she needed to return to her sister’s care.

  His ire was piqued—a stab from a needle would have been more welcomed at the time. Yet, in retrospect, he was grateful she had not acquiesced.

  On this day, her third day at Netherfield Park, he would avoid her. Thus, immediately after breakfast and a ride around the property, he commandeered Bingley’s study to catch up on somewhat pressing matters of business.

  He was interrupted by Bingley.

  “Say, Darcy,” the younger man bounced on his heels. “I forgot to tell you the local bookseller had a shipment of books delivered that he had purchased from the estate of a gentlemen in Oxford. I know you are a Cambridge man, but I cannot imagine you would hold it against the boxes he just delivered to my library. I purchased the complete lot of them.”

  To say Darcy was pleased would have been an understatement. He was joyous. Even should they be discarded university textbooks, they would be a welcome addition to the six books taking up a pittance of the shelving available in the room. Deciding to oversee the discovery of the contents, both men stepped inside the room…only to find Miss Elizabeth already there.

  She was seated away from the boxes in a discussion with the bookseller. A book appearing too new to come from a collection was already in her hands. The man stood and approached the crate at the very top of the heap in the center of the room. Pulling one of the wooden slats from the top, he sorted through to find a worn leather volume quite small in size. Dusting off the cover, the man’s hands appreciatively caressed the book.

  “Here it is, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Her delight filled the room as she bounced up from the chair. In hushed tones, she whispered, her eyes glued to the cover, “It is here.”

  Darcy’s curiosity burned through the restraints of propriety. Decorum indicated he ignore their exchange. However, he felt the same awe when a rare piece of literature rested in his own palms.

  He just had to know what she held reverently. It appeared she would not be easily separated from either tome.

  “Pardon me, would that be part of Bingley’s purchase?”

  Well, that had not come out correctly. He had not meant to implicate her as a potential thief, taking something that did not belong to her.

  In response, Miss Elizabeth pressed the books to her chest. The bookseller shook his head back and forth.

  “No, sir. This was not part of the transaction. Nor was the other one.” Waving his hand to indicate the books in question, the man firmly and clearly stated, “The proper owner is the lady.”

  Darcy began again. “Pray, forgive me. I merely intended to inquire as to the title of the piece removed from the box.”

  Why had he even bothered to open his mouth? He knew his propensity to blurt offensiveness when it came to her. Not handsome enough. Slighted by other men.

  Raising a quizzical brow, she replied with a slight lift of her pert nose. “Volume twelve of Fables by Jean de La Fontaine and Sense and Sensibility, A Novel by A Lady,” she enunciated the French title and author clearly before turning from the men to sit in the far corner of the room so they could peruse the cartons undisturbed.

  She disturbed him. In fact, not two hours later after each book had been placed on the library shelves, Darcy re-entered with the intention of discovering something of interest to pass the time. He had selected an appropriate topic to enjoy and comfortably seated himself before the fire when Miss Elizabeth stepped into the library, one of her books resting in her hand.

  He deliberately turned a page, irritated at being disturbed.

  When she barely acknowledged him, he buried his nose in the book, pretending he was unaffected. When she sat in a chair opposite his, he was appalled at her gall.

  Did she not realize he did not want to be bothered with company? He was reading, for heaven’s sake! A quiet activity best undertaken in solitude.

  He glanced at her quickly to determine her intentions, fully expecting her eyes to be upon him.

  Ha!

  They were not.

  Instead, she leaned against the arm of the chair, one hand holding her book open while the fingers of her other hand twirled a loose curl around and around. His eyes followed the movement, captured by the hypnotic path the rich tress wove with each twist.

  When a smile appeared at the corner of her lips, Darcy was ready to jump up and defend his right to privacy. How dare she invade his peace! However was a man to concentrate on...what was he...oh, the agricultural practices of ancient Rome when she was twirling and twisting and… being beguiling? Surely, she should inherently know he did not want to be disturbed.

  Quietly huffing into the silence of the room, the realization she was successfully and completely ignoring him was like a stab to his abdomen. How could she?

  He looked closer at her, marveling at her temerity. The woman frustrated him. And irritated him. And, it hurt his gut that she could sit there in silence without one time glancing in his direction.

  Deciding to retire from the room and leave her without his company, he began to close his book and set it aside when he was reminded of the last time he had been as petulant. Possibly he had been five or six years old and had been told ‘no’ by his nanny.

  Argh! He was mad Miss Elizabeth interrupted him. Then he was mad she did not interrupt him. What a fool he was!

  “Excuse me,” he stated to no one in particular as he vacated the room for another fast gallop over the fields.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy now considered himself not only hard-hearted, he was the most ridiculous man on Earth.

  And, she was wonderful.

  He avoided her the rest of the day. Not that it was his intention to avoid her, of course. She was merely a simp
le country miss with no portion, connections, or fashion. He was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, grandson of an earl, wealthy, educated, and responsible.

  When Miss Jane Bennet appeared later that evening in company, Bingley fussed over her until everyone in the room was uncomfortable. Even Miss Elizabeth’s face had a rosy hue at the excesses of their host’s attentions towards her sister. Jane Bennet looked to be embarrassed. Or, perhaps she was seated too close to the fire.

  Miss Bingley apparently suffered for the considerations paid the Bennet sisters. Into the silence, she mused, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way.” She lifted the book she was holding from her lap.

  Darcy agreed. He was tired of cards and longed for some of the witty repartee exhibited by Miss Elizabeth. He almost held his breath to see if she would respond. She did not, instead giving her attention to Miss Bennet.

  Not to be gainsaid, Miss Bingley continued, “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading. I mean, how much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

  Her brother took offense. “Caroline, are you not grateful we have made a start with the books that arrived today? Instead of having a portion of one shelf covered, there are six shelves completely filled.”

  She yawned and tossed her book aside without making a reply.

  Darcy watched her from the corner of his eye to see her next move. It was like looking at a beginning chess player against a master.

  Miss Bingley got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well. He could give her credit for a fine posture. When she turned to Miss Elizabeth and invited her to accompany her, Miss Bingley’s final words moved the other young lady from her position next to her sister. “Let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”