Haunting Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  “What do you think this is Lizzy? Mother sounds quite excited.”

  She reached to squeeze her sister’s hand and laughed quietly as she thought of what Lizzy would have said had she been conscious. Finally, the vocal exertions of Mrs. Bennet neared the door, and soon their mother entered the room.

  “Jane!” Mrs. Bennet flung herself into the chair beside her favorite daughter, waving a handkerchief about her face. “You will not believe the news I have to share with you!”

  Jane smiled sweetly at her mother, waiting for her to continue. Mrs. Bennet rarely required a response to continue.

  “I was in town when an express rider came through Meryton, quite as if the very devil was chasing him!” Her heavy breaths caused her to pause then.

  “Is that all? I thought at least the pigs had got out.”

  Mrs. Bennet scowled at her daughter, wondering briefly that Jane sounded more like Lizzy just then. The thought of Lizzy distracted Mrs. Bennet despite the seriousness of her message.

  “How is Lizzy this morning, Jane? Any improvement in her?”

  Jane smiled at Mrs. Bennet, gladdened by her mother’s improved sentiments towards her second daughter since the accident. “She is well, I believe. Still no change, but you can see as much yourself.”

  “Well, Jane, even Lizzy cannot stay long this way when she hears the rest of my news,” Mrs. Bennet warming again to the intelligence she had lately learned in Meryton. “Indeed, pay attention, Lizzy, for you will be glad to hear this, too, though not as much as Jane, I suspect.”

  Jane’s brows creased when her mother winked at her in that way. But she could not ponder its meaning any longer, for her mother’s words rendered her mute and frozen.

  “The express rider came back through town on his return from his destination. And where do you think he went, Jane? He went to Netherfield! He is sent to tell the housekeeper that his master is returning. And very soon!”

  Jane’s heart beat wildly at the thought of Mr. Bingley returning to Netherfield. It was an impossibility that she could not have guessed. Jane wondered whether Miss Bingley had shared her last letter with him, detailing the accident. Her hopes soared at the thought that he might return as a result. Of course, her modesty kept her from holding too much hope in his motives, but she could not deny that his return brought with it a warmth that had long since been missing.

  “Jane! Did you not hear me? I heard it from the rider himself on his return, for I saw him stop to water his horse in the fountain and maneuvered myself close enough to hear him speak to Mr. Roberts who was also watering his horse. That man is always trying to know everyone else’s business, and you know I cannot approve of such ways, but I heard Mr. Roberts ask the young man what his destination had been, and the lad replied it had been Netherfield. And then do you know, that nosey Mr. Roberts straight away asked whether Mr. Bingley was returning to Hertfordshire, and the young man confirmed that he was!”

  Mrs. Bennet, excited again by her discovery and certain that she was the first to have found out amongst her friends left with haste to share the news with Mr. Bennet and then off again to crow to her neighbors of her good fortune.

  Jane slowly became aware that she was squeezing her sister’s hand and looked down upon Lizzy’s sleeping face. The bruising had faded substantially and she looked almost perfectly healthy, if only sleeping. “So he is to come back, Lizzy.”

  Jane’s eyes then fell to their hands as she thought she felt a slight squeeze from her sister in return.

  Chapter 12

  “Straighten your shoulder, like so. That’s it; now keep your arm level and attack.”

  Laughter bubbled up out of Elizabeth at Darcy’s focused look but nonetheless attempted to correct her posture. “I must say, this is much more difficult than it looks.” Elizabeth flashed merry eyes at her instructor and continued. “Perhaps if I had more examples with which to compare myself, I might acquit myself better.”

  Darcy was neither fooled nor provoked by her words as she had intended, knowing she hoped that he might be flustered. Nevertheless, he replied, “I assure you that is not necessary. I am more than capable of teaching you to fence as you have requested without subjecting you to any more glimpses inside the Fencing Academy.”

  “’Tis a pity for sure. There were so many very agreeable gentlemen.”

  Darcy stepped towards her until he was nearly upon her. His voice was low and menacing. “Is that so, Elizabeth?”

  His sudden proximity caused her arm to drop to her side and her breaths to come in quick succession. She stilled and slowly lifted her face to meet his. His dark brown eyes bore an intensity that thrilled her and liberated her senses. Although she had truly been only interested in the specifics of the sport at first, she had to admit her questions had led to a most delightful turn of events there in the ballroom in which she found herself being tutored by the gentleman standing closely to her.

  She allowed herself to hold his gaze even as she twisted her brow up and sweetly tilted her head. “Oh, perhaps you are right. I might have been far too distracted at the academy to truly understand the sport.”

  “Right and handsome,” Darcy retorted, a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Darcy carelessly shrugged as he took a step backwards and away. Circling her, he casually swung his rapier as he spoke. “When one is entitled to hearing that they are indeed, correct, I think it only fair that they ought to also have that something extra — that little something more.”

  “You think I ought to admit you are right and tell you that you are handsome?” Elizabeth said with a disbelieving laugh. “Such vanity!”

  “It is only fair, Elizabeth. I paid you such courtesy not two days ago when we left the library. I admitted you were right and beautiful. Or do you not recall?”

  Elizabeth shook her head in bemusement. “You are worse than I had before thought. Very well then, Mr. Darcy, you are right and handsome. Now, may we continue with my lesson?”

  “With relish!” Darcy said, his eyes lighting up with a satisfied spark and his lips turning up into a most beguiling smile. He then stepped up behind her and lifting his hand, indicated she should again raise her arm. The intimacy of their pose — her back to his chest, his arm extended with hers — was heady, and yet neither touched. “En guarde, prêt, allez. Advance, good. Shoulders up, Elizabeth. You must keep your back straight!”

  Elizabeth lunged forward, shuffling her feet back again and flicking her arm in the same downward motion he had shown her earlier. It was an exhilarating sport and not just because she was learning first hand from Darcy. Though she held no actual sword, her movements were full of grace and power.

  A moment later, after another couple of maneuvers, Darcy and Elizabeth separated, hearts beating rapidly and breathing heavily, their exertions not entirely responsible for either.

  “You are a quick pupil, Elizabeth,” Darcy said with evident appreciation in his voice.

  “Thank you, William. I have a good tutor.”

  The two fell silent for a moment. The lady took the chance then to study her companion as she smoothed her gown again. She had enjoyed her lesson and marveled at the playful side of Darcy that allowed it to happen. They had simply been speaking of the sport, and she had asked several questions. Then she thought she might tease him by asking him to teach her, assuming the proper Mr. Darcy would not consider teaching a lady this most gentlemanly of sports. She had been wrong, for he had immediately accepted the challenge, and she could do nothing but feign a calm she did not feel.

  Darcy had taken his jacket off earlier when they had begun the lesson, and the movement of his arms underneath the bright white linen of his shirt was distracting. She smiled though, because in the days since they had left Bingley to his precipitous trip to Hertfordshire, their time together had grown quite comfortable, not unlike his current attire. She found his manner easy though not entirely without formality.

  They co
nversed most of the days away; their topics varied. They had many discourses on books, not always agreeing on the merits of a particular one, and they spoke often of themselves, securing the ties of their bond further.

  She saw also that he was a diligent master to his work despite her presence, always keeping up on his business. He was also a thoughtful brother, seeking out Georgiana several times to include her in a walk or for tea. Elizabeth was often only a shadow about the room during these discussions, her respect and admiration for him growing as she watched him care for his young sister.

  Elizabeth hid her smile, tucking her head to the side as she walked towards a mirror in the room. While she checked her appearance and secured a few loose tendrils, she recalled tea with Georgiana the day before.

  Darcy had procured himself a plate, including the pastries they both knew she favored. Despite the strange looks from his sister, he amicably discussed a book with Georgiana. It was one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and Elizabeth recalled now how one particular verse had quite affected her. At the time, she could not decide what had drawn her to the verse. It was as if the words had stirred some recognition of sorts.

  Elizabeth’s gaze met Darcy’s in the mirror. He watched her silently, a serene smile upon his lips. She returned his smile, pink coloring her cheeks as she turned away. He had said nothing more about his feelings for her during their time together, and both parties avoided discussing their situation. Elizabeth was beginning to be of the same opinion as Darcy; she did not relish that moment when this mystic tether was cut.

  Darcy’s thoughts were also taking a serious turn though caused by a topic different in nature. As he watched Elizabeth fix the captivating ringlets that had fallen out of place atop her head, he struggled to think of any means to further delay speaking with her about a topic he found most distasteful and actually quite painful. Previous to their flirtatious fencing lesson, they had been talking amiably in his library. He had wanted to tell her about Wickham, but not knowing to what degree her heart might be drawn to that despicable man, he repeatedly delayed taking up the matter. He engaged in any other subjects she chose with relish, even agreeing to teach her to fence as a means of postponement. The fencing lesson had turned into one of the most pleasingly, torturous moments of his life. His feelings for Elizabeth had woven themselves so deeply around his heart that he could not help but grant any of her wishes, even those clearly meant only to challenge or tease him.

  It was his very regard for her that had him straightening his shoulders in preparation for speaking to her about Wickham. Darcy knew she cared for him, but to what degree he knew not. And despite his lingering belief that she was but a product of his addled mind, he took pleasure in seeing the transformation of those feelings. Darcy worried that, after he revealed the true nature of her favorite — for that Wickham must be for her to so vehemently defend him in their argument after the ball — she might lose any kind regard she had for him in her disappointment over another. Worse still, he was concerned that Elizabeth, real or not, might not change her opinion of Wickham despite his revelation, and thinking she favored Wickham was agonizing to him.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Darcy squared himself to his purpose. “Elizabeth, if you are quite satisfied with today’s lesson, may I ask you to accompany me to the library? I would speak to you.”

  Elizabeth turned to look at him, noting his formal manner of speaking, and her eyes narrowed. Not liking the tension filling the air between them, she replied lightly, “I do not believe you have any need to ask my permission, William. You have always chosen where you wish to go, and I have had no choice but to follow.”

  Though her words were meant in a teasing manner, she noted his face grew firm and his eyes cooled. “Indeed, you have not. I wonder, if not for the — ” He stopped there, watching her brow rise in question. He did not wish to know whether she would follow him on her own accord.

  “Perhaps, Elizabeth, for the moment you might indulge me and choose to accompany me.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Elizabeth said warily. Concern for his strained voice pushed into her thoughts. The transition from their easy lighthearted banter during the fencing instructions to this was disconcerting.

  When they exited the ballroom in the direction of the study, they did not notice the small figure standing in the orchestra balcony above them. Georgiana Darcy, having heard her brother’s voice as she passed the door to the balcony just a few moments before, entered the small alcove. What she saw concerned her greatly, for below her on the high gloss of the dance floor was her brother, seemingly giving himself a lesson in fencing. His movements were awkward and his words without context. He spoke as if to himself, for she saw no other, and yet he said a name. Elizabeth. This latest piece of strange behavior from him brought a blur to the young girl’s eyes as she silently worried for her brother. Determining she could no longer stand idly by as William grew more ill, she quietly slipped out of the room and walked straight to her own chambers to write to the only other person whom she could trust with such a sensitive concern. She wrote to her cousin, the colonel, requesting his immediate presence.

  * * *

  “I would have you know about Wickham,” he began without ceremony upon entering his study.

  Elizabeth was startled by his abrupt introduction to the topic that, in all their history, had been one that was obviously distasteful to him. “William, you need not disclose anything to me,” Elizabeth said compassionately. She could see the very real turmoil in his eyes and the tension in his jaw. After her enforced attachment to Darcy in this dream, she realized she no longer cared what he might have to say about Wickham. She knew he was a better man than Mr. Wickham had portrayed, and although she could not discount the truth that seemed present in that fellow’s features when describing his misfortunes at Darcy’s hand, she could no longer find it within herself to disapprove of William.

  “You are too kind, Elizabeth, but we both know, despite the ease of the past few days, that this is a topic above all others that must be discussed.”

  Elizabeth acknowledged this with a heavy sigh and nodded her head. Not knowing beforehand what he might reveal, she could not have anticipated the extent of his full disclosure. The account of Wickham’s connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself; the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words. So far, each recital confirmed the other, but when Darcy came to the will, the difference was great. To think that Mr. Wickham had purposely deceived her and garnered her sympathy under false pretenses enraged her and produced profound disgust. However, the pressure on her chest that was growing ever more suffocating was produced by the guilt she felt in believing such a man over another. She had been pleased by the preference of one and offended by the neglect of another.

  Every word spoken proved more clearly that the affair, which she had believed impossible that any contrivance could so represent as to render Mr. Darcy’s conduct less than infamous, was capable of a turn that must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole. Of Wickham’s former life, nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he declared himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never wished to inquire. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, but no such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her in every charm of air and address, but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the neighborhood and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess.

  Wretchedly, Elizabeth looked up at Mr. Darcy and halted his speech with the raise of her small hand. “You need not say more, sir. How despicably have I acted!’’ she cried. “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities — who had often disdained the generous candor of
my sister and gratified my vanity in useless or blamable distrust. How humiliating is this discovery!”

  Darcy went immediately to her side, declaring his protest. “No, Elizabeth. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood, he has imposed on you, but his success is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning him, detection could not be in your power and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.”

  Though he did not wish to know how Wickham had imposed upon her heart, he did hope she would not take such blame upon herself.

  “You are too kind, sir, but I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away where either of you were concerned. I deserve none of your consideration.”

  “Elizabeth,” Darcy seeing her head bent and her shoulders drooping, kneeled before her and, speaking again in calming tones, said, “Elizabeth, will you not look at me?”

  When she raised her eyes to his, they were glossy with unshed tears that pulled at his heart and filled him with the desire to pull her into his embrace, to comfort her. The imagined specter, dream, or whatever game fate had thrust upon the two of them had, until then, not caused him such anguish as it did now when he could not connect with her in any corporeal way. “Elizabeth, my dearest Elizabeth. Please do not suppose you are to blame. He is a master of deceit and you are a pure, kind-hearted soul whose natural empathy has done you a disservice in this instance.”

  After another quiet minute, Elizabeth spoke. “How heartily sorry I am for all the wasted time I spent in disapproval of you. Had I known, had I only known . . . ”

  Darcy’s breath drew sharply. It pierced him to think how things might have been different had they both acted in some other way in Hertfordshire. Would he be so crazed with love for her had he not fought his inclination in the first place? And what of Elizabeth? Could he have even resisted her had she behaved with any real interest in him instead of her studied indifference that he vainly interpreted as attraction? He had thought he was raising her hopes in Hertfordshire; it was one of the reasons he left. They had both been foolish and blind with regards to the other.