Mr. Darcy's Obsession

by Abigail Reynolds

  With an arch look, she said, “Perhaps it was the power of springtime, or of early roses in bloom.”

  She had saved the moment neatly, and he should be grateful for that much. “The power of new beginnings, perhaps,” he said. He tied his horse to a tree and held his arm out to her. She hesitated for a moment and then with a certain air of decision, she wrapped her hand inside his elbow.

  He was astonished to see she was not wearing gloves. Astonished and delighted, since it meant he could feel her touch more through the layers of fabric, and he could hold her unprotected flesh against him. He had always loved to watch her hands, her tapering fingers always in motion, never still, as other women’s so often were, but he rarely had opportunities to see them freely, unhidden by her gloves. As pretty as her kidskin gloves were—he could still see the pattern of embroidery on them, as he remembered so many details about her—they could not compare to the true beauty of her hands. He had seen them only when she played the pianoforte and when she removed her gloves to partake of refreshments, but he had studied them on those brief occasions, admiring the smooth curves of her skin, marked only by a tiny, crescent-shaped scar on the back of her forefinger. He had wondered, even back at Netherfield, what had caused that scar. Now he could see her hand closer than ever before, and he was flooded with a desire to kiss that small bit of puckered skin that only highlighted the perfection that was Elizabeth. But his sense of propriety won out, that and a fear of frightening her away. A moment too late he realized he should not be staring.

  “What, Mr. Darcy, are you such a stranger to the sight of a woman’s hands that it creates such amazement? Or perhaps it is shock and dismay at being found in the company of such an inelegant and immodest lady?” she asked tartly.

  Only Elizabeth would have spoken to him so. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have blushed and pretended nothing had happened, but not Elizabeth, and he loved her all the more for it. He thought for a moment before responding gravely, “Perhaps I am struck dumb by the loveliness of a particular hand.”

  She laughed as if he had made a particularly good joke. “Oh, well done, sir; a fine recovery. As for a lady’s protestations of immodesty, it is wisest to pretend you did not hear them, is it not?”

  “Elizabeth, it would bring me nothing but delight if you never again wore gloves in my presence.” He could tell by her sudden interest in the grass that he had gone too far. Her sparkling eyes had seduced him once again into saying what he should not. She had not reprimanded him for calling her by name, though, and surely that must be a good sign. But he must not press his luck too far. With a quick movement he stripped off his own gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. “There, Miss Bennet, now we are equals, and you may think as ill of me as you choose.”

  It must have been the right thing to do, because she looked up at him, really looked at him, as if she could see all the way to his soul. “You need not fear, sir; I shall tell no one of the gross impropriety of your behaviour. Your reputation will remain unsullied.”

  He would have laughed, if he were not held captive by the depth of her dark eyes. “You are all kindness, Miss Bennet. I am glad to know I can rely on your discretion.”

  Her face lit up with amusement at his words, sending a flush of happiness up his spine. If he did not break her gaze, he would not be able to stop himself from kissing her. Somehow he managed to tear his gaze away, but he felt the loss so keenly that, with great daring, he placed his own bare hand on top of hers.

  She gave a smothered gasp, but said nothing, which was just as well, since he could not have possibly heard anything over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. Elizabeth’s warm skin against his palm was like an electric sensation, and he was elated at her lack of protest. Beyond elated, especially when their fingers, as if under their own power, intertwined.

  He could not misunderstand this signal. Flooded with exultation and anticipation that, after all they had been through, she would someday be his, he almost blurted out the words of a proposal. For once, good sense stopped him, or perhaps it was the memory of last time he spoke those words to her without thinking. No, he would do it properly this time. There would be no mistake as to his intentions, but nothing, not even those dark memories, could dim the euphoria he felt.

  Although she said nothing, the pressure of her fingers clasping his was all the reassurance and happiness he needed. It was a moment too precious for words, in any case. He wondered what she was thinking. This touch must be more intimate than she would have received from a gentleman before. Her cheeks were flushed, and he had no doubt his were the same.

  Elizabeth wished the moment would never end, but she knew it was unfair to raise Darcy’s hopes any further. Still, finding the strength to say what she must was a Herculean labour, especially when she was so exquisitely aware of his fingers clasping hers. Now was the moment for her resolution to be executed, though, while her courage was high.

  “Mr. Darcy, as much as I would not wish this interlude to end, there is something I must tell you, something you may not be happy to hear.”

  His face grew pale, and his grip on her hand tightened. “Are you already promised to someone else?”

  His question was so unexpected that she might have laughed, but for the gravity of the situation. “No, it is nothing of that sort. I travel to Hertfordshire in the morning, and I do not know when, or if, I shall return.”

  His pallor turned to a look of concern. “Is someone ill?”

  “No, but there is dreadful news, and I cannot conceal it from you.” She took a deep breath. “My youngest sister has compromised herself in an unmistakable manner, one which will have lasting consequences. She will take my place at my uncle’s house, in hopes that gossip will not follow. But Meryton is a small town, and secrecy there is impossible.”

  “I am grieved—shocked,” Darcy replied in a low voice. “But what of the man responsible for her state? Is it certain he will not do the proper thing?”

  Tears welled to her eyes as she imagined what he must think of her. “I do not know the particulars, save that he denies knowledge of her. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him. She is lost forever.”

  “What has been done, what has been attempted, to preserve her honour?”

  With a hollow feeling deep inside, Elizabeth withdrew her hand from his arm. The least she could do to preserve the family’s honour was avoid causing any further embarrassment. “Nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked upon? Who could defend her honour? My uncle, with five children of his own? My brother, Mr. Browning, who has never held a weapon in his life? It is in every way horrible.”

  Darcy’s lips thinned. “What is his name?”

  Horror washed through her. She had not thought he might take her words as a reproach. Even if she could never be his wife, she could not bear it if he were hurt or killed. “No! You must promise me you will not! Promise me!”

  “Do not fear for me. Though I would be willing, there are more powerful tools at my disposal than a pistol. Is he in the militia? A word with his commanding officer—”

  She shook her head, guilty for the relief that he would be safe. “I do not know his name or his situation.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, although the day was warm.

  His voice softened. “Come, you are not well. Allow me to escort you to your uncle’s house.”

  She knew what that meant. He must have finally recognized the impossibility of their situation. “Very well,” she said quietly.

  To her surprise, he held out his arm, a challenging look on his face. She hesitated. Nothing good could come from more intimacy. They were destined to part when they reached Gracechurch Street, but if a few minutes more was all she could have of him, she would make the most of it. Deliberately she took his arm and was rewarded by a smile on his lips and a promise in his eyes. His warm hand once again found hers as he drew her closer to his side.

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sp; She put all thought of the future from her mind and concentrated on the present, on the strength of the tall figure beside her, the fine weave of his coat sleeve beneath her fingers, the scent of new leather and horses that accompanied him, the deep timbre of his voice as he asked if there was anything he could do for her present relief. She hardly knew what she said in response, so caught up was she in the moment.

  Too soon they were at her uncle’s door. Darcy was slow to release her hand, slow enough that Elizabeth feared the neighbours would notice the novel sight of an elegant gentleman’s attentions to her. It did not matter what they saw; soon enough she would be far from Cheapside and their gossip.

  Darcy’s fingers tightened on hers as he bowed over her hand. “I wish you a pleasant journey, Miss Bennet.”

  “I thank you, Mr. Darcy, and… may God bless you.” She held his eyes for one long moment and then hurried up the stairs and into the house.

  Darcy did not move. He could not tear himself from the sight of the door that had closed behind Elizabeth. He knew she would not come out again, but he wished to be as near to her as he could. He could not stand there all day, so he turned on his heel and strode back the way they had come, until he reached the edge of Moorsfield, where Charlie stood guard over his horse.

  The boy grinned impishly as Darcy paid him for his labours. “Thank ye, sir. Always happy to be of service.”

  Darcy nodded and took the reins, but as he was about to mount, the boy’s words echoed in his ears. He turned back decisively towards Charlie. “Would you be interested, then, if I had further employment for you, a position that would require some weeks of your time, as well as your discretion?”

  Charlie’s face lit up. “Of course. What is it ye want me to do?”

  “I will explain it to you at my house. Can you come there yet today?”

  The boy cast a practised look at the sun. “You can count on me, sir.”

  Chapter 9

  Charlie looked more out of place than ever in Darcy’s study, making Darcy wonder briefly about the wisdom of his idea. “You seem to be a clever lad. Do you learn quickly?”

  “Very quickly, sir,” the boy said stoutly.

  “Good, for you must learn a great deal about millinery.”

  His face took on a comical look of surprise. “Millinery, sir?”

  “Yes, millinery,” Darcy said dryly. “I have no doubts about your spying skill, but this requires specialized knowledge.”

  Charlie looked smug. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “Very good.” Darcy rang the bell. He had told Mary to expect his summons, so she appeared promptly. “Mary, I have a special task I wish you to undertake. This young man needs to learn about millinery. Can you take him in hand and teach him?”

  “Millinery, sir?” Her tone was an unconscious echo of Charlie’s. “Sir, I don’t know much about it.”

  “No, but you are far more expert than I, or any other man, I doubt not. Take him around to shops and teach him which ribbons are fine and which are not. Can you do that?” Darcy noticed Mary eyeing the boy’s rags. “Find him some respectable clothes first, and clean him up.”

  Mary looked at him as if he had lost his mind, but she curtsied and said, “Very well, sir.”

  “You will need to make some purchases, I imagine, lest the shop owners wonder at your presence.” He rummaged in his pocket and held out several shillings. She took the coins gingerly, with a sidelong glance at the boy. “I do not want to hear other members of the household speaking of this matter, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” She seemed even more confused.

  “Thank you, Mary.” He waved them out of the room. Settling back in his familiar leather chair, he tapped his fingers against his lips thoughtfully.

  ***

  Mrs. Bennet greeted her newly arrived daughter from her sickbed with expressions of delight Elizabeth had not expected. Apparently she had grown in her mother’s favour during her long absence, or perhaps it was simply the novelty of a change.

  She kissed her mother’s cheek, feeling the heat of a low fever in it, yet grateful it was no worse. She settled herself in the hard-backed chair beside the bed, anticipating a long litany of complaints regarding her mother’s health and nerves, but to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mrs. Bennet asked first how the townsfolk had greeted her on her arrival.

  Elizabeth brushed a speck of road dust from her skirt. “I saw only Mr. Daniels at the posting inn, and he enquired after you quite civilly.”

  “That is the best we may hope for, I suppose. Lord, Lizzy, how did this calamity come upon us?”

  “Do you speak of my unfortunate sister?”

  Mrs. Bennet waved her handkerchief weakly. “What else? Your uncle’s clerk was about to offer for Kitty, I am sure of it, but now he will have nothing to do with her. Why did my dear Lydia have to be so foolish? I have told her a thousand times that a man will not buy the cow when he gets the milk for free. I am sure she could have landed a fine husband had she kept her wits about her.”

  Elizabeth blushed at her mother’s crudity. “Lydia said no one here knew of her condition.”

  “No one knows, it is true, but there are always rumours, and Lieutenant Ralston, whom we all thought so charming, has boasted of his conquest. Apparently he had no intent to wed her; he thought her portion too small. If only they had married, how lovely it would have been!”

  “There is no point in thinking of what might have been,” Elizabeth said briskly. “Perhaps it will all be forgotten in a few months.”

  “Do not tell me not to think on it! If only you had married Mr. Collins as I told you, none of this would have happened. We would still be at Longbourn, and Lydia with us.”

  It might be true, but poverty and disgrace were a preferable outcome. Elizabeth reached down and plumped her mother’s pillow. She wondered how she would bear living in these crowded quarters with the constant litany from her mother.

  The conversation continued for nearly half an hour. Afterwards, Elizabeth realized her mother had not once mentioned her nerves. It was almost as if she were a different person from the woman who had been mistress of Longbourn. Her understanding was no deeper than it ever was, and her silliness could not be denied, but there was some change, a practicality Elizabeth had never recognized in her mother before. She wondered whether her nervous complaints had ceased because there was no one to attend to them, or perhaps because she no longer lived with a man who alternately mocked and ignored her. Having contemplated marriage to Mr. Griggs, a man she did not love, had taught Elizabeth to consider her parents’ marriage in a new light.

  ***

  The following morning dawned with mist softening the rough edges of Meryton and dampness masking the sour odor of too many people living in too small a space. Elizabeth had slept restlessly, sharing a bed with her mother, whose tossings, turnings, and mutterings did not bespeak a refreshing sleep. Still, her mother’s body was no longer hot to the touch, and her breathing sounded less raspy, so Elizabeth determined it would be safe for her to leave briefly to seek out Jane.

  It was already late enough that many villagers were astir, and several stopped to greet Elizabeth, slowing her progress. Eventually she made her way to Mr. Browning’s shop, where she had often taken her custom in her younger, more carefree days, but then Jane had been by her side. Now, as she pushed the shop door open, causing a small bell to tinkle, she found Jane behind the counter, sorting through a bin of coloured threads.

  Jane’s face lit up at the sight of her sister, and she hurried to embrace Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s eyes burned with tears of happiness to be with her beloved sister again. Jane’s slim figure was unrecognizable with pregnancy, but nothing could disguise her beauty.

  “Oh, Lizzy, I am so glad you are returned!” Jane drew out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I have missed you so. Mama has been frantic with worry over Lydia.” She glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure no one had overheard.

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sp; Elizabeth gripped Jane’s hands. “I am sorry you have been left with so many burdens, but now I am here to share them. And you? Are you well?”

  “I have no complaints. I am a little weary of swollen hands and feet, and I tire more easily than I would like, but it will be over soon enough. It will be so much easier, now that you are here. I will not fear my confinement so much, knowing you will be there.”

  Elizabeth wondered who would have helped Jane through her delivery otherwise. Kitty, perhaps. Their mother might do more harm than good.

  The bell jingled again as an older townswoman entered the shop. Jane immediately turned her attention to the new customer, patiently showing her the buttons and trims she requested. Elizabeth, uncomfortable seeing Jane in this role, wandered about the shop as if examining the notions. The shop was cleaner and tidier than she recalled, with more light, despite the cloudy skies outside. A ginger cat sat in a corner, licking herself daintily. When Elizabeth drew near, the cat skittered away to crouch under a table and became preoccupied with some phantom cat-interest in the corner, her ears back and tail lashing. Her antics entertained Elizabeth until the customer departed.

  When Elizabeth could once again claim her sister’s attention, she ran her fingertip along the edge of a satin ribbon displayed on a side table. “Jane, Mr. Browning knew what he was about when he asked you to marry him. I recognize your touch here. The shop is more inviting, and the ribbon was never this fine before.”

  Jane, one hand on her lower back, settled onto a stool beside the counter. “Thank you, but it is not all my doing. I arrange the wares, but Mr. Browning is responsible for the choice of goods. He has expanded the notions, as you see, and we carry more fabrics and hats, but that is because we have a new seamstress and have invested in more merchandise. We have been fortunate.”

  There was a thump from the back corner, and the cat reappeared, proudly carrying a squirming mouse in her mouth.