Waking to Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Novella

by Leenie Brown

  Waking to Mr. Darcy

  A Pride and Prejudice Novella

  Leenie Brown

  Leenie B Books

  Halifax

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without written permission from its publisher and author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.

  Waking to Mr. Darcy © Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Acknowledgements

  A Very Mary Christmas

  Leenie B Books

  About the Author

  Connect with Leenie Brown

  Dedication

  For my mom

  Chapter 1

  “Rude!” Charles Bingley placed another piece of wood none too gently on the pile he and Fitzwilliam Darcy were making near the fireplace. “That is what my sisters are — rude!” He had been storming in and out of the hunting cabin for nearly ten minutes, muttering under his breath until finally he could not keep his displeasure to himself and began to share it with Darcy. “They were barely civil to Mrs. Bennet and spoke not word to any of the Misses Bennet, save Miss Elizabeth.” He gave a harsh laugh. “And they only spoke to her when absolutely necessary and with such a superior air!” He stomped out the door, to the wood pile, and back into the cabin. “I have a mind to send them both off with Hurst. Let him deal with them. Not that he would know much of what they were about since he is constantly in his cups.” Another log was forcefully stacked near the fireplace, and Bingley released a loud huff of frustration.

  Darcy closed the door and shrugged out of his overcoat. He knew that Bingley was enamored with Jane Bennet. He also was aware that Bingley’s sisters did not approve of the match or the Bennets for many of the same reasons he knew his relations would not approve of them. “Have you considered that their lack of civility is not fully unwarranted?”

  “Out!” Bingley pointed to the door. “I have escaped to this cabin to be rid of such sentiments. You may go spread your vitriol with my sisters. Caroline would be delighted.”

  Darcy winced at the thought of spending any amount of time with Caroline Bingley and grimaced a second time as he realized that his friend was comparing him to that very lady. “Let me explain,” he began.

  “I have no desire to hear about the Bennets being of low standing.” Bingley knelt before the hearth, applying himself to the starting of a fire. The November evening air was cool and damp. “Mr. Bennet is a gentleman.” He turned his head to look at Darcy. “A gentleman — born that way.”

  “He is married to trade.”

  Bingley growled something at the tinder and was then silent.

  Darcy watched him work for a moment. When he was satisfied that the fire was about to start, he went in search of two cups and a bottle of brandy. “How many days’ worth of supplies did you have them deliver?” He called to Bingley from the kitchen as he found what he sought.

  “Five.” Bingley took the bottle of brandy and doubled the amount Darcy had poured for him. “I am not certain how long it will be before I am willing to see my sisters again.” He peered over his cup with raised brows. “The same will be said for you if you continue with your disparagements of the Bennets.”

  “You are determined to have her?” Darcy joined his friend in reclining in the chairs in front of the fireplace.

  “I am.” Bingley sat with legs extended toward the fire. “I love her.”

  “You know so little of her. Are you sure it is not just her beauty and pleasant manners that entice you and cause you to think you are in love?” It would not be the first time his friend had thought himself in love when in reality it was mere infatuation that faded as quickly as it sprang up.

  “I know enough.” He leaned forward, staring intently at the flames. “I have never been so consumed with a desire to be in anyone’s presence.”

  “That does not equate to love,” Darcy muttered.

  Bingley shot him a sidelong glare. “Allow me to finish.”

  Darcy nodded and motioned with his hand that Bingley should continue.

  “You know how you worry when a friend is ill?”

  “I do.”

  “And you know how you worry when a dearly loved family member such as a sister, cousin, father, or mother is ill?

  “I do.” Darcy knew that both he and Bingley, having lost both parents, were well acquainted with that sort of worry.

  “You worry for a friend,” Bingley explained, “but you move on with life, aiding where you can, visiting and inquiring, but never having your mind completely consumed with worry, your work never stops. However, when it is a member of your family, focus on anything but his recovery is impossible.”

  “That depends on the friend or relation.” For Bingley, Darcy would leave his business and sit by Bingley’s side. For several of his relations such as his Aunt Catherine, however, he would merely inquire after them and send his wishes for a speedy recovery.

  Bingley shrugged. “It might, but my point is the same. Your concern deepens proportionately to the amount of affection you have for the individual. Would you not agree?”

  Darcy wanted to refute the argument, for he knew exactly where it was headed, but he could not. What Bingley said was true. “Very well, you care for her deeply as you would a sister.”

  Bingley laughed. “Not like a sister. Not even if mine were as lovely as Miss Bennet. I am quite certain a brother’s thoughts should not run along the same line as mine have for her.”

  Darcy chuckled.

  “I love her, Darcy.”

  “It will not fade when you return to town, and there is a new flock of debutantes?” It was not the first time Bingley had declared himself in love, only to have the retraction be retracted after a short period of time away from the lady and being presented with new ladies to admire.

  Bingley shook his head. “I do not even wish to return to town.”

  Darcy’s brows rose at that. Bingley enjoyed the activities of the season and forced Darcy to attend many more soirees than he wished. A wish not to return to town was a wish to forgo the season. Perhaps his friend’s feelings ran true, but that did not mean the lady returned them. “But what of Miss Bennet’s feelings for you? I have not noticed any particular fondness on her part towards you.”

  Bingley smiled into his drink. “You were not very attentive while she was at Netherfield were you?”

  “I beg your pardon. I most certainly was attentive.”

  Bingley laughed. “To Miss Elizabeth, perhaps, but not to me or Miss Bennet.”

  Darcy scowled at Bingley. He had been distracted by Miss Elizabeth, that much was true, but he had also watched Miss Bennet and had not seen any indication of partiality toward Bingley.

  “Did you see her face light up when I carried her tray to her room?”

  “I was not in her room.”

  Bingley nodded. “When she joined us in the evening, did you see her slip her hand into mine for a brief moment?”

  “She did no such thing,” snapped Darcy.

  “I assure you she did,” said Bingley with a smile.

  “Neither of those
things indicates that I was inattentive,” Darcy grumbled.

  “But they do prove you wrong.” A smile of satisfaction spread across Bingley’s face as he settled back into his chair.

  Darcy rolled his eyes. Why did so many find it so delightful to prove him wrong? He was about to say as much when a loud clap of thunder rattled the shutters and rain began falling heavily against the roof.

  “I was right about that,” muttered Darcy.

  “Large ominous clouds and a brisk breeze make the prediction of a storm rather easy.”

  Darcy shrugged and lapsed into silence. This morning, he had been considering trying to persuade his friend to return to London before the end of the month, but that seemed unlikely now. He bit his lip. He really could not afford to remain in Hertfordshire. First, there was the chance of meeting with George Wickham once again, and he was not certain he would be able to hold his tongue or his hands in good regulation at their next meeting. The man was, without a doubt, the most reprehensible of Darcy’s acquaintance.

  Darcy sighed softly. There was also the danger to his heart, for he was entirely convinced that if he were to spend much more time in the delightful company of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, his heart would be completely and utterly lost. He peeked at Bingley, who was swirling his drink and smiling. Perhaps Bingley could afford a connection with one such as Miss Bennet, but Darcy could not. At least, he could not if he wished to keep peace within his family, and he prized peace.

  He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. He could return to town without Bingley. He thought on that for a moment, and then, the decision made, lifted his glass and said, “I will need to return to town in a fortnight since I cannot bring Georgiana to Netherfield as planned.”

  Bingley, well aware of the way Wickham had preyed on Georgiana’s sweet spirit in an attempt to win her dowry, nodded. “Will you return?”

  Darcy lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Georgiana might wish to return to Pem –” His comment was interrupted by a loud pounding.

  Bingley jumped to his feet and rushed to the door. “What fool would be out in this weather?” He muttered as he swung the door open.

  “Oh, Mr. Bingley!” Elizabeth Bennet stood on the doorstep soaked from the rain and covered by a large amount of mud.

  “Miss Elizabeth! Come in.” He stepped to the side so that she might enter, but she stood as if rooted to her spot.

  “I fell,” she brushed at the mud on her sleeve. She looked around for a moment as if not certain as to where she was. “Mr. Bingley?”

  “Come in,” Bingley insisted once again. This time, his entreaty was accompanied by Darcy’s hand grasping Elizabeth by the elbow and moving her into the room.

  “I fell,” she repeated.

  “Did you injure yourself?” Darcy slowly moved her toward the fire.

  “Mr. Darcy?” She looked at him as if she were not positive she had the name correct.

  Panic rose in Darcy’s chest. “Did you hit your head?”

  Her brows furrowed as if trying to remember and then she nodded as she began to sway. Darcy scooped her up. “A blanket for the couch,” he barked to Bingley. “And then water and a cloth.” He held Elizabeth as her eyes fluttered and closed. Her limbs became limp and lifeless, and he lowered his head near her lips to listen for breath. Relieved that she was still breathing, he settled her onto the couch as gently as he could before removing her bonnet and feeling her head as he checked it for injury.

  “There are no lumps on her head or signs of bleeding,” he said to Bingley as he sat back and looked at her. “She nodded that she had hit her head, but if it was not hard, then why did she faint?”

  “The brain can be rattled without a lump forming,” cautioned Bingley.

  Although Darcy knew this to be true, he was not satisfied that she had swooned because of an imperceivable bump to the head. There might be some other significant injury that had caused her to become insensible. “But could it be more?” Darcy asked as he lifted one of Elizabeth’s arms and then the other. However, there were no signs of injury as each moved well.

  “Perhaps her leg could be injured? That is quite a lot of mud.” Bingley motioned to where Elizabeth’s skirts seemed to be more covered in mud on the right side than on the left.

  “She was walking. How could her leg be injured if she was walking?” muttered Darcy, looking first at Elizabeth and then Bingley. “I suppose we must check?”

  “Seems reasonable,” agreed Bingley.

  Darcy looked at Elizabeth lying there, pale and beginning to tremble, a sign that her condition was not improving but growing more grave. They not only needed to discover any remaining injuries, but she needed to be made warm and dry. He knew what must be done.

  “Do you truly love Miss Bennet?” he asked Bingley.

  “I do,” Bingley answered, “but what does that have to do with checking Miss Elizabeth’s leg?”

  Darcy released a great breath. “She is beginning to tremble and must be gotten into dry things. I can check her leg at the same time. I will move her to my bedroom, and you may remain out here and bring what I need to the door.”

  “You plan to undress and redress her?” Bingley’s eyes were wide.

  “One of us must, and since you are determined to marry Miss Bennet, I shall tend to Miss Elizabeth and marry her, if her father requires it.”

  “You think he will not?” The shock had not left Bingley’s voice.

  Darcy shook his head. “No. I expect we will be brothers.” He lifted Elizabeth gently and moved toward the small bedroom that was to be his while they were at the hunting cabin. “Bring the blanket, Bingley.”

  “It is her left leg,” said Bingley showing Darcy the portion of the blanket that was stained by blood before he spread it on the bed.

  Darcy placed Elizabeth on the blanket and then rummaged through his bag for his sewing kit, in case the gash was severe and required closing, and a shirt that she could wear while her clothes were cleaned and dried. Finding what he needed, he called for Bingley to not only bring water and a towel but to also bring the bottle of brandy. Then, pushing the door to, he apologized to Miss Elizabeth and began the task of removing her clothes, beginning with her half boots.

  After removing only her boots and stockings, he placed them outside the door and waited for Bingley to arrive with the towel and brandy. He leaned against the closed door feeling rather unstable. The gash on her leg was jagged and ugly, and he had needed to tie a cravat around it to slow the bleeding until he could dress it properly, but the sight of the wound and the blood was not what had him unsteady.

  “You do not look well,” said Bingley.

  Darcy smiled tightly. “Her mother is from trade, Bingley. My uncle will never approve.”

  “She is injured, and she is both an intelligent and pretty woman.”

  Darcy nodded. “Yes, yes, I know.” He took the towel and bottle of brandy from Bingley. “I have only removed her boots and stockings because I need you to hold her leg steady while I tend to the wound.”

  “Of course,” said Bingley following him into the room. “Perhaps if she wakes while you are working, then she will be able to change the rest of her clothes on her own, and you will be spared from having to marry her.”

  The thought brought both a glimmer of hope to Darcy’s mind and a pain to his heart. He uncovered Elizabeth’s left leg and removed the cravat. He watched her face for any signs of waking. Seeing none, he cleaned the wound and began closing it. His stitches were not pretty, for his hand shook as he sewed. She moaned, and his stomach twisted. Her leg twitched, and he swallowed in an attempt to steady both his nerves and his hand. He knew it was necessary to cause her such discomfort, but he could not be complacent about it. He tied a clean cravat around the closed wound and rubbed his forearm across his forehead, using his sleeve to remove the beads of sweat.

  “You do not look well,” Bingley observed for the fourth time.

  “She did not wake.”

 
“We could place her near the fire so that her dress would dry and then wrap her in blankets to warm her,” Bingley suggested.

  “You know how damp chills,” replied Darcy. “We may have waited too long as it is. I would be surprised if she did not develop a fever.” He sighed. There was really no way around it, he was going to have to disappoint his family and marry her. Surely, his uncle would understand the need to save a life. He bit his lip and shook his head. While his uncle might understand such reasoning and accept the marriage as necessary, his aunt Catherine would not. She was not so sensible as her brother. “Warm more water, Bingley. I will change her and then wash off whatever mud is on her person, although, I suspect it is mainly on her clothing.” Before Bingley could move away from the bed, Darcy grabbed him by the arm. “And as much as I wish her to wake, pray she does not do so while I am disrobing her.”

  Bingley chuckled. “That would be a trifle awkward.”

  “Indeed,” Darcy agreed flatly.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Bingley, clapping Darcy on the shoulder and giving him a teasing smile. “She is fortunate it is you, and you are fortunate she is not my sister.” Then, with a chuckle, he turned and left the room as Darcy apologized once more to Elizabeth and began the uncomfortable task of seeing her into dry clothes.

  Chapter 2

  Darcy rolled the sleeves of his shirt, which were several inches too long, so that Elizabeth’s hands were visible. He straightened the collar and pulled the bedclothes over her, making sure to place her hands and arms outside the quilt as he tucked it around her small frame. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her pale face. She was still not warm, but she was clean, and she was dry, and Darcy hoped that the two would be enough to stave off any fever. “I am sorry,” he repeated yet again. How many times had he said those words? He felt as if he could never say them enough. “If there were any other way….” He sighed. “But there was not. I shall be good to you.” He gathered her clothes. “I am sorry,” he whispered it once more before he exited the room.