Elizabeth furrowed her brow at her mother. Her mask was dangling from her hand. She had just taken it off, and she was confused. Her mother didn’t sound furious.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to be dancing this evening?” said her mother. “Why, if I had known, perhaps we could have convinced your father to buy some fabric for a new dress.”
“A new dress?” said Elizabeth. “For me?”
“Why, yes,”said Mrs. Bennet. “All these men assembled, looking at you dance, why, I would have wanted you to look your best. I imagine you will be swarmed with requests to dance for the rest of the evening.”
Elizabeth had not thought of that. She had already danced twice with Mr. Darcy, and she could not dance with him again.
“Who is the man you danced with?” said Mrs. Bennet.
“He is Mr. Darcy. He’s an officer with the regiment.”
“O-ho!” Mrs. Bennet looked delighted. “Tell me all about him, if you please.”
But at that moment, Mr. Denny was at Elizabeth’s elbow. “Miss Bennet? Do you have any room on your dance card?”
“Why, yes, of course,” said Elizabeth, smiling at him. She couldn’t refuse, after all. Not unless she wanted to say that she would not dance at all. Of course, maybe that was the right thing to do.
“Then I should like to claim a dance,” said Mr. Denny.
“I should be honored,” said Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet let out something rather like a squeal. “Oh, Lizzy, you must put Collins off.”
“What?” said Elizabeth.
“I did set him on you, but now you have so many more numerous prospects, so do not refuse him by any means, but tell him you need time to think if he should ask.”
Oh, dreadful Mr. Collins! Elizabeth shook her head. “But Mama, are you not horrified that I danced such a scandalous dance in front of everyone?”
“Oh, I don’t see what’s so scandalous about it.” Mrs. Bennet waved this away. “Besides, if it put some ideas in young men’s heads about wanting to be close to you, I can’t see how that’s a bad thing. Oh, everything is truly going so marvelously well, my darling! Perhaps Mr. Collins will wish to wed Mary.”
Elizabeth thought she might be getting a headache. But, well, it was good news, since her mother was not angry. On the other hand, she might have gone to the dance lessons without sneaking around and thus kept Jane away from Wickham, if she’d only known.
But she could not spend too much time thinking on this, because the music was starting again, and she had to dance with Mr. Denny. And then there was another dance with some other gentleman, and one after that, and time was flying by too quickly for her to fathom it.
During one break, in which she managed to get off the dance floor and get herself something to drink, she was approached by a servant who looked familiar. Who was that?
Then she placed him.
He was Mr. Barnes, and he worked in Mrs. Fortescue’s household.
“Miss Bennet,” he said. “I cannot seem to find Mr. Darcy.”
“You are looking for him?”
“It is a matter of some importance,” said Mr. Barnes. “The situation is rather dire, I’m afraid.”
“Dire?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened.
“It’s Mrs. Fortescue,” said Mr. Barnes. “It’s not good.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elizabeth seized Mr. Darcy by the arm. “Mr. Darcy, you must come at once! Make haste!”
“Miss Bennet?” He sputtered, looking at her and then at the people who were moving around him on the dance floor. “I am in the middle of a dance.”
“It’s Mrs. Fortescue,” said Elizabeth. She lowered her voice. “The babe is coming early. But it’s not good. She’s not doing well.”
Mr. Darcy paled. He nodded and dashed off the dance floor.
Elizabeth came right at his heels.
Together, they ran through the hallways to the coat room, where a servant was waiting for them.
“Yes, I need my coat, if you please,” said Mr. Darcy to the servant.
“As do I,” said Elizabeth.
Darcy turned to look at her. “What? You think you’re coming along?”
“Of course I’m coming along. Mrs. Fortescue is my friend. We’ve done all this for her.”
“But we can’t leave the ball together alone,” said Mr. Darcy. “People will talk.”
“I don’t care,” said Elizabeth. “Besides, no one will notice. They are all occupied.”
“You had a full dance card,” said Mr. Darcy. “I think someone will notice.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Elizabeth. “They won’t know where I am. I’ll come back before the end of the ball and by then I’ll have some sort of story worked up to explain it all. Now, we haven’t time to waste arguing.”
He sighed.
“We have been together alone many times now, Mr. Darcy. I hardly think this matters. And, at any rate, there is something of an understanding between us?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Very well. Let’s go.”
* * *
“I don’t understand.” Darcy was outside Mrs. Fortescue’s bedchamber. The midwife was in the doorway, and her apron was smeared red. “She is months away from her time. What caused this?”
“Sometimes babes come early,” said the midwife. “But this… I don’t know, something seems to be wrong.”
“What do you mean, wrong?” said Mr. Darcy.
“Listen, you must wait,” said the midwife. “I am doing everything in my power to save your child—”
“Look, it’s not my child,” said Mr. Darcy.
The midwife gave him a sharp look. Then she spread her hands. “As you will.”
Darcy clenched his jaw. “Save Mrs. Fortescue, if you please. Save her, dash everything else.”
“Mr. Darcy!” said Elizabeth.
He turned to look at her, agonized.
“I will let you know if there is anything you can do,” said the midwife. “But I must warn you, she has told me that it has been some time since she felt the babe move. That is a bad sign. It likely means that the babe has been… that she lost the child already and that she will only deliver a stillborn.”
Elizabeth gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no, how sad.”
“Well, then, fine,” said Darcy. “Get it out of her. She can recover. She will be all right.”
“I don’t know,” said the midwife. “God willing, yes. But there is… there is a great deal of blood.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes, tears of fright. She was remembering two tales she had heard of, one was of a woman in Meryton who had delivered not one but four stillborn children, one after the other. No soon had she recovered was she with child again, but she could keep the babes alive for some reason, and no one knew why. Whenever Elizabeth saw the woman at church, which wasn’t often, considering she was usually in recovery or with child again, she had a haggard look to her, like she had been beaten down and could not find the will to fight anymore. The other tale was of one of the sisters of their servants, Mrs. Hill, who had died in childbirth. Mrs. Hill had been there, attending her, and had talked of it once. She had gone on and on about all the blood.
Elizabeth could not stand up. She found the wall, leaned against it.
A tear trickled out of one eye, and she brushed it away.
The midwife was still talking to Mr. Darcy. “There is little anyone can do,” said the midwife. “This is in God’s hands. Now, leave me so that I can go back to her.”
Darcy raised both of his hands in surrender.
The midwife retreated back into Mrs. Fortescue’s bedchamber.
Darcy paced.
Elizabeth leaned against the wall. She didn’t know what to say.
“There is no need for you to be here, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy thickly.
“I know,” said Elizabeth. “All the same, I shall remain. I could not go back to the ball.”
; “No,” said Darcy, still pacing. “No, I suppose not.”
She watched him pace, trying to think of what to do, what to say. There was nothing.
Darcy balled up his fists and let them go and then balled them up again. He walked faster.
Elizabeth massaged her palms.
Time passed.
Darcy stopped. He drew in a heaving breath, looking up and down the hallway. When he let out the breath, his shoulders sagged.
Elizabeth launched herself in his direction. She collided with him, feeling awkward. She put her hand on his shoulder, like she had when they were dancing. “I… I am dreadfully sorry.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy, turning to her. His eyes were rimmed in red. “Yes, so am I.”
Tears threatened again. She fought to hold them back. “Perhaps it will be all right.”
He nodded. “Yes, it must be,” he said fiercely. “I know she had become attached to the babe. She was not willing to give it up to be fostered. She wanted to raise it herself. So, she will be devastated at the loss, but it will be better for her in the end. She can move on from this. She can find another husband. No one ever need know about Wickham.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy swallowed. “It will all work out for good in the end. I know it.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth again.
They were quiet again.
Elizabeth felt awkward touching him. Slowly, she brought her hand back. Truly, it wasn’t proper for her to touch him, not even in comfort.
“Darcy,” came a thin voice from the room. “Where is Darcy? I must see Darcy!”
The midwife appeared in the door. “Mrs. Fortescue wishes to see you.”
“But… that is… I should not enter the birthing chamber,” said Darcy. His voice was too high.
“If you want to speak to her, you’d best come in here,” said the midwife.
Darcy licked his lips. He shut his eyes. He seemed to realize that the midwife was saying that he might not get to speak to Mrs. Fortescue again, ever. He started forward, but he was like a man with a weight on his shoulders, shuffling over the carpet.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Darcy stood in the doorway of the darkened room. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood, and there were piles of towels and rags at the foot of the bed.
But Mrs. Fortescue looked proper enough, the covers up to her chin. Her face was red, and her hair was coming askew from the braid she had it in. She looked tired.
“Darcy,” she said. She tried to smile.
He lurched toward her, and he felt rather certain that he was going to start sobbing, and he couldn’t do that.
“I have something for you,” she said. “I want you to open the drawer there.” She pointed at her dressing table.
“Surely this can wait until you are feeling better,” he said, his voice like ground glass.
“Darcy, please,” she said. “I have to tell you…” She paused, grimacing in pain. Then she let out a breath. “Tell you now, while I can.”
“Don’t speak that way,” he said, his lower lip trembling. “Please don’t.”
“You have been too good to me,” she said. “But this is what a sinful woman like me deserves in the end. The wages of sin are death.”
“No,” he said. “You are going to be just fine.”
“Open the drawer for heaven’s sake!”
He turned and yanked the drawer open.
“There are jewels,” she said. “I had dithered over selling them. I knew that I could, but they belonged to my grandmother, and it is all I have left of her. I don’t suppose it will matter now, though. I want you to have them. If you sell them, you may have…” Another long pained pause. “Enough, what with what you’ve already saved. Enough for Hawthorne Abbey.”
He slammed the drawer shut. “That’s madness.”
“It’s not,” she said. “You must take them now.”
“I won’t take them,” he said. “Because you’re going to need them. You can sell them yourself, for your well-being. For the babe’s.”
“We both know there is no babe anymore.” Her voice cracked.
“We don’t know that,” he said. “You had best deliver it quickly, hadn’t you? Perhaps—”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice a sob.
He looked away. “Well, you’ll need the jewels for yourself then.”
“Take them and keep them safe for me,” she said. “Please. When I’m well again, you can give them back.”
“What is the need of that?” he said. “If you didn’t trust your servants with them, you would have hidden them better. They can remain here until you are better.”
“Darcy, I want to do this for you!”
“Surely, they should remain with your family in any case.”
“My parents don’t need them,” she said. “And neither does my brother. I would have passed them on to my daughter if I had a girl, but that is not to be.”
“Stop,” he said. “You can’t give in. You can’t go away. You have to stay with us. Stay with me. We have been in each other’s company these many months. What will I do without you? You’ll have to fight. For me, you have to.”
She swallowed. “It’s only that—” Suddenly she broke off and an anguished cry tore from her lips. She rolled over, kicking the covers aside, and now Darcy saw the bed sheets were full of blood.
He backed away, and he was shaking.
The midwife came in. She pulled him out and went to Mrs. Fortescue and screamed at him to shut the door.
He did.
He shut the door and then he wandered down the hallway like a man lost in the wilderness.
Somehow, he found a sitting room, and Miss Bennet was in there.
When he stepped over the threshold, she shot to her feet.
He rubbed his chin. “I tried to protect her.”
Miss Bennet ran to him. She took both of his hands in hers. “How is she?”
“I found out what Wickham had done to her, and I made it my task. Wickham had ruined me, taken everything from me, but not her. I would look after her. I would make it right somehow.” He shut his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Mr. Darcy—”
She was interrupted by the sounds of Mrs. Fortescue screaming.
Miss Bennet let out a tiny noise. She squeezed his hands.
He drew her into his arms without thinking.
She wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his cravat.
He bowed his head, clutching her tight.
They stood that way, clinging to the other, for a long time.
* * *
The screaming was worse.
It had been going on, now and again, for over an hour, and now it was worse.
Elizabeth had not thought it could be worse, had thought what she was hearing was the most horrid noise she had ever heard, but this. It was bone chilling, and it made her heart stop beating.
Mr. Darcy sat on the other side of the room, his head in his hands. Every time a scream came, he stiffened.
Elizabeth sat on the settee, her arms wrapped around her own waist. She had cried already, more than once, but now her eyes were dry.
She was terrified.
The screams were the most awful thing she had ever heard.
But then, suddenly, it was silent.
And that was infinitely more awful.
The silence yawned open, wider and wider, and Elizabeth’s heart began to pound. She willed Mrs. Fortescue to scream again, to make that horrid noise once again.
It would be welcome.
But no more screams came.
And by and by, the midwife came to the doorway, wiping her hands on a rag, her face drawn and tight.
Elizabeth shook her head at the woman.
No.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“George Wickham!” Darcy screamed. He was at the doorway to Netherfield, and it was late, and the ball was breaking up. There were carriage
s littering the front drive. The butler of the house was trying to calm him down.
Darcy didn’t care.
He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten here. He had also lost track of Miss Bennet, which was a rather monstrous thing to have done, but he had started to feel as if the world was fitting together somewhat like jagged pieces of something broken. There were gaps of nothingness that kept swallowing him whole, cracks in the surface of reality.
“Wickham, get your lily-livered arse out of this house and face me, you coward!” Darcy cried. His voice was breaking.
“Sir,” said the butler. “You really must quit the premises now. If you do not, I will be forced to call the footmen to forcibly remove—”
“Darcy!” said Wickham, suddenly framed in the doorway, only feet away. He was smiling.
Darcy hurled himself at the man.
They collided, falling backwards into the foyer of the house, Wickham underneath him.
Darcy threw a clumsy punch that glanced against Wickham’s jaw.
Wickham’s head collided with the floor, making a crunching noise. He roared.
Then there was another break—nothingness again.
And now, they were on their feet, but Darcy was stumbling backwards down the stairs outside and Wickham was advancing on him.
Wickham’s teeth were bared and he glared at Darcy, windmilling his arms without any apparent strategy.
But it didn’t matter, because Darcy lost his footing and fell backwards, legs over his head as he tumbled down the stairs.
Another break of nothingness.
Then Wickham shrugging out of his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.
Darcy launched himself upward, slamming a fist into Wickham’s face.
Wickham’s nose erupted in red, and he shrieked.
Darcy shook out his hand, crying out. He cradled it, moving backward.
“Have you lost your mind, Fitzwilliam?” Wickham rubbed his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood over his upper lip.
Darcy pointed at him. “You killed her.”
“Had too much to drink, have you?” Wickham stalked towards him.
Darcy squared his shoulders, glowering at the man. He brought up his fists.
Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions Page 30
