Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4

by Jennifer Lang

  Perhaps it was just the dim light. Her eyes certainly seemed to be having trouble focusing. Their usual brilliance was dimmed and there was no spark of humour or mischief in them, as there had so often been when they had first met.

  She looked at him intently, as if trying to make him more distinct, and her eyes gradually became clear. Surely now she must recognise him. But when she spoke, she shattered his brief hope.

  ‘Do I know you, Sir?’ she asked.

  Her words cut him like a knife. If she had been rude to him, or angry with him, or even dismissive, he could have borne it, but this was ten times worse. It was as if she had never met him.

  Had he made so little impression on her? Had all his impassioned feelings meant so little to her that she could forget them in a few short months? Had she, indeed, had so many proposals that his own offer of marriage had meant nothing to her - quickly received and quickly forgotten?

  His tortured thoughts were broken into by the sound of the baby crying again.

  Instinctively, she turned away from him and reached out to the child, lifting it from the manger. Whose was it? Was it Elizabeth’s own child? Had she married? The thought made him grow cold. Had he lost her for ever? The pain hit him so fiercely that he staggered as if from a blow and it was an effort to remain upright. His eyes instinctively dropped to her hands, but she wore gloves and he could not tell if she was wearing a wedding ring.

  As she leant forward to soothe the babe, the action brought the crown of her head into the lantern light. He saw she had a large lump on her head, and her hair around it was matted with some thick substance.

  Blood.

  She was injured. He must help her. That thought took precedence over all others.

  He bent down to assist her.

  She looked at him and said, ‘You called me by name. Please, Sir, do you know who I am?’

  In a flash he realised that she had not just forgotten him, she had forgotten everything. She had sustained a head injury and her wound had caused her to lose her memory.

  The knowledge galvanised him. He saw her sway and knew that she was on the verge of collapse. His instincts reacted more quickly than his thoughts and he scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his strong, broad chest, just as she was cradling the infant against hers.

  ‘You are injured,’ he said. ‘I must get you into the warmth.’

  He strode out of the stable and carried her across the snowy stable yard, holding her tight and feeling that he never wanted to let her go. She nestled against him in a trusting manner that made his emotions rise to the surface and he felt a surge of protective love wash over him. This was Elizabeth, his dear, darling Elizabeth, the one woman he loved with all his heart and soul, and he would care for her, no matter what.

  Cradling Elizabeth in his arms, Mr Darcy strode quickly across the stable yard towards the house. She shivered and he held her more closely, feeling the soft pressure of her curves. If she had not been injured then the feel of her in his arms would have set his passion aflame, but in her present state it only made him more careful of her, holding her more tenderly and cherishing her as she nestled closer to him, rejoicing in her closeness.

  He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her perfume and the warm, sweet smell that was her own. She delighted his senses in every way. To hold her like this was like a dream come true. The snowy evening and the starlight made it magical, and if she had not been hurt, it would have been a moment of supreme happiness for him.

  But she was hurt, and he knew he must get her inside as quickly as possible.

  To go in through the front door would arouse too much interest and provoke too many questions, so he took her to the side door and soon reached the warm, golden light surrounding the house. It was spilling out of the study windows and made him glad he had not drawn the curtains. As it fell upon Elizabeth’s lovely face he allowed himself a moment to rejoice in the dark curve of lashes on her creamy cheek, and the delicate pink of her lips. But he continued to move as he looked at her, quickly reaching the door.

  He had to lower her to the ground, supporting her all the while, so that he could open the door, and then he supported her inside, closing the door behind them. They were soon in his study, where she sat down on the sofa with the baby in her arms, and then she leant against the back of the sofa so that she was almost reclining upon it.

  Once she was settled, he ran his hand through his hair and allowed himself a moment to think what to do. So far he had been acting on instinct. But now he had to give the matter careful thought. The presence of a young lady without a chaperon would occasion interest, even in a house such as Pemberley. There would be no malicious gossip among the servants, for they had all been chosen for their loyalty and discretion and most of them had been with the family for many years. As far as they were concerned, Mr Darcy could do no wrong, and if a young lady with a baby turned up one evening they would act as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Good servants were always unflappable, and Mr Darcy’s servants were all exceptional.

  What was she doing there? he wondered. How had she been injured? Had she been in a carriage accident? Or had she suffered a fall? Why was she alone? What was she doing with a baby? All these thoughts went through his head in an instant.

  He shook them away. The first thing to do was to call Mrs Reynolds and see that Elizabeth and the child were cared for. He went over to the fireplace. There were three bells to the left of it. One rang in the housekeeper’s room, one in the butler’s pantry and one in the servants’ hall. He rang the housekeeper’s bell and Mrs Reynolds soon appeared.

  ‘Mrs Reynolds, there has been an accident,’ he began.

  His gaze went to Elizabeth, who was reclining quietly on the sofa with the baby, evidently dazed.

  ‘Oh, the poor young lady,’ said Mrs Reynolds, going over to the sofa. ‘Why, it’s Miss Bennet!’ she said in astonishment. She turned to Mr Darcy. ‘This young lady visited Pemberley last spring with her aunt and uncle, when they were touring Derbyshire. I remember her distinctly.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned it at the time, I recall.’

  Mr Darcy remembered the circumstance. Mrs Reynolds had told him all about it. She kept a list of all the visitors to Pemberley, neatly inscribed in a visitors’ book, and she showed him this book each time he returned to Pemberley.

  He had often cursed the bad luck that had made him decide against returning early to Pemberley the previous spring, and to stick to his original plan of escorting his sister. If he had met Elizabeth at Pemberley, perhaps there might have been some chance of cordial relations being restored. But, as it was, the chance had been missed.

  And yet here she was again, and this time he was determined not to miss his chance, once Elizabeth was well again. But that might not be for some time. She had slumped against the back of the sofa and seemed barely conscious.

  ‘The young lady said she knew you, Sir. She met you in Hertfordshire, I think she said. I did not know she was to attend the house party.’

  Mr Darcy was relieved she had made that assumption. It would make matters so much simpler now that a plausible reason had been found for Elizabeth’s presence. As to the true reason, that would have to wait until Elizabeth had recovered sufficiently to communicate it.

  ‘But the babe . . .’ continued Mrs Reynolds, puzzled.

  ‘It is useless to speculate. All we know is that Miss Bennet has been in some kind of accident. She appears to have lost her memory and we will know nothing for certain until she recovers, so let us not waste time with conjecture. We must attend to more immediate matters, for Miss Bennet needs our help.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Mrs Reynolds, becoming once more the efficient housekeeper. ‘Several of the guest rooms have been made up in readiness for the house party. The Gold Room would be suitable. But the child needs care.’ If Mrs Reynolds privately wondered why Miss Elizabeth Bennet was wandering the grounds of Pemberley with a baby in her arms, she was too good a serva
nt to remark upon it. ‘If I might make a suggestion, Sir, Mrs Groom has just had a baby and I am sure she will be willing to care for the babe.’

  The idea was a welcome one. Sam, the head groom, was married and his wife had recently had a baby. Mr Darcy had never been more grateful for the fact that his father had provided excellent quarters for married servants over the stables. Mrs Groom was close to hand and, being a kind and motherly woman, would be willing to help.

  ‘I will ring for a footman to carry Miss Bennet upstairs,’ said Mrs Reynolds.

  ‘Miss Bennet must be attended to without delay,’ said Mr Darcy. He felt the fewer people who saw Miss Elizabeth in a dazed state with a babe, the better. ‘I will carry her there myself.’

  As a well-trained servant, Mrs Reynolds showed no surprise, but simply said, ‘Very good, Sir.’

  Mr Darcy went over to the sofa and carefully lifted Elizabeth into his arms. Again he was flooded with warm and protective feelings, and he had to resist the urge to kiss her on the forehead. Despite her tangled hair she was still lovely to him. Every line of her face, every strand of hair, every enchanting feature was precious.

  He settled her more carefully in his arms. Mrs Reynolds opened the door, then she picked up the baby. Mr Darcy carried Elizabeth upstairs, with Mrs Reynolds following. Elizabeth stirred once, but only to settle herself even more trustingly in his arms. It made him feel proud to have her trust; not with a false pride, the kind of pride that had caused him to be so rude to her when proposing, but with a wholesome emotion that took pleasure in helping his beloved Elizabeth. It flooded his body with warmth and love.

  Mr Darcy made his way to the Gold Room, where he lay Elizabeth gently on the bed. She opened her eyes and looked around her as if she were only dimly noticing her surroundings.

  His heart went out to her. Her beautiful eyes were clouded and her dark curls, usually so glossy, were tangled and dull. Her cloak was ripped and her gown was stained.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked in a confused tone of voice. ‘Who am I? Who are you?’

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ he said reassuringly. ‘You are safe, and with friends. You have had an accident and suffered a nasty blow to the head but the physician will soon be here and we will make you well again.’

  She nodded, but without any real comprehension, and sank back on the pillows.

  It hurt him to see her so vulnerable and so confused, but he gave thanks that he had gone out to the stables, for if she had not been discovered until morning it would have been too late. It gave him the greatest sense of relief to be able to care for her, and to help her in her hour of need. For no matter what angry words had passed between them the previous spring, he still loved her with all his heart.

  ‘Rest now,’ he said gently. ‘Both you and the child will be well cared for. I must leave you, but Mrs Reynolds will tend to all your needs.’

  He was tempted again to kiss her on her forehead, even if it was just to brush his lips against her skin, but he knew he must resist the temptation, for Mrs Reynolds was still in the room.

  Turning to her he said, ‘I will send for the physician at once. Miss Bennet must be seen without delay. The physician must examine the child, too.’

  ‘I agree, Sir. And afterwards I will take the babe to Mrs Groom.’

  ‘Once you have done so, Mrs Reynolds, I expect you to tend Miss Bennet yourself. She is a guest in this house and she must have the best care we can give her.’

  ‘Very good, Sir.’

  He had done all he could. Now it was up to Mrs Reynolds to care for her. The only man who could visit her now was Mr Bannister, the physician.

  He glanced around the room to make sure that everything was in good order and then he returned to his study. Despite the tortured circumstances, he felt lighter of heart than he had done in months. He was reunited with his beloved Elizabeth and just to see her again was a joy. He vowed to protect her, no matter what.

  But he could not help wondering about the chain of events that had brought her to Pemberley on this cold December evening, and to wonder what had caused her to lay a baby down in a manger before collapsing onto the clean and fragrant straw.

  Chapter One

  Longbourn, three days earlier . . .

  Elizabeth Bennet was strolling through the little wilderness at Longbourn. The day was fine and there was a weak sun casting its glow over the last of the russet leaves as they fell from the trees. Beside her strolled her sister, Jane.

  ‘It is not that I mind, Lizzy. It is over a year since Mr Bingley left Netherfield and have long since stopped thinking about him,’ said Jane, her feet crunching on the leaves.

  Here Elizabeth arched her eyebrows and looked disbelievingly at her sister.

  Jane gave her an apologetic look.

  ‘Very well, I still think about him,’ admitted Jane. ‘But I have long since grown accustomed to the idea that he had no serious intentions towards me.’ She saw that Elizabeth was about to speak and said, ‘No, Lizzy, please do not say anything. I know you think it was Caroline who separated us, and perhaps you are right, but no good will come of dwelling on the matter. Mr Bingley left the neighbourhood a long time ago and I have accepted it. But all the same, I wish our mother would not keep talking about it. I am convinced she does not know what pain she gives me, or else I am sure she could not keep mentioning it.’

  ‘Dearest Jane,’ said Elizabeth, giving her sister’s hand an affectionate squeeze. ‘I am so sorry we have a foolish Mama but I fear it is impossible to silence her. The last few weeks have brought it all back to her mind. First there was the anniversary of the Netherfield Ball. Then there was the anniversary of Mr Bingley’s departure, and, following it, the anniversary of Caroline’s letter which said he did not intend to return. Now that the anniversaries are receding I think she should improve. But I am sorry to say that, for the time being, you will have to bear it.’

  ‘I know. And I will try. I know that Mama has had a lot to bear, particularly with Lydia . . .’

  She fell silent. Their younger sister’s fate was unknown to them. Lydia had run away with George Wickham the previous summer, but despite the best efforts of their father and their Uncle Gardiner, Lydia had not been found. They had had no word from her and they did not know if she were alive or dead. The situation had shocked them all, although Mary had been the least disappointed because it gave her an opportunity to moralise. Whenever Lydia’s name was mentioned, she had some sermon to quote or some comment on the loss of virtue in a woman to make.

  Mrs Bennet had been quite ill, taking to her bed and grieving for the loss of her favourite daughter with nervous tears. She had torn one handkerchief after another to shreds as she wondered what had become of dear, dear Lydia. Kitty had been tearful too, mourning the loss of her chief confidante, and being aware that she could have prevented things if she had only told her family what Lydia was planning. Mr Bennet had been stunned, taking to his library and sitting there in silent contemplation as he considered what his own lax attitude had brought about. Elizabeth and Jane had done their best to console their family, but Mrs Bennet was more nervous than ever, and Mr Bennet now had grey hair.

  ‘Indeed, Mama has been much worse since Lydia went missing,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘And today she is even more peevish than usual, being afflicted with a cold. But even so, I wish you did not have to bear her recriminations.’

  They stopped and sat down on a stone seat which had been warmed by the autumn sun.

  ‘I have less to contend with than you,’ said Jane. ‘Mama never stops berating you for refusing Mr Collins. Not a day goes by when she does not remind you that you could be living at Rosings parsonage, mixing with the daughter and grand-daughter of an earl. The last few weeks have seen the anniversary of Mr Collins’s proposal, as well as the anniversary of the Netherfield ball and Mr Bingley’s departure.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Mama has not let me forget it. She has no memory for important things, but she remembers all too easily the things we
would rather have her forget. She spent all day reminding me that I would have solved the problem of the entail if I had married Mr Collins – that is, when she was not bemoaning Mr Bingley’s departure,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘She told me over and over again that, as Mr Collins’s wife, I would have inherited Longbourn when Papa died. But nothing could have induced me to marry such a pompous fool and I do not regret my decision. I would have been miserable, and although I love my family and would do a great deal for them, I do not feel myself called upon to sacrifice any chance of happiness in life by marrying a man I do not love.’

  ‘Even though you have not seen the man you do love since last Easter?’

  ‘Oh, Jane. I was such a fool,’ burst our Elizabeth in impassioned speech. ‘I blamed him for so much that was not his fault and I never had a chance to apologise. As soon as I read his letter I saw things differently, but it would have been unseemly for me to reply – it would have ruined my reputation to write to a man if I were not engaged to him. He left the neighbourhood shortly afterwards, so that I never had a chance to tell him in person how much my feelings had changed. In all aspects but one, I forgive him his behaviour. It is no wonder he hated George Wickham, after Mr Wickham tried to elope with his sister. But I can never forgive him for wounding you.’

  Elizabeth had never intended to tell Jane about the part Mr Darcy had played in separating Jane and Mr Bingley, but over the months little things had slipped out. At last, being unable to keep a secret from her sister, Elizabeth had told her everything. Jane had been shocked and disbelieving at first. She was so good herself that she could not imagine anyone else stooping to such deceit. But when she had finally accepted that Mr Darcy had indeed played a part in events, and that Caroline Bingley had also played a larger role than she expected, then she had been deeply wounded. Her friend had turned against her; Mr Darcy had turned against her; and all so that she would not marry her beloved Mr Bingley. But Jane’s goodness had not allowed her to brood on matters and she had quickly forgiven them.