Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  He acted the perfect gentleman at every turn. Elizabeth wondered whether that wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be—an act. There was a coldness behind all his smiles, and on several occasions she felt as though he wasn’t laughing with them but at them.

  The more he came to visit, the less Elizabeth wanted to see him. On one of his later visits, she found herself tucking her hair into one of her father’s hats. In her faded dungarees and an old white shirt, she could almost pass for a young man. She snuck her bicycle around the side of the house while Wickham sat on the porch with her mother and sisters. With a leaping heart, she pedaled away from Longbourn—away from George Wickham and his shows of solicitude.

  I could just keep pedaling, she thought and laughed out loud. She biked all the way to Meryton, her heart set on The Little Bookstore. Still congratulating herself on her successful escape and thinking ahead to the pleasure of the bookstore, she wasn’t focused as she should have been on where she was going and nearly collided with a man coming out of her Uncle Phillips’s office.

  She swerved at the last second to avoid hitting him. The man whipped around to face her, but she already knew who it was. His height gave him away. Their eyes met for a moment before Elizabeth, red-faced, turned around to watch where she was going.

  The memory of their heated exchange on Netherfield’s porch intruded—the way it felt to have his large body pressed against hers. Elizabeth pedaled faster, trying to outrun her thoughts.

  ***

  Jane rubbed her eyes, but the numbers on the clock still refused to focus.

  “Are you all right, Jane?”

  Louisa’s concern seemed genuine, which made Jane feel a bit better about enduring her less-pleasant sister. Jane had been invited to spend the afternoon playing cribbage with the Bingley sisters. At first, the gesture was taken for kindness; Jane now suspected she was the only person in all of Hertford County whom Caroline and Louisa could tolerate.

  She also had a sneaking suspicion the entire affair had been orchestrated by their brother.

  “I’m sorry, Louisa,” she said weakly. “I’m suddenly so tired and dizzy. Do you mind if I just sit here for a bit?”

  “I’ll go fetch you another glass of water. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as thirsty as you’ve been today.” Louisa left, patting Jane’s hand kindly as she went. Jane realized that, in her nervous haste to get ready that day, she’d forgotten something very important. Her thoughts were too fuzzy, too muddled to recall what it was.

  Caroline began a silent but intense study of her manicure, completely ignoring her guest. Louisa returned with a glass of water and sat down at the table to resume their game. Jane picked up the glass with trembling fingers but found she could hardly grasp it. She shook her head, dimly aware of the sound of men’s voices over the ringing in her ears. She needed to tell them that she’d forgotten…something. She looked around but couldn’t focus. A clammy heat enveloped her skin, so why did she feel so chilled? The world tilted violently, causing her to drop her glass, splashing water all over their card game.

  Caroline’s indignant cries were cut off by the arrival of Bingley with Darcy looming just behind him.

  “Good Lord, Jane, you are pale as a ghost!” Bingley exclaimed. She wanted to run to him, but the best she could manage was to push away from the table.

  “Charles, is that you?” Jane’s voice was barely above a whisper. She stood up as he crossed the room, only to have blackness swallow her.

  ***

  Darcy had wanted to keep Bingley out of the house as much as possible that afternoon, knowing that Caroline and Louisa had invited Jane Bennet over for cards that day. There was work to be done in getting Netherfield running as a farm, and he knew nothing would get done if Bingley was allowed to be anywhere near her. Not that they had achieved much in any case. Darcy had spent the whole day having to bring Bingley’s attention back to the tasks at hand, only to see him looking back in the direction of the house with that damnable lovesick expression on his face not five minutes later. After a few hours, Darcy gave up and agreed to return.

  As soon as they walked into the parlor, Darcy knew something was very wrong with Jane. Her usually clear eyes were cloudy and confused, surrounded by bruise-like circles, her face drained of all color.

  “Charles, is that you?” Jane said weakly. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted.

  “Jane!” Bingley cried in a panic, trying to hold her up. Darcy rushed over; taking some of her weight and helping Bingley ease her onto the nearby sofa. Trying to untangle his arm from underneath her, Darcy was close enough that when she breathed, he smelled how cloyingly sweet her breath was, like overripe fruit.

  Just like Mother’s.

  “Charles, I think I know what’s wrong with her, and if I’m right, she will have medicine at home that can help.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Go!” His face was desperate as he put his ear to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. Caroline found a cushion and propped Jane’s head up.

  “Tell Louisa to call Longbourn and tell them I’m on the way!” Darcy shouted. “Tell them to get the insulin!” He left the room in a run.

  ***

  “Elizabeth! Lizzie!”

  Elizabeth abandoned the canning jars she was heating and came running to her father.

  “Good gracious, what is it?”

  She’d never heard such an edge of panic in her father’s voice before. Mr. Bennet barreled out of his office, stumbling past her into the kitchen. He yanked open the refrigerator and began searching through it desperately.

  “It’s Jane! Where’s her damned insulin?”

  “Move, Father.”

  Elizabeth’s hands found the brown paper bag they always kept in the butter drawer.

  She looked at her father. “Let’s go!”

  “Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said urgently, catching his breath. “Darcy is driving over, run out to meet him. I’m calling Dr. Jones right now. We’ll be right behind you. Hurry, girl!”

  But she was already gone.

  Elizabeth bounded off the porch, leaping down onto the driveway. The path was a long, red clay dirt road large enough to admit cars and the various tractors and combines they used in the fields.

  A sleek, bottle-green car skidded to a halt at the end of the lane. Darcy’s Buick. The passenger door flew open. Elizabeth dove in without hesitation, the car peeled out, kicking up a mist of red dust.

  Darcy barely spared her a glance. “Do you have it?”

  Elizabeth held up the bag, catching her breath. She gave him a pleading look. He pressed the accelerator to the floor as if he’d read her mind. They tore down Route 2, eating the three miles between Longbourn and Netherfield in a matter of minutes. They were going so fast, Darcy almost missed the turn.

  The Buick didn’t have time to slow before they hit the curve of Netherfield’s drive, careening into a skid that sent the car drifting across the dry dirt lane and into the tall grass bordering the ditch.

  Darcy fought with the steering wheel, panic rising from the base of his spine in a cold wave. Beside him, Elizabeth gasped and braced herself. The car fishtailed violently, tires shredding the packed clay road. Time seemed to double up on itself, moments happening both too quickly and too slowly for his mind to process.

  “Will!” Elizabeth cried out his name. Without thinking, Darcy’s arm shot out, straight as an iron rod across her abdomen, pinning her in place. The back of the car slammed into one of the massive trees bordering Netherfield’s drive with enough force to send it spinning around for a second impact, the front of the car crumpling against the tree with a sickening crunch of metal followed by the musical tinkle of broken glass. Darcy felt his head snap back, his mouth filling with the coppery tang of blood before he realized he had bitten his tongue. For just a moment, everything was silent and still.

  He was aware first of her fingers, digging into his arm. “Mr. Darcy…please.” She was trying to move his arm off of her.
>
  “Lizzie…are you hurt?” His voice came out strangely thick.

  “I’m all right. I’m all right.” Her words came out in terrified little gasps, so he was not completely convinced. She was trying to claw the door open. He leaned over her and gave the door a good push; it screamed on its hinges but opened for him. Blood dripped onto her arm. He realized it was his own.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to wipe it away, inexplicably embarrassed by the sight of it.

  “Your head,” she cried. “You need a doctor!”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said a bit more clearly. She nodded and scrambled out of the car, shaking the broken glass off her clothes. The smear of his blood stood out on her arm like war paint.

  “I’ll send help as soon as I can,” she said as she snatched the bag with Jane’s kit out of the seat. He caught her arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

  “Are you crazy?” It was a monumental effort on his part not to shout. “You might be hurt and not realize it. Slow down!”

  “To hell with that! Jane!” She twisted her arm out of his grip and took off running towards the house.

  Not bothering with his door, Darcy slid across the seat and climbed out of the passenger side, his nerves jangling like alarm bells. He held his handkerchief to the cut on his head. The blood was already soaking through, making his fingers sticky.

  He barely glanced at the Buick. He was watching Elizabeth leap over what broken glass she could as she tore down the lane, kicking up little clods of dirt in her wake. It was only then that he noticed she had been barefoot all along.

  Without warning, his world tilted and spun around him. All the air left him in a rush, making him double over. Color and sound flooded his senses, overwhelming him.

  “Please, God—” He choked as he tried to stand straight, not knowing what exactly he was pleading for.

  He could no longer entertain the thought that it was a simple infatuation, no casual passion. His blood sang a primal song in his veins, giving him a truth that months ago had written itself in burning letters across his heart. He loved her wildly. He loved her body and her mind, her kindness and her sharp edges, her iron will and her soft heart, but mostly he loved that indomitable spirit that was all her own.

  His doubts vanished and, with them, his fear. In their place, he felt a savage joy and rightness with the world that he had never experienced. He collapsed with a groan, slumping against the side of his ruined car for support.

  He was still there when the Bennet’s Ford came puttering down Netherfield’s drive several minutes later.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of the screen door roused Elizabeth out of her little doze. She didn’t think sleep was possible, but the events of the past few hours caught up with her as she sat in one of Bingley’s rocking chairs while the doctor saw to Jane. Her mind demanded rest, and her body could only obey.

  She sat up, hoping to see Dr. Jones or her father come out. To her surprise, it was Will Darcy, wearing a clean shirt and a pensive expression. In his hands, he held a steaming mug of cider.

  She started to stand, forgetting the battered condition of her still-bare feet. “Do they need me inside? Has Jane asked for me?” Out of nowhere, she felt a large, warm hand on her shoulder as Darcy guided her back down into her seat.

  “No, Elizabeth.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “The doctor’s with her now. Charles took your mother home. Dr. Jones gave her something to keep her calm. Your father asked that someone come check on you.”

  He handed her the mug of cider. She sniffed it warily.

  “It’s not poisoned,” he said with a chuckle. “Unless you’re a teetotaler.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Elizabeth said as she sipped the drink. It was sweet and tart with the smoky aftertaste of good whiskey.

  “Thank you,” she said, sighing gratefully.

  He knelt beside her chair, his earnest expression making her face warmer than the whiskey could. She discovered she felt a peculiar sort of kinship with him after the accident. It was an ordeal that they had been through together and survived.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  “I think I’ll live,” she mumbled into her mug before taking another sip.

  She looked back up at Darcy, head and face now clean of any blood and a small white bandage above his forehead the only proof of his injury. Even his clothes were fresh; his hair was still damp and gently curling from the bath. But it only made her feel grimier. In her panic for Jane, she had forgotten all about him and the blood that had poured from the gash on his scalp in a thin river of red.

  “Are you all right?” She spoke, wanting to fill the weighted silence. “You took a good crack on the skull.”

  He gave her an easy smile. It lit his face, softening the stubborn set of his jaw. Elizabeth swallowed, her mouth strangely dry. Yes, she decided. He is handsome after all.

  “I don’t break so easily. I’m pretty sure you know my head is a lot harder than that.”

  His little joke made her laugh. “Well said, Mr. Darcy.”

  They lapsed back into silence, Elizabeth sipping her toddy while he tried to watch her without actually looking at her.

  “She’s going to be all right,” he said finally. “You got to her in time.”

  To her surprise, Elizabeth felt herself deflate. She covered her eyes with her hand, her shoulders shaking with grief that had yet to be spent.

  “Here now. None of that,” Darcy said gently. He knelt in front of her again, handing her a clean handkerchief. She dropped her hand. Her face was a mask of misery, but her eyes were dry.

  “It was so close,” she whispered. “There is going to be a day when I don’t get to her fast enough. I was almost too late today.” She shivered and wrapped her hands around her mug for warmth. “I can’t lose her. I’ll die without her.”

  His hands cupped her face, tilting it so she was looking into his eyes. She was startled but too tired to protest. His hands were warm and smelled of his aftershave, not the Bay Rum her father used. Darcy’s smelled of clean herbs and worn leather.

  “You were extraordinary today,” he said with feeling. “Braver than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m the oaf who almost got us all killed.”

  Elizabeth was unused to this gentle, kind Mr. Darcy. She didn’t know quite how to feel and was unsure whether she didn’t prefer his colder, sterner counterpart. As if he sensed her confusion, his hands let go of her, and he took a seat on the porch railing.

  “Do you really never cry?”

  It was the last thing she expected to be asked, especially by him. She thought carefully before answering.

  “There was a time when it was all I seemed to do.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Self-pity, you see. I think I just cried myself out for good. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

  “Unusual girl,” he said warmly. Not knowing what to make of the appellation, Elizabeth drank a little more of her toddy, wondering just how hard he hit his head.

  He looked up at the sky as if pondering the evening stars. Elizabeth peeked over the rim of her mug, trying to place what was different about him now. She decided it was the relaxed set of his shoulders and the easy little half-smile that played across his lips. She was used to him looking like he had a stick permanently jammed up his backside. She thought she might grow to like this new Will Darcy.

  The drink relaxed her and eased her aches enough that she slipped into a half-sleep. Distantly, she felt Darcy take the mug from her limp hands. Strong arms lifted her from her seat. She almost woke fully then, but she felt so safe and warm that she turned her body closer to that warmth, letting it envelop her. As she drifted into sleep, she wondered whether she actually felt the light kiss that touched the crown of her head.

  ***

  Jane rolled over, causing the needle in her arm to tug painfully. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling in an unfamiliar room. It was several moments before she recalled that she was still at Netherfi
eld, and the weight beside her on the bed told her she wasn’t alone.

  She looked over, expecting to see her sister, only to see Charles Bingley asleep beside her. She gave a little shriek of surprise and pulled the blanket all the way up to her chin.

  “Jane, what’s wrong?” Bingley sat up, looking her over with concern on his face. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

  “You’re in my bed, Mr. Bingley!”

  He smiled, his shoulders relaxing. “Oh, that. Good Lord, you almost gave me a heart attack.” He lay back against the pillows. “I must have dozed off.”

  “Why wasn’t I taken home?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jane. Do you really think you were in any shape to be moved yesterday?”

  “I didn’t need…I’m not…” Her voice shook as she tried to put her words together. “I’m not a charity, Charles. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  He stood, smiling at her as he straightened his shirt. “What if I’m the one who needs taking care of? Yesterday made me realize something. You may not need me, but I sure as hell need you.”

  “Charles…”

  “The cat’s out of the bag, sweetheart. I know your big secret and guess what? I love you anyway. I’m walking into this with my eyes wide open.”

  He took her hand and kissed it before turning and leaving her alone in the room, speechless.

  ***

  Darcy delayed coming down to breakfast as long as possible. Still not fully in control of himself, he hoped to miss Elizabeth that morning. He did not trust himself not to blurt out his feelings and then run away like an errant schoolboy. He peeked into the dining room. It was just his luck to find her sitting alone at the table, a cup of coffee steaming at her elbow and a slim book in her hands.

  He indulged himself and watched her for a moment unobserved. Golden sunlight poured in through the open shutters, turning her hair a rich auburn. She wore it in her usual braid, a few loose strands curled messily at her temples. She was entirely focused on her book, a little furrow creasing her brow as she read.