Love Never Fails

by Jennifer Joy

  Miss Bingley considered her with a cold, calculating glare which heightened Elizabeth’s nerves. Had she reacted in a fit of temper like Lydia was accustomed to do, she would have felt better situated. But the coolness and composure Miss Bingley considered her with chilled her to the bone.

  "You dare be impertinent with me? I can make you suffer like no one else," she said with as much composure as Elizabeth hoped to summon. Miss Bingley was the sort to triumph in another's weakness, and Elizabeth was not about to make her weaknesses so easily known.

  Behind Miss Bingley, a figure walked toward them quickly. Her white maid's apron stood out in the dark.

  "Miss Bennet?" she asked as she swerved around Miss Bingley. "Lady Rutledge requests for you to find a certain book in the library. She wants you to read for the ladies until the gentlemen join them."

  "Which book am I supposed to look for?" Elizabeth asked, hoping it could be found in one of the sections she remembered.

  "She requested that you get the tome of recently published poems by Lord Byron. Do you know where it is placed?"

  Elizabeth scrunched up her face, trying to remember in which section of the vast library the poetry was located. "I will find it… eventually." Were it not for the smug presence of Miss Bingley, she would have hunched her shoulders at the task before her.

  Flipping a ringlet over her shoulder, Miss Bingley dismissed herself to join the other ladies. "Do not make us wait too long, Miss Bennet. We require you for our entertainment." How she reveled in putting others down.

  Grabbing a candle and striding to the library, Elizabeth skimmed over the titles at eye level and below as quickly as she could without burning anything with the flickering flame in her hand. What she would give for a gas lamp, but she did not want to take the time to find one or to light it.

  When she had gone the full circle around the library, she sighed in disappointment. "Drat the tall shelves," she said under her breath.

  "Is there someone here?"

  Jumping away from the door, the candle in her hand fell to the floor. "Yes, someone is here. Someone you have scared half out of her mind! Who are you?" she demanded, in no mood to make polite conversation. She was now in a dark library with no way to find the book she had been sent for. She could already imagine the beady eyes of all the ladies as she walked into the drawing room after they had been kept waiting too long.

  The light of a lamp passed the open door blocking her view and in walked Mr. Darcy with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. She relaxed instantly. Not only was the appearance of the gas lamp a relief, but she fully intended on using Mr. Darcy's superior height to full advantage. That he was there with the colonel was an added benefit. Between the three of them, they ought to find the book in no time at all.

  "I am relieved to see you. I was sent here to fetch a book of poetry to read aloud to the ladies, but I cannot seem to find it and now am even less able to do so without a candle." She bent down to retrieve the stick of beeswax.

  With a crack, her head crashed against something equally hard, sending her falling backward across the carpet.

  Rubbing his head, Mr. Darcy rushed forward, tripping over his feet in his haste.

  Still seeing stars, Elizabeth raised her hands up as if she had any chance in stopping the grown man from landing on top of her. He smelled divine— of clean linen and shaving cream. She was close enough to see a small indent in his chin. Lost in her observations and too slow in gathering her wits, she wondered if this was what heaven was like. That was, until an elbow connected with her ribs and she realized what a fool she was.

  "My apologies," Mr. Darcy muttered as he scrambled to the side, the buckle on his shoes catching in the netting of her skirt and dragging her with him.

  Elizabeth rolled, unable to free herself without tearing a gaping hole in her dress, and landed with her hand spread out against Mr. Darcy's chest in a gesture which would have appeared to be an intimate display of affection between young lovers were it done under any circumstance other than the present.

  Her mortification complete, Elizabeth reached her hand out to free the lace of her gown from the buckle at the same time Mr. Darcy attempted the same. “My apologies,” he repeated.

  No matter how she moved, she could not get away from him!

  She reached once again, needing to distance herself before she perished in embarrassment. This time, Mr. Darcy caught her hands between his own. She looked down as his skin touched her own. This time, it had not been an accident. Mr. Darcy held her hands on purpose.

  “Please, Miss Bennet, stay still while I attempt to detach your skirt.”

  Feeling herself better qualified to deal with the lace on her gown, she opened her mouth to protest.

  “Miss Bennet, I fear that if you try to help me, we shall end up worse off than we presently are. Please be still,” he implored, only releasing her hands when she agreed.

  A cackle in the direction of the gas lamp turned their heads. Colonel Fitzwilliam shook so hard, light flashed and bounced around the room. If he did not calm himself soon, they would lose their only other source of light with his brusque movements.

  Elizabeth felt the heat steaming off Mr. Darcy, and if looks could kill, Colonel Fitzwilliam would have fallen from the sharpness of his cousin’s glare.

  Chapter 19

  "Watching you is better than any comedy I have yet to see!" Colonel Fitzwilliam chortled between laughs.

  Elizabeth, who had been taught from a young age to appreciate the absurdities in every situation, felt a smile spread across her lips and lighten her mood. When she heard Mr. Darcy grumble at his feeble attempts to detach her dress from his buckle, she could bear it no longer. Months’ worth of laughter welled up inside her and burst through her. She laughed so hard, her sides ached. The colonel had sense enough to close the door and guffawed all the louder at her joining him.

  Tears poured down her face and it became increasingly difficult to breathe, but Elizabeth felt as if a large weight had lifted from her. She wiped her eyes and checked Mr. Darcy's progress. He had finally freed himself of her dress, but sat next to her with his arms draped over his knees. He no longer looked at the colonel in anger, but had joined in their laughter, thundering nearly as loudly as his cousin.

  If the library were not so far away from the drawing room, Elizabeth would have been concerned that they would be overheard. As it was, she allowed herself the luxury of laughing without restraint.

  When her cheeks hurt and she had to stop to catch her breath, she wiped her eyes again. "I have not laughed so well since… since I cannot remember when." Turning to Mr. Darcy, who leapt up to his feet and held a hand out to assist her, she said, "I know I ought to be embarrassed. Indeed, I was embarrassed only moments ago. But I cannot find it in me to continue so when you inadvertently gave me the gift of laughter. I had missed it."

  He pulled her up until she stood before him. Her fingers tingled, and he held on to her hands a touch longer than he needed to. If he held her much longer, she might melt from the warmth spreading over her.

  Finally letting go of her hands, he bowed deeply. "I am all too happy to oblige, though I hope that mention of this never leaves this room." He turned to glare at Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  The colonel held his free hand up in innocence. "Me? Even if I were to blab your story all over London, nobody would believe me. The great Mr. Darcy, who has never been trapped or placed in an awkward situation, sprawled out on top of a handsome daughter of a gentleman in a dark, secluded library? Never." He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

  Elizabeth went cold. Panic rose in her throat as she looked between the two gentlemen. She could never force a marriage nor be induced to accept a proposal given out of guilt. She admired Mr. Darcy greatly, but she would never take away his freedom like that. Not unless he gave it willingly. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy… It had a nice sound…

  Foolishness and vanity! She was worse than Mother and Uncle Gardiner! Mr. Darcy had given her no reason to
suspect that he held her in higher regard than he did any other young lady of his acquaintance.

  "Richard, I beg of you not to make mention of this outside this room. When we leave here, it is done," Mr. Darcy said in a low voice.

  The colonel's face grew serious. "Darcy, Miss Bennet. You have it on my honor that I will divulge nothing of this incident. I am a witness to the fact that it was all one big, innocent accident." His hand over his heart in a solemn oath, Elizabeth almost resumed her laughing at his stance and the relief she felt at his promise.

  "I believe you," she said. "Now, I must find that book. Please, will you raise your lamp and help me? I simply must return to the drawing room before Lady Rutledge sends another servant after me."

  “Which book is it?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.”

  “Lord Byron? Lady Rutledge has taken a romantic turn,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “It is new and will stand out against the older, worn books.”

  They covered more ground with the brighter light of the oil lamp and eventually found the requested item. It was on a shelf so high, Mr. Darcy had to stand on his toes to reach it.

  As he lowered the book, he voiced the same thought running through Elizabeth's mind. "I wonder why you were sent here to fetch a book Lady Rutledge knew you could not easily reach. She gave you no indication as to the book’s whereabouts?"

  "I have not yet learned how her library is arranged, though I have spent some time in this room. She has only sent me to fetch novels, and I do not recall her telling me where she kept the poetry."

  Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at each other, their faces increasing in alarm. "We had best return to the gentlemen. And you had best make haste to the ladies. I have a sense that Lady Rutledge is up to something." Mr. Darcy spoke as he moved toward the doorway.

  "Wait. Why did you come to the library?" asked Elizabeth.

  "We were sent here to fetch a book for Lady Rutledge," he said in a dry tone.

  "Oh dear." Elizabeth dreaded her return to the drawing room. She had kept the ladies waiting a good deal of time— time enough for Lady Rutledge to scheme up all sorts of mischief.

  The gentlemen returned to the dining room and Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth pitied him. His aunt had him at his wit's end. Between her and his pernicious sister, Elizabeth understood his desire to live in the peace and quiet of the country. Too bad he had seen the need to return to town.

  Clutching the book to her like a shield, Elizabeth opened the door to the drawing room and froze. The book of poetry dropped to the floor. She heard it land with a thud.

  Darcy burst into the dining room and made a straight line to Bingley, who sat leisurely in his chair smoking a cigar. The nearer Darcy drew, the more Bingley's cigar sagged in his mouth. "What has she done now?" he asked, extinguishing his tobacco and standing.

  "Perhaps we should join the ladies and see," suggested Richard.

  Shoving his hands through his hair and rubbing his fingers against his face, Bingley stood. Darcy hoped that his growing suspicions were wrong and there would be nothing untoward in the drawing room.

  Falling into step behind Bingley, Darcy flanked him with Richard on the other side. He would need their support for whatever was to come.

  The remaining gentlemen followed. Darcy had neglected to pay much attention to the other guests at the dinner outside of Miss Bennet and his own social circle, but he was pleased that it was a small number of individuals who would be affected. There must have been no more than twenty couples in total. Hopefully, they would be a forgiving lot.

  They heard the cackles and overly loud voices before they even opened the door. Bingley paused, his eyes widening as the door flung open and his sister landed in the arms of Richard, who caught her around the waist before she landed on the floor at his feet.

  Looking up with a toothy grin at Bingley, Richard said, "Tis not every day a beautiful lady flings herself at me." He chuckled as he attempted to help Miss Bingley to stand steadily on her feet. She swayed back and forth in an alarming manner until she flung one arm up in the air.

  "You will see! In the end, I will triumph!" she said as she fell backward and Richard struggled to keep his hold on her lest she hurt herself by landing on the harp behind her. An indecorous snore escaped her lips and Richard dragged her as delicately as he could to the nearest chair where he deposited her. She stayed there, slumped and snoring.

  Bingley and Darcy stood in the middle of the doorway lest the other gentlemen witness the scene. But they now had no option but to part and allow the men to see their wives and daughters in their current state. The ladies cackled at a whim, spoke in voices much too loud for normal conversation, and each and every one of them held a glass with a liquid much darker than any sherry Darcy had ever seen in their wavering hands.

  Elizabeth stood next to Lady Rutledge, clutching the poems to her like it was armor. She encouraged Lady Rutledge toward them with a look so fierce, Darcy was grateful not to be the one to receive it.

  Lady Rutledge had the maid bring over the decanter holding the sherry. "Gentlemen, I fear I have made a horrible blunder. You know that I do not partake even of sherry, but I wanted to serve my guests the best. I heard that this is what is popular with the royal family, but I think I must have made a grave mistake. Here, Charles, try this." She took the glass the maid had poured and handed it to Bingley. Darcy did not need to taste it to know what it was.

  Bingley sipped the burgundy liquid and groaned. "Aunt Lavinia, this is port. How could you confuse port with sherry? They do not look the same."

  Placing her hands on her hips, she answered, "I told you already. I wanted to serve my guests something special. The ladies are always expected to drink sherry, and I thought that they might welcome a change. How was I supposed to know they would enjoy port so much?"

  Bingley sighed, clearly not knowing what to say. The gentlemen rushed to the sides of their women, each in various stages of inebriation.

  "Oh, I do hope that I have not offended anyone," said Lady Rutledge, her hand touching her cheek as if she had been slapped. So sincere was her apprehension that the gentlemen in the room were quick to reassure her that no offense was taken, but perhaps they had best take their leave.

  They carried their women as quietly as they could manage to their carriages, and soon enough only the Bingleys were left with Richard, Lady Rutledge, and Miss Elizabeth.

  “I am mystified by Caroline,” said Lady Rutledge. “She could not have had even half of a glass.” There was a lady who could not hold her liquor.

  Looking at his sister draped over the chair in the dreamless slumber of one intoxicated, Bingley walked over to Miss Elizabeth. Dropping to his knees in an overly dramatic gesture, he raised his hands up as if in prayer. "Please. I beg of you to never leave her side again." He did not need to clarify of whom he spoke.

  Darcy watched as the innocent guilt faded from Lady Rutledge's face to be replaced by one of pleased satisfaction. She had planned this all along. Now, if only he knew why….

  Chapter 20

  The distance was short, but Lady Rutledge ordered her coach to take Miss Bingley home, so that she might avoid being seen. The unanimously decided upon alibi was that she had taken ill, although Lady Rutledge recoiled at the possibility of it being said that the food served at her table had made her niece feel poorly. But all actions had consequences, and Lady Rutledge would make the best of whatever came.

  When their last guest had gone, Lady Rutledge said, "Do you still have the book of poetry? I should like very much to have you read to me. This has been an agitated evening, and I need some calm."

  She led the way up to her sitting room where she reclined on a couch and ordered some tea to be brought up.

  Elizabeth sat in a chair near the couch, but her mind was too busy for relaxing poetry.

  "May I ask you something?" she asked.

  "Of course. You may ask me anything. Whether or not I choose to give an answer
is another matter entirely."

  Elizabeth’s cheeks tightening into a smile, she asked, "How do you get away with what you do?"

  Her question met with silence, but Lady Rutledge's head turned toward her, lending her an ear. It gave her the courage to continue. "I think I am beginning to understand some of your ways. What you did for the young lady with the officer was noble, if not a bit dramatic. But when his mother came, you gave her salt in her tea. It is something I would wish to do under the same circumstances, but as much as I might cut her with sly remarks, I would not have taken such drastic action. Surely, she knew you did it on purpose. And tonight…" She closed her eyes at the gravity of what could have happened.

  "It is their fault for drinking so greedily when they ought to have sipped delicately like a proper lady." Lady Rutledge sniffed and raised her nose.

  Elizabeth did not want her display of haughtiness. She wanted a real answer. "Your own niece conducted herself the worst of all. Do you not fear for her reputation?"

  Lady Rutledge looked keenly at Elizabeth. "That girl cannot sniff a cork without getting dizzy,” she snorted.

  She would make light of it, but Elizabeth was not convinced. She held her gaze steady and waited.

  “I can see that nothing will get by you, so I will be honest with you to the extent that serves my purposes,” said Lady Rutledge, now perfectly serious.

  Her purposes? Elizabeth shivered to think that she had more than one.

  Smoothing her skirts, Lady Rutledge said, "It is my experience that people overlook a great deal when a mistake is made by a lady with a sizable amount of money. All of the couples invited this evening have benefited in some way from my patronage. Unless they want to be cut off entirely, they know better than to speak out against me or anyone associated with me. Besides, do you really think that the men will let it be known that their wives and daughters imbibed so heavily that they got a trifle disguised? That only reflects poorly on them, and their pride will prevent them from talking."