B00CO8L910 EBOK

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  Also by KaraLynne Mackrory

  FALLING FOR MR. DARCY

  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.

  BLUEBELLS IN THE MOURNING

  Copyright © 2013 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: 978-1-936009-23-7

  Graphic design by Ellen Pickels

  Acknowledgments

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a girl in possession of a story must be in want of a few good friends with whom to share it. I owe a great thanks to many friends and family members who encouraged and persuaded this story from me.

  A particular thanks must go to Ron and Kayla for their endless excitement for this endeavor and for me. Like Miss Bennet, I similarly have many sisters who also were steadfast in their support. In addition, I would like to acknowledge my dad, who gave me such a charming, adorably tender inspiration to draw my Mr. Bennet. (Seriously, the cutest old man in the world!)

  Many thanks also for the darling ladies at Meryton Press who made this possible: Michele Reed and Ellen Pickels. Of course, a most devoted thanks to my editor, Christina Boyd. Her uncanny ability to see the potential of a moment made the book better than I had dreamed possible.

  Lastly, to Jane Austen. Now, there is one diva I have on my bucket list of people to meet in the afterlife. I will probably give her at least a high-five!

  Dedication

  Once again to my sweetheart, Andy.

  Now, if we can just get you a pair of breeches.

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth stared blankly out the window of the carriage as it jostled its way toward London. The shock she had received the day before had yet to abate, and her mind ached in turmoil. Her heart still beat, almost traitorously, despite her overwhelming grief. Her unseeing eyes roamed the Kent countryside as she leaned against the windowpane, the cool glass soothing her throbbing head. Disbelief colored her thoughts, overwhelming her emotions. She was wild to see Jane and be with her family once more.

  “Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “As well as can be expected, Colonel, I thank you.” She smiled wanly for his evident concern. She then turned to look upon her other traveling companions. Mr. Darcy, seated directly across from her, was holding his book. When her eyes met his, she was stunned to see compassion. She quickly looked away. The tenderness she saw warred with her opinion of the man, and contemplating the variance only added to her headache. Miss Maria Lucas’s head was bowed as she silently wept. Elizabeth handed her handkerchief to her friend, who gratefully replaced a sodden one. Elizabeth had not cried since the day before — not since he came to the parsonage.

  While walking with Colonel Fitzwilliam the previous morning, Elizabeth had been angered when her suspicions were confirmed that Mr. Darcy had indeed separated her sister Jane from his friend, so she complained of a sudden headache and begged to return to the parsonage. The colonel had boasted of his cousin’s loyalty to Mr. Bingley and his triumph in separating his friend from a most imprudent marriage. Fury rose inside her again at his preposterous interference, now compounded by the loss she was feeling. She wished she had not accepted his offer to escort her to London, but at the time, she was distraught and anxious to reunite with her family.

  The colonel nodded his head in understanding, and Elizabeth said, “Your concern is much appreciated, sir. My heart is indeed grieved, but I am most concerned for my sister and my mother, who are no doubt suffering greatly.”

  She was startled to hear Mr. Darcy’s reverberating voice. “Miss Catherine was very close to Miss Lydia if I remember correctly.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze met his, and displeasure flashed in her eyes. “Yes she was, but it is my sister Jane for whom I most worry.” He looked out the window briefly to control his surprise. “She has suffered another great loss this year. I fear for her compassionate heart. Her emotions, though little displayed, are fervent and tender. She will suffer not only her own loss in this tragedy, but her kind heart will keenly feel the grief of our family.”

  Elizabeth watched in satisfaction as her allusion towards Mr. Bingley’s abandonment caused Mr. Darcy to wince. You think I do not know, Mr. Darcy, but I do. He turned and nodded briefly towards her before picking up his book. “I am sure your company will bring her great comfort, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth turned her head towards the window again. His kind response in the face of her sharp words lessened her anger, and it frustrated her that she felt remorse. Again, her eyes glazed over as she watched out the window and thought back to the day before. Her emotions were raw and turbulent; she wondered how she would ever gain control of herself once more.

  * * *

  After the colonel had left her at her cousin’s parsonage, she had ascended to her room where she spent no little time reviewing all Jane’s letters from London. Although Jane never expressly declared her anguish over the loss of Mr. Bingley, her general tone lacked its usual grace and lightness. If only Jane would write again! I have not heard from her in over a week. She worried anew for her sister and wondered at her lack of correspondence.

  When it came time to ready herself for dinner, Charlotte knocked softly on her door. She breathed deeply and checked her countenance in the mirror before opening it to her friend.

  “Mr. Collins asked me to remind you that we are to dine at Rosings tonight, Lizzy.”

  A groan escaped Elizabeth’s mouth before she could check herself, and her friend’s concern was immediate. “Lizzy, are you unwell?”

  Elizabeth was silent. She was desperate to avoid the Great House and its occupants that day. Perturbed with her own lack of imagination, she sighed, “’Tis only a slight headache, Charlotte; I shall be fine.”

  Mr. Collins, on his way to change for dinner, interrupted when he heard of his cousin’s indisposition. “Cousin Elizabeth, surely you are not considering staying home from Rosings because of your headache. Lady Catherine would be most displeased!”

  “Well . . . ”

  “You cannot, Cousin! Her condescension in extending the invitation forbids it. You will dress immediately and rest until it is time to go. I insist!”

  He spun on his heels and left the ladies standing open-mouthed. Elizabeth looked to her friend for help, and Charlotte reached for her hand as she said, “I will see what I can do, Lizzy. In the meantime, rest and see if you do not feel better by the time we must leave.”

  The door to Mr. Collins’s bedchamber opened abruptly as he said, “Make haste, Charlotte, make haste! We cannot be late; you know how her ladyship detests delays.”

  “I am coming, dear.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand.

  Elizabeth closed the door to her room and fell upon her bed. After a groan into her pillow and the subsequent flight of said pillow through the air towards her bedchamber door, Elizabeth sat up and dressed for dinner with the overbearing Lady Catherine and her officious, meddling, arrogant and presumptuous nephew.

  When she reached the parlor, her cousin was pacing with impatience. Her appearance caused him to exhale with great relief as he hurriedly put on his gloves. Just then, the maid entered and handed two letters to Elizabeth. “The mail’s come, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth smiled down at the letters in her hand. “They are from Jane!” she exclaimed with happiness and relief. Her brow frowned briefly as she studied the envelopes. “Well that is why I have not heard from her: the address on this one was written very ill and was misdirec
ted at first.” She sighed again and looked to her friend with entreaty.

  Charlotte understood her wishes to remain at home and read her letters. Her husband was again anxious to leave. She walked towards Elizabeth, eyeing her friend. “Lizzy, dear, you are flushed.” She placed a hand on her friend’s brow and said, “You are a bit feverish too! I hope you have not caught a cold!”

  Elizabeth looked at her friend in puzzlement before understanding. “Yes, I feel a bit warm.”

  Mr. Collins hastened to her side. “Charlotte, it would not do to expose Miss de Bourgh’s fragile constitution to a cold.” He pulled his wife’s arm, imploring she keep her distance less she catch the malady and take it to Rosings as well.

  “Cousin Elizabeth, I insist you stay here tonight. I will give your regrets to Lady Catherine.”

  Elizabeth stifled a smile as she curtsied to her cousin, “Thank you, Mr. Collins; I will stay here as I would not want to expose myself to her ladyship or Miss de Bourgh.”

  “Yes, yes, well we should be going,” Mr. Collins said as he pulled out his watch from his pocket. “My dear Charlotte! We must make haste. Now!” He pulled his wife towards the door. Charlotte gave her friend a wink before she turned to leave with her husband and sister Maria.

  Elizabeth sank gratefully into the chair as she looked over the two letters and determined to read the misdirected letter first.

  The beginning contained an account of the various engagements and parties Jane had attended with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in London, but the latter half, which was evidently written a day later and with obvious distress, contained more important intelligence. It read:

  My dear Lizzy, since writing the above, I have obtained news of a most serious and distressing nature. What I have to relate, I fear, will worry you excessively. Be assured we here are all in good health. What I have to relate pertains to poor Lydia. We have heard from our father at Longbourn. An express came to our uncle’s house late last night detailing that Lydia and Kitty, in the company of officers, in truth Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny, were out for a walk. They were near the ravine at Oakham Mount, when her footing slipped near the edge and she fell down the slope! She is very badly injured. Our father reports that when the officers brought her to the house, she was conscious and speaking Mr. Wickham’s name restlessly. After the apothecary came and treated her, she slipped into a deep sleep. I am willing to hope for the best, that of her speedy recovery, as her consciousness in the beginning cannot but mean she did not suffer a serious blow to the head in her fall. Our father asked that I write to you. Our mother, as you can imagine, keeps to her bed; the news quite distresses her. I must conclude; I cannot be long from packing. I am to return home tomorrow with our aunt and uncle to be of help where we can.”

  Without any time for consideration and being scarcely able to know how she felt, Elizabeth reached for the other letter and broke the seal immediately.

  By this time, dearest Lizzy, you will have received my hastily written letter detailing Lydia’s accident. I hope this one may be more intelligible; though I am not pressed for time, my head and heart are so weary that I know not how to write what I must. I hardly know where to begin, for I have bad news. Distressing as Lydia’s accident was, we are now greatly grieved, for our poor Lydia soon became feverish. Oh, Lizzy, my heart breaks when I must tell you this news and cannot be there with you when you receive it. Our poor Lydia is gone! Her fever did not subside despite our endless ministrations to her. Soon an infection took over. I take comfort to know that in the end she slipped peacefully into the eternal sleep in which she now resides. Our poor mother is inconsolable and keeps to her room still. Circumstances are such that I know you would want to be with your family as soon as may be, and I beg that you make all possible haste in coming home. In truth, I long for your comfort as we grieve the loss of our dear sister.”

  The tears were now streaming down Elizabeth’s face as she stood quickly, in all eagerness to alert her cousin and friend. “Oh, where are Mr. and Mrs. Collins!” As she approached the parlor door, it opened, and Mr. Darcy walked in. “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. and Mrs. Collins on business that cannot be delayed. I have not a moment to lose!” Her pallor and tears commanded his immediate concern. Mr. Darcy hastened to her side and steadied her shaking shoulders as she nearly collapsed against him in her distress.

  “Good God! What is the matter?” he cried with more feeling than politeness as he carefully settled her on the sofa. Calling for the servant, he bellowed instructions for her to retrieve the Collinses from Rosings immediately. Elizabeth tried to rise again, but he said, “No, let the servant go. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”

  Elizabeth assented. Her shoulders folded inward as she covered her face and let grief wash over her. She looked so miserable and fragile that Mr. Darcy could not leave her and, without forethought, sat beside her, taking her hand in his.

  “Miss Elizabeth, can I get you something for your present relief: a glass of wine perhaps? You look truly ill.” His voice rang with such emotion and true compassion that Elizabeth’s eyes rose to meet his.

  “No, I thank you.” As she endeavored to compose herself, she was taken aback when he quietly offered her his handkerchief. “I am well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news from Longbourn.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth rested her head against the carriage windowpane as the memory swept over her again. She did not know what compelled her to spill her grief to Mr. Darcy that evening, but she told him all. Her eyes again brimmed with tears as she felt the loss of her youngest sister. Poor, vibrant Lydia! Gone in the youth of her life.

  Mr. Darcy had been kind and solicitous, saying little and allowing her to speak freely. She succumbed to the weight of her grief and cried unaffectedly on his shoulder as he gently held her, murmuring incoherent sympathies. Now, as she traveled in his coach, she could not deny his kindness in offering to escort her and Maria back to London. His gentle understanding clashed with the arrogant, interfering character she knew he possessed. She battled between gratitude for his generosity and resentment at the pain she knew he inflicted on Jane’s heart by separating Bingley from her. Before receiving the news of Lydia’s death, she had been determined that, when she next encountered Mr. Darcy, she would confront him about his cruel treatment of both Jane and Mr. Wickham. With the wounds fresh from the news from Longbourn, she had, of course, never challenged him.

  She closed her eyes and let the tears roll gently down her cheeks. The sway of the carriage matched the waves of pain surging in her breast. She opened her eyes when she felt a gentle pressure on her hands. Maria and Colonel Fitzwilliam had both fallen asleep, and Mr. Darcy was again handing her his handkerchief. She was about to refuse his offering until she remembered she had given hers to Maria. She swallowed thickly as she accepted it with a faint, “Thank you.”

  His eyes were kind, and his face softened in sympathy as he nodded to her.

  Mr. Darcy was at a loss to describe what he felt when he saw her thus pained. He felt powerless in bringing her relief. If he could take away her agony and carry it himself — if only to see her smile and the light in her eyes return — he would do so in an instant. He had suffered the loss of his parents, and he knew her misery, albeit he could not formulate the words or the actions to assuage hers. He felt stunted, paralyzed in how to comfort her. If only the post had been delayed one day! he thought before castigating himself for his own self-interest. He had gone to the parsonage that evening to tell her of his ardent love and admiration, and to seek her hand in marriage, forever binding them together the way his heart demanded. If the post had come but a day later, they would have been an engaged couple, and he could have offered his sympathy and support in a more tangible way.

  True, he had held her in his arms the previous evening, and it had been sweet torture. Her small frame had fit perfectly in his arms, and he had selfishly wished she could remain that way evermore. When her hand ha
d contracted around the lapel of his jacket as she sobbed, he felt guilty for taking such satisfaction in her embrace when she was obviously in despair.

  He knew it was further proof of his selfishness that he had immediately offered to escort her and Miss Lucas back to London to her aunt’s house in Cheapside. He had told her and himself that, as he was leaving Kent the next day anyway, it was the most logical solution and would save her the trouble of securing passage by post in such haste. In truth, he did not want to separate from her so soon.

  As he gazed at her staring out the window, he was reminded of the barbed comment she had made earlier in the journey about Miss Bennet. It puzzled him, for she said that her sister had suffered ‘another’ loss earlier this year. Surely, she could not be referring to Bingley? Yet there was that implication in her voice — almost an accusation. He dismissed the idea that Miss Bennet had felt Bingley’s loss. He had observed her most acutely at the Netherfield ball. Her manners were as open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but they were without any symptom of regard. He was sure that, although she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them, and her heart did not seem easily touched. And yet . . . what had Elizabeth said? “Her emotions, though little displayed, are fervent and tender.”

  Mr. Darcy shifted his weight in his seat, stunned by the meaning of her words. In his disbelief, his eyes darted again to her. How did she know? He realized that not only was he likely wrong about his friend but that somehow Elizabeth had learned of his interference. For the first time since encountering her at the parsonage, Mr. Darcy felt relieved that he had not paid her his addresses. In that instant, he remembered that his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had seen her earlier in the day and told him he accompanied her back to the parsonage when she fell ill with a sudden headache. He must have told her about his involvement with Bingley! He now sat wide-eyed with the realization that she must have stayed away from Rosings that evening to avoid him! He was never more thankful that he had not proposed. He shuddered to think what could have happened.