Haunting Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  “I am well, Jane, truly. They are tired, but did you not see that I was able to manage well enough? I shall be walking these lanes,” Elizabeth gestured out the window to the garden below, “in absolutely no time at all.”

  Jane lowered herself to sit beside her sister. “It is very wrong of me to indulge you in this, Lizzy. If Mr. Jones or Papa find out...”

  “I should not worry about Papa, Jane. If he proves to be upset, I shall tease and smile him out of his ill humor.”

  Elizabeth patted her sister’s leg beside her own and changed the topic. “Tell me about Mr. Bingley’s visit.” Elizabeth’s smile brightened when she saw her sister blush.

  “He was very amiable again.”

  “Come now, Jane,” Elizabeth whined. “You might as well tell me nothing at all for how little ‘amiable’ really says. Just how amiable was he? Was he amiable enough to ask for your hand?”

  Jane pushed her shoulder into her sister and laughed. “Not quite that amiable, I am afraid. Though he did say he was very much enjoying his visits and hoped that I was too.”

  “And you replied that his visits were the very thing to bring the most pleasure to you all day.”

  Jane laughed but colored at the very idea of such a bold statement. “I did no such thing, I merely answered kindly that I looked forward to his visits.” Even that admission had felt bold.

  “There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement, Jane,” Elizabeth began. “He may never do more than like you if you do not help him on.”

  Jane laughed uneasily. “You sound very much like our friend Charlotte.”

  Elizabeth startled a little at that, realizing her words were nearly those Charlotte had said many months ago. “Perhaps I have given too little credit to the truth of her beliefs, though I should not like to be married to Mr. Collins, no matter how true. Jane, I am merely saying that this accident . . . it very nearly killed us both and has taught me that life is entirely too short. If you like Mr. Bingley, as I know you do, then make it absolutely clear.”

  Jane turned and held her sister’s gaze. Her eyes watered at the mention of the accident. She knew her sister to be telling the truth and felt a braveness grow within her at even the thought of sharing such tender emotions with Mr. Bingley. At the very worst, he might be offended and leave the neighborhood — again. She had endured that once before, even with the idea that he did not care for her at all. Should that happen, she would at least have the benefit of experience to ease her way.

  “I will confess, the very idea makes me tremble, but I shall do as you say, Lizzy. I shall, as you put it, ‘help him on.’”

  Elizabeth smiled and laughed quietly. “Then I feel certain you shall be an engaged woman by the end of his call tomorrow.”

  “How can you be certain he will call tomorrow?” Jane said in an attempt to dispel the fluttering in her breast.

  “Has he not called every day since his return?”

  Jane looked down, a pink glow spreading across her cheeks answering for her. Elizabeth nodded and turned to gaze out the window. Her own future could not be so certain. Though it was yet early in her recovery, she felt disconcerted about her state of health, about the strange visions of unknown places that flitted occasionally across her mind like a leaf in the wind. She thought perhaps marriage may never be an option for her.

  A thought skittered through Elizabeth’s mind: the library again, its treasures muted rectangles on the shelves in the low light. A sound to her right and she turns . . . Elizabeth blinked, the scene gone once again. Immediately the sense of warmth was replaced with longing and a sensation that she was lost — or maybe had lost something. She could not decide.

  Her eyes turned from the gardens outside her window to look about her room. Resting on her bed, she recalled when she first woke.

  “Jane, there is no possible way . . . ” Elizabeth blushed at the very idea, yet it seemed so real. “Mr. Darcy could not have been allowed to visit me here . . . ”

  Though she had put voice to the thought, still it mortified her to consider Mr. Darcy or any gentleman in her chamber with her. Her hands came easily to her face to cool the sensation there, her heart beginning to beat unsteadily.

  “I do not take your meaning, Lizzy.” Jane said in astonishment mixed with disbelief. “Do you mean here in your chambers?”

  Elizabeth colored a deeper red though said not a word.

  Jane, scandalized by the very idea, also blushed though laughed shakily. “Indeed, I should think not! Lizzy, how could you suggest such a thing?”

  “I . . . it was perhaps a dream then.”

  Jane raised a brow at this, still unbelieving, her own mind unable to consider such a breach with propriety. A memory then came to the rescue and Jane, relieved, breathed deeply. “I spoke to you about Mr. Darcy a number of times while you were yet unconscious. On the very day he called, I came up here and talked to your sleeping form about him. You must have heard me, as Mr. Jones had thought possible, and somehow dreamt that he was here.”

  Elizabeth lifted her eyes to take in her sister’s face. A slow smile grew on her lips. “Oh that is a relief, Jane. That was just the day before I awoke, yes?”

  “Yes, the very day before,” Jane confirmed, now quite recovered.

  Elizabeth nodded her head. “I dreamt I had awakened to see him seated by the bed. He said something, though I could not immediately understand.”

  “What did he say?”

  Elizabeth began to laugh. “He said he would not hide under the bed again.”

  She doubled over then in laughter, her sides beginning to hurt. Jane laughed as well, shaking her head at the absurdity of her sister’s dream.

  “Well there is your proof, Lizzy, if there ever was a need for it. Mr. Darcy, I am positive, would never hide under a bed. It must surely have been a dream.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “The only thing I remember after that was waking to seeing you and Hill at the foot of my bed.”

  “Then it was the last dream you had before waking.”

  “Indeed. But Jane, answer me this most troubling question: why do I dream of Mr. Darcy?”

  Jane raised a brow at this, and together they fell into laughter again.

  * * *

  Darcy’s legs fell into a familiar pattern across the length of the library at Netherfield. He paced five steps turned and paced five back, his hands clasped behind his back and then separated and clasped again. He remained in this agitated repetition for the better part of twenty minutes before his friend spoke, interrupting his pattern and bringing him to a halt.

  “I think you have little to worry about now, Darcy. You heard Miss Bennet yourself this morning declare that Miss Elizabeth was recovering well.”

  Darcy looked about him, as he had done many times since leaving Longbourn in the early morning mist several days before. He was alone — except for Bingley, of course. Yet it mattered little how many people were in the room. Darcy found that he constantly felt truly alone since being separated from Elizabeth. He had grown accustomed to her voice, her gentle laugh, the graceful movement of her figure, and the connection between them. He would turn to share a joke with her, expecting to see the humor he knew would be in her eyes, only to remember where she really was. He knew he ought to feel relief for her reunion and eager anticipation for their reunion, and yet still a part of him felt that, in bringing her back to herself, a part of him had been stolen. Indeed, he knew his heart had been left at Longbourn that morning. That was why he was so very anxious to see her again — to share a secret smile, take her hand in his again, and maybe even ask for that hand in marriage. He blinked twice, realizing his silence had been noted by his friend.

  “And you would tell me, should it be Miss Bennet recovering and you could not see her, that you would be so very calm. For God’s sake, Bingley, I have not seen her in days!”

  Bingley turned then, his brow lowered. “You mean weeks, nay months really.”

&
nbsp; Darcy coughed and rubbed his chin. “Of course, a slip of the tongue, I assure you.”

  Bingley laughed in his carefree manner, stood up to pat his friend on the back, and walked towards the sideboard to pour some tea from the tray that had arrived a short time ago. “Indeed, I see your point.”

  The night before, Darcy had almost convinced himself to return to Longbourn, to the side door he had scolded Elizabeth about but now saw as heaven sent. But he could not do it. He was a gentleman. When they were earlier in their very unearthly bond, neither had any choice but to break with propriety, but Elizabeth would not thank him now to embarrass her or to compromise her in such a way. Now was the time for the rules of society to be enforced again, and he cursed them. What a fool he had been to care a jot for propriety before she woke. Now he was bound by that same propriety, and he hated every bit of it.

  The little intelligence he gathered from Miss Bennet when Bingley and he called upon Longbourn was too little. Though he felt that Elizabeth’s sister was being kind and sharing more than was merely polite, he still wished for more. His heart begged for the confirmation that she had missed him, had thought of him in their separation. He longed to look into those eyes and gather for himself whether she was truly well and recovering. He could not think how he managed not seeing her for so many weeks when he left Netherfield in November. Now the separation felt like a prison, a torture even.

  A week, he was told. She would be confined to her chamber for a week. It was absolute agony.

  Still, he would call upon Longbourn daily and live on what little sustenance he could until he could drink in her beauty again. He could not know then that his fasting would be relieved sooner than he thought.

  The next day they entered Longbourn to call and immediately heard a commotion in the morning room where they were to be presented. Only scattered words and phrases reached Darcy’s ears, but he could surmise some sort of disagreement. The closer he came to the room, the more he felt uncomfortable for their impending intrusion on what appeared to be a private family matter. He looked to Bingley, who returned his look with a frown.

  Stopping, Darcy held his friend back. “Perhaps this is not a good time.”

  Darcy could see that his friend wavered, his face turning toward the closed door ahead of him and back to his friend several times. He understood the longing in Bingley’s eyes and knew that Bingley only hesitated out of a wish to see Miss Bennet.

  Then Darcy’s ears picked up a voice, clear and pure, through the door. It was a voice more beautiful to him than any other, and his heart beat nearly out of his chest as it recognized her.

  “I assure you I am quite well enough and will not spend another day locked away in my chamber!”

  Darcy involuntarily took a step forward, and he was caught this time by Bingley’s hand on his arm. He looked back at him, half mad with want to see her and unhappy with his friend for preventing it.

  “Steady, Darcy, listen.”

  Darcy turned again toward the room and heard a chorus of other family members protesting Elizabeth’s declaration and insisting she return.

  His eyes pleaded with his friend, but Bingley uncharacteristically held firm and insisted they depart and come again later. Darcy watched the door dejectedly, knowing that just beyond was the treasure he longed to see again. Even as Bingley quietly informed the servant who had escorted them to the room that they would call again and that there was no need to present them, Darcy almost begged his friend to take back the words. Though he ached to see her, he knew his friend to have the right of it, and reluctantly, he straightened and prepared himself to turn and go.

  “I walked down here on my own, Jane, Mama, Kitty, Mary, and Lydia.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded exasperated and it brought a smile to Darcy’s face, her distinct pronunciation of their names pointedly giving proof of her impatience with them. He envisioned her as eager to see him as he was to see her, and his rapid heartbeat grew stronger. He turned again toward the door, just as he heard her speak again. “The gentlemen have been seen at the gate and will no doubt be here presently, and I should like to be here for their call.”

  He raised his eyebrows in triumph for his friend and even laughed a little with relief when he saw Bingley sigh and relent, his own wish to see Miss Bennet no doubt helping Darcy’s case on. Together they turned to the servant and agreed to be presented.

  Chapter 19

  Immediately, his eyes were arrested by Elizabeth’s as she stood with her family to welcome them. A slight smile breached his lips as he bowed in return. She wore a yellow gown, and he blinked in surprise at it. It was not new to him; he had seen her wear it once before. In fact, he recalled it was one she had worn at Netherfield when she stayed to nurse Miss Bennet. What startled him was the mere fact that it was not the dress he had become accustomed to seeing her wear during her sojourn with him in London. This reminder of how immediately tangible and perfectly earthly their situation was now delighted Darcy. She was a specter no more, though she held him still within her spell.

  He walked with Mr. Bingley to her, his lips muted by the living, breathing, physical Elizabeth before him. Her eyes were a deeper brown, her skin, though, still delightfully creamy, not eerily pale anymore. Her lips . . . Darcy snapped his eyes back up to meet hers. His small smile grew until he was positively beaming at her.

  “Miss Elizabeth, what a great pleasure to see you well again.”

  Darcy was jolted by Bingley’s words, unable to understand how his friend could have managed to speak first. He turned again to Elizabeth, noting a slight question in her eyes as she examined them both.

  “Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. It is a pleasure,” Darcy repeated lamely, a little frustrated with himself for being unable to think of anything more significant to say. He was glad, however, to find that his ingrained sense of decorum did not fail him by permitting him to call her by her given name.

  Elizabeth curtseyed and said, “Thank you Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy.”

  It was less than he would have liked to hear, but he understood that, while they stood amongst others, they could not speak in the manner to which they had grown accustomed. Though he did not want to admit it, he was a little disappointed that she had addressed her comments almost entirely to his friend, glancing only briefly at him when she said his name. Perhaps she had been merely directing her response in this manner since Bingley had spoken first.

  There was an awkward pause then, and the gentlemen took the opportunity to claim seats. Darcy was disappointed to find the seat next to Elizabeth occupied by one of her sisters, and he was thus left to stand some way off near the fireplace. He did not wish to take up another seat and to be stuck there for the duration of the visit. Should Miss Catherine choose to stand at any point, he might have a chance then to claim the seat next to Elizabeth.

  From his place by the fire, he was bothered that he had no share of the conversation with Bingley, Miss Bennet, and Elizabeth. He could only content himself with her frequent smiles, her pleased observations of her sister and his friend, and the sound of her delightful laugh as it whispered to him across the room. He was glad she could observe the fruits of their labors in London when he confessed to Bingley of his interference. Now she could see all would be made well in that quarter. What joy that would bring, and he was happy to witness its transformation on her features.

  Occasionally, she cast shy glances at him and each time he tried to convey the depth of his feelings for her through his gaze. He had the pleasure of seeing that his gaze would almost overwhelm her, for she would turn away quickly, a slight pucker to her sweet little brows. He imagined kissing that small spot and smoothing it out. Their enforced separation and their new state of being had brought about a return of her reserve, and he found it charming.

  Thankfully, not many minutes after their arrival, a tray was brought in and placed at a table near him. He waited and watched as the ladies stood and prepared the tea; Miss Mary brought him a cup, as Elizabeth sat contentedly on the s
ofa. He was gladdened she was willing to rest, for if the concerns voiced by her family prior to his entrance had any merit, she ought to save her strength until she was fully recovered.

  To his greater pleasure, after preparing tea and plates of cake, Miss Catherine chose then to take up a seat with her youngest sister. He watched for a few minutes as they hovered in close conversation, wanting to make sure that her change of seat was not temporary. When he saw her settle in to work on the ribbons of a bonnet, he smiled to himself and carried his plate and teacup to take up the seat next to Elizabeth.

  He was encouraged when she turned from her sister and Mr. Bingley to accommodate him into the circle.

  “Indeed, Eli — Miss Elizabeth, you look remarkably well; I hope that you will soon be in perfect health.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said politely. Without looking at him, she kept her eyes modestly at the plate on her lap. “And what have you been doing since we last met, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I have been rather bored actually,” he answered artlessly, watching for the glimmer he expected to enter into her eyes. She looked up, but he only saw a slight puzzlement.

  “I have missed the pleasure of companionable conversation,” he hinted further for clarification. He could not very well say he missed her, not in front of so many people. She must understand that.

  “Is not your sister capable of companionable conversation, sir? I should think that, given Miss Bingley’s estimable praise, Miss Darcy would be found to be so.”

  Darcy was a beat behind in his response. He was not prepared for the reference to his sister. Elizabeth knew Georgiana, and she had proclaimed her charming. Still it was the tone of her voice that disquieted Darcy. It was everything civil, to be sure, but he had not anticipated her coolness.

  “Georgiana is a most capable conversationalist,” he said slowly, whilst his mind worked around Elizabeth’s behavior. “Though we... I left her in London to come to Hertfordshire.”

  Elizabeth nodded and, picking at a piece of her cake, said as if in dismissal, “Well, I hope, sir, that you find your stay in our county a pleasurable one.”