Rocks in the Stream

by Lewis Whelchel

  “Fortune hunter, Miss Bingley? She has an estate of her own. She is independent.” Darcy smiled at her. “Perhaps you are jealous of that?”

  “I am told that Longbourn is worth no more than two thousand a year, and the daughters have no dowries. Their father could give them nothing. All they have is the estate. Yes, Miss Bennet is a fortune hunter, and we must protect my brother.”

  “Although Miss Bennet has not shown any undue attention to your brother, it is true that she is just the sort of woman with whom he would declare himself to be in love.” Her point was well taken. As much as he disliked agreeing with her, she was right. If Bingley decided he was in love with Jane Bennet, he would insist that they marry, and with his generous heart, he would seek to improve the fortunes of all her family.

  “Please, sir! You will help me, will you not?”

  “I always look after my friends, Miss Bingley.” Darcy furrowed his brow, undecided as to any course of action.

  * * * * *

  MRS. BENNET ENTERED ELIZABETH’S BEDCHAMBER, approached the bedside, and took her daughter’s hand, quickly noting her condition. With a slight nod of her head, she satisfied herself that Elizabeth was indeed well. She was then free to deliver the message that occasioned the true reason for her visit.

  “I am pleased to see you looking so well. Lizzy, you are doing a very good thing by remaining here at Netherfield. I hope you are being kind to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Bennet dropped her daughter’s hand and gazed about the room. It was beautifully appointed, and the furnishings appeared quite expensive. “Oh, and I hope you are feeling better.”

  “Mama, it is a comfort to see you again, too,” laughed Elizabeth. She had not been ill long enough to forget what her mother’s reaction would be to two single men of fortune living in the neighborhood and she herself now under their roof.

  “Mama, Lizzy has been asleep these three days,” cried Jane, rushing to Elizabeth’s side. “You must not talk that way; you must not.” She was hurt by her mother’s apparent lack of concern for Elizabeth, though not surprised by it.

  “Never mind that. Lizzy, you must remain here as long as possible.”

  “Mr. Manning says I must not be moved for two weeks. I can assure you that I will not be going anywhere for quite some time.”

  “Mr. Bingley comes very often to visit you, does he not?” asked Mrs. Bennet with an eager look on her face. Mr. Bingley’s constant attention to her daughter would be just the thing.

  “Actually, Mr. Bingley has never come to see me. I do not know him at all.”

  “Lizzy,” asked Mary, “are they treating you well?”

  “I have only been awake since this morning. Anne has been very kind to me, and I have wanted for nothing.”

  “But are you not often alone?” asked Mary. “Would you not prefer to come home with us? I am sure the ride would not be too difficult for you. I will walk so that you may have a whole bench in the coach.” Mary felt all the shock of having nearly lost Elizabeth and wished to mend their strained relationship, and she could not do that if Elizabeth remained at Netherfield.

  “Mary, come and sit by me.” Elizabeth motioned her sister to the bed. “The physician has requested that I remain here to avoid further injury, but I am certain that Mr. Bingley would welcome you at anytime so that you may visit me, and I know I would be glad of your company.”

  “I was afraid of what might have happened to you — of what I was certain had happened to you. I was —”

  “You do not need to worry any longer. I will be well soon enough,” Elizabeth reassured her. “I will grow stronger every day.”

  “Lizzy, you look very well today,” said Jane. “Almost happy, I would say.” There was a brilliance to her eyes and a playfulness of expression that spoke of delight. Jane wondered how much of her apparent happiness could be attributed to Mr. Darcy’s society.

  “I am happy, and I am grateful to be getting well again.”

  “Are you certain that you cannot return with us?” Mary asked again.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I must remain here.”

  Mrs. Bennet wanted to turn the conversation back to matters of the most importance to her. “Has Mr. Darcy been to see you, Lizzy?”

  Elizabeth had been looking at Mary, but quickly turned her head so she could eye her mother. Jane, who saw it all, realized that this was a precarious subject and acknowledged the anxiety that Elizabeth would feel if their mother should learn of Mr. Darcy’s attention to her.

  “Mama, come and look at the view from this window. It is quite remarkable.” She took her mother’s arm and tried to lead her away from Elizabeth.

  Mrs. Bennet was not at all interested in the view. “Oh, I am sure it is beautiful,” she said, freeing herself from Jane’s grasp. “Everything about Netherfield is beautiful. I would certainly wish one of you to be well settled here.”

  Elizabeth knew that if she were to be settled anywhere, it would not be at Netherfield, for Mr. Darcy’s residence was . . . She could not stifle a blush at the thought. “Jane, how are you? How is Longbourn?”

  “I am fine.” Jane sighed. “But to be honest, I have not spent much time on estate matters since the day when . . . ” Jane’s voice broke “ . . . when you did not come back.” Jane’s spirits had recovered because Elizabeth was recovering, but the horror of that day would never be forgotten.

  “I am truly sorry to have caused you such worry.”

  “Well, girls, I think we should not overstay our welcome. Goodbye, Lizzy,” said her mother brusquely as she collected Mary and left the room. Jane did not immediately leave, but moved to the edge of the bed next to Elizabeth and took her hand.

  “Goodbye, Lizzy. I will come again tomorrow.” She brushed a curl from Elizabeth’s face. “Please remember that I love you.”

  “How could I ever forget?”

  * * * * *

  AS SOON AS MRS. BENNET and her daughters had departed, Darcy climbed the stairs to Elizabeth’s room. He pulled out the ribbon, laced it through his fingers, and recalled his admission to the Bingleys of desiring the unexpected in his life. Certainly, Miss Elizabeth did not meet the expectations required of the mistress of Pemberley in terms of wealth and status. She would not receive the approval of either his family or society. He dismissed the thought.

  Darcy had never considered himself to be in love before, but he knew what it was to feel attraction. With Elizabeth, it was more. He was completely enchanted.

  * * * * *

  “COME IN,” ELIZABETH RESPONDED TO a familiar knock.

  Before entering the room, Darcy looked over at Anne, who favored him with a smile as he entered.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bennet, did you enjoy your visit with your family?” Darcy walked to the foot of her bed.

  “Yes, I did. I feel as if it has been so long since I have seen them, though I know it has been only a few days.”

  “May I ask if all is well at home?”

  “I am a little worried about my sister, Mary. She seems upset and is acting strangely around me.”

  “Well, I am certain she was afraid of losing you, as we all were. Even though she knows you are out of danger, perhaps she is still gaining confidence in these new feelings.”

  “Perhaps she is. Perhaps I am.”

  “Were you afraid, Miss Elizabeth? Do you remember falling?”

  “I do not recall anything about it. I am certain I dreamt while I was asleep, for I usually do. There is one thing that I do remember.” Their eyes locked. “I remember your voice. You must have always been speaking to me.”

  “I was afraid for you. Every moment that you were asleep, my apprehension grew that perhaps you would not wake up, and I could not bear the thought of losing . . . of anything happening to you.”

  Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken at this admission of concern. He cared for her much more than as an acquaintance, and she rejoiced in the thought.

  “Mr. Darcy, have you ever lost someone?”
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br />   Darcy turned away from her and glanced at Anne, who sat quietly in the corner.

  “Yes, both my parents. My mother died when my sister, Georgiana, was born, and my father passed away five years ago.”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. Please, forgive me. I should not have spoken.”

  “No, no. I was ten when my mother died. I had been under the impression that she was a strong woman, but such is the impression of a child. I have learned since that she was actually ill rather often, though with what seemed like trifling colds. Her lungs were affected, however, and she died shortly after Georgiana was born, her body weakened by the exertion. Georgiana never knew her.”

  Darcy glanced back at Elizabeth and saw her smile at him in a reassuring way. Her hands were clenched together in fists on her blanket. She rolled one hand over towards him and opened her fingers, as if she were inviting him to come near her.

  “She was in bed much of the time before Georgiana was born. I would ask my father if I could see her, but he would say that she was too ill. I wondered if I had done something to anger her. I used to slide down the staircase on a blanket, and she would become so angry. Sometimes I would make a great deal of noise about the house, and perhaps, because of that, she could not rest and get well. I thought I had caused her illness.”

  Darcy pulled a chair up next to Elizabeth’s bed. “I was very glad when Georgiana was born, so my mother would not be ill anymore, and we could return to the way we were, but she did not come out of her room. The nurse let me hold Georgiana.” He smiled to himself when he remembered holding his little sister’s tiny hands. “I was allowed to go to my mother only once after the birth. She asked me to climb up on the bed with her and lie down beside her, and then she took me in her arms and cried. She brushed my hair with her fingers, touched my face, and held my hands. I have never felt so much love. I woke up the next morning in my own bed. My father told me that, during the night, she had grown feverish, and even though they tried everything to break the fever, it was to no avail. She had died.”

  He paused, and then spoke unconsciously, “Elizabeth . . . I . . . ”

  She started at his use of her Christian name. He realized his mistake. “Forgive me.” He lowered his eyes. “I thought . . . I was so afraid . . . I thought when you became feverish that you were going to . . . ” He could not continue.

  She was quite affected by his reaction. “I understand, Mr. Darcy.”

  With a deep exhalation, he went on with his tale. “Somehow, I knew she was dying. I think a child almost always knows. After she died, I became very sullen and quiet and would spend hours with Georgiana, holding her hands and talking to her. At first, my father wanted to send Georgiana to be raised by my Aunt Catherine, but he knew I would never allow myself to be separated from her, and he was unwilling to let me go.”

  Darcy felt all of the pain of that time come back to him. “Instead, my father left. He would be gone for weeks at a time. I would ask our housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, when he would return, and she would just shake her head and ask me if I wanted something to eat. I was convinced I had hurt my mother and had now driven my father away. I never used that staircase again. I would go through the whole house and come down by the back stairs. It seemed that if I were to use that staircase, it would be an insult to my mother.”

  “My father was not at Pemberley when Georgiana began to walk or to talk, and when he was home, he would sit in his study for hours. Mrs. Reynolds kept us in the nursery and schoolroom. The house was so silent and forlorn. It was as if my mother had died all over again. On occasion, when I was home from school on holiday, my father would ask for me, and I would be brought by one of the servants to the drawing room.”

  “‘Come here, Fitzwilliam,’ he would say. I would walk to him, he would have me sit beside him on the sofa, and then we would silently stare into the fire. Sometimes, I would fall asleep there. That is one of my few recollections of spending time with my father. I think Mrs. Reynolds was angry with him for neglecting me.”

  “Many years later, I was with my uncle, my mother’s brother, when I received an express from my father’s steward telling me that he had died. I returned home immediately. I spoke with everyone who had been in the house the day he died, and I learned that he had passed away in his sleep. He had suffered no pain.”

  Darcy became silent for a time, and when he looked at Elizabeth, he realized that he was holding her hand. How had that happened? He made a weak effort to withdraw his hand, but she would not release it. “Please go on.”

  Why had he told her all of this? He scarcely spoke of his parents’ deaths, and he had not spoken of it with Georgiana in years. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Did the relief come in speaking of it after all this time or in speaking of it to her?

  A wave of sorrow flooded through him. “I so much regret having done anything to have hurt my parents.”

  Elizabeth took his hand in both of hers. “As a woman, I am very sensitive to the perils of childbirth, but I cannot imagine the courage your mother must have had, for she must have known that she would not live. It must have been horrible for your father to watch her die, knowing he was powerless to help her. She loved you very much. I know this from your own words. You must take comfort in knowing that your father loved your mother, so much so, that a part of him was overwhelmed when she died.”

  “But, Miss Elizabeth, why did he shun me? Why did he stay away?” This was the question that haunted him.

  She had a tear in her eye when she answered him, a tear for his sake and hers. “His heart was broken by her loss, and you suffered for it.” Elizabeth paused for a moment. “Were you ever close to him?”

  “No. He sent me off to school, and during the summers, he toured alone. Georgiana stayed at home.” Darcy paused to feel the warmth of her hand in his. Her skin was so soft. Had he touched her first or had she touched him? Right now, he knew it did not matter. Their hands were joined. His heart, first dulled by the memory of his parents, now rejoiced in Elizabeth.

  “You have lost a loved one, have you not, Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes, my father died three years ago.”

  “Please tell me about him.”

  She felt her eyes burn. She was willing to take his pain upon herself but felt awkward sharing her own. “There is little to say . . . ”

  “Please.” His smile reassured her.

  “I was always my father’s favorite. When I was younger, I would sit with him in a big chair in his library. I felt dwarfed by its size. I would ramble on to him about my childish affairs, and he would read to me from the books that were his constant companions. I loved the attention, and he learned to treat me as a friend. As I became older, my habits never varied, except he would talk with me instead of read to me, or we would read together.”

  Elizabeth felt his fingertips caress her hand. His touch was so delicate.

  “My father had not been ill at all. The family was in the drawing room one evening, and he was sitting next to Jane. Suddenly, he leaned to the side and fell into her lap. We were all horrified. Mama screamed for the servants, and she was immediately taken ill. Jane was crying and shaking his shoulders. I knelt next to him and listened for his breath. Thankfully, he was still alive, and a servant was sent for the apothecary.”

  Darcy saw tears escape her eyes as she spoke. He gripped her hand more tightly, sympathizing with her, understanding her, and knowing what was eventually to come.

  “He was a pitiful sight. He could not move his left arm. He could not walk. He could not even stand. He could barely speak. I stayed with him that night and all the next day. Mama demanded that I leave him, but I would not. Mr. Jones came often, but would not say whether my father would live or die. One evening, I fell asleep in the chair next to his bed, and he must have recovered somewhat during the night, because I heard his voice. ‘Lizzy,’ he said to me, ‘I am sorry that I did not take better care of you.’ I told him that he had taken good care of me, that I
knew that he loved me, and that his being my father was all that I wanted. I told him I would give my life for him. ‘Lizzy, you must keep your life, but thank you for your love.’” Elizabeth choked on a sob. “And then he was gone.”

  Elizabeth withdrew her hand from his to wipe her eyes. Darcy immediately felt the loss of its warmth.

  “My father loved me very much. I miss him terribly, and like you,” she said looking at him hopefully, “I have never felt such love and affection since. Jane is a great comfort to me, but I often feel so alone. At first, I was angry with my father, wondering why he left me, but I soon realized that he would never leave me of his own accord and that he was taken from me.”

  He offered her his hand, she placed hers in his, and he brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. Without releasing her hand, he stood, and looked intently into her eyes. She met his gaze with such a look of longing that he could not but be touched. Never, not since the last night his mother was alive, had he wanted to love and be loved as he did now, as he wanted to be by Elizabeth.

  Darcy released her hand.

  “Thank you for allowing me to talk to you of my parents. I rarely speak of them.” He smiled down on her. She looked both beautiful and vulnerable. He grieved for the hurt that she felt regarding the passing of her father.

  “I have never spoken to anyone about my father’s death. I am both pained and pleased by the experience. I thank you for your kind attention.” She hesitated for a moment, “ . . . and for comforting me.”

  “I . . . I think I should return to the others.

  As Darcy turned to leave, Elizabeth spoke. “I hope you will visit me again soon. I know your parents now, but I feel I know so little about you.”

  She seemed to be pleading with him. How could he refuse anything she wanted? “I would like that very much. Goodbye.”

  Elizabeth slid down in the bed and held her hands to her lips. “Goodbye, Mr. Darcy.”

  Chapter 5

  THERE WAS NOTHING PLEASANT ABOUT the carriage ride back to Longbourn as far as Jane was concerned, for she was forced to listen to her mother’s schemes for her.