by J Dawn King
Elizabeth had never planned on marriage, as she could not imagine a man who would want to attach himself to her. For years her mother had maintained the same opinion. No man longed for a wife with a trained mind. None would desire a young woman with strong opinions, who would rather be outdoors than inside overseeing the household, and who forgot her bonnet more often than remembered it.
Her father had been equally as pragmatic. From her infancy she had been told she was his answer to not having a son. Training in estate management, record keeping, and personal involvement in tenant issues and care had been part of Elizabeth’s curriculum at her father’s knee. She was never meant to leave Longbourn permanently.
Even she had planned accordingly. Travel with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner to new and exciting places around the southern portion of England had given her much to appreciate and draw upon during long winter days where she was stuck in the house. For the past six years, she had spent one month each year with her London family. Until now, it had been enough.
Huffing out a breath, Elizabeth was displeased with her discontent. When she closed her eyes and imagined the Peaks or the Lake District, it was Mr. Darcy and an unknown young woman by her side who filled her dreams; most likely Miss Darcy. How can this be? She had made no commitment. She had made no decision.
Sighing again, she slid up in the chair until she was again erect. Unfolding the papers, she began to read. She rolled her eyes, smiled, and then she cried. For the first time since the delivery of his first letter in the glen, she knew clearly what she had to do.
Moving the tray and table away from herself, she sat at the small desk under the curtain-covered window, pulled out a sheet of paper, made certain the pen was sharpened, opened the bottle of ink, and started writing.
Dear Mr. Darcy.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was in a predicament he had never faced before. The maid had tapped at his door about an hour after she had delivered his note to his beloved. In the servant’s hands was the first letter he had ever received from an unmarried woman he admired. While one part of him wanted to rip open the paper and devour every word after taking it from her, another part longed to savor and dream of what the missive might contain. Was it a love letter?
He laughed. Elizabeth had repaid him in a most wonderful way. Was she sitting on the other side of the wall wondering whether or not he had read it yet? Was she as nervous at his reaction to her words as he was after he wrote? Did she fret as much as he did?
Sitting up, he unfolded the parchment, disappointed when it was only a single sheet.
Mr. Darcy,
You are a clever and determined man so I will gladly accept your challenge. Simply put, I refuse to be conquered and I do not believe surrender is in my vocabulary.
The ways of war are not the path to a woman’s heart—at least not this woman. With that said, since it was you who utilized military metaphors, I will do the same. Listed below are my terms of engagement.
Are you filled with curiosity, sir? Do you wonder whether or not my mind is devious or cruel while I ponder how I would like to proceed? Do you think like many of your gender that you are inherently more intelligent by virtue of your sex? Ha! In truth, I cannot begin to think it of you.
You, sir, have left no doubt of your determination to conclude this course to your favour. It is now left to me to decide whether or not your decision will be to my favour as well. Thus, my faithful opponent, my only request is that you remain apart from me for thirty days. I can see your mouth drop open and your brows rise. Does this mean I am coming to know you better? No. In actuality, I do believe it would be my response should you have asked the same if I were sitting in your chair at this moment. Are you now smiling and shaking your head at my impertinence? I can see this as well.
On my honour, I promise to carefully consider all that has passed between us. Though having in my possession your four letters is highly improper, pray know that I will cherish them and review each word with an open mind and heart.
E. Bennet
Darcy shook his head as he relaxed back into the hard-backed chair, completely unaware of its discomfort. Thirty days! Impossible! Or, was it?
A smirk settled on his face as he pulled another sheet of paper in front of him and began numbering down the side, from one to thirty. He snickered, then he laughed. Poor girl hadn’t a chance.
Early the next morning, Darcy handed Elizabeth into his carriage where an elderly woman was already seated. Having been introduced to Mrs. Park the evening prior, he was confident the two ladies would have an agreeable trip to London. He and the colonel would be following behind on their mounts.
When Elizabeth had arrived downstairs after breaking her fast in her chambers, she met him with a raised brow and a smile. He had wanted to rub his hands together as he smelled victory within his reach. Thirty days and she would agree to marry him. She had to. He refused to accept anything else.
“You have to admit your courtship will be exceedingly inconvenient if you cannot see her. What are you planning to do? How will you pass the time?”
Darcy grinned at his cousin. He had told him that once they left Elizabeth at Gracechurch Street with her family, he would not be able to see her for a month.
Richard had been floored. He knew the habits of women. They were not above using tricks to create suspense in a man they were trying to attract. It was a mean art—a paltry manoeuvre. He refused to believe that of Miss Elizabeth, with her dignity and attention to decorum. Nonetheless, he also knew there was not a lady on the planet who held Darcy’s interest like the young woman in the carriage.
“I will manage.” Though Darcy tried to be stoic, he failed.
“All I can say is: I believe Napoleon would be easier to outmanoeuvre than Miss Elizabeth.” The colonel snorted. “Women, while lovely to keep company with, can be tricky. I have seen one woman unsettle a battalion. They look like peaceful creatures and oft times they act like one as well. But they have depths to their character we men cannot seem to comprehend.”
“You have given this much thought, then?”
“All men on the battlefield do,” was the colonel’s bland reply. “Sergeant O’Rourke told me he fell in love with his wife, Maggie, after knowing her one week. Seven days, mind you. She was a pretty young thing with a lively personality. Until he married, he was the most confident of men, a born leader with a fearlessness I, and most others in my regiment, admired. Within days after they wed, he seemed to change into a meek and mild-mannered, almost civilized character who became practically useless during an engagement.” It was said with a sneer. “I tell you, Darcy, his mind was gone. Years later he has yet to regain it. When he first returns to the barracks after being gone from home for a while, his Maggie is, according to him, a veritable shrew. After he has been gone from her for a time, she becomes perfection and he cannot wait to be with her again.”
“Hmmm.” Darcy smiled. “A dilemma, for sure.”
“My thinking as well, cousin.” Richard scoffed. “The sergeant is controlled by that woman and, for myself, I would not have it happen to me. Shameful is what it is.”
“You think so?” Darcy knew not to laugh out loud. His cousin was wearing his pistol. “And the sergeant, does he have complaints with his situation?”
“No! And that is the odd thing. He says he would not change his life for the world. How can this be?”
Darcy laughed so loud, he feared the ladies could hear it over the sounds of the carriage. It was now obvious his cousin had never been in love.
“Your aunt led my father on the same merry chase as the sergeant’s wife leads him.”
“Lady Catherine?”
“NO!” Darcy was appalled at the thought. “Wrong aunt.”
Chagrin covered the colonel’s face. “Oh.”
“My mother seemed to find keen delight in teasing father. While a man of lean understanding might have concluded her actions were a torment to the Master of Pemberley, the reality was quite different.” Thin
king back on the memories filled him with pleasure. “I recall quite clearly how, after my mother had been impertinent, father would stroke her cheek with the tips of his fingers and nudge her towards him for a passionate kiss. Though it was embarrassing to see, I remembered thinking how it appeared her legs were melting as she had to latch onto him for support. Her eyes would be as soft as a summer fawn’s as she whispered words of love to him. Often, I thought she deliberately baited him solely to stir him from his quiet.”
“Humph!” Again, Richard scoffed. “Seems like a bit too much trouble to me.”
“No, cousin, not trouble. Tenderness, trusted companionship, and devotion.”
“And you want this from Miss Elizabeth?”
“As God is my witness, I do.”
“Well, Darce, I believe the young lady has impertinence down to an art. Now you need to practise that move with the tips of your fingers and you will win her in no time.”
“You are such a romantic, Rich.”
“I know.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy rolled his eyes and kicked his horse so he could ride next to the carriage. Elizabeth was a far better view than his ignorant cousin.
Twenty-four hours had passed since Elizabeth had left London for Longbourn. The day prior, upon her arrival at Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s house, it had been decided by both her and Jane that they were needed at home. Darcy’s heart had ached with each minute since their parting. He hoped Elizabeth had been equally as affected.
That morning he had requested the presence of his housekeeper and butler in his study. Within minutes, Darcy heard their approaching footsteps on the marble flooring outside the room. At their entrance, he surprised them both with the topic of discussion— his siege.
In front of him was stacked, in order, thirty carefully folded pieces of paper, each dated from that morning and up to the next twenty-nine.
As soon as they were seated, he began.
“Every day for the next month, one of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s former soldiers, Mr. Palmer, will present himself at Darcy House at sun-up. He will then be presented with a letter and possibly a gift or instructions which I will set on the front hall table before his arrival. Under these circumstances, he will be acting on behalf of the future happiness of the Darcy family. Any consideration, any assistance, should he ask, needs to be provided him.”
He watched as Mrs. Kendall squirmed excitedly in her seat. His butler, Mr. Kendall, the woman’s husband, remained calm except for the slight bouncing of his right knee. Since Darcy had taken responsibility for the household, he had never given them reason to believe such a monumental change was in the offing—until now.
“Though gossip is my abhorrence, I care not who knows I have finally discovered a woman so precious, so rare that I am pursuing her relentlessly. It behooves me to have my full staff attentive in even the smallest way so my courtship will be a success.”
“Oh, Master Darcy.” Mrs. Kendall was not a woman easily flustered. “We shall freshen the mistress’s chambers and clean Darcy House from the bottom to the top. Never fear, sir. Your staff will not let you down.”
“I am appreciative.”
Mr. Kendall cleared his throat.
“Yes?”
“Sir, might I send John Footman along with the colonel’s friend so there would be help should there be a need? A shame it would be if a lame horse, an attack by highwaymen, or sickness should prevent or delay your token from arriving into your lady’s hands.”
Darcy smiled at the thought. Yes, it was a good idea. “Have him readied as Mr. Palmer will be here presently.”
“What think you of this?” The old soldier enquired of the footman. Both men were riding two of the best from Darcy’s London stables. They sat equally tall in the saddles.
The footman shrugged. “If the master wants us to stop and pick a handful of daisies in Meryton before delivering his letter to his gal, who are we to argue.”
It was the soldier’s turn to shrug. “I guess so.”
Jane Bennet could not believe her good fortune. After months of absence, Mr. Charles Bingley was returned to Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire. His leaving had caused distress to her soul, so his arrival was to be desired if she was to have any hope of future happiness.
“Oh, Lizzy, do you believe he cares?”
“He is in love with you, Jane, I have no doubt.”
In their long talk the night before, Elizabeth had chosen to withhold the involvement of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley’s sisters in separating the young couple. No purpose would be served in her finding out. There was no kinder, sweeter young woman than her eldest sister, and she suspected Mr. Bingley of being equally amiable.
Jane squealed and then blushed for having done so.
Realisation hit Elizabeth. Thinking upon Mr. Darcy caused the same reaction in her. She too wanted to shout out loud and leap for the joy in her heart. She felt ridiculous. It had been just under a week since she had proclaimed him the last gentleman on earth she would ever be prevailed upon to marry. She had a fickle heart.
“A rider is coming.” Kitty Bennet, having little to occupy her time, happened to be gazing out the drawing room window. The Bennet ladies had been in relaxed conversation until her announcement. Frantic panic ensued. “No, there are two men.”
Jane’s blush deepened and Elizabeth recognized her hope for it being Mr. Bingley. At the mention of another gentleman, Elizabeth’s heart began racing. Surely, it is not him? Mr. Darcy was honourable and she could not imagine a circumstance whereupon he would go back on his word. Thirty days had been determined by her and thirty days it would be.
“Two? Are they officers?” Lydia jumped up from where she had been seated to knock her next eldest sister away from the view. “Oh, never mind. One is an old man. He must be all of thirty. The other is in livery, so neither are for us.”
With that, both men were dismissed by the two youngest as being unworthy of notice. Both Jane and Elizabeth were equally disappointed, though Elizabeth secretly so. Their middle sister, Mary, still had her nose buried in a book and seemed uncaring one way or the other.
A few minutes later, Hill, their housekeeper, delivered a petite bouquet of freshly picked daisies tied in a light blue ribbon to Elizabeth. The six flowers lay on top of a folded piece of paper.
Before she could enquire as to the sender, her mother spoke.
“Lizzy, what is this about? You give that to Jane, for I am sure it is from Mr. Bingley. Do it now!”
“I beg your pardon, Mistress,” the housekeeper spoke. “The two gentlemen wot brought the token insisted it be delivered to Miss Elizabeth. I am to return to them and let them know I have done as they requested before they leave.” The housekeeper winked at her favourite of the Bennet daughters before turning to walk back to the front door.
“Would you see they have something to eat and drink?” Elizabeth whispered to the housekeeper while she was still close enough to hear.
“I will.”
“Who would send you a token?” Mrs. Bennet could not conceive of any eligible gentlemen desiring her second daughter over her first. “What does it say? What does the letter say? Who is it from? Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” she screeched.
“Mama, pray calm yourself so I can open the missive and find out.”
“Do so at once or give it to me and I shall do so.”
The handwriting was now as familiar to her as her own. Unlike the other letters, this one was remarkably thin. Had he run out of love’s expressions? Had he been present, she would have reprimanded him for going against her demands by contacting her. Though, had he? She required him to be removed from her for the month and, in fact, he was not present at Longbourn. What a sly man.
She was secretly pleased and could not keep from smiling.
Her mother’s voice rose into a whine of spectacular proportions, again pleading for the contents of the missive.
Elizabeth needed to take a quick peek before she would make it public. She would consign it
to the fire if need be, though Elizabeth felt her heart would break a little should she need to do so. Breaking the seal, she dropped her eyes to the note. Relief! It was not a love letter. It was…well, she did not know. As she opened the note fully, her father responded to his wife’s demands and entered the room.
“What have we here?” His quick survey showed all eyes were on Elizabeth. He walked towards her, his hand extended for the paper to be given over. She did so without qualms. Though not a perfect father, he was most generally reasonable. He would not embarrass her.
“Papa, Lizzy has a secret lover.” Kitty danced in a circle as the words came out in a sing-song rhythm.
“I want a secret lover!” Lydia demanded into the fray.
“Oh, stuff and nonsense.” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed. “It is impossible for Lizzy to have a man attached to her. Who would pursue her? After all, that stuffy Mr. Darcy proclaimed her as only ‘tolerable’ and ‘not handsome enough’.”
He had done so all those months ago. My, how things have changed. Elizabeth wanted to smirk, though she did not.
“Well, my bride, I do not believe it to be nonsense as she has a posy and a note from someone, does she not?” He turned back to his daughter. “Do you have something you would like to share with me in private, my Lizzy?”
Panic filled her chest. Rarely had her father put her in this position, and she glanced at him to see if she could determine his motive. Nothing!
“No, Papa. I have nothing to hide or to explain.”
“Then would you mind giving succor to your mother’s nerves and my patience by allowing her to see it?”
“Not at all.” She stood and handed the paper to the woman responsible for her birth. How could they be related?
