Haunting Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  Sitting down then, Darcy met her eyes. “Unwelcome, and insincere and disrespectful, I believe.”

  “I said no such thing!”

  “No, you are correct. Your words were that I teased and mocked you with my compliments. Why then, Miss Elizabeth, should I not be fearful to give voice to any admiration or desire for your company with such a repayment expected?”

  Elizabeth colored, remembering her earlier words spoken in a heated temper, and since their conversation was now polite and friendly, she felt remorse for the way she had addressed him.

  “Well then I beg your pardon, sir, if you felt I had not given your feelings their due credit. At the time, I knew only that your words were spoken in an attempt to provoke me into speaking to you.”

  “Well, I will not say that you were mistaken entirely. My words were meant to provoke, but they were no less true. I do feel you are a handsome woman.”

  Darcy smiled when she flushed, but he was taken aback by the sudden question in her eyes and her response. “Why is that?”

  She had spoken in an off-handed manner, as if she were thinking to herself. With raised brows, Darcy said, “I have never been asked to explain my preferences on this subject before, but I will attempt to if you truly wish it.”

  Elizabeth was quick to stop him with an uneasy laugh and another blush. “I beg your pardon, sir. I spoke rather to myself there. I was not asking . . . indeed, it is not necessary that you . . . ” Elizabeth swallowed deeply and stomped her foot in a manner that the gentleman found endearing. “That is to say, I was wondering to myself, actually, why is it that you speak so candidly about your . . . inclination towards me; when last we were in company in Hertfordshire, your decided dislike was most apparent.”

  Darcy sat upright, caught by her candor. “Dislike? I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, I have felt many things with regards to you, but dislike was never among the lot.”

  She tried to ignore his words and the flip she felt in her stomach upon hearing them, as she was now determined to have this puzzle in her mind solved. “But certainly you must admit you are much less reserved now than you were then, sir.”

  Darcy smiled, clasping his hands near his jaw. “Is the reason not obvious, Miss Elizabeth?” His smile grew more pronounced as he continued. “Despite your assurances to the contrary, from the beginning of this little predicament in which we find ourselves, I have always felt you were only a figment of my imagination. I am not accustomed to guarding my thoughts from myself.”

  “But I assure you, I am very real.”

  Darcy shrugged. “So you say. However, since neither of our theories can be proven or disproven satisfactorily, I see no reason to act with the propriety normally expected of me while in the presence of a lady.” He punctuated his words by casually kicking off his boots. Smirking at her, he reclined back into the chair then crossed his feet in front of him on the footstool.

  Surprising even herself, Elizabeth laughed openly at him. She had to admit he had a point. Why should either of them expect even the most normal behavior of the other when their situation was anything but?

  “I think on this point we may have to agree to disagree, Elizabeth. May I call you Elizabeth? I must admit I have long since dispensed with formal addresses when my thoughts tended in your direction. Now with the oddity of our arrangement, I find the formality silly in the extreme.” He ended his provocative speech by crossing his arms casually behind his head.

  Elizabeth knew not what to say; she had always thought the only man to whom she would grant that liberty would be her husband. She searched her heart and mind and was surprised to find she felt no aversion to it. Still, she hesitated. Did such things count in dreams?

  Darcy laughed at her indecision, throwing his hands up in the air before furthering his argument. “For heaven’s sake, madam, you have not been able to move further than a few yards from me for two days and, until a solution can be found, will remain thus tethered for the foreseeable future.”

  Elizabeth smiled and shook her head in exasperation at him, and though she was resolved to allow him this liberty, before she could indicate so, he spoke again.

  He leaned towards her, his voice lowered, as he said in mock seriousness, “And you have been in my chambers.”

  “Ahh, speak no more, sir!” Elizabeth colored and laughed, covering her ears with her hands. Somehow, she knew he had not made the point to cause her to be uneasy but only to tease her, and yet her embarrassment was extreme. She liked this friendly, even teasing, Darcy much more than she ought. “Very well, sir, you may.”

  Darcy again relaxed into the cushions of his seat, a self-satisfied smile on his lips and a heated contentment about his eyes. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  She colored again at his purposeful use of her name. Her eyes could not meet his though, and she felt her heart’s unsteady tempo. She smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her gown and fumbled to regain control.

  Darcy sensed her discomfort, and although he relished in her brightened cheeks and marveled at the satisfaction he felt using her name — almost as if it were the most precious of gifts — he wished to put her at ease again. This was the most pleasure he had garnered since awakening New Year’s Day to discover in his library, the beautiful, laughing sprite before him. He had started out denying her presence as he had tried to deny his feelings for her. He had acted the fool with Miss Bingley earlier in a misguided attempt to rid himself of her image. His actions, though stupid and mistaken, had led to a glorious argument with Elizabeth — one that rendered him stunned with her increased beauty and stung by her accusations, especially regarding Wickham — yet now they were amiable, civil even and, if not entirely comfortable, at least friendly. He would not wish to change that. For the first time, he was determined to allow himself to enjoy this little insanity for as long as it lasted.

  While searching for something to say, he noticed her fingers fidgeting with her dress. He watched as they floated in and out of the garment and his curiosity came to the fore, giving him a means for conversation as well. “How do you do that?” he said, gesturing towards her hands and smiling when they ended their play.

  Elizabeth folded her hands more properly across her lap and answered with a shrug, hoping to come across as casual. “It is rather like magic, I guess. One of the first things I discovered upon entering this dream state.”

  Darcy, truly interested now, said earnestly, “Tell me how you came to be here, as you see it.”

  “I actually do not remember arriving in your library, if that is what you mean.” Elizabeth unconsciously rubbed at her forehead as she spoke. “In fact, I remember only that I laid down to rest before the New Year’s Eve Meryton Assembly and next I knew, I was here, in the dark of your library.”

  “So you believe you are even now dreaming of me . . . err . . . of all of this” — he lifted his hands in a sweeping motion — “while you rest before the dance?”

  Elizabeth’s face flashed with a moment of confusion before she answered, “It is the best I can do to explain.”

  “How do you explain the passage of time then, Elizabeth? New Year’s Eve was two days ago.” He spoke softly, the weight of their conversation falling upon him. He waited while she thought about her answer and noted again that she rubbed the side of her head.

  Eventually she sighed, and with sadness in her eyes, said honestly, “I cannot explain it, sir, except to say that anything is possible in a dream. Dreams often distort or stretch time. It may be that I am still dreaming, only in reality, Father Time has been less generous with what time has been spent. Perhaps I will awaken and find it is time to ready myself for the ball.”

  Darcy was about to protest, based upon his own real experience of the last few days, knowing he was very much awake, but she forestalled him.

  “I know this explanation is not satisfactory to you, given your interpretation of our shared experiences, but we have, on this point, agreed, sir, to disagree.” She flashed him a censuring smile that he
found absolutely charming. He nodded as in acquiescence.

  A most wicked and tempting plan then entered his mind, and he settled his features into a severe frown in preparation of its execution.

  “I believe I owe you an apology, Elizabeth. I have not been fair to you.”

  His abrupt change in topic confounded her momentarily. Her serious tone matched his as her forehead wrinkled in concern. “I should like to think that I would always welcome any apologies you might wish to give me, Mr. Darcy, but in this case I feel you must explain yourself, sir.”

  Darcy shook his head, his brow lowered in a grave manner. “There you go again. Elizabeth, please accept my most sincere apology.”

  This time his companion detected the humor lurking in the depths of his eyes and, with a secret smile of her own, decided to play along with him. She responded with the same somber tones. “I think I understand your concern now, sir. And I agree. This travesty cannot go on.”

  She watched his eyes flash with triumph and barely kept from laughing.

  “I am glad to hear it. Considering your earlier concession, it was the height of rudeness for me not to respond with equal generosity.” Darcy sighed dramatically and his companion, unable to hold back any longer, laughed briefly before biting her lip in an attempt to pull her face into a more serious mien.

  Though she did not know his purpose, she nodded her head and looked sternly at him. “True, any less would not be gentlemanly of you.”

  “Then it is settled. You will call me by my given name. I will not force you to refer to me so formally anymore. It was rude of me not to offer it before.”

  Elizabeth gasped, surprised by the reason for his ruse and realizing how neatly his charade had trapped her.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth laughed, fighting a blush that tried to creep up her neck. It was one thing for him to argue his right to call her by her Christian name; by his own account, he was half mad anyway. One should not provoke the truly mentally unstable. But it was certainly quite another thing for her to refer to him so intimately, for she was not addled in the least — or at least she hoped she was not. She was beginning to question it given the feelings she was presently experiencing, feelings she had no notion before a few days ago of ever feeling towards this gentleman.

  “Uh ah,” he said with a shake of his finger. “Not Mr. Darcy anymore, Elizabeth.”

  “What if I said that I do not know your given name?” she responded, trying to buy herself some time to sort through her thoughts for a defense. Besides being humored by his clever trick, she was still caught off guard.

  “I would say that you are a storyteller.”

  Elizabeth laughed then, letting go of all her reservations. The abruptness of his response and confidence in his tone told her she had not fooled him for a moment. It was the challenge in his eyes, however, that made her lift her chin and finally say, “As you wish, sir.”

  “Sir?”

  “Would you have me begin now?”

  “Carpe diem, and all that, my dear,” he said with a casual flick of his hand and a roguish smile.

  Elizabeth sent him a half-hearted scowl at his endearment before deciding to give him a bit of his own merriment back. “Very well. ‘Fitzwilliam’ it is. A fine name, if I am allowed to say. It puts me in mind of your charming cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  Darcy growled. “I think I would prefer you to call me ‘William.’”

  “Are you sure? ‘Fitzwilliam,’ like your cousin who also bears that name, has a certain appeal.”

  Darcy marveled at their witty repartee as she turned the tables on him. Though only half concerned that she was really charmed by his cousin, he still could not like the idea she might think of Richard when she spoke his name.

  “Elizabeth,” he warned, “You are my fantasy not his.”

  Elizabeth merely shook her head at his words. They would never come to an agreement on who was right, but neither would they compromise on their own interpretations. His fit of jealousy was oddly comforting to her though, and so she gave in with a warmth settling in her cheeks.

  “That I am, William; that I am.”

  Their conversation thus advanced into a comfort often found only amongst old friends. They did not always agree, and there were still barriers between them, particularly with Elizabeth giving her trust entirely to Mr. Darcy, but the tension that had marked the last two days slowly dissipated into the darkness surrounding them as they sat by the glow of the fire.

  She did not ask again about Wickham, although she burned with curiosity and a need to understand how he might defend himself in that regard. Sensing their tenuous and newly won truce was likely unable to withstand such a dialogue kept her from approaching the topic. Besides, the gentleman she was beginning to know before her was in contrast a very different sort than the one Wickham had described.

  They also did not venture again into the reasons for their imposed connection. Neither, it seemed, was comfortable with the explanations of the other nor the implications of what it meant if their viewpoints were not correct. Though their thoughts returned often to the mystery at hand, they did not share them.

  Darcy, in particular, was disturbed by something Elizabeth had said earlier in her explanation of her averred dream state. She said she remembered nothing beyond preparing for the New Year’s Eve assembly. Though he did not want to think too heavily on it, it did add proof to her theory as she had memories beyond their association in Hertfordshire — memories beyond his leaving the county and thus ending their shared memories, memories she could not have if she were entirely a product of his cupid-bit imagination.

  But the thoughts Darcy most diligently tried to avoid were his feeling towards Elizabeth. He could not admit more than an ardent admiration; he could not say it was love. By sheer determination, he avoided consigning the turbulent emotions rolling in his breast as that definitive name. To do so would seal his fate, and although he knew he loved being with her, loved speaking with her, loved looking at her . . . admitting he loved her would allow him only one choice in the matter: marriage. Stubbornly, he wished to hold on to his choices, despite how foregone the conclusion appeared.

  So instead, he distracted himself with asking her questions. He questioned her further regarding her strange abilities. The ability to read books by merely touching them amazed and intrigued him. For long into the night, he marveled as she demonstrated time and again by reaching for a series of books. The delight and faraway look that stole through her bright eyes when she felt the book took his breath away. It was many books before he realized that he asked her to try her abilities simply to see that look come across her features as she experienced the book.

  She asked him about his estate, how he came to be master and of the deaths of his parents. He was not offended by her intrusion into such personal matters. She asked with such a sweetness of temper and concern evident in her features that he found himself telling her things that he had never admitted to another soul: his pain at the death of his mother, and then compounded at the loss of his father. He spoke of the weight that pulled at him when he contemplated his responsibility towards his sister, his wish to be a good brother to her even while he struggled with his role as father figure too. They talked about his close friendship with his cousin, and he admitted how he often felt envious of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s easy nature.

  “It is the same with Mr. Bingley. I am not easy in company. I guess you would say that I should practice, but I have always been reserved, and no amount of practice will change that.”

  “They are both of very different natures to you; I would not dare presume to counsel you to be like them. Their characters complement yours. I am certain there are aspects of your personality that they envy,” she said kindly.

  “Would you tell me about your sister, Elizabeth? Was Miss Bennet really affected by my friend?”

  Elizabeth was silent for too long, making him fear he had broached a topic that was too volatile in nature and would break t
heir newfound camaraderie. But she eventually did speak, and though he strained to hear her whisper, he heard it nonetheless.

  “She loved him very much and was heartbroken when he did not return to Hertfordshire.”

  “Then I have done my friend and your sister a great injustice.”

  Together they sat in silence, surrounded not only by the dark night but also by the darkness of their thoughts. Elizabeth was pained with a longing for her home and family so severe that she was rendered mute, and Darcy was contemplating the grave error he had made many weeks before in separating two people who loved each other.

  “Come, Elizabeth, it has grown late. And although you have explained earlier that you do not sleep in your dream, in my world, I do,” Darcy said, breaking the silence.

  He stood then and offered his hand to assist her to her feet. She smiled, saying, “I thank you, but you will not be able to aid me.”

  “So you say, but have you ever tried? You mentioned earlier that you are able to sit if you do not think about experiencing the chair.”

  Elizabeth wondered whether his argument had merit, though she had her doubts considering the way the maid had walked through her on her first day in the house. Still a part of her longed for some human touch and so she put forth her hand.

  Darcy held her gaze as he slowly extended his hand further to capture hers. When his fingers enclosed on themselves, grasping nothing but air, both felt a disappointment. The sadness in Elizabeth’s eyes was hidden as well as the mirrored sentiment in his.

  She laughed uneasily. “One day, William, you will have to admit when I am right.”

  Darcy smiled at her use of his name. Though she had blushingly used it a couple of times during their conversations earlier, never had it rolled off her tongue so naturally. It delighted him like nothing else. “Right. And beautiful.”

  * * *

  Longbourn had long since embraced its inhabitants in the warmth of sleep when one such resident, who for a number of days had slumbered in a restless though unconscious state, drew a deep, cleansing breath in the silent night air of her room before relaxing into a deep, healing slumber. It was the first such rest for the hapless, lost soul since her body had been battered, bruised, and tossed like a ship during a storm — the first since her carriage tumbled and finally settled on the icy shoreline of the road.