Haunting Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  Darcy opened the door to the room, pushing away a set of drapes meant to hide the service door. Once clear of the curtain, his eyes immediately focused entirely on the figure lying motionless in the small bed before him. He was barely aware of Elizabeth’s squeal of triumph. He walked slowly into the room, his eyes devouring the very real, and yet still ethereal beauty of the sleeping figure. He took in her lustrous hair, swept to the side in an attractive braid and lying across her shoulder. It was the first time he had seen it thus, and it positively took his breath away. Her cheeks were pink, and the petal-soft lids of her eyes had a lavender shade that made him long to brush his fingers gently across them. He was spellbound by their contrast with the dark lashes resting peacefully against her smooth cheek. He had no words and could not utter a thing if he had them, for he was perfectly captivated by her magnificence. He walked as if in a trance towards the bed. All other elements of the room held no power over his attention, and he was perfectly fixated, his vision tunneling to her.

  When he reached her side, he stood immobile. Her beauty was astounding, and his heart was reminding him of that fact quite forcefully. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes from Elizabeth’s sleeping form to her spirit standing opposite the bed from him. Quietly he compared the two visions. He noted that the Elizabeth who had been his companion over the past seven days had softened features. Her unconscious body was sharp in contrast. He could not have seen the difference without having both forms before him, and yet both were mesmerizing in their allure to him.

  He opened his mouth to speak to her. “You . . . ” Words failed him, and he lowered himself into the chair nearest him. His eyes glistened at the evidence before him of these two Elizabeths. Unabashedly did he admire them both as he adjusted to the surreal experience. It was as fantastic a wonder as ever he imagined, and yet, if he had not seen it with his own eyes, he might never have believed it. The experiences of the past se’nnight opened his mind to possibilities he would not, but for them, have believed possible.

  Elizabeth was surprisingly less affected than she thought she might be seeing her body thus. She looked over her sleeping form and was pleased to see she looked healed, though perhaps a little slimmer. She had wondered whether she might be shocked or unsettled; instead, all she felt was an extreme feeling of rightness as she beheld her room and stood near herself. She was enthralled with being at home again amongst her most treasured possessions.

  Though embarrassed slightly by Darcy’s flagrant admiration, she was still able to be grateful that he was occupied because having him in her bedchamber was by far one of the most profoundly stirring moments of this experience. As she looked about her, she realized how well she loved her odd possessions and special mementos. She noted that someone had placed a bowl of her lavender potpourri at the table near the bed, and she bent to breathe in its calming fragrance.

  Whilst Elizabeth was occupied, Darcy, as if in a daze, uttered reverently, “You are so very beautiful, Elizabeth.”

  She was just about to stammer her thanks for his gentle words when she felt her hand tingle. She looked down at it and could see no reason for the sensation. She looked to Darcy to share with him this strange occurrence, only to see that he had taken up her physical hand and was holding it and looking at it as if it were the most sacred thing in the world.

  Darcy held Elizabeth’s small hand in one of his as he smoothed the top of it with his other. He had never held a lady’s ungloved hand before, and the feeling was exquisite. The love that he felt for her then was so profound that he wished to tell her. He looked at Elizabeth and saw that she was turning her hand around to study it from different angles. It was the same hand he was holding!

  A cool shock rushed through him as she uttered the very thoughts that he was having. “I can feel that, William. I can feel you holding my hand!”

  Elizabeth’s moist eyes locked with his. His chest felt constricted, and he was renewed in his determination to reunite these two forms of Elizabeth. For her part, Elizabeth was grappling with the urge to sob stupidly at the relief coursing through her at the knowledge, nay the proof, that she was still connected in some way to her body. Though the power of that intelligence was great, it was still less compelling to her than the actual feeling of experiencing the touch of Darcy’s hand. It was something she had longed for and as yet had not had the pleasure.

  “Elizabeth, you must attempt . . . I think you should try to reunite yourselves.”

  Elizabeth nodded her head, smiling at the tenderness in his voice, matched only by its twin in her heart. “Indeed, it is time.”

  “How is it to be done?” Darcy asked, stopping her from coming closer; a sudden panic seized his heart, the unknown causing him to fear.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I have never attempted it before.”

  She laughed then, and Darcy’s frown turned into a smile. He stood and, gently placing her hand at her side, stepped back. Elizabeth looked at her hand and felt the absence of sensation again.

  “Very well, sir. I think if I just . . . ” She walked through the bed and laid herself down, disappearing into her motionless body.

  Darcy watched with rapt attention. All he could see was the sleeping form of Elizabeth. “Are you there, Elizabeth?”

  He heard her voice, though her lips did not move. “I am here William. However, I do not feel quite myself.”

  Darcy frowned, pulled his hands through his hair and rubbed his jaw. He was afraid to accept that this attempt had been unsuccessful, and yet he knew in his heart that it was true. “Move your hand, Elizabeth.”

  An arm floated up from the bodily form below it. Elizabeth sat up and looked towards Darcy. She could see that she sat in the middle of her bed, her spiritual form seated, while her physical body still lay immobile. Elizabeth’s troubled eyes met his, and together they anguished at their failure.

  “Is there not something else you might try?”

  Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “I know not what else to do, William. I thought it would be as simple as putting myself together like this.”

  Darcy sat again near the bed and took up her hand. He turned her hand to face up and he placed a gentle kiss in her palm causing Elizabeth to gasp at the sensation. He could not voice how very much his own hope had been deterred, for he could tell that her disappointment was great. He longed to solve her problem, take her up in his arms, and protect her from any hurt.

  “We will find a way, Elizabeth. You feel me; you feel my touch. We will find a way.”

  Elizabeth smiled wanly at him. “Can I ask something of you, William?”

  “Of course, my dear. I have not the power to deny you anything, should you ask it.”

  “Would you place my hand on your face? I have longed to feel it beneath my fingertips.”

  Darcy swallowed, nodded slowly and bent his head to allow her hand to reach him. He cupped her hand to his jaw on his cheek. Though Elizabeth did not have the power to direct her fingers, he felt the exquisite touch of her hand, imagining she held it there of her own accord.

  Elizabeth marveled at the texture, heat, and feel of his skin. She had longed for some human contact, and this was quite the most glorious feeling. Neither spoke for some minutes as Darcy leaned his head into her hand. They let the moment be preserved in heartbeats and gladly would have stayed that way forever were it not for the sound of footsteps that brought them back to reality and high alert.

  Elizabeth spoke first, her voice showing some of her concern. “Someone is coming, William. There is a set of stairs behind there, and I could always hear when someone was gaining this floor.”

  “Then I must go and quickly then.” Darcy stood and, momentarily disoriented, looked about him as if he had completely forgotten how he had arrived at the place he was in.

  “There is no time for that now, William. You must hide under the bed until they are gone.”

  His eyes snapped to hers as he shook his head decidedly. “I will not hide under the bed, Elizabeth.”

>   Elizabeth laughed then and came off the bed. Darcy looked at her and then at her sleeping form next to her. He shook his head again when he saw her point to the floor underneath the ropes.

  “No, Elizabeth, I am not accustomed to hiding under beds. I will not do it.”

  Laughing, Elizabeth rushed around to the other side of the bed and waved her hands. “I fear you have little choice, sir.”

  “I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, for God’s sake! I do not hide under beds! Come, let us rush out the way we came.”

  They both froze as they heard footsteps walk down the hall towards Elizabeth’s door.

  “There is no time for that. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, get yourself under that bed!”

  Darcy groaned heavenward and, shifting from foot to foot, his panic rising, quickly clenched his jaw and knelt down to climb under the bed. His pride was bruised, and he saw little humor in the indignant behavior forced upon him. Elizabeth giggled as she settled herself next to him beneath the bed.

  He turned his head so he could see her and whispered in a frustrated manner, “You have little need for disguise, Elizabeth. Nobody can see you. You need not hide.”

  Elizabeth smiled brightly at him and turned on her side, wiggling excitedly next to him. “I am aware of it, sir, but this is more fun, is it not?”

  Darcy was silent then as he took in the view of her beside him. It was an improper position, and it certainly would be quite compromising had Elizabeth been in her natural form. Instead, he was left gazing at the softened features of her ghostly self and longing for her to be, in truth, lying beside him. I would take you in my arms and . . . The sound of the door opening startled him, pulling him away from those dangerous thoughts as he lay paralyzed in fear beneath the bed. The dread of discovery began to slink up and around him like smoke, choking him and causing him to hold his breath.

  He turned his head silently away from Elizabeth, who had held her finger to her lips needlessly. He could just see below the curtain of the bed frame a pair of delicate pink slippers. The chair scraped against the floorboards, and a rustle of skirts around the slippers told Darcy that their guest had seated herself.

  “Oh Elizabeth, I hardly know where to start.”

  Darcy looked at Elizabeth again, and she silently mouthed, “Jane.” The fear in his heart decreased slightly if only to make room for the profound love he felt for Elizabeth then as they lay there listening to her sister speak.

  “Mr. Bingley called again today, and with him came his friend, Mr. Darcy.” She was quiet for a moment longer before adding, “I would speak to you about that gentleman, Elizabeth. He asked about you, and it would take a fool not to see that he holds in you in high regard.”

  Elizabeth smiled warmly at Darcy, whose eyes conveyed then what he could not say.

  “I know you might say he felt only disdain, but you will have to wake for me to listen to that argument. But enough of that, Elizabeth; I am delaying,” Jane paused, her heart full of emotion. “Mr. Bingley . . . I do believe he may yet care for me. Am I a fool for hoping so, Lizzy? He has all but said it today when we walked in the gardens. We were left quite alone for some time. Mr. Darcy was to accompany us but was a very poor chaperone. We were not long outside before I looked and could not see him anywhere.”

  Elizabeth laughed aloud at this, and Darcy was quick to entreat her to silence, forgetting once again she was mute to all others.

  The sound of sniffling effectively silenced Elizabeth as her face twisted in concern for her sister. She left Darcy to hide by himself. Darcy could see her ghostly slippered feet opposite the bed from her sister.

  “Oh Jane.”

  “Lizzy, you must come back to me. I need you, dear sister. My heart cannot be truly happy with Mr. Bingley’s return if I cannot share it with a most beloved sister.”

  “I am working on it, Jane. I promise you, I will return.”

  Elizabeth watched as Jane stood and exited the room; her shoulders slumped inward as she pressed a handkerchief to her face. Darcy remained where he was long after the door latched again.

  “You may come out now, William,” Elizabeth said dejectedly.

  Darcy slowly pulled his great form from under the dusty bed, sweeping his hands over his clothing in the process. The disheveled and dirty state of his clothes caused Elizabeth to dry her tears, and once again, she was quietly laughing.

  Darcy could not be vexed at her humor, even at his expense, for he knew she dearly loved to laugh. “I am glad that you find such pleasure in ruining a good pair of trousers, Elizabeth, but I assure you, my valet will not.”

  His serious tone caused her to laugh harder, which was his intent. He shook his head, as if he were annoyed and headed towards the hidden door they had come through. Darcy waited for Elizabeth to slip through the wood to the other side to check that the passageway was clear before he opened the door. He paused before passing through the doorway to take in one more glimpse of Elizabeth’s sleeping form. Then together, quiet as shades, they slipped through the corridors and down the stairs, breathing only deeply when they finally exited the house unseen.

  Only then did Darcy turn to Elizabeth. He looked deeply into her eyes, and promised, “Elizabeth, we will find a way.”

  Chapter 17

  Darcy turned to secure the door behind him, resting a hand against the cool wood; he stood with his back to the room for some time, thinking of what he might say to soothe Elizabeth. After stealthily retrieving Darcy’s horse from Longbourn’s stables, they walked together back to Bingley’s estate. Elizabeth had barely said a word to him during their entire three-mile walk. He was able to beg solitude easily from their host, especially considering his earlier claim of a megrim. Indeed, when Darcy would request a tray to his room later in the evening, it would only add to Bingley’s belief that Darcy did not feel well.

  Though Elizabeth and Darcy had been left quite alone, they had spoken little. Darcy observed in silence that Elizabeth was deep in thought. Her brow puckered in consternation, and her bottom lip was often pulled in and bitten gently in distress. Though he found her just as enchanting in this state, he could not like the worry etched in her features and the cloudiness to those bright eyes he loved so well. He had offered words of encouragement, though little did he know whether they yielded any success. He knew that her lack of accomplishment that day was weighing heavily on her.

  Tugging at the restrictions of his neckwear, Darcy eventually managed to loosen the folds. It hung limply around his neck as he walked to the nearest window and watched as the shadows at dusk crept further along the landscape. It was like observing the tide come in and devour the earth beneath it as it took its place for the evening. So many parts of this rhythmic circle of night and day nagged at him in their inevitability and his lack of control over them. Night would come regardless of what he did to prolong the day. It felt like a fitting metaphor for his predicament with Elizabeth. He held no power over her state, and yet he longed to be able to ease her burdens by reuniting her with herself.

  Darcy turned when he heard Elizabeth’s muffled sob. Immediately rushing towards her, he pulled a handkerchief instinctively from his breast pocket to offer her, her sad smile at his offering reminding them both of her acutely intangible nature.

  “Elizabeth, we shall think of something. It is yet only the first day, the first attempt. Surely, you cannot stay this way forever.”

  Elizabeth met his eyes then and, lifting her hand to his cheek, allowed her mind to drift back to the memory of the feel of his face. “Forgive me; I am certain we shall find a solution; however, I was so very hopeful today, and now, I fear you see the result of all that hope dissolving into utter disappointment.”

  Darcy nodded, knowing not what he ought to say. Her feelings mirrored his own.

  After a lengthy moment of silence, Darcy, who kneeled at her side, reached for the book at the table next to her chair.

  “Perhaps we need a diversion. What think you of books?” Darcy was gladd
ened by her knowing smile. “Shall I read to you?”

  Elizabeth wiped her eyes, attempting to wipe away her disappointment too. She nodded to him and smiled lovingly as he turned and leaned himself against her chair. His strong, clear voice was like a warm summer breeze on her face. Closing her eyes, she rested her head and allowed that breeze to refresh her. She listened contentedly as he read poetry, all the while trying to allow the timbre of his voice to be her focus — and not her inability to run her hands through his hair as he read, as was her wish.

  For a while, she half-listened, half-imagined evenings like this someday with him, comfortably ensconced near the fire, Darcy resting against her legs and reading. Without her notice, soft tears of longing rolled silently down her cheek as she imagined reaching for one of his dark curls and twirling it in her fingers while he read. They had not once, despite their many confessions of the heart, spoken of marriage. It was as if neither wanted to think about the possibility that theirs would be a love destined for another time, incapable of earth’s most longstanding act of devotion.

  Darcy leaned back and arched his neck to look back at her. His smile fell when he saw her tears. Elizabeth offered him a silent answer in the feeble upturn of her lips, easing his worry, if only slightly.

  Indicating the book, she said, “Do continue, please. You have a very soothing voice.”

  Though his brows were still lowered in concern, he nodded and, turning to his book, began to read aloud again. Late into the night he read, calming her spirit and soothing her pain. Occasionally he would make some wry comment about one poem or another and was encouraged further when he heard her laugh. He closed his eyes, allowing the sound to heal his heart and erase his fears.

  “You are quite silly, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy, who still had his back to her, turned and, countering her tease, said, “I beg your pardon, madam. However much I abhor correcting a lady, I fear I must inform you that gentlemen are never silly.”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms about her. “Is that so? I had not known it was entirely a female trait.”