Falling for Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Falling for Mr. Darcy

  Copyright © 2012 by KaraLynne Mackrory

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever. For information: P.O. Box 34, Oysterville WA 98641

  ISBN: 978-1-936009-20-6

  Graphic design by Ellen Pickels; cover images by Edmund Blair Leighton: “Off” (1900), “On the Threshold” (1900) and “A Source of Admiration” (1904)

  Acknowledgments

  Once upon a time, a girl fell in love with a boy who existed only in the pages of a book. I owe many thanks to those who, in small ways and great, helped me along this path.

  To Michele Reed and Ellen Pickels at Meryton Press, for their faith, excitement, and support throughout this process; to Gail Warner, my wonderful editor, whose insight and shared love of swoon-worthy moments made for a memorable experience working together; and to Damon Larson who must bear the responsibility for first introducing me to one Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in his sophomore English class.

  Undoubtedly, I also must thank my dear friends and family who excitedly giggled with me after each chapter. Together, we affectionately pretended every bit of the story was real.

  Lastly, to Jane Austen, who first created these lovable characters and captured my heart so thoroughly with her books.

  Dedication

  My own dreamboat Mr. Darcy: my husband, Andrew, whose

  gentlemanly ways made imagining a hero an easy task.

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth awoke refreshed as she opened her eyes and looked towards her bedroom window. The great oak blew its colorful, autumn leaves in the breeze, beckoning her outside. While at Netherfield, she was unable to take morning walks due to the poor weather and her duty nursing Jane. Now that she was home, she was eager to return to the outdoors and her favorite walks.

  Thinking of Jane, she smiled. Ever since returning from Netherfield, Jane had a look of contentment about her. She was always serene and docile in the display of her feelings, but Elizabeth knew her expressions better than anyone and could tell that she was truly lost to Mr. Bingley. Sometimes she would catch Jane’s gaze becoming wistful from some remembered conversation, and a slight smile would steal across her face. Whenever Elizabeth caught her in one of these moments, her sister would blush, and before Jane could lower her eyes to her hands, Elizabeth would catch in them the love for Mr. Bingley that could not be hidden.

  Elizabeth looked at Jane, asleep next to her in their bed. Even in slumber, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards. Yes, it had been good to be at Netherfield for those few days. Though she cursed her mother for her thoughtlessness in contriving such a plan, it had turned out well — well, except for that awful Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth pondered Mr. Darcy for a moment as she carefully slipped out of the warmth of the bed, trying not to waken Jane. Sitting at her dressing table, she began to comb through her tousled chocolate curls. She thought Mr. Darcy a mystery. He always looked so stern — frozen like a statue. When he spoke, his Derbyshire accent commanded attention even when it was unwanted. He was very handsome — she had to admit to herself — with strong, broad shoulders and a lean, powerful stance. It is too bad he cannot be as attractive in personality as he is in body. Elizabeth sighed. What am I doing pondering Mr. Darcy’s features! He is ill tempered, and he certainly thinks himself more worthy than Mr. Bingley’s country neighbors. And I am only tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him! A laugh escaped Elizabeth’s mouth before she could cover it with her hands.

  Thinking she had better steal out of the house before everyone awoke, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the task of getting ready for her walk. She pulled her unruly curls into a simple, low bun and dressed in a rose-colored muslin walking-gown with yellow embroidered flowers at the sleeves and hem. It was one of her favorites, and it was bright and happy like her mood. After pulling on half boots, she grabbed her bonnet and quietly exited the room.

  The smell of freshly baked sweet bread and tea brewing made her stomach rumble. Descending the stairs carefully to avoid the squeaky parts and not lose her balance, she came to the landing and saw light under the door to her father’s library. She smiled; she should have guessed her father, at least, would be awake. He was an early riser like Elizabeth, and some of her favorite memories were of their private talks and discussions as they shared a cup of tea before the rest of the house arose. She decided to step in quickly and say hello.

  After knocking softly on the door, she heard, “Come in.”

  “Good morning, Papa.”

  “Hello, Lizzy. I suspected it would be you. Are you not tired this morning?”

  Elizabeth poured a cup of tea from the sideboard. “No, Papa, I feel quite refreshed and thought I would venture out on a walk this morning.”

  “Ahh yes, a walk — most refreshing,” replied Mr. Bennet, smiling.

  Elizabeth smiled inwardly as she savored the earthy taste of her tea. This was the game they played most mornings. Elizabeth would mention going on a walk, and Mr. Bennet would act as if he was interested in accompanying her. Then she would invite him to join her, but he would decline stating business that needed attending. It was their way of laughing at the notion of impropriety that some in society held about ladies walking out alone, as well as a way Mr. Bennet could express that he wished her to be safe. “Would you like to come with me, Papa?”

  “No, Poppet, you go on by yourself. I should like to continue with my book. It is quite windy out today, though; take your wrap.”

  “I will be safe, Papa,” she said, as she put her empty cup on the table and bent to kiss his forehead before turning to go.

  Outside the library door, she smiled and shook her head at her father’s way of expressing his love and concern. He never had been able to say exactly what he was feeling and would use humor or sarcasm instead. Elizabeth understood this, as she often used her wit as a defense. This was one reason she felt so close to her father and they understood each other so well. Donning her bonnet and wrap, she walked excitedly out of the house, anticipating a long, morning stroll. As soon as she was outside, she was pushed slightly as a gust of wind caught her off-guard. Laughing, she pulled her wrap closer around her, bent her shoulder into the wind and took off at a quick pace towards her favorite pathway.

  * * *

  Mr. Darcy had not slept well at all. Miss Elizabeth Bennet assaulted his every thought late into the night. He just could not determine what it was about her that captivated him. Having her at Netherfield had been dangerous; she was not only inside his mind but also physically in the room with him on several occasions. He tried desperately to chase away thoughts of her fine eyes by reading, riding his horse or writing letters. Nothing worked. He would just accomplish pushing those delectable eyes out of his mind, only to have them replaced by thoughts of her silky, dark curls. What would they feel like in my hands? he thought. No! This will not do! Agitated, he threw the counterpane off and got out of bed, ringing the bell for his valet, Rogers.

  He was in serious danger of caring for Miss Elizabeth Bennet — really caring for her. When he saw her tenderly nurse her sister back to health, he thought of how his own sister, Georgiana, would blossom under the care of Miss Elizabeth. There was intelligence in her eyes that captured him and made him want to engage in conversation with her. Thinking of engaging with Miss Elizabeth induced thoughts of being engaged to her and holding her soft, delicate hands. Mr. Darcy shook his head violently. It could never ha
ppen. Her family, he groaned aloud, was atrocious! Mrs. Bennet was exasperating and completely inappropriate. Her sisters were serious flirts and lacked any proper decorum or intelligence. Mr. Bennet, he allowed, was well read, even interesting, but Darcy could not overlook the way Mr. Bennet ignored the behavior of his family. How was it that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were so different from the rest?

  While at Netherfield, they were everything proper. Miss Elizabeth even bore the subtle insults of Miss Bingley with class and a gentle, rebounding wit. He smiled, remembering the many times she outsmarted and deflected Miss Bingley’s slurs. He admired her, and it made him realize how ill bred it was of Miss Bingley to behave that way, especially to a guest in her brother’s house. Miss Elizabeth was truly remarkable, especially when the sides of her mouth turned upwards slightly in a sly smile, her one eyebrow rising in challenge to him and her eyes alight with mischief . . . Ohhh, I am undone! Those eyes beguiled him at every turn. They beckoned him and drew him in.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir?” Rogers opened the dressing room door to address his master.

  Thankful for the diversion from his thoughts, he directed his valet. “Ready my riding clothes, Rogers, and inform the stables to saddle Salazar.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else? Shall I order a breakfast tray brought up?”

  “No, thank you, Rogers. I shall breakfast when I return.”

  “Very good, sir,” replied Rogers, as he retreated into the dressing room to prepare the clothing.

  Yes, a very long, hard ride is just what I need this morning to extinguish these persistent thoughts of Elizabeth. No! She is not Elizabeth to you; she is Miss Elizabeth. Get hold of yourself, man! he groaned as he chastised himself. A hard ride and soon.

  In his dressing room, he leaned back in the chair and stretched out, closing his eyes as Rogers began preparations for his shave. He knew he only had to make it through another week or so before he could politely tell Bingley he had business in London to attend and could leave Hertfordshire and the bewitching spell of Miss Elizabeth. He had to stay for the anticipated ball at Netherfield; he promised as much to Bingley the night before over a game of billiards — the ball, where Miss Elizabeth would be laughing, smiling and dancing in front of his eyes; her soft figure arresting him at every turn. He could just imagine the gentle pressure of her hands in his as he took her down the set. She would look up at him and smile and tease him as they danced. Danced! You cannot dance with her; it would betray your feelings! Moaning softly, he tried to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

  The sound alerted Rogers. “Is everything all right, sir?”

  “Oh . . . of course, yes, Rogers. Carry on.”

  Trying to think rationally, Mr. Darcy focused his thoughts on his upcoming ride. He loved being out of doors and feeling the strength of his horse beneath him. He often beat out the stress of the demands of being the master of Pemberley or the worries he had over Georgiana by riding hard across a field. Only the sound of hooves beating into the soil and the exchange of air in his lungs seemed to work for him, pounding out his strain and doubts with each stride. It had not been easy becoming the master of Pemberley at a young age. Not infrequently did he long for the advice of his late father. His father would have known exactly what should have been done at Ramsgate with Georgiana — no, his father would not have made the mistakes that led to that situation in the first place. He had again been deceived by that dastard Wickham. Just thinking of him made Darcy’s temper rise. His only consolation was that his father was also deceived by the character of George Wickham.

  However, his father was not there anymore and was no longer the master, nor was he responsible for Georgiana. Darcy was, and it was a heavy burden as he worried about how despondent she had become since the summer and that horrible day by the sea when he discovered Wickham’s scheme. Not for the first time, Darcy offered up a prayer of thanks that he arrived when he did. Still, the damage was done. His dear sister, the only family he had, was left hurting. He knew she felt remorseful and laid all the blame on herself, causing her to retreat even further into shyness. He tried to help her understand that she was not at fault and that he loved her, but she continued to hurt, and he did not know what to do about it. She needed some cheerfulness in her life. She needed liveliness and warmth. She needs someone like Elizabeth. If he allowed himself to be truthful, he knew that someone like Miss Elizabeth was exactly what he needed, too — someone to lift his spirits and help him to return to the Fitzwilliam Darcy that he was before the burdens of life weighed him down. She would do that for him and Georgie. Liveliness and cheer came naturally to her, and she radiated warmth. Thinking of her made him warm and contented when he allowed himself to do so without fighting it. His mind drifted to the time when she first came to enquire about Jane with concern after having walked determinedly to Netherfield. Her eyes were bright and her complexion was pink from the exercise. A few of her soft curls had escaped their pins, and they lay delicately at the nape of her neck. Her dress was splattered with mud and her shoes were caked in it as well. He remembered the way she bravely looked at the Bingleys when her arrival was announced — her eyes challenging them to reprove her for her impropriety and disgraceful appearance. Only he noticed the way her hands trembled slightly with uncertainty. He had never seen her look as beautiful as she did that day. It was all he could do not to cross the carpet and embrace her. He remembered how he had to hold on tightly to his teacup in a concentrated effort to will himself to remain where he was.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir.” Rogers called his master to announce his shave was finished, but Mr. Darcy did not move. His face held a calm and contented look that made his valet smile. Whatever he was thinking about was certainly doing him some good. “Mr. Darcy?”

  The voice of his valet finally stirred him from his thoughts, and opening his eyes, he rose from the shaving chair and began to dress. Looking in the mirror as he adjusted his cravat, he thought, it is for the best; my duty demands a lady from higher circles. Besides, she will never know my weakness, and one day she will marry someone else. Darcy grimaced as he contemplated her being another’s wife. Shaking the thought out of his head, he grabbed his riding crop and left his bedchamber with a determined stride in the direction of the stables. He did not pause to contemplate why he now had a bitter taste in his mouth.

  * * *

  Elizabeth drew in a deep breath of crisp, cool, autumn air. In another mile, she would be able to see the beginnings of an outcrop of trees. It was her favorite place to ramble, listening to the birds singing their morning praises as well as the rustle of the trees: those still half-laden with leaves bright with the color of fire — yellow, orange and red. This was her favorite time of year. She picked up her pace, eager to see the forest come into view. The combination of new saplings and old, dying ancients helped her to clarify her thoughts and make discernments almost as if the venerable trees gave her wisdom and the young ones gave her new life. Today the trees would talk to her as the strong wind bent them to its will.

  As she walked, she held one hand to her bonnet and the other to her shawl to keep the wind from taking them. Her thoughts drifted back to her time at Netherfield. She felt mortified at the embarrassment Jane must have felt arriving on horseback on a day that threatened rain from its onset. Elizabeth knew the Bingley sisters and Mr. Darcy looked down on her family. When she arrived to ask after Jane, she noticed Mr. Darcy’s teacup shook in his hand, and she was certain it was due to finding so many faults in her that he was trying not to lose his composure and turn from her with incivility. She had boldly stared straight into those dark eyes and had seen a fire there that she assumed was disapproval. When he drew in an unsteady, disapproving breath, she raised her chin in challenge of his censure.

  Shaking her head as she walked, she wondered, not for the first time, why she could not get that man out of her head. He disliked her, and she disliked him, but she was still oddly drawn to him. He was brooding, dark and hostile, but she liked to challenge him
and, in so doing, felt vindicated for his thoughtless comment at the assembly. She liked putting him in his place with her teasing remarks though there were times she detected a bit of amusement in his features. His eyes, which she always thought so expressive, would hold a trace of a smile and maybe even something more that she could not quite figure out. Occasionally, he would even smile. She was struck by the memory of his smile. He should smile more often; it makes him look quite handsome, indeed! The memory temporarily stopped Elizabeth’s forward motion, and she stood still for a moment, thinking of the way his face softened with a smile. He had two teasing dimples that naturally drew her eyes to his smiling lips.

  With color rising in her cheeks at these strange thoughts, she laughed out loud and resumed her walk. All the better for Miss Bingley! She laughed at what a pair those two would make. He certainly appeared not to desire her effusions, and she was too ignorant to notice.

  Looking ahead, Elizabeth finally could see the forest and already felt its strength clear her thoughts. She quickened her pace, hoping the trees would serve as protection from the ever-increasing wind so she could rest a bit.

  * * *

  Darcy took his mount and, leaning forward to stroke and pat his horse’s neck, could feel the animal’s agitation at the blustery weather. “You and me, both, Salazar!” Taking a deep breath, Darcy kicked his horse into a steady trot away from the stable yard, heading for the open field directly ahead. It was the same field he and Bingley had raced across when they first came to look at Netherfield. Upon reaching it, Darcy set down his crop, and with silent agreement, horse and rider took off in full sprint. The wind made it difficult to steady himself as they sailed across hedgerows and fences at breakneck speed. At one point, a gust of wind came across Darcy so forcefully that his hat flew off. Looking back to where it landed, he contemplated going back for it, but after noticing it had fallen safely onto a mound of dry grass, he decided to leave it until his return trip.