Too Close to Mr Darcy

by Claire Cartier

  Elizabeth sucked in air through her teeth, suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to flee this little dark prison where no light or air was permitted. Still, she remained in her seat and struggled to refrain from defending her views. She longed to point out that the very prescriptions Miss de Bourgh had received seemed more like the cause for her lethargic, enervated state, but she kept silent.

  No, she had not been informed of anything involving being stranded by a sickbed for the duration of her days at Rosings.

  Meanwhile, Miss de Bourgh retreated back into her pillows, visibly exhausted from her impassioned rant. Her lungs whistled with strained breath and her lips appeared parched. Her eyes were averted from Elizabeth though the latter had the feeling that her mistress was simply gathering her strength to continue expressing her disappointment with her.

  She could not help but wonder how an innocent comment on her part could bring about such a storm of emotions in her mistress. Elizabeth wished she could begin the encounter all over again and this time be more cautious in expressing her views. She now feared that her first meeting with Miss Anne might turn into her last and that she would be sent back to Longbourn where a desolate house, occupied singularly by Cousin Henrieta and Cousin Collins awaited her.

  Just as the young mistress took a deep breath, seemingly to say something more, a brief knock on the door was followed by a squeak of the door handle and a scrape of the hinges. Elizabeth turned instinctively. Three figures were outlined against the bright rectangle of the doorway, but she could not determine their identity from here. They looked like black ghosts to her tired eyes.

  "Miss Bennet?" Lady Catherine's authoritative tone boomed in the odd acoustic of the room. "I am pleased you have already made my daughter's acquaintance and I hope the two of you would be getting along splendidly. Please, leave us for now. Miss de Bourgh will be visiting with her doctor. Once their examination is concluded, Dr. Morton will ask to see you personally so he may relay his recommendations on the best course of care for Anne we should all adhere to in his absence. I will send for you. Until then, you are free to do as you please, but do not stray too far."

  Elizabeth curtsied and slipped out of the room, feeling like a criminal despite having no true reason for it. She wondered if Miss Anne would complain of her once she was out the door. An image of Longbourn’s bleak, empty kitchen flashed through her mind uninvited.

  On her way out, she could finally make out the other two people who had entered the room to be an older gentleman she could assume was Miss Anne's doctor, and Miss Ashburn, Lady Catherine's companion. The latter discreetly squeezed Elizabeth's arm in passing.

  Was it to give her encouragement or a warning?

  Elizabeth suspected she was the only other person at Rosings who could truly sympathize with her or understand her plight, so she was grateful for the little gesture of support.

  Out in the hallway, she could finally breathe again, but despite the hungry lungfuls of air she drew in, she still longed to be outside and feel the crisp bite of fresh air course through her.

  Ignoring Lady Catherine's prescription not to go too far in case she should be summoned soon, Elizabeth gathered her skirts and ran all the way out of the house and into the gardens.

  11

  As her feet took her further and further away, along the pebbled paths of the park flanked by finely manicured hedges, Elizabeth's mind finally began to clear. She ran the conversation she had had with Miss Anne over and over in her head, looking for clues to the true condition of her mistress.

  Was she indeed mad? What was her true affliction?

  The way her moods had changed so swiftly, the way her eyes had burned made Elizabeth believe the rumor more and more and yet she was not ready to give up on the thought that the young girl was simply too sheltered, bored and inert to be anything other than irritable.

  As she surveyed the maze of bare rose bushes and shrubbery before her, Elizabeth grew determined to use her time to rectify her relationship with Miss Anne if given the opportunity to stay another day at Rosings.

  Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. She remembered the impassioned way Miss Anne had talked about books and pictured the girl straining her ears to hear if anyone was approaching her door as she feverishly turned the pages of the tattered novels she kept hidden under her mattress.

  Swiftly, Elizabeth turned around and made her way back to the house. Luckily, she did not encounter anyone as she navigated the long corridors of the first floor until she reached the closed doors of the library. She hoped that Lady Catherine had not sent for her while she had been outside and that she still had some time before her audience with Dr. Morton to execute her newly forged plan.

  Looking carefully both ways to make sure no one was around, Elizabeth opened the heavy doors to the library and sneaked inside as quietly as possible.

  A fire had been made in the fireplace at the far end of the room and the vast space was pleasantly warm and welcoming. The curtains were parted to let in natural light and dozens of candles burned in the grand chandelier overhead to aid the weak stream of early spring sunlight.

  Elizabeth gasped as she took in the treasure that was collected inside the four walls of the room. Massive wooden shelves ran from floor to ceiling and contained vast and eclectic collections of meticulously arranged works. The titles ranged from encyclopedias to poetry to agricultural almanacs. The room smelled of old books, leather and ink. To Elizabeth, it was the one place in Rosings that smelled like home.

  She made her way carefully towards the closest shelf and started running her finger along the ribbed spines of the faultlessly ordered tomes.

  As she mouthed the titles, etched in gold along the expensive bindings, Elizabeth felt her heart race. There was such a wealth of books here that even the opportunity to access it made her stay at Rosings worth fighting for.

  She was overcome with new determination to go through with her plan and needed to remind herself she was pressed for time, so she should not idle in satisfying her own curiosity. If she fell into the trap of opening one book and flipping through its yellowed pages, breathing in the scent of aged paper and ink, she might lose track of time entirely.

  She vowed to return here later to peruse the collection at her leisure and determinately walked further into the room. The books she was looking for would not be lined along the shelves closest to the door. In her experience, they would be tucked away as far as possible from immediate view.

  She inspected the shelves quickly, holding in her breath for fear of being discovered here on her own and with no explanation of what she might be doing. Thankfully, her steps made little noise as the floor was covered in thick carpeting that muffled every sound. In fact, the soft crackling of the fire was the only noise to be heard in the immense space.

  Eventually, after a bit of fumbling around, Elizabeth came across what she was looking for. In a nook, initially hidden from view by another overstuffed bookshelf, was a rich collection of adventure novels of the same type that Miss Anne had expressed great interest in. Elizabeth could hardly keep from clapping her hands together. If her plan worked, she would have virtually unlimited supply of material she could sneak into her mistress's room.

  It appeared that this far, the girl had failed to find an accomplice in her previous companions to indulge her in her favorite pastime. Since Elizabeth already shared her love for novels, she found nothing objectionable about furtively bringing new titles to her mistress when no one else would. She hoped she could fall back into Miss Anne's favor this way.

  Excitedly, she pulled the first book she set her eyes upon. The Adventures of Joseph Andrews. Elizabeth herself had already read it a long time ago. Her late father had encouraged her to read in a variety of genres and although his library had been modest, it had provided enough for Elizabeth's curious young mind to develop a strong love for the written word.

  As she leafed through the book absent-mindedly, Elizabeth allowed herself to fantasize about the express
ion of gratitude that would blossom on Miss Anne's face when she saw the gift Elizabeth had brought her. She even went as far as imagining the two of them becoming friends and developing the type of close relationship that she had with Jane and Charlotte.

  Lost in thought, Elizabeth did not realize she had lost her firm grip on the heavy tome she was holding and accidentally, the book slipped from her fingers, bumped into the shelf and fell onto the carpet with a dull thump.

  Simultaneously, the sound of shattered porcelain, a splash, a gasp and a quiet curse filled the room. Elizabeth nearly jumped at the unexpected sounds. She clumped her fingers over her mouth and closed her eyes with fear of having been discovered. She could feel no draft in the room that could have knocked down a vase or an ornamental figurine and the voice that had uttered the curse had definitely sounded as coming from inside the room. From somewhere very, very close.

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth turned and her breath caught.

  The dark figure of a man rose from the armchair positioned directly before the fireplace, facing it. It loomed against the flickering flames of the fire, tall and imposing, with shoulders straight and square and a back broad and elegantly clothed.

  Even before the person turned, Elizabeth knew by the sudden fluttering sensation in her stomach that it was no one other than Mr. Darcy. Her body had recognized him long before her mind caught up with the realization. Thankfully, Elizabeth was allowed no time to ruminate on the disturbing feeling.

  She could not believe that misfortune had once again let her be faced with Mr. Darcy at the least appropriate of moments. In addition, she was caught red-handed in a place she had no immediate purpose being and no preconceived excuse to supply. She felt a flush creep up her cheeks.

  All Elizabeth thought of doing when Mr. Darcy's dark eyes bore into her was curtsy and stare at the floor in hopes that he would spare her from an interrogation.

  "Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy said, surprised. "I did not hear you come in."

  "I did not know you occupied the room," Elizabeth said to her defense. "I would not have disturbed you otherwise."

  "Please," Mr. Darcy said. "Stay."

  The simple request that provided no additional pleasantries or explanations caught Elizabeth unprepared. Why would the man who had assessed her as “fallen to unimaginable depths” would like to share his private moment of solitude with her?

  Now that she was thinking clearly again, her blood boiled. After what she had overheard him say about her the previous day, she would not want to spend any more precious time in his company either. Still, her feet did not move and she remained rooted to her place, an open book rolling by her foot.

  Suddenly remembering that she had closed the door on her way in, Elizabeth was gripped with panic. What if someone walked in? What if a maid wandered inside looking to summon her for her audience with Dr. Morton?

  "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy, but I better leave you to your occupation," she said, eying the closed door as a way of tactfully explaining her words. Mr. Darcy followed her gaze, then fixed her again with his stern eyes.

  "I do not believe you were on your way out just yet before you realized I was here," he said. "I see you have just been looking at something. At the very least, you might care to return it to its rightful place."

  He nodded towards the book splayed open on the floor. Elizabeth blushed as she remembered why she was here and what section of the library she had just been caught in. She prayed that as a guest Mr. Darcy was not too familiar with the way books were arranged and would not care to look at the title she had been handling once she left the room.

  Obviously, she could no longer proceed with her plan and needed to return the book. Still, Mr. Darcy could add a lot of detail to his prejudiced impression of her by simply judging her choice of reading material.

  I could not care less what a conceited man of his nature might think of me, Elizabeth tried to convince herself.

  Before she crouched down to fetch the displaced tome, she glanced at the door once again. Her heart thumped in her chest. The carpeting in the hallway was just as thick and luxurious as it was inside the library. It would be impossible to tell if anyone was approaching to enter the room.

  Then, just as Elizabeth returned her gaze to the fallen book and bent down to grab it, a hand in an immaculate white glove snatched it from underneath her fingers. With her attention absent for only a moment, Mr. Darcy had managed to close the distance between them and nearly petrify her. They both stood, too close to one another for the second time since Elizabeth's arrival.

  She attempted to deny the way her senses tingled with the familiar scent of orange peel and pine that Mr. Darcy's warm body exuded or to not pay attention to the way a light stubble slightly shadowed his square jaw.

  They continued standing, looking into each other's eyes for a heartbeat too long before Elizabeth finally came back to her right mind.

  What was she doing?

  She grabbed the book from Mr. Darcy's hands without a warning and turned towards the shelf, half-determined to return it to its place, half-attempting to hide the deep crimson that had blossomed over her cheeks.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  “The Adventures of Joseph Andrews?” Mr. Darcy said with a curious glint in his eyes. His mouth remained unsmiling though he was clearly entertained. “I remember reading it myself in my youth.”

  “Is that what the title says?” Elizabeth said, feigning ignorance. “I must be in the wrong section then. I was looking for something else entirely.”

  Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow.

  “Miss Bennet, there is nothing wrong in searching for diversion between the covers of a well-rendered comedy. Especially when one has been dealt a bad hand in life.”

  “I would be the last to disagree,” Elizabeth said quickly. “However, I would not dream of whiling away my time reading in my current position — a position I am grateful for and would not consider ‘a bad hand’ at all.”

  “Regardless, even the most content of us could find a respite from our responsibilities and routines in a good book.”

  Why was he so insistent on making his point? What was it to him? Was he himself trying to escape his ordeal through reading when she had interrupted him? Elizabeth felt as if every word Mr. Darcy uttered was laden with hidden meaning and was designed to disparage her.

  Her embarrassment grew. The conversation felt too intimate to be had behind closed doors.

  "Mr. Darcy," she said, "I really must go now. I am expected somewhere shortly and have overstayed my visit here."

  "Stay," Mr. Darcy said yet again.

  Elizabeth felt the shortness of his command like a slap to her face. Was Mr. Darcy treating her like a servant? Was he dispensing orders to her now? Clearly, he did not think much of her and took every chance to humiliate her and demonstrate his superiority, but this was too much.

  Yet, in her current position, she could not object. She was no longer the free-spirited Elizabeth Bennet. Or rather she was, but she was trapped in the role of a mere lady's companion. She must obey those above her, despite her utter reluctance.

  Mr. Darcy walked to the door and opened it. Finally, Elizabeth was able to breathe a sigh of relief. At least he did not intend anything untoward with his request for her to stay. Elizabeth had heard too many stories of masters abusing their position of power with their servants. If anyone were to walk by, there would be no closed doors to eavesdrop by.

  Meanwhile, a footman was just passing by the library and Mr. Darcy called out to him.

  "Miss Bennet and I would be taking tea in the library," he said in a tone so serious, Elizabeth did not dare protest. It was clear that the man was determined to spend some more time with her. Whether to torture her or amuse himself with her, she could not tell, but either speculation made her furious.

  Now that the doors to the room were open and that a footman would be serving them tea shortly and implicitly chaperon them, she had no more excuses to flee. She was trapped and
it offended her very being.

  Mr. Darcy turned towards her again.

  “So, tell me, Miss Bennet, if it was not comic relief you were looking for on these shelves, what serious matter brought you to the library at this unusual hour?”

  There it was again. He was making the subtle observation that her time was not her own now and she should be more efficiently occupied than browsing the library shelves.

  As she thought of a suitable answer, Elizabeth squirmed in her seat. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she became aware of a presence at the other side of the room. It could only be the footman bringing in the tray with refreshments, so she did not give it much thought. Only when she realized that the person was not progressing into the room did she turn, her pulse quickened.

  Standing a few paces inside the library, still and staring with a blank expression on her face, was Miss Ashburn. The corners of her mouth turned up into a hint of a smile as she cleared her throat with much exaggeration.

  "Forgive me for interrupting," she said and startled Mr. Darcy who turned to face her as well. "Miss Bennet, this is the last place I thought of looking when I was asked to find you."

  Her tone was provocative and her eyes twinkled with mischief. Elizabeth was mortified. At the very least, she had not been caught alone in the company of a gentleman behind closed doors. Still, she was relieved that out of all people, it had been Miss Ashburn to stumble across the two of them here. Currently, the woman appeared to be her only ally at Rosings.