Falling for Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  Mr. Bennet nodded his head in consideration. “So she is.” After a moment, in which Mr. Darcy studied his clasped hands in front of him and Mr. Bennet studied Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth’s father asked, “So, what is to become of Wickham, then?”

  Darcy shifted in his seat, thankful for the change in topic and the businesslike tone of Mr. Bennet. He related the events of the previous evening in the park: Wickham’s being detained and arrested under charges of desertion.

  Mr. Bennet listened to the recounting and let out an audible sigh. “I cannot say that I am sorry for him. It may not be Christian of me, but I would not wish to know that man was anywhere on this earth and still breathing.”

  “And, so, he will not be, soon.” Darcy replied.

  They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Assuming it was his favorite daughter, Mr. Bennet’s mood lifted as he called her to enter. Elizabeth gingerly opened the door to join the men. The familiar smell of books and old cigar smoke came upon her, and she nearly began to cry at the unexpected relief she felt from it.

  Darcy, having determined that Mr. Bennet and his daughter might want a few moments alone, decided to take his leave, but only after securing her permission to call the next morning. Having received her consent, he left and gathered his sister before traveling the short distance to Netherfield.

  A tear rolled down Elizabeth’s cheek as the cold January wind cooled its path down her face. After Mr. Darcy took his leave, she went to her father’s side. Without a word, he escorted her to the window seat and sat them both down. She had expected him to talk about the attack but, instead, he had wished only to hold her, and so they sat for many moments, Elizabeth being comforted by her papa or the other way around.

  Not for the first time since stepping out of Mr. Darcy’s carriage, Elizabeth breathed in a sigh of contentment at being home. She smiled at the irony of how she had felt relief at being away from home only a week before when she left Longbourn for London. Now, she was returned to the country and feeling relief for having left London. The realization hit her like the force of a push from behind. I feel most contented when in the part of the country where Mr. Darcy is. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she kicked her leg lazily, causing the swing to twist and turn. Later that morning, Mr. Darcy would be visiting. The anticipation made her giddy with excitement.

  * * *

  Mr. Darcy looked down at the letter in his hands, letting out a frustrated breath and uncharacteristic oath. He was really beginning to hate letters. This one had just arrived that morning and from a quarter of the country from which he had not anticipated receiving anything. It was from his Aunt Catherine, requesting his immediate presence in Kent. Can I not have even a day to enjoy Elizabeth’s company? As soon as the thought materialized, though, he felt guilty for having had it. More than likely, the letter was due to Cousin Anne’s health or the Rosings Park estate. As there was still three weeks until Bingley’s wedding, he certainly had time to see to whatever the urgent summons was about.

  He folded the letter and secured it with the other business correspondence he had brought with him from London. He sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head. He had awoken early and readied himself for his visit to Elizabeth. Pulling out his watch, he checked the time and chuckled to himself at the sight of the silver flower. Still too early for a proper visit, he thought, glumly.

  Checking the time was a lot more fun now that she knew he had her flower hidden there. Before, it was only secretly satisfying, a private indulgence and reminder, allowing him to think of her. Now, when he glanced at the flower in his watch, he knew that she was aware of his thievery and, instead of being upset about it, seemed to find great pleasure in it. He was also enormously thrilled at her desire to own something of his in return. For a moment, when she had extended her hand to shake on the business agreement, he had wanted to say, “If you will give me your hand now, you can have all that I have.”

  He breathed in deeply at the thought. He wondered what she would have said to his sudden proposal. Before the ride from London, he only hoped that she held him in high esteem. Now he wondered whether God and luck had granted him his greatest wish: her love in return. Today he wished to speak privately with her and perhaps plant the suggestion of a future life together — in vague terms, of course, just to gauge her reaction to the idea. If it seemed she was favorable, he would send his valet to London for his mother’s ring, and as soon as it arrived, he would ask her to be his wife.

  He checked his watch again, and although the act was still satisfying, he frowned that only fifteen minutes had elapsed and it was still much too early to visit. Too restless to sit any longer, he decided, instead of leaving for Kent in the morning, he would leave that day after his visit to Elizabeth. Then, hopefully, he would be able to return that much sooner. He called for his valet and informed him they would be leaving in a few hours and he should begin packing his bags. The journey to Kent could be accomplished in just over six hours with the fair weather. He was satisfied.

  After waiting another excruciatingly long hour, Darcy exited his chambers, eager to visit Elizabeth. He found Bingley and his sisters just finishing their breakfast.

  Miss Bingley walked quickly towards him, purring, “Mr. Darcy. We are so glad you have come. You have rested late this morning; can I fix you a plate for your breakfast?”

  Darcy spun on his heels and headed for the breakfast sideboard. “Thank you, Miss Bingley, but I have already breakfasted in my room and need only a cup of coffee.” To use as olfactory defense.

  Her perfume caught up with him before she did. Noticing his riding crop, Miss Bingley asked flirtatiously, “And where do you go off to so secretly this morning, sir.”

  Darcy raised his cup to his nose and breathed the cleansing brew in deeply. Keeping it close to his face, he crossed the room towards Bingley. “It is no secret, Miss Bingley. Your brother and I are calling at Longbourn this morning.”

  Miss Bingley’s face fell in a pout before she deftly transformed it into an artificial smile. “Oh, yes, of course. How is dear Miss Eliza?” she asked insincerely. “Though, if you ask me, it serves her right in a way. She was always giving off airs, and” — she paused conspiratorially — “it would not surprise me in the least if she led Mr. Wickham to believe she wished for his attentions.”

  She tapped her fan satisfyingly on the edge of a chair to make her point as she looked to her sister, who nodded in agreement.

  Darcy’s jaw clenched in anger, and he nearly gave her a well-deserved set down. He was glad that Georgiana had decided to sleep late after traveling the day before and was not present to hear Miss Bingley’s slur against Elizabeth. When Bingley placed his hand on his shoulder, he turned his look of daggers from Miss Bingley towards her brother, who gave him a pleading look before saying, “Well, Darcy, shall we go? It is still early, but I daresay if we take a longer route we shall arrive at a respectable time.”

  Darcy let out his breath and nodded at his friend before putting his coffee down and exiting the room without so much as a word regarding Miss Bingley’s ill-tempered comment.

  * * *

  When Darcy arrived at Longbourn, he noticed Elizabeth swinging at the side of the house and, without a word, left Bingley to enter the house alone as he strolled over to see her. She was deep in thought and did not hear his approach. When the swing came back towards him, Mr. Darcy gave her a small push forward.

  Elizabeth squealed in surprise as she turned her head quickly to see the source of her sudden exhilaration through the air.

  She laughed as she said, “Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” before facing forward again.

  He gave another push. “Good morning to you, too, Miss Bennet.”

  Mr. Darcy circled the path of the swing and rested casually against a tree truck beside her. He folded his arms across his chest and watched her swing back and forth.

  Elizabeth was somewhat unsettled by his steady gaze and cocked her head to the side. “It is still a bit early for
a visit, is it not, Mr. Darcy?”

  He smiled with humor as he tipped his head and, while maintaining eye contact with her, made a show of pulling out his watch. “Well, let me see.” He glanced down at the time and then closed his watch, replacing it in his pocket. “Perhaps a little early. Do you mind?”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips into a tight line to keep from smiling at his antics before saying pertly, “I suppose not if you promise to be pleasant company.”

  Darcy raised his eyebrows at this remark. “I shall do my best, Miss Bennett. What shall we talk about then? What say you to books?”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Darcy, I can never talk of books while on a swing,” she said sternly.

  Darcy chuckled softly and shook his head. “Of course not, what was I thinking? Books and swinging — preposterous!”

  The tinkling laugh that came to his ears was delightful, and he found himself watching her with pronounced admiration.

  “You surprise me, sir. I did not always think you had such a sense of humor or could behave so charmingly.” Elizabeth smiled at him.

  “Oh, no? I suppose not. As you unashamedly declared to my relations, my behavior was . . . ah, yes, I remember, ‘most dreadful’.”

  Elizabeth smiled but blushed with slight embarrassment. “Yes, well, I believe we already covered that topic, sir. What say you to a discussion of poetry this morning?”

  Mr. Darcy’s lips turned upward slightly. “I believe it has been said that poetry is the food of love.”

  Elizabeth laughed lightly as she shook her head. “A stout, healthy love, perhaps, but I am certain that if only a vague inclination, one good sonnet will starve it away.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled at this, and the two began an easy discussion on various authors in vogue and the merits of each. Before either of them had realized it, an hour of pleasant companionship had passed, and Mr. Bingley and Jane walked outside to greet them.

  Mr. Darcy realized the passage of time only as Mr. Bingley suggested they take their leave. Reluctantly, Mr. Darcy offered his hand to aid Elizabeth off the swing and led her towards the house to say goodbye. They walked slowly, allowing the others to outstrip them. Darcy stopped, and Elizabeth looked up at him, smiling as she gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

  “Miss Bennet, unfortunately, I have also come to take my leave of you for more than just today. I received a letter from my Aunt Catherine requesting my urgent presence at her estate in Kent. I do not know what she requires, but I hope to return as soon as possible. My sister will remain with Bingley and his sisters. May I ask that you look in on her while I am away?”

  Elizabeth frowned in disappointment but responded cheerfully, “Of course, I will take good care of her in your absence.”

  “There is one more thing I should like to request of you Eliz — Miss Bennet,” he said slowly and with significance.

  Elizabeth’s heart faltered, and she swallowed carefully as she looked up to his face. “And what is that, sir?”

  Her breath came more rapidly, and her heart was speeding in anticipation, especially when she saw a tenderness in his eyes that made her toes curl in excitement.

  Darcy allowed his eyes to wander from her beautiful hair to her brow — so often turned up at him in challenge — to her liquid brown eyes and rosy cheeks. His gaze slowly lowered to her pink lips, now pressed slightly together as she waited for him to speak.

  His voice came a little more shakily than he had hoped as he said, “When I return, Miss Bennet, there is a matter of great importance I should like to speak about with you.” He paused for significance and watched her slowly nod her head. He continued softly, “I have a question I should like to ask you.”

  Elizabeth’s slow smile eventually reached her eyes as she replied, “I will look forward to your return, then, Mr. Darcy.”

  Mr. Darcy grasped her hand on his arm and brought it to his lips to kiss softly. “So will I. So will I.”

  Chapter 18

  As soon as his carriage rolled across the grounds of the Hunsford parsonage, Mr. Darcy could see Mr. Collins waving ecstatically from his threshold. He leaned back against the seat — and away from the window — with a sigh. He hoped that his time at Rosings would be brief and he could soon be back with Elizabeth. A moment later, the carriage swayed to a stop in front of his aunt’s great manor house, Rosings Park.

  A servant in brilliant livery opened his carriage door, and another held a lantern to give light to the evening as he descended the carriage and walked up the steps into the open doors of the home.

  He was greeted by the butler, who commissioned a footman to retrieve his outerwear and hat. “Where is my aunt this evening?” he asked.

  “She is resting, sir. If I may be so bold, sir, it is good that you have come. We had begun to fear you would not be in time.”

  Darcy stopped short in the process of removing his gloves and looked at the butler with furrowed brows. “Excuse me, but is my aunt unwell?”

  It was his cousin Anne’s weak voice that answered as she entered the entryway from the parlor. “She took suddenly ill, Cousin. We fear for her life.”

  Darcy immediately assumed his serious, grave demeanor. “Has a doctor seen her?” He walked towards his cousin with a determined stride and carefully assisted her back to the parlor and out of the drafty entryway.

  “Yes, Mr. Putnam was here to see her last evening and again this morning.”

  Darcy rubbed his face after depositing his cousin gently on the sofa. He began to pace as he enquired further, “And what is his diagnosis?” He had never known his aunt to have so much as a cold, and for her to be so gravely ill was unsettling.

  “He does not say. He is as puzzled as we are. He prescribed some draughts for her and gave the nurse some laudanum in the event that she should be in pain in the final hours.” Anne’s voice broke with the last, and Darcy stopped his pacing to sit next to her.

  A servant came in and said that the mistress was awake and asking for him. Darcy turned towards Anne after acknowledging and dismissing the servant. “Do you come with me, Cousin?”

  Anne’s shaky voice was barely audible. “No, I think I will retire. I only stayed up to receive you this evening.”

  Darcy tenderly helped his cousin to stand and placed her securely on the arm of her companion before making his way to his aunt’s bedchamber.

  He knocked softly, and a nursemaid opened the door for him. Immediately, he was aware of the stale smell of the sickroom and resisted the urge to pull out his handkerchief to cover his nose. As he approached the bed, he had to squint to see his aunt’s form on it. There were very few candles lit, and they, along with the roaring fire, gave the only light to the room. The heat from the fire was stifling, and Darcy pulled at his neck cloth.

  As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the pale form of his aunt lying in her bed. Her face was white and had a ghostly pallor.

  He spoke softly so as not to disturb her. “Aunt Catherine, it is your nephew.”

  Lady Catherine turned her face towards him and croaked, “Fitzwilliam?” She pulled one of her hands from under the covers and reached weakly to him.

  Darcy took her hand in his and startled at the frigid coldness of it. “Yes, Aunt, it is I. How are you feeling?”

  Lady Catherine gave a hacking cough that caused Darcy to lean back slightly. Her raspy voice said, “Horrid. I am most seriously displeased.”

  Darcy almost smiled at his aunt’s trademark statement. “Is there anything you wish for your present relief? A glass of wine? Shall I get you one?”

  Darcy could feel her hand warming slightly in his, but she removed it limply to return it under the blanket. “No, Nephew. I am just glad that you are here to see after Anne. I cannot think what will become of her should I . . . should I . . . ” Her voice faltered, and she turned her head from him.

  “Hush, Aunt Catherine. Nothing is going to happen to you. I will have my doctor from London summoned right away. He is an expert, you know. I can h
ave him here by tomorrow evening, and he will find out what is ailing you and have you feeling well in no time.”

  “No!” Darcy sat back in surprise at the sudden strength of her voice, but then she continued, more raspy than ever, stopping to cough occasionally. “That is not necessary, Fitzwilliam. I am resigned to my fate.”

  Darcy frowned and said, gently, “Where is my Uncle Henry? Have you sent word to the Fitzwilliams?”

  Lady Catherine croaked, “Let us not worry them for now. Perhaps you are right and this is only a passing folly. I should not like to intrude unnecessarily upon their lives.”

  Darcy’s brow furrowed at the comment. He could not remember a time when his aunt had not willingly intruded on the lives of her relations, but immediately he dismissed it and felt guilty for his ungrateful thought. Perhaps in her last days, she was softening.

  “I should like to rest now, Fitzwilliam. Visit me tomorrow, if you can spare a moment for your invalid of an aunt.”

  “Of course, Aunt. What time shall I come?”

  “I will send my nurse for you. I never know when I am well enough for visits. I am much too weak sometimes, you see.” She coughed violently before adding, “You are a good boy to come to my sickroom to see me.”

  “I would do no less, Aunt Catherine.” He reached for the hand she had again taken out from her blanket to give it a squeeze. It was cold as ice again, and he rubbed it gently to warm it before placing it on the bed and standing to leave. “Good night, Aunt. Rest well.”

  She weakly waved him away, and once Darcy had reached the outside of her room, he collapsed upon a bench in the hallway. He ran his hands through his hair and thought a moment. His aunt was really quite ill, and now he was beginning to fear for her life. He remembered the freezing feel of her skin and the whiteness of her face. Amid all that heat from the fire, he could not believe she felt so cold. It sent a chill through his spine, and he stood up to walk it off.