Pledged to Mr Darcy

by Valerie Lennox

  “I’m sorry, sir, I…” She needed to say something that would stop him from breaking the engagement. Why couldn’t she think of anything? “You are a very generous man. And all you have ever showed me is kindness. And you are quite handsome and… and… I like the way you smell.”

  He turned at that. “Stop it. You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to try to convince me…” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

  She needed to say something. Tell him you love him, she urged herself. But she didn’t love him. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in time, she could—

  “Mr. Wickham is not a good man,” said Mr. Darcy. “But he has a way about him, and he can be very convincing. Lord, Miss Bennet, when we were young together, in our school days, he got me into such scrapes.” A ghost of a smile on his face. “Sometimes, I would wake in the worst of places, all my pocket money gone, with my head pounding, and I would wonder how I’d let him convince me…” He swallowed. “So, I don’t blame you. I don’t need to know…” He grimaced. “Oh, blast, maybe I do need to know.” He turned back to the window.

  “Know what?” she whispered.

  He was silent for a very long time. And then he put a hand against the window, and his voice came out strangled. “There’s no chance you’re carrying his child.”

  “Mr. Darcy!”

  “Is there?”

  “No.”

  His shoulders sagged. “All right, then.”

  “Lord, I never touched him! He never touched me. I went on walks with him is all. No one was with us, though, and no one can vouch that I am innocent, but I swear to you—”

  “It’s all right.” He turned away from the window and crossed to her. He stopped, about a foot from her and he reached out and put his hand against her cheek. “I believe you. We will not speak of it again. There is no need.”

  She licked her lips. “There will be occasion for us to speak? That is, you are not putting me aside?”

  “No,” he said. “What kind of man would I be to do that to you? After everything you have been through? That…” He shook his head. “No, Miss Bennet, I care about you, however it is you feel about me. And this has not stopped me from feeling that way. I am not sure why. As I said, I suppose, it is my fault.”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I am so terribly sorry. If I had known what he was—”

  “I know,” he said. “I saw that you were thrusting him out of the house as I entered. I have had Miss Thackerey’s side of the story, telling me what she told you of her understanding of the incident at Ramsgate. I should have been clear with both of you, and I am sure he would never have been allowed through the door.” He feathered his thumb over her cheekbone.

  It felt nice. She shut her eyes. And then she felt him come closer, and his lips were against her forehead.

  She let out a little gasp.

  He pulled away.

  She opened her eyes. She felt a sudden urge to reach up and touch him too, to put her fingers on his cheek. She wondered what it would be like to brush her fingertips against his skin. Would it feel good to him to be touched?

  But he looked away and then was suddenly walking across the room to the door, which he opened. “Well, I shall see you at dinner, I suppose?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He gazed forward.

  She didn’t know what else to do with herself but leave the room.

  As she walked up the hall, she felt a host of conflicting feelings. She was so grateful to Mr. Darcy for remaining engaged to her, for ensuring her reputation was not sullied. She was a little weak from the way he had touched her, from the remaining sensation of his lips on her forehead. But even after all that, she could sense coldness within him. Sadness. She was not sure that she hadn’t hurt him very badly, and she did not know if he would ever forgive her. She rather hated herself for that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next day, Elizabeth received a letter from Jane inquiring about Lydia. She was reading it at breakfast and thinking to herself that she would write back and say no without even bothering Mr. Darcy, for how could he possibly agree to a request like this after everything that had happened?

  But Mr. Darcy appeared before she could put the letter away. “Good morning,” he said.

  She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t known he was even there. She jumped.

  “Oh,” said Mr. Darcy. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s all right, sir,” she said. “I’m fine, truly.”

  He sat down next to her. “What is that you’re reading?”

  “Just a letter from Jane,” she said.

  “Ah.” He nodded. “How is your sister? I hear from Colonel Fitzwilliam that the family is well.”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  “Indeed,” he said. “I instructed him to look in on them from time to time, just to ensure that nothing was amiss.”

  “Well, that is very kind of you,” she said. “I had not realized. Thank you.”

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “I wonder that Jane never said anything of his visits.” Elizabeth mused on that for a moment, thinking it strange. After all, she had written of the colonel at some length when she was at Rosings. Wouldn’t Jane had written back to say that she found the man much as Elizabeth had described or perhaps different?

  Darcy interrupted her thoughts again. “So, all is well, then? Nothing amiss?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Well, Lydia is running wild, but then she always does. They will have to send her to live with my Aunt Philips.” She folded the letter up and set it by her plate.

  “Is that what Jane writes you to say? That Lydia is being shipped off to other relatives?” Mr. Darcy raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, no, she wrote to ask if Lydia might come here, but I would not even ask, not after… everything. I shall tell her it is not a good time.”

  “Lydia? At Pemberley?” Darcy got out of his chair and wandered over to the sideboard to fill his plate. “Well, why not?”

  “Why not? It is as I’ve said—”

  “Would it not be better for your sister to be here, in the country, in a smaller household than your aunt’s, with you to look after her?”

  “I suppose so, yes,” she said.

  “Then consider the matter settled,” said Darcy. “Write to Jane and say that she may come of course. I shall go to London to fetch her myself.”

  “Oh, sir, you needn’t go to the trouble—”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “She is my family, is she not? I shall do what I can for her. I must say I ran a bit wild in the wake of my parents’ deaths.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, perhaps I can understand.” He smiled at her, sitting back down.

  She smiled back. She felt unsure of herself. He was being so kind to her, after she had all but betrayed him with Wickham. How could he be that way?

  She thought of the way that he had touched her face in his study, and how he had gazed at her then. Perhaps everything was not so dire as she imagined.

  Encouraged, she said, “Before you left on your trip, we had planned to go riding together. Perhaps now that you are back, we could do so.”

  He turned to his plate. “Yes, perhaps, at some point. I think I shall be busy for the next week or so.”

  “Oh,” she said, face falling. “Yes, of course.”

  * * *

  Darcy lay awake, wondering what his life was coming to. Here he was, saddled to a woman who did not love him, who indeed seemed to have preferred Wickham to him.

  Of course, she did not know what Wickham was, he had to remind himself. Once she realized, she had turned on him. It should be enough. Indeed, it was enough.

  He would not put her aside, and he would marry her. He would honor all his promises to her. He was bound to that, duty bound, and he would not harm her and her family worse than they had already been harmed.

  However, the way that he felt for her, it had changed.

>   He seemed to have lost all his attraction to her, and he wasn’t sure where it had gone. He had schooled himself to wait and see if her lively disposition returned once the weight of mourning did not lay so heavily on her. But this business with Wickham, picturing the two of them together, thinking of her looking at Wickham with adoring eyes…

  It had destroyed his last vestige of desire for her.

  He still respected her, and he still thought he could come to love her again. She would be his wife. They would be together for the rest of their lives, and this would fade. He was sure, in the end, it would turn out right.

  But in the short term, he did not want to court her or to engage in romantic activities with her, like riding horses or anything of the like. It was too painful. Seeing her in that manner only brought to the forefront of his thoughts her and Wickham.

  Damn Wickham. He was always ruining everything.

  But perhaps Darcy had ruined this himself. He had proposed to her foolishly, almost impetuously. When he had done it, he had thought that the match would cause problems for him, but not for the reasons that it had done so. No, it was worse than all that. And he had not even taken her into society yet. What worse things would happen then?

  He’d rather not think of any of it, and he’d rather his fiancee be too busy with other things to think of him either. That was why it was a good idea to bring Lydia here, even though he could not count the girl amongst his favorite acquaintances. She was a boisterous, silly, empty-headed girl, but she would occupy Elizabeth.

  Perhaps, with just a bit of time, he could sort this all out. Perhaps he could forget about Wickham. Perhaps it could all turn out right before the wedding.

  Grimly, he rolled over in bed. He wasn’t holding out much hope.

  * * *

  The first day that Lydia arrived at Pemberley, she was excited beyond measure. She cavorted and skipped through the estate’s wide hallways, wanting to see every grand thing it had to offer. She met Georgiana, who was again too shy to speak, hiding behind her hair instead, and any attempt Lydia made to draw her out only seemed to push her further into her shell.

  Lydia was not the least bit put off by this. She just laughed and said that she would get Georgiana to speak if it killed her, and then went happily off to explore the house and the grounds.

  Lydia was occupied by the novelty and splendor of the place for approximately three days.

  After that, she pronounced herself bored.

  “There is nothing to do here,” Lydia said one morning as they were in a sitting room together. Georgiana was playing the piano, and both Elizabeth and Miss Thackerey were reading.

  “Well, you could learn the piece on the piano that Miss Darcy is learning,” piped up Miss Thackerey.

  “La, no!” Lydia burst into giggles. “I cannot play the piano a note. Not one note.”

  Miss Thackery raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Miss Thackerey opened her mouth to say something and then seemed to think better of it and closed it.

  Elizabeth turned to her sister. “You know that well-bred young ladies must become accomplished in some way. All girls learn to play and sing a bit.”

  “No,” said Lydia. “I don’t want to. It reminds me of Mary.” She folded her arms over her chest.

  Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, she was flooded with memories of her sister, who had always been serious, even as a small girl. She could remember Mary’s little face and high-pitched voice lecturing them all as if she was an expert on whatever subject it was that she had taken upon herself—it seemed that Mary was an expert in everything in those days. She had been rather adorable. Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes. A lump formed in her throat.

  Why Mary had ever attached herself to piano playing, when she was not the least bit talented in that area, Elizabeth would never know, but she wished her sister were still there to bash out a faulty tune. Elizabeth would hug her hard and never let go.

  Lydia had gotten up and gone to the window. She dashed a tear away from her eye.

  Elizabeth felt strongly that she should hug her remaining younger sister, but it wouldn’t be proper in front of Georgiana and Miss Thackerey. Later, though, Lydia was going to get a proper hug. Elizabeth resolved to make it happen.

  “Besides,” said Lydia in a strained voice. “I am quite accomplished enough. I can draw and do needlework and I know French.”

  Elizabeth held her tongue, because Lydia’s drawing was atrocious, and her French limited.

  “One can never be too accomplished,” said Miss Thackerey quietly. “I do think Georgiana would enjoy having someone to study along with her. What do you say?”

  “You would take on Lydia?” asid Elizabeth to Miss Thackerey. “Do you quite know what you’re volunteering for?”

  “It’s as she says,” said Miss Thackerey. “She is bored. She was likely acting out in London out of boredom. A young woman needs an occupation of some sort. When you are married, Miss Bennet, you will run this household, and that shall be your occupation. For now, though, we must all make do with bettering our minds.”

  Lydia wrinkled up her nose. “Bettering our minds?”

  “You won’t say no to Miss Thackerey,” said Elizabeth to Lydia. “It is a most generous offer.”

  “I didn’t say I was saying no,” said Lydia, coming back from the window. “It’s only that I don’t even know what it means. Bettering our minds? Aren’t they good enough already?”

  “Never,” said Miss Thackerey. “You say you draw? With charcoals or pastels?”

  “Um…” Lydia looked sidelong at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth didn’t say anything. Lydia had made the boast. She was on her own.

  “Both,” decided Lydia.

  “Well, there are supplies in the small studio that Mr. Darcy had made for Miss Darcy,” said Miss Thackerey. “Perhaps, Miss Lydia, you and Miss Darcy will go there after luncheon.”

  Lydia smiled widely and looked excited. “Yes.”

  “Very good, then,” said Miss Thackerey.

  Later, as they were walking down to the dining hall, Miss Thackerey hung back next to Elizabeth and explained that she was worried about Georgiana. “She is so dreadfully shy, and she will barely say a word to anyone. She is starved for some company from girls her own age. Your sister is so lively. She will be good for Miss Darcy.”

  “I don’t know if Lydia is good for anyone,” said Elizabeth, laughing. “But I think that Miss Darcy’s more demure, reserved character might serve as a bit of an example for Lydia. So, perhaps they shall help each other.”

  “I do hope so,” said Miss Thackerey.

  * * *

  Georgiana Darcy had been frightened of everything since she was a small girl. She had never liked loud noises or the mice that came in through the cracks in the walls or the dark or being left alone for long periods of time.

  Before she could begin to get over any of these fears, she lost both her mother and her father, and she felt quite adrift. Her brother was still there, but he was much older than her, almost an adult himself, and he always seemed to be going someplace or the other.

  All Georgiana had was her nanny, whose name Georgiana had never learned. She still called her Nanny, and she loved her more than any person on earth, and she knew her nanny loved her.

  But then Nanny was demoted—not dismissed, not exactly, for she had been Mr. Darcy’s nanny, and he loved her dearly as well, but she was given a different job in the house so that Georgiana could have a governess, Miss Younge. Georgiana still spent time with Nanny, until Nanny received word that her father was dying. She had to go and be by his side and nurse him, since he had no one else. Nanny did not go far. She still resided in Derbyshire, and Georgiana even went to visit her sometimes, but it was not the same.

  Georgiana felt alone and frightened all the time.

  Being taken to Ramsgate and having Mr. Wickham—who she had always trusted to be a good man and even a pla
ymate when she was small—treat her thus, it had broken things inside her that she did not even know how to mend. Now, she struggled to hold herself together. She liked Miss Thackerey fine, and she liked her brother’s fiancee, but she did not know how to speak to anyone these days. It was easier to stay quiet, altogether easier.

  This new girl—Miss Lydia—Georgiana knew not what to make of her at all. Why, she had not known that young ladies could be so loud or that they could move so much! Miss Lydia squealed and twirled and laughed, and she was like a twisting storm.

  Georgiana was not so sure that she didn’t want to be caught up in it. But she was afraid. And it was easier to stay quiet.

  “Oh, Gad!” Lydia said when they were at their easels. “You are so frightfully good at drawing. Look at the detail of that. Mine doesn’t even look like a vase, let alone do the flowers look like anything.”

  Georgiana just smiled at her, unsure of what to say.

  “Well, how do you do it?” said Lydia. “Give me a bit of advice, would you not? I need assistance badly.”

  “I… do not know,” Georgiana whispered.

  “What?” said Lydia. “I can’t hear you.”

  “I don’t know how I do it,” said Georgiana. “I look at things and I look for the shape in them, and then I make that shape with my charcoal.”

  Lydia wrinkled up her nose.

  “Miss Bennet,” said Miss Thackerey. “That is a most unbecoming expression.”

  Lydia burst out laughing, but she unwrinkled her nose. “I need to start over.”

  “Very well,” said Miss Thackerey. “If you want pointers from me, you may ask me. That is one of the reasons I am here.”

  Lydia nodded. “Thank you. I shall keep that in mind.”

  And for some reason, Georgiana wanted to burst into giggles too, at that. But she was not sure the last time she had truly giggled. She was quiet. She was always quiet.

  Lydia started over. Her next attempt was markedly better, Georgiana had to admit.

  “It was all your advice, Miss Darcy,” Lydia prattled. “I was looking at it wrong, you see. I kept trying to draw little bits of what I was seeing instead of honing in on the whole picture and then filling in the detail later. Your remark about copying the shapes, it changed the way I see things. Quite brilliant, in fact. Thank you ever so much.”