by Jennifer Joy
Setting his empty glass on the table beside the decanter, he said, "We leave on Saturday as planned." That gave him two days. Two days to prove her wrong about his character, clear his name, and leave with his head held high for London.
Richard inspected him again. "You have no reason to delay our stay further?"
"Since you were so gracious to speak well of me to the Collins' guest, I require your assistance. She is under the mistaken assumption I have dealt treacherously with Wickham."
Richard bolted out of his seat, reaching for a sword he did not wear. "That devil. His smooth tongue has convinced others more acquainted with you of the wrongs he claims against you. It is no wonder he got to her when his manners give a more favorable impression than you apparently gave her."
"What do you mean by that?" Darcy snapped.
"Exactly what I said. You cannot be bothered to please everyone, and you care not what society thinks of you. You have always been that way."
Darcy had never seen this is a fault before, but she had. "And why should I care what others think of me?" he grumbled. He wished he cared not of her opinion of him, but he did. Too much so.
Richard smacked him on the back. "I do not mean to criticize, only to explain why a lady such as Miss Elizabeth would have a more favorable impression of Wickham than of you. However, she possesses a keen intellect and will soon see who the true gentleman is."
Darcy winced. Gentleman. He could not allow her to continue to think his actions ungentlemanly. His pride demanded she see her error.
Collecting his thoughts and ignoring the unpleasant emotions tormenting him, Darcy focused on Richard. "Wickham is stationed at Meryton, and I have reason to believe he might exercise an unwholesome influence over her sisters. I feel it my duty to reveal to her the truth of his dealings so she might warn her father in a way in which I am incapable without causing offense or exposing my sister needlessly."
"You trust Miss Elizabeth's discretion?"
Darcy nodded reluctantly. After the verbal thrashing she had bestowed upon him, he could not openly compliment her.
Richard nodded his agreement. "What do you want me to do?"
"Will you attest to the veracity of my account? She will believe you where she may not wish to believe me."
Richard squeezed his shoulder, looking him in the eyes with a mixture of pity and determination. Darcy fully expected him to ask the question he could not answer with a lie. Yes, he loved her, though for the life of him he did not know why.
"That will be easy enough," answered Richard, furling his brow and visibly weighing his words.
"What?" asked Darcy.
"It is nothing you will not find out soon enough," Richard said, adding boisterously, "I will not allow that scoundrel to sully your name when your dealings with him have been nothing but honorable. Were it not for your interference, I would have run him through with my sword after what he attempted with Georgie. I will not allow him to interfere with the happiness of my favorite cousin."
Would he had not interfered! Darcy did not trust himself to speak, so he squeezed his cousin's shoulder and departed from the room.
He had a letter to write.
Chapter 7
The words poured off the tip of Darcy's quill as he relived the pain all over again in an attempt to make her understand without telling her directly that no matter how hard he had tried to garner the approval of his father, he had always preferred Wickham with his ability to say precisely the correct thing, whether he meant it or not. It had not taken long for Darcy to learn the hurt was bearable when he ceased to care.
He had been content until the day she had called him on it. She had refused him when he had asked her for a dance, showing him in her refusal that his words had affected her. That she did, indeed, care.
And, for the first time in a long while, Darcy had cared too.
When she had shown up with a muddy hem to nurse her sister at Netherfield Park, his admiration grew until she had filled his every sense. He could not walk by a rose without thinking of her and the smell of her rosewater. He imagined the feel of her hair as he traced his fingers down the satin curtains in his bedchamber. Her lively laughter, intoxicating in its sincerity, fueled his hope enough to convince himself that her inclination ran deeper than their verbal debates and common interests.
Even as he penned the words, he had little hope it would change her mind about him, but it was that tiny spark, a burning ember which would not be crushed that spurred him on. At least he would defend himself against her unjust claims.
It pained him to do so, but he acknowledged his role in separating Bingley from Miss Bennet. As difficult as it was to open old familial wounds, he found it infinitely harder to accept he may have acted incorrectly. That his interference was not that of a gentleman looking out for the best interests of his friend, but of an intrusive cad interfering in the happiness of a couple who may have been in love. He remained unconvinced of Miss Bennet's feelings toward Bingley (as well as Bingley's for allowing himself to be so easily separated from her), but he could not account for the guilt he felt had his actions been in the right.
He sealed the letter and readied himself for bed.
Doubt unsettled him, and no matter how many times he tossed and turned, he could not sleep until he rose to write another letter.
Elizabeth sat stunned on the window seat in the parlor until the sun went down and the chill reaching through the cracks around the glass seeped into her bones. And still, she felt too numb to move until she heard the carriage conveying the Collinses and Maria home.
She wiped her cheeks, pressing her cold hands against her hot eyes and made her way to her room before she was seen.
She could not erase from her mind the shock on his face as she had completely and irrevocably refused him. He had deserved every criticism and, given his stunned expression before his injured pride turned to anger, Elizabeth was certain he had never in his lifetime had his flaws so plainly pointed out to him. What a hypocrite! Did he not realize that if he was willing to overlook the same complaints he presented to her in his condescending proposal, perhaps Mr. Bingley might have done the same?
She balled her fists and threw herself on top of her bed, burying her face in her pillow as another stream of hot tears stung her eyes and choked her throat.
The shuffling steps downstairs echoed in her head painfully loud, and the flame of her candle burned too brightly so that she snuffed it out. The pressure in her head grew so unbearable, she squeezed her temples between her hands for some relief.
She groaned when someone knocked on the door. And she groaned again when the door squeaked open and Charlotte said her name aloud.
Elizabeth felt Charlotte's cool hands against her forehead.
"Lizzy, do you wish for me to call for the apothecary? You are unwell."
Elizabeth shook her head, her vision bursting with fireworks.
"Have you taken the laudanum?" Charlotte asked.
Thoughts hurt, but shaking her head hurt worse. "No," she whispered.
Elizabeth cracked her eyes open, and she saw Charlotte set her candle down on the bedside table.
"I do not see the bottle. Where is it, Lizzy?"
Elizabeth stirred, but Charlotte pressed her down. "Do not move. You are unwell," she said in a soft voice.
Through the lightning storm in her head, Elizabeth had one coherent thought. "Pocket," she whispered, praying she had been loud enough for she could not bear the sound of her own voice like a trumpet call trapped between her ears.
Charlotte went over to the dresser where Elizabeth's reticule lay and pulled out the bottle. "I'll have Molly make a tea immediately. I have some news, but you are in no condition to hear it until the morning."
Elizabeth was not even curious. The ache in her head consumed her.
The beverage was bitter, but it dulled her misery. Elizabeth did not remember much else of the night, but when she awoke the following morning and splashed her face wit
h water, the fog in her mind cleared and she saw the pained look in his eyes again.
Darcy slid the letter which would correct all the faults she had enumerated against him, save one, into his pocket. He could not explain his influence over Bingley, nor justify his interference. All he could do was own the role he had played in their separation, which he did honestly, and hope Bingley would receive his letter and act in accordance with his own feelings.
He glanced at the window before departing from his room. The rising sun pushed against the morning fog rising off the lawns, powerful in its determination to clear away the last vestiges of winter. Darcy did not know where she would choose to walk in the park, but he had no doubt she would choose the paths he was not known to frequent.
It bruised his pride to think it, but he knew it to be true. At least he would have done everything possible to clear his name and, with the help of Richard, he had no reason to doubt she would come to a more favorable opinion of him.
He closed the door of his bedchamber, taking care to step lightly and make little noise. He had one purpose. Give her the letter, clear his name, allow her time to confirm his side of the story with Richard, and leave on the morrow for London where the distance would enable him to see the situation objectively — without the muddle of emotion to cloud his judgment or the sight of her to remind him of how foolish he had been to care, to love.
Having reached the bottom of the stairs without interruption, Darcy's heart leapt into his throat when Richard's burly voice said behind him, "Where are you going?" His question echoed in the entrance hall.
Darcy turned, glaring openly at his loud cousin and held his finger up to his lips to prevent any further outbursts. Reaching into his pocket, he held up the letter and pointed to the door leading out of doors. He would not be deterred from his goal. He would walk the entire park in his search of her if need be, but he would deliver his letter that morning.
Richard joined him at the bottom of the steps. "You need not trouble yourself, Darcy. She will be here shortly."
Darcy forgot to be quiet. "What?" he asked. Surely, Richard spoke of someone other than Miss Elizabeth. He could not imagine a circumstance where she would be willing to call at Rosings while he dwelt under its roof.
"Maybe I should have told you last night, but you were so agitated."
"Told me what?"
"Miss Bennet is to stay here at Rosings as Anne's guest." Richard smiled, obviously pleased with the arrangement.
Darcy felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his lungs.
Richard smacked him on the shoulder, sending him forward. "Is it not perfect? I know you like her a good deal more than you have ever allowed yourself to like anyone. We will clear your name against Wickham, and you will have the opportunity to show her what a fine man you are. Maybe we can extend our stay until Miss Bennet returns to London, at which point it would only be natural and convenient for all involved to offer her the use of your carriage to convey her safely to town." He wiggled his eyebrows and openly schemed … with no idea how miserable Darcy felt. By what cruel plan did fate and circumstance conspire to force her company on him? By what unjust turn of events had she agreed to come to Rosings? Did she plan to gloat on his failure or use it against him?
Darcy clutched his stomach. If she sought to use his misstep to advantage, she would be sorely disappointed. Perhaps it was better he had not given her the letter after all. He tucked it back into his pocket, determined to throw it into the fire.
Only, she could not have agreed to it. She had not been present at the tea.
By now, Richard had gone from extending their stay at Rosings and an agreeable coach ride to London to a proposal she was sure to accept by the time she departed for her home at Longbourn. Darcy was in no hurry to repeat the offer that had been so disgusting to her.
Interrupting Richard, he asked, "How did this come about? Aunt Catherine has made her disapproval of her clear since the first night she dined at Rosings. Anne gloated in the retelling of it."
"It was Anne's doing. When she heard of Miss Bennet's headache, she suggested that the parsonage was too stuffy for her and, since it would not do to have her return home ill, she offered for her to stay here out of the goodness of her pure, unselfish, disinterested heart."
The sarcasm in Richard's tone was not lost on Darcy. Anne never did anything for anybody unless she stood to gain from it.
"What is she up to?" Darcy asked.
Richard shook his head. "I know not, but so long as we are here to check Anne, we can turn her plan to our favor."
Darcy doubted that. "How did she get Aunt Catherine to agree to it?" If he could appeal to his aunt discreetly, he might get her to change her mind.
"That was a clever piece of work, really. Anne used Aunt's desire to impose upon others by mentioning how one as neglected as Miss Bennet stood to benefit from a closer association with them. Mr. Collins, on seeing an opportunity to further his intimacy with his esteemed patroness through his cousin, encouraged the idea, expounding on the many disadvantages of Miss Bennet's upbringing until our dear, condescending aunt was moved to see Miss Bennet as a most unfortunate creature in need of her wholesome influence and charitable guidance."
She would have no choice but to accept the invitation. Darcy closed his eyes and tried not to pity her while, at the same time, drawing gleefully wicked comfort that she would be every bit as miserable as him during her stay at Rosings.
Saturday was only one day away. He could stay out of her way for one day.
Chapter 8
Elizabeth read Jane's cheerless letter four times before she could put him out of her mind. The haughty man was not worth a kind thought, although when she let her defensive guard down an inkling of guilt gnawed at her conscience. She had been, perhaps, overly pointed and direct. Her one consolation was that a man so proud as he would have shrugged off her insults, deemed her unworthy, and moved on. He would marry an heiress with nothing to do but dedicate herself to living up to his impossibly high expectations. They would be miserable together, an exemplary societal couple.
Elizabeth thought to find comfort in his future misery, but she did not.
Unsettled she did not react how she should, Elizabeth decided it best to put him out of her mind entirely. He would leave Rosings Park on the morrow, and she had no reason to believe she would ever see him again. Praise the heavens and all she held dear!
Her headache was gone, but a dullness lingered over her senses from the laudanum she had taken the night before. She looked at the liquid in the bottle. Molly had not given her very much. It was nearly full. But it had been enough.
Grabbing the bottle with the Meryton apothecary's label stuck to the side, Elizabeth went downstairs to the dining room where Mr. Collins, Charlotte, and Maria sat around the table breaking their fast.
With a nod from Charlotte, Molly placed another setting at the table beside her.
"Are you much improved this morning, Lizzy?" asked Charlotte.
Elizabeth set the laudanum on the table and pushed it toward her friend. "I am, thank you. I do not think I shall need this anymore."
Charlotte pushed it back, her eyes flickering over to Mr. Collins who happily spread butter over his roll of bread. "You may need it again."
Uneasy at Charlotte's manners, but determined that nothing ruin her day, Elizabeth smiled. "I daresay there is enough laudanum here for me to suffer a fortnight's worth of headaches."
Maria set her fork down and leaned across the table with a sideways glance to ensure Mr. Collins was too engrossed in his morning meal to overhear what she wished to say. "Take care not to drink too much." She glanced again at Mr. Collins and dropped her voice so it was barely audible. "I read in the newspaper about a lady who took too much laudanum. She never woke up." Maria sipped from her teacup and nodded solemnly.
Elizabeth inwardly applauded Maria for reading the newspaper when most households believed a lady's sensibilities too delicate to read current events.
"You need not worry about me. I am much improved and shall not require any more." Aside from a dull ache behind her eyes and a numbness at the top of her head, Elizabeth did feel better. Some fresh air (and a day without seeing him) would put her to rights. She pushed the bottle back toward Charlotte, and frowned when Charlotte pushed it back.
Mr. Collins lowered his butter-coated roll and addressed her. "It was a pity you could not join us, Cousin Elizabeth. We spent a pleasurable afternoon in her ladyship's company. It will please you to know how well Miss de Bourgh looks. She is a most charming young lady, far superior to the handsomest of her sex. There is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth."
Charlotte gripped her teacup. Had it been Elizabeth, she would have tossed the contents at Mr. Collins.
Maria said, "Miss de Bourgh is perfectly amiable. Lady Catherine praised their doctor for her improvement. Did you know he brings all of Miss de Bourgh's medicine from London?"
Mr. Collins added, "Her ladyship never purchases from the Hunsford apothecary." To Charlotte, he said, "I feel it best to follow suit, my dear. You saw how poorly Miss de Bourgh's appearance suffered under his care. I would hate for the same to befall you or anyone else in our household."
Charlotte sighed. It must have been difficult to run her household within the strictures placed upon her by her husband, who insisted on imitating his patroness. "If you feel it best," she said, not taking issue. Charlotte always had yielded to avoid conflict. There were times Elizabeth admired her for it, but more often than not, she wished her friend would voice her complaints and improve her situation.
For the next quarter of an hour, until Elizabeth could finish the food on her plate and effect her escape out of doors, Mr. Collins regaled her with an account of the proportions of Lady Catherine's drawing room and her generosity to them at the parsonage. With the comparisons he found between the two, one would think he lived in a house as grand as Rosings Park! Elizabeth had been prepared to see him in his glory, but she could not help fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her as if wishing to make her regret what she had lost in refusing him. He could have spared his breath.
