‘No,’ she said, with rather more vehemence than she intended.
‘No, they are not staying at the inn, or no, you do not wish me to invite them to Pemberley?’ he asked.
Elizabeth did not feel equal to so many questions. She put her hand to her head.
‘If you will excuse me, I am not feeling well and I would like to return to my room.’
He was immediately concerned, for she did indeed look ill.
‘Of course,’ he said with remorse. ‘I have overtired you with all my questions. Mr Bannister said you must be kept quiet and of course you must retire to your room.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with relief. ‘But first I must write the note. Would you assist me in moving to the writing desk?’
He gave her his arm and helped her to rise. His actions were gentle and she had not expected such tenderness from him. He had truly changed since she saw him at Rosings. She had not expected he would be capable of such gentleness.
She wrote the note and he promised to have it delivered immediately.
‘I will send it with the coachman and your maid can return in the coach. It will be at her disposal so that she can return the babe to the inn with all due dispatch, and then she can return here to care for you. I am sure you would like your own servant with you at this time.’
She nodded, grateful for his suggestion. If Sally attended her then she would be able to find out what had been happening at the inn, and what had become of George, for she was anxious to know how matters stood there.
Mr Darcy rang for Mrs Reynolds, who escorted Elizabeth slowly to her room.
‘I am afraid I am taking you away from your duties,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Pray, do not trouble yourself about that, Miss. The servants at Pemberley all know their business and do not need me to watch over them all the time,’ said Mrs Reynolds. ‘I am glad to be of service.’
Once in her room, Elizabeth lay on the sofa at the foot of the bed. There was a fire burning brightly in the grate and the room had a calm yet cheerful air.
‘Just you rest quietly, Miss. Ring the bell if there is anything you need,’ said Mrs Reynolds.
‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth.
She was glad when Mrs Reynolds left the room, for she wanted some time to herself. To begin with she rested quietly, until her headache began to subside. Then she began to think of everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours.
At last her thoughts rested on the moment when Mr Darcy had found her in the stable. She remembered being cradled in his arms, and how right it had felt. He had held so close, and so tenderly, that she could hardly believe he was the same man who had been her worst enemy; the man who had insulted her and her family. And the man who had deeply hurt her darling sister by persuading Mr Bingley to remain in town instead of returning to Netherfield Park.
But he had apologised for the letter and it was clear he had changed. He had taken her words to heart and had become a better man. He was no longer so proud and arrogant. Now he had been properly humbled. He had seen himself in a truer light and taken steps to change.
As she recalled the events of the night before, a flood of warmth and hope pervaded her. She could almost feel his arms around her as she remembered the way he had carried her into the house. She remembered the scent of him, strong and masculine with a hint of musk and spice. She remembered looking up and seeing a faint shadow on his chin, and a lock of hair falling across his forehead, drawing attention to the firm sculpting of his features and the depth of his dark brown eyes. She remembered the feeling of absolute safety and belonging that had washed over her as she had nestled against his chest. The only thing that troubled her was that she could not be sure if it had really happened that way, or if the warmth and tenderness she remembered had been a hallucination brought about by her blow to the head.
In the drawing-room, Mr Darcy was pacing up and down. He was very puzzled. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not telling him everything, that was obvious, and he wondered what it was she was concealing. There was clearly some mystery but he could not press her until she was fully recovered. He had already made her ill with his questioning – he felt a pang of guilt as he remembered the pallor of her cheeks and her air of fatigue – and he did not want to make her ill again by asking questions that could wait.
The one thing that could not wait was communication with her maid. He sent his coachman with the note and in due course the maid arrived at Pemberley. She took charge of the child, then departed, but not before promising to return to care for Miss Elizabeth.
Once again, he was left alone in the drawing-room with his thoughts. He had so many questions and no satisfactory answers. Why was Miss Elizabeth Bennet in Derbyshire? Was she travelling with Mr and Mrs Gardiner? Did the baby belong to them? What had befallen her the previous evening? How had she come to be in the Pemberley stables? And could he persuade her to remain at Pemberley long enough to meet his sister, and to attend the Pemberley Christmas house party?
He hoped so, with all his heart, for if she did then he would have a chance to make up for his arrogance at Rosings and show her he had taken her words to heart. He could show her that he had changed, and he might be fortunate enough to gain her friendship.
He might even be fortunate enough to win her love.
Chapter Six
After the perturbation of the morning, Elizabeth fell into a light doze. When she awoke, she found that Sally was in the room with her, mending her torn gown by the fire. She smiled. She had been very well cared for at Pemberley but it did her good to see such a well-known face.
But then she became anxious.
‘The baby . . .’
Sally put down her sewing and went over to Elizabeth.
‘It’s good to see you awake, Miss. Never you fear about the babe. He’s been returned to Miss Lydia. I took him there myself. Mr Darcy gave me the use of his carriage, Miss. A very thoughtful gentleman I’m sure. Miss Lydia and the baby are both well.’
‘But are they cared for? Is Miss Lydia’s servant refreshed? Is she capable? Will she take care of Lydia and my nephew?’
‘Yes, Miss, she’s very capable, and she loves babies, so you see Miss Lydia and the babe are being taken care of. Miss Lydia’s feeling stronger hour by hour. Her spirit’s returning, Miss, and she’s much happier knowing you’re near, though of course she’s sorry to hear about your accident.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at this, for if Lydia had started caring about other people then she was changed indeed.
‘Did she say so?’ enquired Elizabeth.
‘Well, no, Miss, not in so many words,’ said Sally, looking uncomfortable. ‘But I am sure she’s sorry all the same.’
‘She must have been very worried last night when I did not return.’
Elizabeth had explained the reasons for this in her note.
‘She was to start with, but then Mr Wickham came back and said as how you’d taken the baby to Pemberley, so then she was calmer. And now all’s right again.’
‘Is it? Is Mr Wickham calmer, too, or is he still determined to come to Pemberley?’
‘I’m sure I can’t say, Miss. He was sleeping when I left.’
‘At this late hour?’ asked Elizabeth.
Although she knew Wickham had been drunk the previous evening, she had worried he would be awake and causing trouble before now.
‘He went out again last night, Miss, and didn’t come back ’til the early hours, drunk as a lord. He won’t wake in a hurry.’
She was relieved. It seemed she would have some respite from his trouble-making, at least.
‘Was there any mail for me? Any letter from my aunt?’ she asked.
‘No, Miss. I’m sorry but there wasn’t anything. I can go to the inn tomorrow if you like and see if anything’s come then.’
‘Yes, Sally, do. My aunt must be away, otherwise I am sure she would have replied by now.’
Elizabeth pushed herself into an upright positi
on on the sofa.
‘Shall I ring for some tea?’ asked Sally. ‘You look like you could do with some.’
‘No, thank you, Sally, I will go down and ring for tea in the drawing-room.’
Sally helped her to refresh herself and rearrange her hair, tidying it gently so as not to exacerbate Elizabeth’s wound. Then, assisted by Sally, Elizabeth went downstairs.
Melgrave, the butler, saw her crossing the hall and he asked her if she would take tea in the drawing-room. A glance at the long-case clock in the hall showed her that it was five minutes to three, the traditional time for afternoon tea. She thanked him and said she would.
Sally assisted her into the drawing-room.
‘Thank you, Sally,’ said Elizabeth, once she was settled on the sofa. ‘I will not need your help until I go upstairs again.’
‘Very good, Miss. I’ll finish the sewing. You took a nasty tumble and the button’s come off your pelisse, as well as a tear in your petticoat, and the hem of your muslin’s coming down.’
Sally had scarcely left the room when Mr Darcy entered.
‘Melgrave told me you were here. I will join you for tea if I may.’
‘Please do,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Will Lady Sarah be joining us?’
‘No. She is elderly and will be taking tea in her room.’
Elizabeth was a little nervous, wondering if he were going to ask her awkward questions, but it was soon clear he had no intention of distressing her or interrogating her. Instead he spoke of less distressing things.
‘I was sorry to miss you when you visited Pemberley in the summer with your aunt and uncle,’ he said. ‘I was on my way back to Pemberley from London at the time. I nearly rode on ahead of my party in order to attend to some business with my steward, but in the end I decided to stay with my sister and escort her for the rest of the journey.’
‘I was not sorry,’ said Elizabeth. She saw him stiffen and she hastily explained. ‘I would have been awkward and embarrassed if you had found me in your home. When my aunt suggested we visit Pemberley I asked the maid at the inn if you were in residence. She said that you were away and were not expected until the following day. I only came to Pemberley on the understanding that you were absent.’
‘And now? Do you still feel awkward and embarrassed?’ he asked softly.
‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘But less so now that we are on better terms.’
‘Yes, we are, are we not? And I am glad of it. I have long been wishing to apologise for my behaviour and to show you that your reproofs have been attended to. I am only thankful that I have had that chance.’
‘Speak not of your own behaviour. I am only too ashamed of mine,’ said Elizabeth ruefully.
‘We will not argue over who has the greater share of the blame,’ he said with a smile. ‘Perhaps we can agree that we are both older and wiser.’
‘Yes, I think we can,’ she said.
‘I would deem it a great favour if you would remain at Pemberley for the house party. It is a small affair but my sister will be here tomorrow and I was hoping you would allow me to introduce her to you.’
Elizabeth was both surprised and flattered that he wanted her to know his sister and she accepted with pleasure.
‘Mr Bingley is also attending the house party.’
There was another awkward silence. Mr Bingley had been the unwitting cause of much of the trouble between them, since he had been in love with Elizabeth’s sister Jane, but he had been persuaded to abandon his house in Jane’s neighbourhood and return to London by none other than Mr Darcy.
‘I have always liked Mr Bingley,’ said Elizabeth.
‘And he you,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘You will find him much changed. He had a sad bereavement last spring. His father died and Mr Bingley returned at once to his home in Yorkshire. I discovered this when I went to see him as soon as I returned to London from Rosings Park. I had been hoping to speak to him on a matter of some urgency, telling him that I felt he should not neglect his rented home at Netherfield and that he should return to the neighbourhood for the summer, but he had already left London. I have not liked to trouble him about the matter since.’
‘No!’ said Elizabeth. ‘I can see that would be impossible. If he has been in mourning . . .’
‘He has,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘I am sure that nothing else could have prevented him from returning to Netherfield. I know his own inclination had long suggested it, and with the weight of my own feelings, I am convinced that he would have returned in the early summer if not for his bereavement.’
Elizabeth sat silently for a moment, digesting this information. So Mr Darcy had gone to see Mr Bingley on leaving Rosings. He had gone with the express intention of telling Mr Bingley to return to Netherfield and to Jane.
‘So you no longer disapprove . . ?’
Mr Darcy said emphatically, ‘No, I do not. It was impertinent of me to meddle in my friend’s affairs and I am sorry for it.’ His eyes softened and his voice became more gentle. ‘Truly sorry for it,’ he said, looking into her eyes.
Elizabeth felt herself melt. He had removed his embargo on Mr Bingley marrying Jane, and a voice whispered to her silently, Is this for me? Has he done this for me?
Was it possible that Jane was to be made happy? And was it possible that she herself was to find love? Mr Darcy had done a great deal to make up for his earlier behaviour. He had withdrawn his objections to Jane and Mr Bingley’s happiness and he had taken her reproofs to heart, correcting his pride and his arrogance. He had done so much that Elizabeth felt she must do her share, for he had not been the only person who was in the wrong during that intense and heated argument.
‘I am sorry for my behaviour at Rosings, too,’ she said. ‘I charged you with a cruelty you had never committed towards your childhood friend.’
‘There is nothing to apologise for,’ he said, with overwhelming tenderness. ‘Wickham deceived you with lies. You were not in a position to know the truth. But let us not think of the past. Let us think of the future.’
She was just about to speak when there was the sound of a loud commotion coming from the hall, then running footsteps, and then George Wickham burst into the room!
Mr Darcy looked astonished, then his eyebrows drew down and his mouth set in a grim line.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Mr Darcy demanded.
‘The meaning of this, Darcy, is that I demand reparation,’ said Wickham, shaking off the footman who had tried to prevent him bursting into the room unannounced.
‘I am sorry, Sir,’ said the footman. ‘I tried to stop him but he ran right past me.’
‘Never mind. It is not your fault,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘You may go.’
The footman bowed and withdrew, and Mr Darcy looked murderous. He was glowering and his hands balled into fists.
‘I do not know what you are doing here, but you are not welcome at Pemberley,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I suggest you leave before I do something I regret.
‘Believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here,’ said Wickham, shrugging his shoulders back into his coat, for the footman’s grasp had almost pulled it off. ‘But I’m not leaving until I have reparation.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Mr Darcy. ‘That is the second time you have used that word. You are not making any sense. You demand reparation for what?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Elizabeth.
Her strength suddenly ebbed and she sank down on to the sofa. Everything had been going so well but now it seemed her worst nightmare was about to come true and she did not have the strength to face it. Mr Darcy was going to find out the full frailty of her family. She was not fit for such emotional turmoil. Her head was starting to throb and the loud voices did not help.
Wickham gathered himself and said, ‘I demand reparation from Miss Elizabeth Bennet for her kidnapping of my son.’
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth felt worse and worse. She put her hand to her head. Mr Darcy
noticed at once and knelt swiftly beside her, saying, ‘You are unwell.’
‘I do feel a little queer,’ she admitted.
Mr Wickham started to speak but Mr Darcy glared at him.
‘I will deal with you later,’ he said. ‘Go and wait for me in the library.’
Mr Wickham started to protest but Mr Darcy turned such a towering look on him that Mr Wickham wilted
‘Not another word, George,’ said Mr Darcy threateningly. ‘Can you not see that Miss Bennet is ill?’
‘I am not surprised,’ sneered Wickham.
‘You will wait for me in the library, George,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘I will know the meaning of this ridiculous accusation just as soon as I have attended to Miss Bennet.’
‘I am afraid it is not ridiculous,’ said Elizabeth in a small voice as the throbbing in her head grew worse. ‘The child is indeed his son.’
Mr Darcy looked from one to the other of them.
‘I can see there is more to tell but I will not hear it from your mouth,’ he said to Wickham. ‘Go. Wait for me in the library.’
‘I will not —’ began Wickham.
‘Go of your own volition or I will have my footmen march you there,’ said Mr Darcy threateningly.
In his anger he was a dreadful sight. Wickham had known him all his life, and he knew when Mr Darcy must not be crossed. This was one such moment.
Wickham gave in with a bad grace and shuffled out of the room.
‘You are very pale. You have overtired yourself and you need to rest,’ said Mr Darcy tenderly to Elizabeth. ‘I will ring for Mrs Reynolds and she can conduct you to your room.’
‘No,’ said Elizabeth resolutely. She took her hand from her head and sat up with a straight back, squaring her shoulders courageously. ‘I must do what I should have done at once. I must tell you the truth. I sought to conceal it because it is not my secret alone and because – yes, let me confess it – because I did not want you to be confirmed in your bad opinion of my family. Though they are far from perfect, they are my family and I love them and will protect them whenever I can. But it can no longer be concealed. The baby you found me with last night is my nephew. He is the child of Mr Wickham, as he claimed, and of my poor sister Lydia.’
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4 Page 24
