Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian

by Jennifer Joy

  Darcy followed Bingley out to the carriage where Mr. Hurst endured the cutting remarks of his wife and her younger sister, Miss Bingley. There was a lady who would have jumped at the opportunity to elevate herself in society by marrying Darcy. But she did not like children and was too often inconsiderate of anyone’s needs and wishes but her own. Miss Bingley would make a contentious wife, and Darcy had enough conflict to manage without adding her to it. It was the same reasoning which kept Darcy from Kent and his aunt Catherine, who insisted he marry his cousin, Anne. (The name did not suit her at all, whereas it had his mother and Georgiana’s child, and he resented Aunt Catherine’s presumption in granting it to her weakling daughter.)

  The future Mrs. Darcy must be kind, discreet, and trustworthy. She must be capable of some affection if she would make a suitable mother for Anne … and their eventual heir. Darcy cleared his throat and shifted his weight on the carriage squabs. This is for Anne. Anything for Anne. A sensible lady would be honored to receive the offer I am willing to give, he reminded himself once again.

  “You are uncommonly quiet this evening, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bingley.

  Her coy smile was wasted on him. Darcy looked out of the carriage window. The moon illuminated the roads and glowed over the fields, filling him with such a longing to return to Pemberley — how it had once been — that his throat did not permit him to utter an immediate reply.

  Would Anne sleep without him there to rock her? Every day away from her was torture. Mrs. Reynolds was true to her promise to write daily, but it was not the same. Unable to check on Anne at night, to see her peaceful form slumbering in her crib, Darcy’s sleep had been restless at best. He would not be able to rest until he returned and saw with his own eyes that she was well.

  “I do not blame you for dreading the evening ahead of us. We cannot expect to find any society worth having at this rustic event, but Charles insists we should mix company with these countrified villagers and peasants,” Miss Bingley added with a haughty snort.

  Bingley discouraged her snobbery, saying, “If you cannot think of something pleasant to say, I beg you to keep your cutting remarks to yourself, Caroline. That goes for you, too, Louisa. You both know it was our father’s wish for me to buy an estate and settle like a gentleman. Whom do you think we would depend upon to maintain a proper living but the very peasants you scorn?”

  Darcy nodded at Bingley. The year before, his friend would have ignored his sister’s arrogant speech. Not anymore. Not when he had been the master of his own choices and had been forced to deal with the consequences of his father’s outdated mills long enough to benefit from them. Responsibility had settled well on Bingley.

  Miss Bingley huffed, but she said nothing the rest of the drive to Meryton. The trip was more pleasant for her silence.

  The door opened, and Darcy alighted with Bingley to assist the ladies. The moment he had dreaded had finally arrived, and it only remained for him to summon his courage and press forward to his goal.

  Bingley observed his surroundings aloud with great pleasure, commenting on the number of people present and the size of the assembly room once they entered. Having nothing pleasant to say, his sisters refrained from commenting at all. Mr. Hurst, only interested in cards and his next meal, went directly to the refreshment table to fetch his first glass of punch, rudely leaving Darcy and Bingley alone with the ladies to face the crowded hall.

  The music paused. Conversations faded. Every eye turned their way.

  Darcy felt like a display at an exposition. A cold sweat broke over him. His fingers turned into icicles.

  Remembering his purpose, he forced a smile. When it felt more like a grimace, Darcy bowed to disguise his discomfort. The sooner he met the eldest Bennet daughter, the better.

  An older gentleman stepped through the crowd to approach them, his grand gestures and welcoming manner easily identifying him as the Master of Ceremonies. Sir William Lucas was his name, but Darcy did not trouble himself to remember it. Bennet was the only name of interest to him that evening.

  Georgiana would have teased Darcy endlessly for his nervousness. That she was not there to do so tore at his chest. The cheerful music that resumed along with trills of laughter and conversation added to Darcy’s bleakness. How could they carry on and enjoy themselves when they would never know Georgiana’s laughter? When Little Anne would never know her mother?

  Anne. He was there for Anne. Darcy stood taller and straightened his waistcoat.

  While he held none of Mrs. Reynolds’ romantic illusions (marriages of convenience allowed little room for love), Darcy had sense enough to know that no woman would wish to hold second candle to the sister still foremost in his thoughts. He had removed the black ribbons around his coat sleeve and hat, replacing them with a smaller token of his remembrance — a black opal pierced through his cravat. The bright, iridescent colors made the dark parts of the stone bleaker. God, he missed her. He missed Anne. She would be bigger when he returned to Pemberley.

  Faces turned to him, and Darcy startled to attention. They seemed to expect a reply from him.

  If only he knew what had been asked.

  With a warm smile, Bingley said, “You must forgive Darcy, Sir William. It is a wonder he accompanied us at all this evening when he only arrived from Derbyshire yesterday.”

  Bless Bingley. He was a good friend.

  “From Derbyshire, you say? That is quite a journey, and we are honored Mr. Darcy has joined us when most gentlemen would rather rest. It is a testament to your character that you overlook your own comfort to appear at our humble assembly, Mr. Darcy,” Sir William said with a grand bow.

  Grateful to Bingley for smoothing over his gaffe and to Sir William for generously accepting it, Darcy smiled in earnest, determined not to make any more blunders while he was being so closely observed. “Thank you for your welcome and understanding, Sir William.”

  The older gentleman grinned at him. “It will be my honor to help you make introductions. The Bennets — their estate is in nearby Longbourn — have family in Derbyshire, if I am not mistaken.” He turned, rising as tall as his stretched neck allowed.

  He did not have to search long. Shoving her way through the crowd was a matron who pulled four young ladies behind her. The intensity of her fixed gaze made Darcy feel like a target to her determined arrow. Under normal circumstances, he would have excused himself.

  But there was nothing normal about what he planned to do, nor did he wish to delay the inevitable further. The woman barging a path through the assembly too accurately matched Mrs. Bamber’s horrific description of Mrs. Bennet for him to turn away.

  Widening his stance, Darcy rooted his feet in place and prepared himself to meet the mother of the lady who might become his bride.

  “Ah, there is Mrs. Bennet,” said Sir William.

  He introduced the family with great alacrity, but Darcy did not need to hear their names pronounced to know wherein his interest lie.

  The eldest, Miss Jane Bennet, was as lovely and fair as Mrs. Bamber had claimed her to be. She blushed and bowed her head charmingly. Her voice was gentle when Bingley complimented her. Darcy understood Mrs. Bamber’s comparison to his own mother. Miss Bennet was the picture of grace and elegance.

  Darcy relaxed. If she replied favorably to the series of questions he had prepared, she would do.

  Miss Elizabeth, however, looked Darcy straight in the eye. Her directness would have been disturbing were it not for the upward curve of her lips and the glint in her eyes. He sensed she saw a great deal more than he was comfortable with, but there was nothing malicious in her aspect to give rise to concern.

  Darcy could not help but wonder what she observed.

  Chapter 5

  Mr. Darcy was the very personification of Sir Knightly. Tall, dark, handsome, and with a hint of mystery about him. Elizabeth was intrigued, but her attention was pulled away from him, drawn to his fair friend who could not keep silent in his admiration for Jane. If love we
re a lightning bolt, then it had struck the moment Sir William introduced Mr. Bingley to Jane. Anyone could see he was pleased with her, and Jane would not disappoint him when he came to know her character. Jane was just as she appeared to be: gentle, kind, attentive … and everything else a gentleman would appreciate in a wife.

  There was hope! If Mr. Bingley married Jane, and if he was as kind as first impressions implied him to be, then their futures were as good as secured.

  Elizabeth reined her thoughts in before caprice carried them away. They had only just been introduced, and already she was planning the wedding! She was becoming as bad as her mother, who was doing everything in her power to secure dances for her daughters before Sir William had a chance to introduce the new arrivals to the other ladies present at the assembly.

  Taking Mama’s blatant hints in good humor, Mr. Bingley asked Jane for a dance.

  So pleased was Elizabeth with her sister’s immediate success, she had to stifle a gasp when Mr. Darcy said her name.

  “Miss Elizabeth, might I have the pleasure of your company for this dance?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth like melted butter.

  “I would be delighted, Mr. Darcy,” she said, earning claps from her mother and scowls from the rest of the gentlemen’s party. Elizabeth cared not. She loved to dance, and her partner was unquestionably the handsomest gentleman in the room. That he sounded exactly how she imagined Sir Knightly to sound was an extra delight. If Mr. Darcy danced as gracefully as he had entered the ballroom, then the next quarter of an hour would be enough to carry Elizabeth through the rest of the evening — wherein her toes were certain to be trodden upon by several well-meaning, but clumsy, partners.

  She and Mr. Darcy took their places next to Mr. Bingley and Jane, who were so enraptured with each other, they did not seem to notice anyone or anything aside from themselves.

  Optimism added a bounce to Elizabeth’s steps and a smile she could not temper to her face. Their futures were not so bleak as her father feared. Not so long as the medicine she had sent for helped him. Three bottles had arrived two days before, and it seemed to be helping.

  And Mr. Bingley was dancing with Jane.

  What a joyous night it was turning out to be!

  Turning her attention to her own partner, Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy scowling at nothing in particular. When he caught her eye, he forced a smile.

  Interesting.

  He said a touch too jovially, “Sir William mentioned you have family in Derbyshire. I wonder if you are related to the Bambers?”

  Elizabeth stifled a gasp. Why should a highborn gentleman know them when they were either in trade or service? The man was an intriguing contrast. On one hand, he exerted himself to smile and show an interest in conversation. On the other hand, Elizabeth could not shake the sensation that Mr. Darcy would rather be anywhere but at the assembly.

  A turn in the dance afforded her the opportunity to examine him before she replied. How strange he should wear a black opal in his cravat. Most gentlemen of means flaunted their fortunes with flashy diamonds or bright gems. In comparison, a black opal was easy to overlook. It was somber — much too somber for an assembly. Perhaps Mr. Darcy was shy and did not wish to draw attention to himself.

  Their palms touched, and the reply on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue vanished. Gone. She looked at their joined hands, a warm sizzle washing over her as if she had partaken of too much punch when she had yet to drink even one glass. What was this dizzying deliciousness?

  It was not until they reached the end of the promenade and Mr. Darcy’s hand left Elizabeth’s that she would recover her thoughts.

  Fighting the blush heating her neck and cheeks, she said, “My aunt’s family lives in Derbyshire. Is Lambton near Pemberley?”

  Mr. Darcy did not seem to notice her breathy tone or overheated face. If he did, he was too much of a gentleman to tease her. He answered coolly, “It is. Mrs. Bamber is a trustworthy woman, and she speaks highly of—” he looked about as if he had lost his words, his cheeks taking on a hint of red.

  His awkwardness put Elizabeth at ease in an instant. This was a gentleman for whom conversation did not come easily, at least, not with new acquaintances. Yes, Mr. Darcy must be dreadfully shy, she concluded.

  She helped him on. There could only be one lady of their mutual acquaintance of whom her Lambton relatives would speak so highly. “Of Mrs. Madeline Gardiner? She is my aunt. Mrs. Bamber has every reason to praise her. My aunt is sensible, kind, and good. She is the sort of friend with whom one may speak freely without misunderstandings or breaches of confidence. Family is important to her, so she writes and visits often.”

  He exhaled, and Elizabeth supposed he must be very nervous indeed.

  “You have not visited the Peak District?” he asked.

  Elizabeth had never suffered shyness, but she knew from her own sister that the timid only required some drawing out to encourage conversation and put them at ease. Appreciating Mr. Darcy’s attempts to be good company, Elizabeth reciprocated with a smile and an inviting reply. “I have not yet, though it has been a desire of mine to go. So little of England outside of Hertfordshire and parts of London are known to me, and I should like very much to explore the country more. Pray, tell me about Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps I shall finally tour the area and meet my aunt’s family next summer.”

  His eyes warmed, and Elizabeth wished she had noticed for a certainty what color they were when they had first been introduced. Right now, they were a greenish gold where she would have sworn his eyes were an amber hue the minute before.

  “Of course, I am partial to Pemberley and the villages surrounding it. The fields blossom with lavender. Wind-bent trees house all manner of birds…” A far-off look took Mr. Darcy away from Elizabeth long before the steps of the dance separated them.

  He was homesick, poor man. What on earth had brought him to Hertfordshire?

  She decided Mr. Darcy was a gentleman worth knowing, shy as he was. His manners were awkward, but his effort to be amiable earned her sympathy. Plus, he liked lavender enough to make mention of it, and she had always favored the scent. Elizabeth wondered if he could smell it on her hair. But, of course, that was ridiculous. They were not standing near enough, and there were too many bodies overpowering the delicate scent for him to notice.

  He remained quiet when, once again, they returned to each other’s side. He fingered the black gemstone, not once losing step to the tune.

  “You miss Pemberley,” she stated.

  “Yes.”

  When he said nothing more, Elizabeth attempted to turn the topic to one which always made her happy. Books. “I hope Mr. Bingley’s library offers a comforting sanctuary wherein you might find respite. Books make constant friends, loyally telling the same story and filling one with the same delight they generously gave on the first reading.”

  Now his eyes were decidedly green around the pupils. “I agree with your comparison of books to loyal friends, but I have never been tempted to read the same story more than once.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “You do not know what you miss, sir.” She had finished reading Lady Gwendolyn and Sir Knightly’s romantic adventure, and already she looked forward to reading it again.

  Mr. Darcy’s comment added further insight into his character. He was not so similar to Jane as Elizabeth had supposed. Jane would never disagree with anyone, much less with a new acquaintance, and Elizabeth found that she was pleased with Mr. Darcy’s contrary opinion.

  The incredulous arch of his thick eyebrow as well as her own pleasure in a good debate encouraged Elizabeth to continue. “Have you never wished to renew an old acquaintance? I am always pleasantly surprised at the insights time and distance add to a friendship … or, in this case, a book.”

  One corner of his lips curled upward. “Is not the greatest thrill in reading a novel — I presume you refer to novels for entertainment, as I have found educational tomes to be neither inviting nor friendly…”

  El
izabeth giggled. “You assume correctly, although I would not exclude educational works meant to expand the mind and increase one’s understanding entirely. I will own, however, that I have not been tempted to read any such books more than once.”

  Mr. Darcy had a pleasant smile. It spread over his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and exposing white teeth. “Very well,” he said, “Far be it from me to discourage the improvement of one’s mind through extensive reading. However, returning to my original argument, do you not feel that the greatest thrill to come from a book is the surprise and satisfaction felt when the characters meet their just endings, be they tragic or happy?”

  She shook her head enthusiastically. “The world is full enough of suffering for me to choose to read more misery. I would rather laugh than cry. Give me a happy ending over a heart-wrenching tragedy any day, and I will savor my second reading in eager expectation of sharing in their joy once again, knowing how well they deserve such happiness.”

  His smile widened, then faded. “You speak of the characters as if they were real. Would that everyone could be happy,” he said softly.

  Once more, the steps of the dance separated them, and when they met again, Mr. Darcy’s smile was in place. It did not, however, reach his eyes.

  Elizabeth did not know what to make of him.

  His manners were notably more guarded when he said, “When we have public assemblies in the village near my estate, there are always children about. I do not see many here. Are they discouraged from attending?”

  What a strange observation. Elizabeth looked about the room, seeing the usual mix of age and society present. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “My mother has always encouraged my sisters and me to accompany her — no matter what our ages were — so we might visit our neighbors, make new acquaintances, and dance. The country does not offer much more by way of entertainment, and we are accustomed to seizing what diversion we can. I would think other families are similar, though I do not presume to speak for them.”