All's Fair in Love and War and Death

by Anne Morris

  In the middle part of the afternoon, Jane decided to close her eyes and rest. Elizabeth went downstairs, thinking only of a solitary walk to stretch her legs in the Netherfield gardens, but she encountered Mr. Darcy in the vestibule while she was waiting for a maid to fetch her pelisse and bonnet.

  “Miss Bennet! Are you going somewhere?”

  “I was going outside to seek exercise,” Elizabeth answered.

  “That is very like you,” Mr. Darcy said gently. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” she replied, happy to have his company. The maid appeared with her items. Mr. Darcy did not bother to send for his outerwear but followed her out into the gardens. “I have never seen the Netherfield gardens before,” Elizabeth explained as they walked, “I should be happy to have you show them to me.”

  “I am always happy to be of service to you, Elizabeth,” Darcy replied warmly.

  They walked a little without speaking; they could share silences together. It was Mr. Darcy who broke the silence, however, “yours is an interesting little corner of the country, if I may borrow Miss Bingley’s phrasing.”

  “Yes, Meryton and the surrounding countryside has been my whole world,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh.

  “You indicated that beyond visits to your aunt and uncle in London, you have not traveled much?” Mr. Darcy remarked.

  “No,” she replied.

  Darcy commented then, “and in country society, there is not much change, I suppose?”

  “But people do alter, Mr. Darcy, their characters change. People adopt foibles which we can laugh at. Life is not stagnant in the country, though it does not vary so much as it does in Town.”

  “There is a smaller circle of people your own age to meet as well,” he ventured.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “One hopes that the young women, who are of like age, might be good friends, but it does not always happen that that is true.”

  “I was…thinking of something entirely else,” Mr. Darcy stopped his words there and did not elaborate.

  Elizabeth thought that, perhaps, he was talking about marriage and finding an eligible partner in life. One was not always so lucky to find a neighbor of like age and interest to marry. It was why people so often went to London during the Season or took the opportunity to visit family elsewhere, as it gave them the chance to meet other young people outside their neighborhood.

  “Is the country around Pemberley similar?” she asked.

  “There is a village, Lambton, which is larger than Meryton,” Darcy remarked with a note of amusement in his voice. “But it is similar in characteristics to Meryton, being a small country town full of shops, and with the same sorts of people, who have the same foibles which amuse their neighbors.”

  Elizabeth was going to ask a question about Lambton’s merits when they heard voices behind them and turned to see Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst moving quickly up the path behind them.

  “Mr. Darcy!” called Miss Bingley. “We did not know you were to come outside. You should have told us!” The two of them waited for the ladies. “We could have gone out together,” scolded Miss Bingley as she came up and took Mr. Darcy’s free arm, leaving Mrs. Hurst awkwardly placed.

  “The path does not admit four across,” cried the married lady.

  “We should probably go two-by-two,” said Mr. Darcy.

  “Yes, let’s,” agreed Miss Bingley who tightened her hold on his arm.

  “I will go ahead, with Miss Bennet,” declared Mr. Darcy who straightened his arm to loosen the grip which Miss Bingley had on it. Caroline reluctantly let go. The two sisters followed along behind them keeping up a constant discourse as they trailed along the pathways, allowing no conversation between Darcy and Elizabeth until they were back inside where Elizabeth ran up to Jane.

  ***

  Jane did not feel well enough to come downstairs, though she was able to sit in her room with a tray. Elizabeth ate with her. But after seeing Jane in bed with a book, Elizabeth went to join the others. Only Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were playing cards that evening. Mrs. Hurst sat next to her husband and brother and watched them play.

  Mr. Darcy was busy writing a letter, and though Miss Bingley appeared to be pursuing the same task, she eventually declared herself too preoccupied with the present to be able to relate to a friend about her days past in Hertfordshire. She went to sit (as she always did) in proximity to Mr. Darcy. Caroline Bingley took to calling out to him every few minutes to ask how he was doing with his letter, whether Darcy was finished, and how could he possibly write such a long letter?

  Elizabeth was determined not to distract Mr. Darcy if he had a letter to write. She found a book, but could not help glancing up at Miss Bingley whenever the lady interrupted Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth found she could not pay attention to the book on her lap. She thought about Caroline’s attempts to get him to notice her because they were more distracting than flirtatious—they were more liable to anger the man than to please him.

  When Miss Bingley could not fathom that he was still at his letter, she asked Mr. Darcy why such a thing as a business letter took him so long; he answered that he was writing to his sister. Miss Bingley then had to walk over and sit right next to him. Caroline proceeded to list many topics for him to write to his sister on her behalf. Mr. Darcy stopped his transcription to note that his letter was already long enough and that Miss Bingley could choose to write Georgiana herself.

  “I shall see her again in January,” declared Miss Bingley, who still stared with open admiration at Mr. Darcy. “Do you always write such long, charming letters to Georgiana, Mr. Darcy?”

  “They are generally long,” he said looking at her finally. “Though I cannot say whether they are charming. That is the job of the recipient. As I have never written to you, you shall have to ask Georgiana if they are charming.” Mr. Darcy looked over at Elizabeth with a twinkle in his eyes before he returned to his letter.

  “I am sure they are crafted with skill and elegance,” Miss Bingley tried, who could not miss an opportunity to praise Mr. Darcy. “Charles could learn from you; I am sure. He is a careless writer; I swear he leaves out half the words he intends!”

  “I thank you for that compliment, Caroline,” announced Mr. Bingley, who looked over at his sister. His face was slightly red. “That is a nice piece of sisterly affection.”

  “Oh, but Charles! You know you could do better with your correspondence!” cried his sister. “Take a page from Mr. Darcy,” Caroline reached a hand out to almost, but not quite, touch the man in question’s hand.

  “Consider, Miss Bingley, that you have a brother with whom to correspond,” remarked Elizabeth. “I have no brother—though I now have a stepbrother—and Mr. Darcy has no brother. I should be grateful to be blessed with such a brother as Mr. Bingley who takes the time to write to you.” She said it gently, but Miss Bingley blushed at the admonishment and withdrew her hand from Mr. Darcy’s direction.

  “I enjoy my correspondence with my sisters whenever we are apart,” continued Elizabeth. “It is an important part of being a family—making sure we stay connected.”

  “That is why I attempt such long letters to my sister,” summarized Mr. Darcy. “Even though we are apart, it never feels as though we truly are distant.”

  Either Caroline Bingley was suitably chastised or had nothing else to say, but she was silent for many moments until she watched Mr. Darcy sand his work, fold it, and put it aside.

  “Why don’t you play for us, Miss Bingley,” asked Mr. Darcy as he looked at her eager face.

  “I shall,” she agreed, getting up and going over to the pianoforte. She played a long piece; Miss Bingley was sufficiently talented. Mr. Darcy got up to from his table and sat on a nearby couch, waving for Elizabeth to sit next to him; she obliged. Mrs. Hurst walked over to sing with her sister. Their voices harmonized well, and when they were done, Miss Bingley continued to play for the company.

  “I wish that more of my sisters had learn
ed to play that we might sing and play together,” remarked Elizabeth.

  “Not all of you learned to play?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  “I am afraid that my mother was not sufficiently motivated to keep us on-task if we did not wish to obtain the accomplishment,” she explained. “If there were those among us who did not wish to seek to learn, we were allowed to fall behind. It is only my sister Mary and me who play. I must say that Mrs. Bennet, my stepmother, has taken my youngest sisters’ education to-hand and is filling in some of the gaps.”

  After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by playing a lively Scotch air. Mr. Darcy stood and bowed to Elizabeth.

  “Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?” His smile made her glow, and Elizabeth was sure there was something, some happiness which was going to spill right out of her, though it must surely show on her face.

  “Do you not think such a thing would be a little risqué for a country parlor?” she teased, but Elizabeth held out her hand to Mr. Darcy as he helped her to her feet. Miss Bingley looked alarmed as they clasped hands and began to dance. Their obvious enjoyment in the dance—and each other—nettled her.

  Elizabeth lost herself in the movement and the moment. Dancing in Mr. Darcy’s arms, she forgot where she was, that she had an audience, or that Jane was lying upstairs still recovering from her cold. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she had eyes only for her partner.

  Mr. Bingley stopped playing cards to watch his friend, despite his brother-in-law’s calls to return to the game. When the music ended, Bingley called, “Bravo!” out to them, “very well done!” Mr. Hurst gave a grudging grunt of approval before he tapped the table.

  “That was unexpected,” said Miss Bingley, who straightened her music sheets. “Very…uncouth.”

  “Very unique, as I found to my delight,” declared Mr. Darcy. “Miss Bennet proved to be a bright spot during some rather dull evenings when we were together in London.” He looked at Elizabeth for confirmation. Her cheeks were flushed from their spirited dancing.

  “I am rather thirsty,” said Elizabeth, who did not elaborate more about their various London evenings.

  “Should you like tea?” asked Miss Bingley who stood, ready to move to the tea set.

  “I believe I should like something cooler—if that is possible?” asked Elizabeth. She thought she felt warm for reasons besides the dancing. Mr. Darcy’s touch had made her feel flushed and flustered, though she also had not wished to let go of his hands when the music ended.

  “I will ring,” said their hostess.

  A languor settled over the party as they waited for a footman or maid to answer that summons. Mr. Darcy paced a little, and Elizabeth watched him, wondering what was going through his mind. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sat together by the tea tray, but they were not speaking either.

  Finally, Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth and held out his hand. “Miss Elizabeth, I believe there is a delay in that summons down to the kitchen. Let us see what is keeping a servant from answering.” She clasped his hand in hers, and they left the room, though there were protests from Caroline Bingley that a footman was surely on his way.

  Mr. Darcy tucked her hand under his arm as they walked down the hallway. “It is difficult to engineer any time alone with you, Elizabeth.”

  They walked past the stairs and into the section of the hallway where all the bedchambers lay. Darcy stopped once they were out of sight of anyone who might be coming up those stairs (though anyone who chose to exit the evening drawing-room would see them).

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, Elizabeth Bennet from the country,” Darcy confessed as he maneuvered them a little more tightly against the wall. His other arm came up to pull her towards him. “You cannot know how your eyes have intrigued me.”

  All propriety was thrown aside as his arms closed around her entirely. His head bent down, and Darcy pressed a tentative kiss against her temple. Elizabeth did not protest, but her arms moved up to find his waist to hold him. Darcy moved his kiss to her cheek, and he could feel her shudder in his arms. Her arms tightened around his waist.

  While his arms tightened their grip, his lips pressed against hers, and Darcy began a series of light kisses on those lips and chin and cheeks as his breath came just as quickly as it had when they had been dancing.

  A noise made them break apart and look down the hallway, not towards the drawing-room, but back towards the bedrooms. A footman, burdened with a tray, was walking their way, having come up the servant’s stairs. He was looking down at the tray and appeared to have either tidied something or taken something from it.

  The footman stopped when he saw Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. “Sir, ma’am,” he nodded.

  “We were coming as we wondered about the delay,” explained Mr. Darcy.

  “Mrs. Nicholls assumed you wanted more tea and coffee,” explained the footman.

  “We wanted lemonade,” explained Darcy. “Please fetch it for Miss Bennet.” The young man looked startled.

  “We will take the tray,” Elizabeth asserted. Before she could retrieve it, Mr. Darcy stepped forward to do the honors. The footman assured them that he would fetch lemonade.

  Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy turned to go back to the drawing-room.

  “Elizabeth,” began Mr. Darcy, who had much more that he wanted to say.

  She interrupted him. “What is your given name?”

  “Fitzwilliam,” he answered.

  “A family name, obviously,” Elizabeth declared as she reached the drawing-room door and opened it for him. “We are back!” she sang out to the rest of their company. If Elizabeth was embarrassed by their encounter in the hallway, the fuss made by Miss Bingley over Mr. Darcy having to carry a tea tray, or by servants making assumptions, she hid it.

  Elizabeth found a seat, but she felt awkward as her hostess fumed about the servants. She did not look up to see where Mr. Darcy was until the footman brought back the lemonade, and Mr. Darcy pressed a glass into her hand. His eyes still had the love and warmth which had been expressed out in that dim hallway. Elizabeth wanted to tell him, right there, you have my heart, be gentle.

  Mr. Darcy had kissed her, but not declared himself. Elizabeth did not think he was the sort of man who would play with her affections, and she had interrupted him when Mr. Darcy might have wished to clarify himself, just there outside the drawing-room door. But Fitzwilliam Darcy had engineered a scenario to be able to kiss her in the hallway. The man who had complimented her so prettily in her red dress. Who understood her need to walk, and not just drive in the Park. Who understood her playful side, so had enticed an entire room full of people to play parlor games rather than cards. Mr. Darcy had kissed her that evening in London too, though just on the cheek as part of his forfeit. But that had been the turning point for Elizabeth and her heart.

  Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst finished playing, and it appeared that the evening was coming to a close. Mr. Darcy sat beside her, but Miss Bingley was there as well, with commentary about some topic, though Elizabeth paid her no mind. Once she finished her lemonade, Elizabeth said she would retire. Mr. Darcy made a slight movement, tucking his foot under him as though he was going to stand and walk out with her again, but he relaxed back against the sofa as Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Hurst watched him. Elizabeth nodded especially to him. “Thank you for the dance,” she could not help the sparkle in her eyes as she parted from him to go back to Jane.

  Jane was sleeping; she had closed her book and looked pale under the light of Elizabeth’s single candle. Elizabeth thought she was improving. Not having to worry about Jane meant Elizabeth could think of her situation and consider their kisses. Mr. Darcy said he had engineered it, stating it was difficult to find any time for the two of them to speak. But they had not spoken; instead, he had pressed a multitude of kisses on her lips and cheeks, so much more than those innocent ones given when playing parlor games. Elizabeth lay awake for at lea
st an hour considering how she felt about Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Would he declare himself the next day? Elizabeth had given her heart to him. She did not believe that he was playing a game with her and thought his intentions sincere. But if Jane had recovered, they should return home. Would Darcy have time to engineer another moment to declare himself before they left?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jane agreed that she was much improved when Elizabeth inquired in the morning. Jane said she would be able to return home, though how they would manage it was a different matter. The sisters discussed their options, how improved Jane truly felt, and decided Jane was still not recovered enough. They would ask for the Bennet carriage to collect them the following morning.

  Jane dressed, but kept to her rooms, wanting only Elizabeth for company, and while Elizabeth entertained her sister, her mind was occupied elsewhere. She wondered where Mr. Darcy was and what occupied him that morning? Had the gentlemen gone shooting again that day? Perhaps he was busy and would not have been available if she had been downstairs.

  Miss Bingley related that the gentlemen had indeed gone shooting when Caroline came in to check on Jane sometime in the morning. The friendliness which the young woman displayed probably had to do with her not fearing Elizabeth as a rival should she somehow escape from Jane’s room. Her brother had assured Miss Bingley that they would be gone the entire day.

  When Caroline Bingley joined them again after their midday meal, Elizabeth said she wished to stretch her legs in the gardens which did not fluster her hostess. Miss Bingley’s only comment was that it was a good time to go as it had not rained for many days, and Elizabeth need not fear for her petticoat.

  Elizabeth immediately thought of Mr. Darcy as she buttoned her pelisse, tied on her bonnet, and made her way outside. I am doing my best to engineer a meeting, Mr. Darcy. Where are you? she thought. The Netherfield gardens were already a little bleak, despite it being October. There were no flowers in bloom, but she enjoyed being able to stroll along their formal beds to stretch her legs.