Mr. Darcy's Obsession

by Abigail Reynolds

  All she had to do was look up at him with her fine eyes, an arch smile gracing her tempting lips, each movement of her body light and pleasing. She made him want to respond to her teasing. Even the air around her seemed to sparkle, to taste new and intriguing. He wanted to know what she would say next, what she would do. He felt alive again with her, all of his senses awake and alert, as if he could fly, if he chose. Leaving her was like smothering in thick, murky air, weighed down forever.

  He had no excuse this time. He simply could not stay away.

  Elizabeth seemed startled to see him. As well she might, he thought. He greeted her, his heart in his throat.

  “You are becoming quite a denizen of Moorsfield, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled up at him, and his heart beat faster.

  “It appears I am not the only one.”

  Elizabeth smoothed her kidskin gloves. “It is my habit to walk here most mornings. It is my hour of peace in the day.”

  “I hope, then, I am not disrupting you if I walk along with you.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him saucily. “So long as you do not continually ask me to read fairy tales and Robinson Crusoe aloud, insist on playing hide-and-seek through the house, or refuse to do your lessons, your company will be a pleasant change from my day.”

  He knew she had no idea how attractive the idea of playing anything with her was to him, but it was best to say nothing of that. “I believe I can oblige you, in that case.”

  They walked along in silence for some minutes until she asked after his aunt and cousin, and he reciprocated by asking whether all her sisters were still in Hertfordshire, not that he particularly cared what she said, as long as she said it to him.

  “My two youngest sisters are still with my mother in Meryton. Mary has gone to care for an aged cousin in Oxford, and declares herself well suited to the situation. Jane is married, of course.” Elizabeth fell silent, twirling her bonnet strings around her finger.

  He could tell something was troubling her, and it was not difficult to guess what it was. “I imagine you and she are regular correspondents.”

  “Yes, when she has the time.”

  “She is busy?”

  “Mr. Darcy, her husband is a milliner. She assists him as she can. He provides for my sister, but they are not well-to-do.” She crossed her arms as if she were cold and then added with the shadow of a smile, “You may now decamp from my disgraceful company, if you wish.”

  “Because your family has fallen on hard times?”

  She shot a look of surprise at him. “My family was beneath your notice even before my father’s death.”

  She thought he had not noticed her? “Not at all. You and your sister were the most charming young ladies in the neighbourhood. I doubt that has changed. Nor does it make you any less accomplished or amiable.”

  “I did not know you counted flattery among your skills, sir.” Her words were sharp, but her tone was warmer.

  He found his ability to reduce her distress to be a heady drug. “Your devotion to your sister when she was ill was touching, and I cannot help but wonder if you are concerned for her welfare now.”

  “Mr. Darcy, you do not hesitate to speak your mind!” She paused. “Yes, I am concerned for Jane’s welfare, but there is little I can do about it. So let us speak of pleasant matters instead.”

  There it was again, that arch look that he could not resist. It was fortunate that she would never know how much it affected him.

  ***

  The memories of her pleasant morning walk with Mr. Darcy stayed with Elizabeth through the rest of her otherwise unremarkable day. That afternoon, she found herself watching out the window in hopes that, despite all expectations to the contrary, he might come riding down Gracechurch Street, ready to share another hour of amiable conversation.

  Her cousin Matthew pulled at her sleeve impatiently. “Lizzy, we need your help.”

  With a last longing glance out the window, Elizabeth followed him to the schoolroom table where his sister, Margaret, was frowning over their new wooden puzzle. Elizabeth picked up a piece and turned it first one way, then the other. The coast of France, or perhaps Sweden? The children had completed the frame of their puzzle, but she could not see where this piece belonged. She searched through the other pieces on the table for one that might match the border.

  It was difficult to focus when her mind kept travelling back to Moorsfield and Mr. Darcy. He had been there yet again today, without even the pretence of an accidental meeting. She could come up with no explanation but that he enjoyed her company. They shared no common acquaintances apart from the Bingleys and did not move in the same circles. He was amused by her teasing, and even teased back on occasion, displaying a dry wit she had not realized he possessed.

  Perhaps Charlotte had been correct when she suggested that Mr. Darcy admired Elizabeth. A not completely uncomfortable sensation pressed at her chest with the thought. Mr. Darcy interested in her, Elizabeth Bennet? She could not credit it. He did not act as a suitor might—he did not wish to meet her aunt and uncle, as she had discovered when she invited him in the previous day. No doubt a simple tradesman and his wife were so far beneath him as to make such an introduction unpalatable.

  Elizabeth frowned, sorting through the puzzle pieces. Margaret held out a section to her. “Lizzy, where does this one go?”

  She peered at it, rubbing her finger along the smooth edge. “Look here, can you see those letters?”

  “L-i-s-b… Is the last one a C or an O? It is half cut off.”

  “What city would have those letters in it?”

  “Lisbon!” Matthew, two years younger than his sister, produced the name triumphantly.

  “And where is Lisbon?”

  Matthew screwed up his face. “Spain?”

  Margaret drew herself to her full height, looking down her nose at her younger brother. “No, Portugal, silly.”

  No, if Mr. Darcy had felt Jane was an unsuitable match for Mr. Bingley when they were still in possession of Longbourn, how much more unsuitable Elizabeth must be for him now that she was dependent upon the generosity of her uncle! But what then was his purpose in meeting her so frequently? He could not possibly imagine that she would agree to be his mistress. Then again, she had not forgotten how cruelly he had treated Mr. Wickham, though it seemed hard to reconcile the man she was coming to know and such behaviour. Perhaps there had been some sort of misunderstanding.

  Margaret crowed with satisfaction as she fit in a piece showing northern England. Mr. Darcy’s home would be somewhere on that piece, his much-admired Pemberley, but Elizabeth would never see it. Even if she ever had the opportunity to travel so far, she was not the sort of person he would invite to his home. No matter how much he might admire her, he had never suggested furthering their acquaintance in the society he frequented.

  Blinking hard, she turned her attention to the puzzle, trying to make out the pattern, but she could not see the whole of it yet, just a jumble of unrecognizable pieces.

  ***

  Darcy impatiently rapped on the carriage roof to signal the driver and was rewarded by the crack of a whip and the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones as the carriage jostled into motion, pulling away from White’s. He tossed his hat on the seat opposite him with a scowl.

  The day had started auspiciously, a sunny morning with a smiling Elizabeth in Moorsfield. Miss Bennet. He needed to remember to use that name in his mind, or sooner or later he would slip and call her by name to her face. Miss Bennet. Their conversation about Byron and Napoleon was almost as stimulating as Elizab… Miss Bennet’s fine eyes, eyes he would never tire of looking into. She had bade him a cheerful farewell at the end, more cheerful than he had felt. After all, once she left him, there would be no chance to see her again before the following morning. And he should not go to Moorsfield even then, lest it raise her expectations. He should wait a few days, if he could last that long.

  His club had served as a passable distraction at first. He had played card
s with Viscount St. James and Lord Sinclair until he tired of the latter’s coarse jokes, and then he engaged in a heated political discussion that resulted in a large bet between two of the members being recorded in the betting book as to the outcome of the next debate in the House of Lords. Darcy stood as witness to the bet and then joined in the traditional round of the finest brandy that followed such bets. He had just taken the first sip when Addington, with a slight sneer, told him the news about Bingley.

  What could Bingley have been thinking? After all the months of lobbying Darcy had done to get Bingley a membership at White’s, all the favours he had called in on his friend’s behalf, he had resigned his membership? No one ever resigned from White’s. Sometimes they might disappear for years at a time, but they did not resign. What crazy idea did Bingley have in his head this time?

  He would find out soon enough. He peered out the window to discover they were almost to Bingley’s townhouse. It was not as exclusive an area as Brook Street, but it was stylish nonetheless. The carriage drew to a halt. Darcy opened the side door without waiting for the driver’s assistance, strode up the steps to Bingley’s front door, and rapped on it sharply.

  He was taken aback when Bingley himself answered the door. Bingley’s servants always managed to take advantage of him, but this was ridiculous. Bingley stepped back hastily at the sight of Darcy. Something was clearly wrong.

  “Darcy. Do you want to come in?” Bingley sounded nervous, and well he might.

  “That was my general purpose in calling,” Darcy said. “Are you well? I have not heard from you since you left Pemberley.”

  Bingley ushered him into a sitting room. “I am well enough.”

  Normally Bingley bore the burden of conversation between them, but today he seemed to be waiting for something. Darcy tried again. “I was concerned for you. I was informed you resigned your membership at White’s.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yes, that! Bingley, whatever is the matter? You are not yourself.”

  Bingley clasped his hands together, and Darcy could see his knuckles were white. “No, now I am myself again. I am no longer trying to pass myself off as the gentleman I will never be.”

  Darcy felt like rolling his eyes, but controlled the impulse, lest it intimidate Bingley even more. “Bingley, would you please calm yourself and tell me what is troubling you?”

  Bingley stood stock still for a moment, and then he heaved a sigh and flopped down into a chair. “I am sorry. I have been avoiding you because I did not want to have this conversation.”

  Had his friend discovered his complicity in disguising Jane Bennet’s presence in London? “This sounds unpleasant. Have I offended you in some way?”

  “Not you, at least not in particular.” Bingley sprung to his feet again and paced over to the fireplace. “I am leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Leaving London. Leaving the ton. Leaving the Season. Leaving it all.”

  So this was nothing more than one of Bingley’s dramatic impulses. Darcy expected he could soothe him out of whatever was bothering him this time, just like always. “Is something wrong? Where are you going?”

  “Back to Scarborough. My father’s business is still there, and I plan to return to it.”

  Comprehension dawned in Darcy, along with concern. “A financial reversal? Is there any way in which I could assist? You know you only have to ask.”

  Bingley snorted. “My finances are as solid as ever. Money cannot buy what I want.”

  “And that is?” He waited with some dread for Bingley’s answer.

  “I think you know.” Bingley turned to face him, a resolute look on his face. “Have you ever looked around you, Darcy? Really looked?”

  “What do you mean?” Darcy helped himself to a chair, since it did not seem Bingley would invite him to sit.

  “Our lives. Whiled away at clubs with fortunes lost and won. All the drinking, gluttony, gambling, led by none other than Prinny and the finest of his set. Beau Brummell spending four hours tying his cravat. Then, to show off our privilege, slumming in the rookeries, watching cockfights, and worse, laughing at the ignorant peasants around us. Not to mention the brothels.”

  Darcy sighed. “Bingley, there are upright men as well.”

  “Upright men? You mean a man who has only a wife and one mistress, does not risk his entire fortune when he gambles, and drinks his night away, indulges in laudanum until he cannot think, but still he goes to church on Sundays and pays his debts of honour. This is commendable! These are what we are proud to call gentlemen. This is what I have spent my life striving to become. It makes me ill.” Bingley smacked his hand on the mantelpiece.

  “I cannot defend the behaviour of the young bucks and dandies, or even the Prince Regent. You know I detest the Carlton House set. But we are not all wastrels, and you know it.” Sometimes it took a great deal of patience to handle Bingley when he was in one of these rash moods.

  “It is true that you would prefer a book to a cockfight, and I have never known you to frequent a brothel. But you play at cards with the same men at White’s, while you look down on the honest people of Hertfordshire because they lack the breeding of those degenerates. I have heard you mock them with my sisters, and God help me, I listened to you. The ton is fashionable, and that is more important than honesty, virtue, good judgment, or loyalty. They were not fashionable, so they were beneath us.”

  If it were anyone but Bingley speaking, anyone but a dear old friend he had seen in other sudden passions over the years, Darcy would have taken offense. “It is the way of the world. No doubt there is more virtue in those people than you can find in the entirety of Carleton House, but what does it matter what we say among ourselves? It hurts no one.”

  “Did you never see the expression on Miss Bennet’s face when my sisters made their little insinuations? Oh, it hurts; you know it does. Do you know why her sister, Miss Elizabeth, took such a dislike to you? Jane told me. Because you said at an assembly that she was not handsome enough to tempt you. I remember your saying it. And she heard it, because you made no effort to ensure she did not. No, I cannot agree that it hurts no one. How would you feel if it were Georgiana who was treated so? Or if she had to marry a shopkeeper to keep you from the streets? Or if she were a kept woman or one of those unfortunate girls on the street? Would you still say that it hurts no one?”

  Darcy rose to his feet in an unreasoning fury. “That is quite enough,” he said, his voice sharp as a knife blade. “No, do not bother, I can see myself out.” He jammed his hat on his head and strode out before he said anything worse.

  “Wait!” Bingley raced after him into the hall. “I apologize. I should not have spoken of your sister so.”

  “No, you should not! Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Bingley grabbed his arm. “Darcy, I would not have us part like this. I am leaving, and God knows when I will ever see you again. Forgive me for allowing my tongue to run ahead of my judgment.”

  Slowly Darcy forced himself to relax his clenched fists, and then he removed his gloves one finger at a time. “It is forgotten.”

  Bingley’s bright smile showed itself for the first time since his arrival. “Thank you.” He seemed to remember his theme. “You know, better than anyone, how hard I have worked to be accepted among the ton, to make myself like them. But that was before I learned that Caroline and Louisa deceived me about Jane Bennet and faced the consequences of that. Now I feel as if my eyes are open after a long darkness.”

  “I am sorry it turned out badly for you.” It was as close as Darcy could come to apologizing for his own secret part in it.

  “For me?” Bingley gave a twisted little smile. “I rode to Meryton to see Jane, to see what her life is like, what she has to do each day while we attend our little soirees with people of good birth but despicable morals. Not one of them would sacrifice themselves to help their families. No, they are too busy drinking, gaming, and taking other men’s wives to their beds.
”

  “Bingley, I take your point. You need not keep repeating it.”

  “You thought Jane Bennet was beneath me. You said as much. But she is a better person than either of us.”

  Darcy would not have accepted those words from any other man, but Bingley was a close friend and clearly distraught. “I should not have said that. I thought only to protect you from a fortune hunter.”

  “She loved me!”

  “I cannot say. I did not observe any particular affection in her behaviour towards you.”

  “I should never have listened to you. I knew better, but I trusted your judgment over my own.” He closed his eyes as if he were in agony. “Darcy, do you have any idea what it is like to see the woman you love degraded and be helpless to stop it?”

  Darcy drew back as if he had been slapped. Bingley could have no idea of his meetings with Elizabeth, nor could he know that her situation had not troubled him overmuch. Then again, her situation was somewhat better. Were she in Jane’s shoes, he might feel differently. Even the thought of Elizabeth married to some old petticoat chaser was intolerable. He rested his forehead on the palm of his hand, suddenly exhausted. It was nonsense, what Bingley had said earlier, about Elizabeth disliking him. He knew better. “Bingley, I do not know what to say.”

  “Say that you understand why I must leave this den of iniquity. Why I must ignore my father’s wishes to make a gentleman of myself and instead make myself an honest man.”

  “I understand, even if I cannot agree. But I will be here when you change your mind and can see the good in society again.”

  Bingley reached out his hand and clasped Darcy’s. “You are a good man, Darcy, and a good friend.”

  If Bingley knew the secret he had kept from him, he might not call him a good friend, but with luck he would never discover it. “You will write, I hope. Remember that Pemberley is not so very far from Scarborough. You are always welcome there.”