To Conquer Pride

by Jennifer Altman

  Prescott stepped forward. “I will do it. Miss Bennet, if you would remain?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Of course.”

  “I do not understand. What has happened?” Darcy attempted to approach the bed but his cousin had already taken hold of his arm.

  “Come. We will wait next door,” said Richard, steering Darcy to the adjoining chamber. Following his cousin’s lead, Darcy turned, surprised to see that Grant was directly behind him. “Shouldn’t you be in there?”

  “No,” the young physician replied concisely and Darcy frowned.

  The small party moved into the parlor and Colonel Fitzwilliam shut the door between the chambers. Pacing to the window, Darcy pulled his fingers through his hair. “I do not understand,” he repeated. “Has she recovered?”

  Grant sighed, moving to take a seat. When he spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. “My guess is that the stone has passed. Dr. Prescott will be able to tell us more after his examination.”

  “So, she is well? She will not need the operation?”

  “If I am correct, then no, she will not. If she has passed the stone, there may still be small fragments left behind, but those should not pose a problem.”

  Darcy expelled a breath, collapsing onto a nearby chair and dropping his head into his hands.

  When Prescott finally entered, Darcy surged to his feet. “Well?”

  “She is exhausted, but she has passed the stone.”

  “Thank God!” Colonel Fitzwilliam released a cry of jubilation, coming over to clap Darcy on the shoulder.

  Prescott’s weathered cheeks lifted in a smile. “Indeed. Although I believe we also owe our thanks to Dr. Grant. It was likely his herbal draughts that helped to flush out the obstruction. Though rare, I have seen such results before.”

  Darcy turned to Grant. Despite his reservations about the man, gratitude coursed through Darcy’s body. “I do thank you, sir. I am forever in your debt.”

  To Darcy’s surprise, the younger man paled, climbing to his feet. “I am very glad for your sister’s recovery, Mr. Darcy, but I assure you, you owe me nothing. Now, if you do not mind, I would like to look in on Miss Darcy, and then I will leave you to your privacy. Again, I am happy for you both.”

  Grant bowed, crossing to Georgiana’s chamber, but Darcy’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Grant… Truly, I am exceedingly grateful for all you have done. I hope we might call on you again, should we have the need?”

  The physician stilled. Slowly, he turned to face his host. “If Miss Darcy requires anything further, Dr. Prescott will attend her.” And without further discussion, he quit the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

  ***

  Standing at the tall library windows, Darcy stared out at the gathering darkness. Although his body was exhausted, his mind was at peace for the first time in many days. Georgiana would be well. Raising a snifter of his best brandy, he took a long swallow before glancing over his shoulder. Behind him, Richard sat in a club chair by the hearth. And though his cousin’s posture was relaxed, his eyes bore into Darcy with unnerving intensity. Turning back to face the moonlit garden, Darcy’s thoughts suddenly shifted, and his happiness crumbled.

  His sister had recovered, and for that he would be eternally thankful, but his chances with Elizabeth had never appeared more bleak. They had barely spoken since the day he had snapped at her in his study—the day she had come to him offering comfort, and he had turned her away. He could still see the hurt in her eyes… How she must detest him now.

  And then there was Grant. Although Darcy had done his best to discount the signs, it was painfully clear that the physician had developed a tendre for Elizabeth. Did she return his affections? Was Grant the real reason she had chosen to remain at Pemberley?

  A noise from the other end of the room pulled Darcy from his tortured thoughts and he turned away from the window. Forcing the physician from his mind Darcy crossed the carpet, settling into the chair opposite his cousin. “Very well, Richard. We may as well get this over with.”

  “Pardon? I am not sure I take your meaning, cousin,” Colonel Fitzwilliam drawled, but there was a familiar glint in his eyes.

  “You take my meaning well enough, I would imagine. You have been staring at me like that since dinner. I assume this is about Miss Bennet?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. “Well, now that you bring up the matter,” he began.

  Darcy groaned. He had no wish to discuss Elizabeth with his cousin, but he knew Richard well enough. He was like a dog with a bone, and there would be no peace until Darcy let him have his say.

  As if to corroborate these thoughts, the colonel continued, “I do find it intriguing that the young lady decided to remain at Pemberley in the absence of her relations. What did it take to get them to leave her here?”

  Darcy bristled at the implication behind his cousin’s words. “I have already told you, she stayed out of kindness to Georgiana. If you are insinuating that anything improper occurred—”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam released a roar of laughter. “Ha! I know better than anyone that you are not that sort.”

  Darcy frowned, unsure if this was a compliment or a slight. “Good.”

  “But that does not change the fact that you are in love with her.”

  Darcy’s arm jerked up, and brandy sloshed onto the Persian carpet. “Blast! Honestly, Richard, I have no wish to discuss this. I have told you as much once before.”

  “Indeed—the day we left Rosings. At that time, you intimated that Miss Bennet did not hold you in any special regard. In fact, you seemed to think the lady actually disliked you. Yet here she is, a year later, living in your home, caring for your sister.”

  “She is not living here, she is visiting.”

  “Visiting. And she stayed when the rest of her family departed.”

  Thinking back to Grant, Darcy’s fingers clenched around his glass. “She did not stay for me.”

  Richard snorted. “You truly believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are blind as well as dim-witted.”

  Darcy blanched before taking another swallow of his drink. “You do not know what you are speaking of.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam stared back at him, narrowing his gaze. “I know her eyes light up whenever you enter the room. I know she studies you when she thinks you won’t catch her out. In fact, if I was a betting man, I’d say she was half in love with you already.”

  “You are wrong.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “How? No offence cousin, but you have never been particularly adept at gauging the feelings of the fairer sex.”

  Darcy sprang to his feet, stalking to a nearby table to pour himself another drink. With his back to his cousin, he answered, “I know because I offered for her and she refused me. Are you satisfied now?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam started. “What? When?”

  Darcy turned. “When we were at Rosings.”

  “That Easter?”

  Darcy nodded, the agony of her rebuff as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair. “Well, that does put an interesting spin on things. May I ask why?”

  Darcy frowned. “Why?”

  “Yes, why. Why would a woman of little means and inferior social standing refuse one of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom?”

  “Such financial trappings mean nothing to her. And I have already told you, she despises me. Or… at least she did.”

  “Ah-ha! So, you admit her feelings have changed?”

  Darcy walked slowly across the room, lowering himself into his seat. “Yes, but not in the way you imply. Since we met again by chance last November, I have done everything in my power to erase her earlier prejudice… and I think I have succeeded, to a point. I imagine she has come to view me as a friend—and for that I will always be grateful. But to my shame, I have not been especially kind to her of
late. I do not believe there can ever be more between us.”

  The colonel was silent for a moment. “Do you still love her?”

  Darcy stared into his glass before giving his cousin a single nod.

  “Have you told her?”

  “It is too late. Too much has happened.”

  Richard frowned, but before he could respond, a soft knocking at the door caused Darcy to start. “Enter!” he called out, his breath catching a moment later when Elizabeth walked into the room.

  The two men rose. Colonel Fitzwilliam cast a wry smile in Darcy’s direction before turning to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet! What perfect timing.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze shifted between the two gentlemen. “I beg your pardon, I hope I am not interrupting?”

  Ignoring his cousin’s chuckle, Darcy answered, “Not at all. Pray, come in.”

  Elizabeth hesitated, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Thank you. I will only be a moment. Miss Darcy was asking for a book, and I thought I would retrieve it for her in case she wished to read before bed.”

  Darcy nodded and Elizabeth made her way towards the shelves. Clearing his voice, Colonel Fitzwilliam followed. “Miss Bennet, I am glad to have an opportunity to see you again this evening. I wished to say my goodbyes as I will be leaving at first light.”

  Elizabeth turned. “So soon? But you have only just arrived.”

  “Yes, I am afraid duty calls.” With a smirk in Darcy’s direction he added, “Besides, I can tell when I am no longer needed. Now, if you will both excuse me, I must prepare for my departure.”

  Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. His cousin was already out the door.

  Elizabeth flushed, diverting her gaze to the nearest bookshelf and Darcy swore under his breath. Damn Richard! Did the man never have a care for the consequences of his actions? It was one thing to take perverse amusement in leaving the two of them alone, but it was quite another to put Elizabeth in a situation that would clearly bring her distress.

  Fighting his own embarrassment, Darcy crossed to the hearth. Taking up one of the fire-irons, he stirred the flames, glad to have something to distract him from the sight of Elizabeth running her fingers over the spines of his books.

  “Were you searching for something in particular?” he finally asked.

  Elizabeth acknowledged that she was, giving him the name of the author. Replacing the poker in its rack, Darcy made his way across the room, stretching up to reach for a volume on one of the higher shelves. Removing the book from the stacks he turned, placing it into Elizabeth’s hands. His fingers grazed her palm and their eyes locked.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Not at all.”

  “I should go.”

  She moved towards the door, but Darcy called out, halting her progress. “Miss Bennet…”

  “Yes?”

  “I feel I owe you an apology.”

  Elizabeth paused. When she did not reply, he continued, “I had no right to speak to you the way I did the other day, in my study. You were only trying to help, and I am afraid I was impossibly rude.”

  “You were upset. Understandably so.”

  Darcy sighed. “As usual, you are too generous with me. Indeed, I was upset, but that does not excuse my behavior.”

  Elizabeth closed the space between them, reaching for his hand. When their fingers met, a chill raced up his spine.

  “You owe me no apology,” she whispered.

  Darcy took a tentative step forward. Their bodies were almost touching now, and he could feel her warm breath against his skin. Inhaling her familiar scent, he lowered his head.

  Somewhere in the house a door slammed and Elizabeth stepped back. “I should go,” she repeated.

  Darcy nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Bennet. Pleasant dreams.”

  Chapter 24

  MORNING LIGHT STREAMED through the casement windows in Darcy’s study, illuminating the single letter on the silver tray. Leaning against the back of his chair, Darcy lifted a hand to massage his temple. He had not slept well. Images of Elizabeth and their near-kiss in the library kept him awake late into the night, and when he did finally slumber, his dreams offered little relief.

  Rising early, he had attempted to clear his head with a morning ride, but returning to find the letter had done nothing to improve his mood. Picking it up now, he stared at the name inscribed upon the heavy parchment. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. A gentleman’s hand, Darcy was sure of it. He turned the letter over, examining the unfamiliar seal pressed into the deep red wax. Of course, it could be from Elizabeth’s father, but somehow the handwriting did not seem to be that of an older gentleman. It was certainly not from Bingley, as this was not his seal, nor did the precise penmanship match his friend’s unruly scrawl.

  Unbidden, Grant’s image once again found purchase in Darcy’s mind. He had not missed the look of repressed longing the physician had directed at Elizabeth before taking his leave. Dropping the folded paper, Darcy’s fingers clenched. No. It was impossible. No single gentleman would have the audacity to pen a letter to an unmarried young lady. His conscience prickled. Of course, he had done it… But that had been a totally different situation! And he had not sent his letter by post. He had placed it directly and discreetly into Elizabeth’s hands.

  Before he could consider the matter further, soft footsteps diverted his attention and he glanced up to see Elizabeth and her maid crossing the front hall. Setting the letter back upon the salver he rose and made his way to the open door.

  “Miss Bennet!” Elizabeth turned and Darcy continued, “I was just on my way to seek you out. A letter arrived for you a short while ago.”

  Elizabeth quickened her steps, hurrying in his direction. Her maid, Polly, followed a few paces behind. The two women entered his study and Darcy turned over the letter. “I hope it is not bad news,” he said, watching as Elizabeth broke the seal.

  “I do not know. I thought it might be from Jane, but the handwriting is my uncle’s.”

  To Darcy’s embarrassment, relief flooded through him as Elizabeth turned her attention to the letter, quickly scanning the single page.

  “Oh! My uncle has been called back to Town. He writes to tell me that they have had to curtail their travels. He and my aunt will return to collect me within the next few days.”

  The solace Darcy had felt only moments before instantly turned to dread and he struggled to disguise his distress. “I see.” Darcy paused. “Could you not wait and travel with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley? I am certain they would wish to spend some time with you after such a long journey.”

  Elizabeth looked up, slowly shaking her head. “I would like that, but I am afraid my aunt and uncle will expect me to return with them.”

  “Of course.” Darcy nodded, fighting against the rising panic that twisted his stomach.

  Still gripping the letter, Elizabeth sank into one of the chairs before the wide mahogany desk. Her shoulders trembled, and Darcy drew closer to where she sat.

  “You are chilled,” he murmured. “Let me get a servant to make up the fire.”

  Elizabeth stared back at him, an unreadable expression in her eyes. “No, I thank you but there is no need. In any case, I should let you return to your work.”

  She rose slowly to her feet, but Darcy held up his hand. “No, stay.” Shifting his gaze, Darcy turned to the maid who still hovered near the door. “Polly, pray, go and fetch a wrap for Miss Bennet.”

  Elizabeth looked like she might object but returned to her seat, fixing her attention on the maid. “Thank you, Polly. I believe I left my shawl in the music room.”

  The maid curtsied but remained where she was.

  Propping one hip on the corner of his desk, Darcy smiled. “It is all right, Polly. I believe Miss Bennet will be safe enough for a few moments while you retrieve her shawl.”

  Blushing furiously, the maid dropped another brisk c
urtsy, darting from the room. Darcy followed her to the door, closing it just enough to give them a small degree of privacy.

  Behind him, Elizabeth folded her letter, reaching to place it upon the tray in the center of the desk. Her sharp inhalation caused Darcy to turn, his own breath freezing in his chest.

  Elizabeth’s stared back at him. “Mr. Darcy, is this not my book?”

  Darcy’s gaze fixed on the worn volume in Elizabeth’s hands. How could he have been so careless? To have left the book on his desk, in plain sight! Well, there was nothing to be done for it now.

  Slowly, he retraced his steps. “It is.”

  Elizabeth pulled her eyes away from his face, flipping through the pages. “But… Did you not say that it was ruined?”

  “It is ruined, Miss Bennet, as you see.”

  “And yet you kept it…”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I…” Darcy paused, rubbing his face. “Initially I thought to have it repaired, but the damage was too great, so I purchased a replacement. But you are correct. I should have returned the original.”

  Clutching the book tightly to her chest, Elizabeth stood, making her way around the desk. “You needn’t apologize. I do not mind that you kept it, I only wish to know why.”

  Gazing into Elizabeth’s upturned face, Darcy’s chest contracted as the words he longed to say swirled inside his head. Because every time I see it, I am reminded of you. Because when I hold it, I feel your joy. Because I love you.

  A noise from the vestibule caused them to jump apart and they turned in tandem to find Elizabeth’s maid standing in the doorway.

  “Your wrap, miss.”

  Coming forward, the maid presented the Indian shawl, and Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. “I thank you, Polly.”

  The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour and Darcy stepped away, clearing his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I find I am late for an appointment with my steward.” Crossing in front of Elizabeth he bent to murmur softly as he passed, “Take the book, it belongs to you.”

  Elizabeth watched him go before turning her attention to the worn volume in her hand. She remained in that position for several moments before returning the book to its place on Mr. Darcy’s desk and following him from the room.