by Beth Poppet
“Then…” he boldly took the coveted hand, adding the warmth of his own glove to hers with the slight pressure of his grasp, “might I have hope to believe you could consent to be my wife?”
“I shall consent,” she said with mischief in her smile, and feeling more than just her hand warm at his touch, “but on one condition.”
“Name it,” he declared, ready to promise her dowries for Miss Catherine, Miss Mary, and any other Bennet ladies who were close to her heart, “My dearest and loveliest Elizabeth.”
“Let me thank you for the hand you had in poor Lydia’s marriage.” She looked up to him earnestly, and though he continued to smile, there was something like a grimace there as well.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam has a looser tongue than I feared.”
“I did ply him for details,” she confessed, “but it was based on my own suspicions and he would not answer me directly. Your own response just now has told me far more than his clumsy attempts at subtlety have.”
“I do not wish to be thanked,” Mr Darcy contested, “for I only did it with the most selfish of motives. It was fortuitous that I was able to be rid of Wickham and spare you some heartache with one blow. Believe me, I did not do it for your family, but for you alone.”
“Ah, yes. The family which so greatly influenced your decision to withhold any stronger feelings you might have harboured for me,” she baited.
“Please, do not repeat what I said on that occasion,” he asked with a scowl. “I was abominable towards you. I could not imagine you would ever care for me as deeply as I do you, and it drove me to disparage your family and made me ready to believe any ill report of you, regardless of its improbability. It was cowardly, but I was too afraid of a rejection to listen to reason and dispel the rumours of you and Wickham once and for all. I thought if I made you out to be a trifling fortune hunter I could get over my passion easily enough and put you out of my mind for good. But it was all in vain.” His expression softened, and his smile broadened. “My poor opinion of you only fuelled my indignation over the unsuitability of our union and made me angry for loving you in spite of myself.”
“Then Lady Catherine is not so far off the mark after all,” she mused teasingly, “I have made you fall in love with me, even against your own will.
“Perhaps there is some truth to that. Although you should not bear the wrath of Lady Catherine alone. Mr Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana have all conspired these past weeks to remind me of how deeply I have come to feel for you, and how empty and fruitless my path had been before we met. I’ve been a selfish creature all my life, and I might have remained so were it not for you giving me reason to look past my own pride and improve myself to be worthy of you.”
For once, Elizabeth had no reply to offer apart from the silent and intimate sort that must overtake two people who have just promised to marry.
Their fond embrace was broken by a horrible shriek that Elizabeth recognised as Kitty’s. She came rushing out to meet them, face as white as the starched sheets in Lady de Bourgh’s spare rooms.
“For heaven’s sake, Kitty, what on earth is the matter?” Lizzy cried.
“Mary found him! She… tried to wake him, but he would not, and… Mullins is too distraught to run for the doctor! He is…” Kitty half-sobbed, half-gasped, “He is laying there and will not move…!”
“Who is? Kitty, you must try and calm yourself. We cannot understand you! Is something the matter with the baby?”
“No, no, it is Mr Collins! He has fallen… fallen down in his study, and Lizzy!” she swallowed great gasps of air and hoarsely stammered, “I… I think he is dead!”
Volume Two
Chapter One
The sitting room was sombre and hushed, but for the repressed sniffling of Miss Catherine Bennet. Miss Mary sat rigidly in the least desirable chair in the room, clutching a volume of sermons and maintaining a look of wild shock as had never graced her features before. The seat which afforded the most ready view of the door was occupied by Mr Darcy, who wore his grave concern in a similar manner as his stoic disregard, giving no apparent indication of his current thoughts, which were heavy indeed.
No indication, that is, except to Elizabeth Bennet, who upon entering the room was met by a look from her newly betrothed that bespoke of all his concern for her and more besides. She wondered if his expressions had always revealed so much or if it was only since the assurance of his affections that she was able to easily comprehend the depth of emotion conveyed in his eyes.
Kitty too, looked up expectantly, though her eyes were filled with tears and redder even than her nose.
“I have seen to Jane,” Elizabeth uttered in weariness, accepting the seat that Mr Darcy promptly offered her.
“What if she should die next?” sniffled Kitty, “Whatever will we tell Mama?”
“Jane is in no immediate danger,” Elizabeth said with remarkable patience, “Physically, she is doing well. She seems to be more anxious and confused than anything. In time the tears will come, but at the present, Jane only clings to her son and asks what will become of him. Mrs Emery suggests we have a woman from the village be at the ready, in case this shock affects Jane’s ability to suckle him.”
Belatedly, she cast a cautious glance Mr Darcy’s way to ascertain if he was shocked by her open discussion of such topics as nursing babes, but if there was offense taken none showed on his face. It was just as well, for she could not take the time to be delicate of speech when there was potential disaster to avert. She excused herself with the attractive notion that he would soon be family, and therefore privy to the intimacies of her discretion, though not generally to be shared amongst mixed company. It was more striking to her that Mary had not chastised her for using such vulgar words as suckling whilst outside bedroom chambers.
“Mary,” she directed, causing her sister to blink at her stupidly, “I believe you are familiar with the Hummel family? Would you ask Mrs Hummel if she would be willing to come for Jane’s sake? It may not be necessary, but I would rather be prepared. I believe she was employed before as a wet nurse and has a child who is not yet weaned?”
Mary nodded in silence, slowly making her exit as one dream-walking.
Elizabeth turned to her younger sister next. “Kitty, dear, might you take the trouble of writing home? I fear I do not have the heart at present to put pen to paper.”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, coughing a little in her eagerness to have some employment by which to be deemed useful, “And Lydia,” Kitty declared. “I shall write to Lydia… Though of course Mama and Papa should know first.” This gave her pause, and she sought Elizabeth’s counsel. “When shall I tell them to expect us home?”
“I…” Elizabeth shared a glance with Mr Darcy, “That has not yet been considered. Best keep to the matter at hand, and I will write to them regarding our return once the arrangements are decided on.”
Kitty’s gait was almost cheerful as she left Lizzy and Mr Darcy to write her letters. Her apparent improvement in mood made Elizabeth feel less guilty about devising a method by which to have her sisters leave them alone. She was not wholly dishonest regarding her lack of desire in writing to Longbourn, but was perfectly able to rally and do what was necessary by and by.
She could not be moved to regret the outcome however, especially not when Mr Darcy came to her side and set his hand on her upper arm the moment Kitty was out of sight.
“There is something I must discuss with you, Elizabeth,” he said in a most serious timbre, though the use of her name sent a thrill through her that was hardly appropriate for the current situation. She thought he noticed the change in her, for he returned her surprised flush with a satisfied smile that was altogether unremorseful.
“While you saw to Jane,” he began, leading her to sit beside him. “Lady Catherine was here, taking all the arrangements of Mr Collins’s funeral upon herself.”
Elizabeth blanched. “I confess, I had not even thought of such matters.”
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“I hope her arrangements will be agreeable to you, as she is absolute in what she believes to be proper for her clergyman’s burial. She insists that Mrs Jenkinson will make the shroud and deliver it by her own hand first thing on the morrow, and she has decided already at what time and in which style of coffin Mr Collins is to be buried. He has no living relations besides that of your own family, so there would naturally be few to attend his funeral. Lady Catherine is anxious that he be honoured with all haste and simplicity, no ‘travelling spectators to gawk at his death as if it were a theatrical display.’ The undertaker has seen to preparations already, and there is no need to concern yourself over tending the body or laying it out. You may tell Jane that everything has been handled with the utmost delicacy and respect for her late husband.”
“That is all very neatly done,” Elizabeth admitted.
Mr Darcy shared in her relief. “I could not be certain that my aunt’s involvement would be acceptable to you at this time.”
“I think it is exactly as Mr Collins would have wished, to be sure. Jane is in no state to tend to such things, and I daresay it very unlikely that your aunt would be susceptible to the kind of fraud so prevalent in the funeral business.”
“That was her supposed reasoning for assuming authority over the proceedings. She claims to know the only reputable undertaker in the county and assured me Mrs Collins would be cheated and abused by unscrupulous men. Her exact words were something like a sermon against the villainous cheats who lie in wait to rob widows of their last shillings by the purchase of unnecessary trimmings.”
Elizabeth would have laughed, but for the grim expression her betrothed maintained. “You do not appear convinced.”
“I do not disbelieve her on the whole, but I fear she has other motives for acting so charitably. I might have more faith in the sincerity of her actions, were it not for the manner in which she asserted her ability to make such arrangements. Though I am glad for the gesture if it pleases you, it was less kindly done than a show of her position, and I fear that through it she means to make the gap in our stations as clear as she is able.” This last he said whilst lowering his head in what Elizabeth could only consider shame for his aunt’s presumption.
“I see,” she frowned. “I almost wish that I had fortitude and means enough to rise to her insults and refuse her help, but all I can feel towards her now is gratitude and relief.”
“If you wish it,” he said, raising his eyes to her in earnest, “I will oversee the rest myself. You need not feel insulted nor beholden in my involvement. And I am happy to do it if it will grant you some peace.”
“No, Mr Darcy,” she smiled. “That is most noble of you, but let Lady Catherine have her triumph, small though it may be in the face of her tragedy. She is losing a man who held her in the highest regard while simultaneously being forced to accept the degradation of her nephew in his attachment to an impertinent and unworthy woman.”
“Please, do not repeat my aunt’s wrongful opinion of you, even in jest. It gives me great pain to hear such words from your own lips.”
“How else am I to laugh at her, if I am restricted from using her own insults in jest?” she questioned merrily. “But I will try to be more serious if it truly causes you pain.”
“There is one thing you might do which would alleviate the wound,” he returned with an arched brow, and Elizabeth sensed mischief in his tone.
“And what is that, Mr Darcy?”
“Would you call me by my name?”
“No,” she said adamantly. “That I cannot do. Perhaps not ever.”
He was taken aback by her outright refusal. “Are you not fond of it?”
“My fondness for it is not it question as it represents the man I love most in this world. But I am still growing used to thinking of you as my Mr Darcy, and I cannot be expected to change my ways so absolutely even before we are wed.”
“Very well,” he conceded. “I will let the matter be until after we marry,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “And how do you fare, my dearest? You have regained some of your colour.”
“I am much nearer my own self than I was yesterday, but very weary,” she confessed. “I fear this is not a weariness that mere sleep will cure, however.”
He raised her hand to his lips, making her blush furiously and eye the open door for any scandalised witnesses. There were none, and Mr Darcy took pride in bringing even more of a healthy glow to her cheeks. “Have you eaten at all since yesterday?”
“I have. I ate every bit of food that you had Mullins bring up on the tray, and then I ate what Jane could not finish from her own plate. My weariness is that of the heart, and I believe the only cure for it would be to unburden myself of what lingers there.”
“Then I pray you let me be the one to share these burdens.” He enfolded one hand of hers, keeping it tucked gently into both of his.
“I am sorry for Jane,” she began, forcing herself into rational thought, despite the delightful placement of her hand, “and I feel monstrous for not being able to grieve over the loss of Mr Collins. She says he was a good husband to her. He never spoke harshly or demanded his way, except in the case of Lady Catherine’s counsel, which Jane was angelically tolerant of.” Elizabeth sighed, knowing she was not so tolerant of unsolicited advice. “She was resigned to love him as duty demanded and was goodness itself to him. Though I do not doubt she does grieve for him, I fear she is making herself anxious over the fact that she does not feel a deeper sorrow. Most of all though, I fear for her future. Our greatest consolation in her marriage was that she had a comfortable home, and a husband to provide for her. It hardly seems like a benefit for her to have Longbourn secured with a child to raise and no husband to provide for her. I imagine her dower will be a modest one, and though my mother and father may be glad to receive her home again, I cannot see Jane receiving the proper consolation and rest she needs while my mother frets anxiously about.”
He listened to all this with silent interest, and when she had finished, he asked simply, “You are soon to be mistress of Pemberley, are you not?”
“I believe I assented to such an undertaking, yes,” she said smiling.
“Then the solution is a simple one. Jane shall make her home with us for as long as you and she might wish. There are more than enough rooms to spare, and Georgiana will be happy to welcome two sisters to Pemberley come November.”
Though his generosity was not lost on her, the sudden fixed date of their marriage took her aback. “November!” she cried, “So soon? That is barely three weeks away!”
“What of it?” he remarked coolly. If Elizabeth had been less flustered, she may have noticed the enjoyment he was afforded at her astonishment.
“It will take three weeks alone for the Banns to be published,” she considered, “and then there is the matter of my father’s blessing—not that I imagine he would have any real objections. But so soon!” she echoed in bewilderment.
“Is it not in Mrs Collins’s interest to be married in haste?” he said in repressed amusement. “Of course, I have every intention of procuring the license required for an expedient marriage, and as your sisters must be returned to Longbourn, we shall all journey together, you and I to receive Mr Bennet’s blessing once arrived. Does something trouble you still?” he worried at her deeply furrowed brow.
“Oh, no!” she finally caught the mirth in his expression. “Not a thing. It is just a very happy coincidence that Jane will benefit so from our marriage. You could not have chosen a better way of persuading me into a hasty union, though I am disappointed that Jane’s mourning will prevent her from attending.”
“You are pleased, then?” he traced her knuckles with his thumb, ending with a gentle pressure that delighted her immensely.
“I am!” she said with a laugh, “And I hope the news of our engagement will do something to lift Jane’s spirits as well. I cannot imagine the same for Lady Catherine.” Her raised brow indicated that she expected something o
f him.
“I will tell her of our engagement tonight,” he promised. “She will not risk public outrage or scandal during such tenuous times for her parish. We will stay only as long as the funeral and depart for Hertfordshire immediately following.”
Thus far, his words and tone had been serious and to the point, but now a softness crept into his eyes, and he allowed himself the liberty of tracing the curve of her cheek and chin with the back of his fingers. She leaned into his open hand as he breathed, “I am most eager to introduce you to the ton as Mrs Darcy.”
Their foreheads met, and his hand became a support, tilting her chin upwards. Elizabeth made no jesting retort, nor did she laugh away her furious blush. She was wholly incapable of any thoughts whatsoever. Her faculties were overcome by the warm touch of her beloved’s hand, the scent of his breath mingling with her own, and the alarming awareness that they need only move a hair’s breadth nearer and their lips would meet.
“Oh!” came a startling cry from the doorway, and Elizabeth started back to see Kitty standing there, sheet of paper in hand, and face turning crimson at her poor attempt to suppress the peals of laughter threatening to burst forth. “I came to see…” she tightened her lips together only to have a snorting laugh escape from between them, “I wanted to know if I could have the tea brought up now, and…” she seemed unable to continue without her mirth getting the best of her, and so she returned to her losing battle of trying to keep her laughter at bay.
“Miss Catherine,” said Mr Darcy with an air of authority, “I assure you there is nothing dishonourable you have stumbled upon here. I have asked your sister to be my wife, and she has consented.”
“Lord!” she swore, sinking down into the chair across them, and Elizabeth disliked how very similar to Lydia it appeared.
“Kitty…” she warned, disapproval evident in her features.
