by Beau North
For a moment, he let himself imagine that they were not at Netherfield but at Pemberley, and it was any other morning for them. He would kiss the top of her head and sit down beside her to drink his coffee. She would yawn and reach out to squeeze his arm or hold his hand. He put his hand to his pounding chest in an effort to calm himself.
When he felt more in control, he cleared his throat and offered her a quiet, “Good morning,” making her jump and look up, wide-eyed and startled.
“Mr. Darcy! You scared me to death!”
“I’m sorry I spooked you. I think you were a little lost in your book.”
“I was at that. Please, don’t mind me. Mr. Bingley said to tell you he’d be at Camp Croft for a few hours. He has to meet with the foreman, and then he’ll be back. Miss Caroline and Miss Louisa waited for you at breakfast, but Mr. Hurst was in a hurry to get going.”
“They’ll be gone all day?” Darcy could not disguise the hopeful relief in his voice, making Elizabeth smile that little half-smirk that had so unnerved him when they first met.
“You’re off the hook for today, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her eyes shining with laughter.
“How is Jane this morning?”
“She’s much better, thank you. I believe Mr. Bingley had already been in to see her before he left.”
“No doubt that helped.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I believe Jane is rather motivated to make a full recovery now.” Her face fell suddenly.
Sensing her discomfort, he asked if she was all right.
She seemed unsure of herself as she spoke. “It’s just that…they told me that it was you that knew. You saved Jane’s life and I…” She blushed furiously. “I was so awful to you before. What you must think of me…I’m very sorry for the things I’ve said.”
He wondered how much of her pride that apology had cost her. No, she’d not put pride in front of her love for Jane.
“You aren’t the only one who is sorry for things they’ve said,” he said. “I’ve behaved badly the whole time I’ve known you.”
“You’re right. I’m a terrible influence.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “While we are exchanging mea culpas, I think it’s high time I apologized for something I said at the Centennial dance.”
“No need to repeat it,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. “Saving my sister’s life gets you out of the hot seat for that one.”
He shook his head. “Maybe for you, but I’m deeply ashamed of myself. You must know that…it’s important you know that what I said…how I feel. It’s rather the opposite. I know that you are a lovely, intelligent woman…”
His struggle to explain himself must have shown. She laughed nervously and said, “Gracious, Mr. Darcy. It’s quite all right. I can be quite a handful for the uninitiated, so it’s perfectly understandable why I upset you that night.”
He shook his head. “You’ve never let me off easily before; don’t start now. I…I’m very sorry, Elizabeth,” he said sincerely. “Maybe we can put it behind us. Start over?”
“I’d like that,” she said. Her hand hovered at her neck for a moment before falling into her lap.
“Did you lose your locket?” He could not remember a time he had seen her without it.
A little furrow appeared between her eyes. “It must have fallen off in all the hullabaloo yesterday.”
“I can have the mechanics hold it for me if they find it in the Buick.”
She hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Darcy. If it turns up again, so be it. Probably for the best that I lost it.”
He burned to ask more. Whose picture was in the locket? An old sweetheart? Another soldier lost in the war? She had suffered a loss; he understood that much about her. It was the nature of that loss that concerned him.
“What are you reading?” he asked in an effort to change the subject.
“Oh! I found this in the parlor.” She flipped the book over so he could see the title. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.
Darcy looked sharply at her. He must have forgotten to take it back to his room in all the excitement of the previous day; he was never without it. He asked his sister to send the book to him the day after the picnic at Lucas Lodge. At first he told himself it was because the Bingleys did not seem to own any books, but over the weeks, the more he read the lush, sensual verses, the more his mind wandered to the woman who now sat beside him. He could only hope he had not scribbled her name in the margins.
“Do you like poetry?”
She nodded. “I do. I even wrote a little in college, but it was dreadful. I suppose it’s one of those things you have to practice every day if you’re ever going to get this good.”
“Hmm, yes. Aunt Catherine lives to tell us that no excellence can be achieved without constant practice, but I doubt she meant it to apply to…er, love poems.” He was horrified to feel himself blush, remembering some of Neruda’s more graphic verses.
“Well, so much the worse for her then.” Elizabeth laughed. “Because this is a beautiful collection.”
“What do you like about it?” He genuinely wanted to hear her thoughts.
“Interesting question, Mr. Darcy.” She considered a moment. “I like that it’s not the sweet, courtly poetry we girls are spoon-fed in school. It’s not safe, and therefore, it’s more real.”
Her answer impressed and pleased him.
After a moment, he sighed heavily. “And could you please call me Will?”
“I will do no such thing, Mr. Darcy!” She looked aghast at the suggestion.
“And how are you feeling today? I know your poor feet must have taken quite a beating.” He was rewarded for his question by a pink blush that spread across her cheeks.
“You must think I’m absolutely wild,” she said with a stiff, little laugh. He smiled and sat back in his chair, scrutinizing her.
“Well… Can I ask you a question?”
“By all means.”
“Have you ever dressed as a boy and bicycled through Meryton like the devil was after you?”
She covered her face with her hands laughing. After a moment, she peeked up from behind her fingers.
“Oh dear, I thought that was you. You see? I can’t be in civilized company.”
“I think I envied you that day. You looked like the cat that ate the canary.”
She opened her mouth to explain when Jane’s voice floated down from upstairs, calling for her.
Elizabeth jumped up. “Coming, Jane!”
He stood when she stood, so close he could almost feel the warmth of her body though her robe. Her eyes widened, lips slightly parted as he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her neck for a moment.
“Give Jane my best wishes,” he said quietly, stepping aside to let her pass.
Elizabeth nodded and hurried away.
***
Darcy saw very little of Elizabeth after breakfast. He used the time to inspect the progress of Longbourn’s fields, accompanied by Mr. Bennet, whose knowledge he relied on. Mr. Bennet introduced the farm’s new owner to the people who ran it—from the overseers down to the field workers, calling them all by first name and asking after their families. Darcy’s new employees welcomed the new boss as graciously as they could, considering he was a rich outsider from North Carolina, which practically made him a Yankee in their eyes. Whatever they thought of the man, they all privately agreed they liked their improved wages well enough to welcome the new owner—rich Yankee or not.
Mr. Bennet’s usual teasing wit was not on display that day, and Darcy wondered whether it was awkward for him to introduce the people he hired to the man that bought his life’s work. They were walking back in the direction of the farmhouse, each in a frustrated silence. Darcy was about to say something—apologize perhaps—when Mr. Bennet finally spoke up.
“Mr. Darcy, I have to thank you.”
Darcy’s brow rose in surpris
e. It was not what he was expecting to hear.
“You saved my daughter’s life,” Mr. Bennet explained. “It’s a debt I could never repay.”
Darcy shook his head. “Mrs. Hurst had already called the doctor, and I’m sure he told her the same thing I told Charles—that Jane would need insulin.”
Mr. Bennet stopped in the middle of the lane. “I was talking about Elizabeth.”
Now Darcy halted too, looking at the other man in surprise.
“If anything, I put her in more danger,” he said slowly. His Buick had been hauled away shortly after the accident. Darcy could not stand to look at the crumpled, ruined mess without thinking of how close he came to getting the woman he loved killed.
“That’s not how Lizzie tells it.” Mr. Bennet looked him in the eye. “She told me yesterday that your quick thinking kept her from flying out the windshield headfirst.”
Darcy blanched at the thought of Elizabeth broken and bleeding, the light in her eyes gone forever. He felt a queasy twinge in his gut and reminded himself of the lovely vision he shared coffee with that morning. How easily he could have lost her!
“Instinct, Mr. Bennet. And there’s no need to thank me. I’m not simple. I know the world is better for having her in it.”
An amused light lit Mr. Bennet’s eyes at his words. He knows, Darcy realized. He’s always known. Before I even knew.
“No, Mr. Darcy. Not simple at all,” Mr. Bennet said as they resumed their walk, both of their spirits considerably lifted.
***
Unfortunately for all, Bingley could not keep his sisters away indefinitely, and they returned to Netherfield with Mr. Hurst carrying in all manner of bags and boxes from their excursion that day. Elizabeth found it amusing that, when a guest suffered a life-threatening illness, Caroline Bingley’s response was to go shopping. Jane, still recovering, was staying one final night at Netherfield with Elizabeth there to care for her. Both were a little unnerved by their father’s ready consent to Bingley’s demand that they remain one more night.
“Look at it this way,” Mr. Bennet said to his daughters when he’d visited earlier that day, “you’re going to get a lot more peace and quiet here than you will at home with your mother and your sisters carrying on. And Jane, you need another night to rest. Don’t ‘Papa’ me, young lady. Do as your father says for a change.”
Now helping Jane down to the dining room, Elizabeth remembered the look her father gave her before he departed: a curious mix of amusement, chagrin, and something else she couldn’t define. She thought it looked strangely like hope.
“I know it’s hard for you, June-Bug, but try to mind your manners for one more night,” he said before kissing her cheek.
“What are you thinking on so hard over there, Lizzie?” Jane asked as they made their way slowly down the stairs.
“I was thinking that you are either in a hurry to eat or see Mr. Bingley or both. If you maintain this speed, we’ll surely fall and break our silly necks.”
Jane colored but smiled. “That’s better,” Elizabeth said in good humor. As they neared the dining room, Caroline’s drawling voice carried through the half-open door.
“I still can’t get over the sight, Louisa! Did you actually see her when she came in yesterday? Covered in dirt and bare feet bleeding all over the carpet? The girl looked practically feral.”
Elizabeth and Jane halted. Jane looked at her sister with a mix of sympathy and horror, but Elizabeth grinned widely. Caroline Bingley had just given her a great gift without even realizing it: the freedom to be as pert as she wanted to be without the guilt of giving offense.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t want your sister to make such a display?” The smile died on her face as Elizabeth realized to whom Caroline must be speaking. Mr. Darcy’s deep voice spoke in response.
“Would I want my sister to be half so incredibly fearless in an effort to save someone she loved?” Darcy’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “No, Caroline, perish the thought.”
Elizabeth’s mind boggled at his response. She blushed at Jane’s knowing look.
“Stop that,” she whispered fiercely as they made their way into the dining room. She could have sworn she heard Jane chuckle before Bingley rushed over to usher Jane to sit beside him. Mr. Darcy stood also, looking at her expectantly. She felt her face flushing at the expression in his eyes and the words he said in her defense. He surprised her by coming around the table and pulling a chair out for her, which she took silently. Rather than returning to his seat next to Bingley, Darcy lowered himself into the chair next to her. Elizabeth couldn’t say who was more shocked: herself or Caroline.
“I thought we might continue our discussion from this morning, Elizabeth,” Darcy said for everyone to hear. “What are your thoughts on Thomas Wolfe? He found a lot of inspiration in the area where my family and I are from.”
Elizabeth smiled tremulously, unsure of how to respond. If anyone else had asked her that question, she was certain she could talk for hours. From the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline’s outraged face and realized she could repay her hostess’s unkind remarks in more ways than one. Her smile became more confident.
“How much time do you have, Mr. Darcy?”
***
Darcy was happy to keep Elizabeth company while Bingley and Jane walked far ahead of them through Longbourn’s sprawling back garden and wooded paths. They had taken lots of short walks in the past few days so Jane could get some of her strength back. Elizabeth didn’t mind walking with this strange new Darcy, happy to see Jane welcoming the time with Bingley again.
Darcy glanced over at Elizabeth with his heart in his throat. The way she delighted in every leaf and blossom made her seem so achingly innocent. As if sensing his observation, Elizabeth met his steadfast gaze. There seemed to be a thousand questions and a million secrets brimming in her dark eyes. Darcy knew then he could spend a lifetime trying to fathom those depths. Desperate for distraction, he blurted out the first inane question that came to mind.
“You love to sing, don’t you?” He ducked his head to avoid being struck by a dogwood branch.
“Yes, even if I’m not terribly good at it,” she said with a little laugh. “I’m glad I have a fair voice, even if it’s untrained. If I was a better singer, I’d probably enjoy it less.”
“I noticed you mostly sing old folk songs. Don’t you have any favorite love songs?” Subtle as a wrecking ball! he admonished himself silently. Why don’t you just scare her away for good and be done with it? “Something more modern, perhaps?”
“Honestly, I don’t really care for love songs,” she said, her eyes trained on the path ahead of them.
“Unusual girl,” he said, loving the way her cheeks colored. “Why don’t you like love songs?”
“Maybe because I don’t care for love.” She said it without pausing, as if it was something she said every day. Darcy’s heart bucked like a rodeo horse at her casual admission.
“Well, I know you don’t mean all forms of love,” he said in what he hoped was an even voice. “I’ve seen for myself that you love your family and friends. You love your home.”
“Fair enough.” She sighed. “Truth be told, love songs unsettle me.” They came to a little stone bench and sat down; the seat was barely large enough for two. They sat so close their knees almost touched.
“Care to elaborate?” He burned to know more. Every time he thought he was getting to know her, she surprised him again.
“Love songs paint love in such a way that implies possession. Ownership.” She shrugged. “Surrender.”
Darcy understood instantly while at the same time marveling at her answer. How many girls her age would say the same?
“Ah. The loss of identity. And you haven’t found love to be this way?”
She was silent for so long that he started to wonder whether she would speak or just sit there forever with her jaw set stubbornly. He waited in agonizing silence before she leapt from the bench and started tearing l
eaves off a nearby tree.
“I thought I loved someone once,” she said. “A man I met the summer I turned nineteen.”
He watched her carefully, wondering whether she even noticed the change in her expression. She was angry to be sure, but there was a hopelessness, too, like a cloud passing over the sun.
“I completely lost myself. I learned the hard way that even the prettiest flower can be poisonous,” she said, still ripping leaves off the branch and methodically tearing them into tiny shreds like so much confetti—her own little act of destruction. Suddenly, she laughed bitterly. He hated the sound of it.
“Think about all the ways love is described in song and poetry. Love like a wind, a storm, a fire. Love like a raging sea ready to swallow you whole. That’s all well and good for poetry but not real life. Who wants to be swallowed whole?”
“Hold on now. It’s not all as melodramatic as that. Look at the Eighteenth Sonnet. Look at Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Love doesn’t have to be catastrophic.”
She laughed again, a real laugh this time, her eyes shining. “Mr. Darcy, you are full of surprises.”
A warmth spread through him. If only you knew, he thought. Darcy wondered at the fool who would let go of such a woman. She called him a man, but in his mind, Darcy saw a boy, someone like Wickham who was pretty on the outside, corrupt on the inside. He was in turns outraged that anyone could hurt her and grateful that spurning her had cleared the field of competition.
“And you and love, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth’s brow arched playfully. “Surely, there’s a special someone for America’s most eligible bachelor? Let’s see— some ingénue of the silver screen? An exiled countess, maybe?” She smiled wickedly at him. “A certain heiress, perhaps?”
“God, no!” Darcy didn’t bother hiding a shudder at the thought of courting Caroline Bingley. “You should have guessed by now that the only thing that makes me ‘eligible’ is my money,” he said soberly. “Once someone tries to get to know me, as I think you’ll recall, they realize what an ogre I really am.”
