* * *
Darcy awoke every day planning to write a letter to Miss Bennet. To Elizabeth.
Her name invaded his dreams, which were always vivid and strange, owing to the fact that he was drinking so much laudanum these days. He dreamed that Elizabeth was a giantess and that he was trying to climb the slope of her breast to reach her nipple. He wanted to please her, but he kept slipping on the smooth skin, and he couldn’t hold on. He would tumble down into the folds of her flesh and get lost there.
He dreamed that Elizabeth’s hair was the sea, and that he was swimming amongst the strands of it. He dreamed that he was drowning, but that it smelled so sweet in her locks that he didn’t care.
He had started drinking the laudanum to deal with the pain of the loss of the opium. Laudanum was touted as a cure for those who were dependent on smoking opium, and Darcy supposed that in a way, it was. After all, he was no longer smoking, and he was no longer in pain.
But he knew that the truth was he had simply changed his delivery system. He wasn’t smoking anymore. Instead, he was dependent on the far inferior experience of the laudanum.
The only up side was that laudanum was freely available in England, while smokable opium was hard to come by.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up this way. He’d spent years smoking only occasionally. He would have a little opium once every two months, and he enjoyed it, but he did not crave it the next day.
But then… one day he felt remarkably ill the following day after smoking and the only thing that made him feel better was to smoke more.
He knew it couldn’t have been that sudden, not really. That he had gradually gotten himself into this awful hole of need for the substance. But it had seemed as if one day, opium was his best friend on earth. And then it had turned on him, like a tamed dog gone wild, and bit him so hard it drew blood. Now, opium was his master and he lived only to get more.
He hated himself.
The last few years on the ship were nearly impossible to get through. It took much longer to assemble the money he needed, because he was constantly depleting his opium supply and because he missed so many opportunities to raid ships from being lost in an opium haze. He had to do so much of the substance to feel anything, to keep himself from growing ill.
When he had left the ship, he had told himself that he would fight through the sickness and get himself free of it. He was going back to England. There would be no opium. He thought he could end the bad business.
But he was weak. He barely made it two days before he was banging down the door of a doctor, begging for some laudanum—anything to stop the agonies he was going through. He had never felt anything so terrible, and he was convinced he was dying.
But now, he was drinking a rather lot of laudanum daily. He tried to keep himself standing in the evenings at least, but the rest of the time, he lay in bed, lost in his dreams. He’d retired to the country partly to get away from all the late-night parties and balls.
And then… there was Elizabeth. He didn’t want to leave her, not exactly, but he didn’t have space for her. She reminded him of a time when he was capable of wanting and desiring and panting and taking and…
All of that had been stolen from him. He was nothing now. He was a shell of a man, and inside him was only hunger for opium.
He remembered hungering for her. Part of him wanted to try to hunger for her again.
That part of him woke each day intending to write to her. He wanted to explain to her where they had gone, to tell her that after Anne’s marriage was secured, perhaps they could spend some time together. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t make promises, but that she still stirred something inside him, and that he thought of her often.
But.
There was a monster inside him that surged up far before he could ever get some paper or pick up a pen. That monster demanded feeding.
Once Darcy had tamed the monster with its required opium, he had no energy. He only had dreams.
So, the letter never got written. And the weeks began to slip away in a mixture of opium visions and regret.
* * *
“I have had the strangest letter from Kitty,” said Jane. She was standing in the doorway to Elizabeth’s bedroom.
Elizabeth had been retiring to bed early lately. She had begged off several balls that Nancy had attended, leaving poor Jane to chase after the girl. Elizabeth knew that she should feel bad for foisting that on her sister, but she seemed to have lost the room in her soul for anything other than the dreadful longing she felt for Darcy.
Now, Elizabeth was lying on her bed, fully clothed, with a book open in front of her. She had not been reading the book, however. She’d been staring at the words, but they had been swimming in front of her. She had been thinking of being on the ship all those years ago, the way that she had read to the men on the deck in the warm afternoons.
She struggled to sit up. “Jane? Is that you?”
Jane came into Elizabeth’s room. “Have you been writing letters to Mary about going to Rosings Park?”
Elizabeth groaned. “Oh, what of it?”
“Well, as I said, I have had a strange letter from Kitty, telling me that she and Bolton have had an invitation there, and she wrote to me saying that they would take you along since you were so eager to go to Kent.”
Elizabet sat up straight, her heart beating wildly. “What? You cannot be serious. Oh, Kitty, dear, I take back every uncharitable thought I have ever thought of you.”
“Why did you not tell me that you want to go to Kent?” Jane came in and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Are you unhappy here, Lizzy? Is it because of Nancy? Has she run you ragged? I can chaperone her sometimes if you are too exhausted. You mustn’t feel as though you must go behind my back and pretend to want to go to Rosings Park, of all places, just to get away.”
“Oh, Jane, no.” Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand. “I was not pretending. And it is not… that is not the way of it.”
“You are my constant companion,” said Jane. “I am so happy that you are hear with us. You are my dear, dear sister. But if you are unhappy with me, then I wish you would feel as though you could talk to me about it.”
“It’s not about you, Jane, darling.”
“Then what is it about?”
Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “It is…” She placed her hands in her lap and studied them. “Mr. Darcy has gone to Rosings.”
“That man again! Bingley has not even had a chance to rekindle his friendship with him. I knew he had left town, but…” Jane cocked her head to one side. “Now that I think on it, you became rather morose around the time he left. You are in love with him, aren’t you?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t know. It is not really love, I don’t think. It is… something worse. Something frightening. Something that has gotten into me deep down, and now I cannot bear to be away from him. I have to go. I am sorry for leaving you here with Nancy and the children. I truly am, but if I do not see him again, I think I shall go mad.”
“Lizzy!” Jane furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that. You don’t sound like yourself at all.”
“Oh, Jane, does it matter? What does Kitty say? When am I to leave?”
Jane sighed. “I suppose I’ll write her back and say you would like to go.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “Yes, please. I want nothing more.”
Jane took Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed. “I shall miss you.”
“You too, dearest Jane.” Elizabeth squeezed back. But inside, she was jumping for joy. The dreadful letter to Mary had been worth it in the end. It was all going to work out. She was going to see Mr. Darcy.
* * *
Several days later, Elizabeth sat in the coach with her sister Kitty and her husband, Mr. Bolton.
“It was just good luck, I suppose,” Kitty was saying. “Bolton got the invitation just as I got the letter from Mary. She tried to make it out as if you were requesti
ng something wicked, Lizzy, but I told her that you were probably just desirous of some country air. Lord knows how long it will be until Jane retires to Netherfield, and it would be horrid to stay with Mary and Collins.” Kitty shuddered. “So, of course you inquired about getting away. I’m only happy Bolton and I could help.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “Thank you both.”
“We only wish we could do more for you,” said Kitty, giving her a pitying look. “Bolton and I always so wished that your trip to India would have worked out.”
“Yes,” said Bolton. “I personally have never thought there was a thing wrong with you, Miss Bennet.”
Kitty reached across the carriage and swatted her husband’s leg. “Mr. Bolton! What a thing to say.”
Elizabeth sighed. Sometimes Kitty sounded so much like their mother that it was disturbing.
After the conversation between them all had died down, Elizabeth stared out the window at the passing scenery, thinking that everything she had done had been worth it if it meant that she would get to see Darcy again. She could not understand this longing that she felt. It was deep, like the sea that had surrounded them when they had first met, boundless on all sides, stretching out to the horizon, and descending down too far to fathom.
It was huge. It terrified her.
What had she done? She had thrown everything topsy-turvy to get to a man who might want nothing to do with her.
Still, she had to do it.
This was the only thing that she had felt in so long that made her feel as if she was… well, a human being, truly. She had been shoved aside, put on the shelf, and she had not realized how much it had taken away from her to squelch all her desires.
Now that she was flooded with longing again, she had come back to life, and she was hurtling forward through her life at a reckless speed. Maybe she was going to crash, to break into smithereens. She didn’t know. But even though the course she had set for herself was a risky one, she wouldn’t choose another one.
Sometimes, risk was worth it.
Even if it meant that after all this was over, she lost everything.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They arrived at Rosings in the late afternoon, and spent the next hour settling into their rooms and dressing for dinner. Kitty had brought her maid Cecily along with her, and she said that she would happily share Cecily with Elizabeth.
Cecily thought the house quite grand, as she told Elizabeth when she came to help Elizabeth get ready for dinner. The maid chattered away that she should get lost ten times before she found her way and would they be here for long and was Elizabeth happy to be out of town?
Elizabeth was lucky to have Cecily. That evening, Cecily curled and coiffed her hair with such perfection and sophistication that Elizabeth could have kissed her. She wanted to look as lovely as possible for Darcy, and Cecily had done it for her without Elizabeth even having to ask.
There was no chance of sitting next to Darcy at dinner. He was ranked too much higher than she, and he was the cousin of the woman of the house. Still, Elizabeth hoped to catch his eye.
But when she came down to the parlor, she saw that he was in one of the easy chairs, his head drooping. He looked barely able to keep his eyes open.
She felt alarm course through her. Was he feeling ill?
And then she remembered the laudanum bottle he seemed to have on him at all times.
Anne knelt next to him, talking to him in a quiet voice.
Suddenly, he sat up straight, shaking his head at her vigorously. He pinched his cheeks, blinked hard several times, and then stood up.
Elizabeth wanted to approach him, but before she could, Kitty was there, asking Elizabeth about the latest fashions and the balls in town. “Bolton says we shall come to town next Season, of course,” Kitty said. “If there was any way we could have been there this year, we would have been.”
Darcy noticed her. He locked eyes with her from across the room. He raised his glass slightly, his lips curving into a smile.
* * *
“Well, yes, that was India for you,” said Elizabeth to the gathering of ladies, all of whom were watching her with marked interest. It was after dinner in the drawing room, and Kitty had mentioned to the other women that Elizabeth had spent some time in India. They were all asking questions of her. All the men were off having brandy, so it was just her and the women here.
“Miss Bennet, I never knew you had such stories,” said Anne de Bourgh. “When you called on me in London, you were always so quiet.”
“I suppose I am shy,” said Elizabeth.
Anne snorted. “Hardly, Miss Bennet. Is this really true, though? This Miss Hastings was so bold as to swat that tiger in the mouth?”
“Oh, indeed,” said Elizabeth, who had actually made the story up on the spot. Possibly, it was the influence of Darcy rubbing off on her. He was the one who had made up a different story at every port. “And it was a lucky thing she did, because if she hadn’t, the tiger might have eaten us all, you know. They are vicious predators, and they like prey exactly our size. I think, however, that when Miss Hastings went over and swatted it, she showed dominance over it, and that was what scared it away. We were all so relieved when it ran off.”
“Why, she saved your lives,” said Kitty.
“Yes, she did, but she swore us all to secrecy,” said Elizabeth.
“Whatever for?” said Anne.
“Well, you must remember that we were all trying to catch husbands at the time,” said Elizabeth. “She didn’t want the story to get out for fear that some man should hear it and not think her feminine enough.”
Kitty nodded slowly. “I suppose I understand that.”
“Yes, she thought that a man would want a woman who needed his protection, not one who could take care of herself,” said Elizabeth. “Even today, I’m sure if you asked her about it, she would deny that it ever happened. And she swore me to secrecy, so mustn’t tell her I told you. She would be furious with me.”
Another of the women laughed. “Oh, I see. Well, we promise you that we shall keep your secret then.”
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth.
“Was it always like that?” asked one of the other women. “Was it always so dangerous? Tigers running into your bedroom?”
“No, not always,” said Elizabeth. “It was… hot. Dreadfully hot, all the time. And there were awful insects. But the food—oh, the food was delicious, all the spices and the sauces. And the music was lovely. And the people… All in all, it’s a wonderful country. I did love it there. I would have gladly stayed as well if I’d been able to find a husband. But alas, that was not to be.”
All of the women looked at her with sympathy.
Elizabeth turned away, wishing she hadn’t said anything of the sort. She was suddenly taken over by a wave of fierce emotion, and she found she didn’t like it much. She couldn’t let that show in front of everyone. It would be most improper. So, she quickly changed the subject. “There was another tiger that we saw often, but this one was a sort of pet.”
“A pet tiger?” Anne put her hand on her chest.
“Yes, it had a mangled paw, and it had been abandoned as a cub. One of the swamis raised it himself, and it followed him everywhere. It was quite tame.” This was, in fact, true. Elizabeth remembered petting the tiger’s smooth coat. It had been silky under her fingertips.
“A tame tiger? How amazing,” said one of the women, smiling. “Do go on, Miss Bennet.”
* * *
Elizabeth had done her job too well, she was afraid. She shouldn’t have made up such interesting stories, because she’d been the center of attention for the rest of the evening, and she’d had no chance whatsoever to talk to Darcy or even to look at him.
She wasn’t even sure what had become of him after dinner. She hadn’t seen him anywhere. He could have been there all along, though. She had been so involved in telling India stories that she wouldn’t have been able to see him.
But it hardly
mattered, she decided. She didn’t want to be with Darcy in stilted proper conversation. She wanted to be alone with him so that they could really be themselves. She was going to have to figure out how to make that happen.
As she was getting ready for bed, she decided to speak to Cecily about it.
“Do you think that you could find out where a gentleman’s bedroom is?” she said as Cecily braided her hair for bed.
Cecily lifted the brush. “Miss, you don’t mean that!”
Elizabeth turned to look at her. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t ask for no reason. Is it possible?”
“Well, sure I could find out. I could ask one of the valets. But if I did, they’d all start gossiping about why I did it.”
“It’s for a surprise,” said Elizabeth, improvising off the top of her head. “His cousin and I have cooked it up. I want to leave something in his room. When he sees it, he’ll find it hilarious.”
Cecily made a face. “What do you want to leave there?”
“Oh, that’s not important.”
“You can’t mean to bring it there yourself, can you? If anyone found you in that part of the house—” Cecily broke off, shaking her head. “You aren’t going to ask me to do it, are you? Because if you wish it, I’ll do it, of course, but…” She clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry. I am at your service, of course.”
“Don’t be silly, Cecily, I’m not asking you to sneak into a gentleman’s room.” Elizabeth gave her a smile. “Calm down.”
Cecily let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank goodness. I was watching my whole life go down the drain if I got caught.”
“I would never ask you to do such a thing.” Elizabeth patted her hand. “If it’s too much to find out where his room is, I shall find out another way.”
“I can find out for you,” said Cecily. “I’ll think of a way to do it that won’t cause too much gossip.”
“How will you do that?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll think of something.”
* * *
The next day, Elizabeth was terrified that she was going to have to think up even more stories about India, and she was afraid that she had quite exhausted both actual events and her imagination.
Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions Page 51
