Mr Darcy's Mail-Order Bride

by J Dawn King

  “Maggie.” Darcy greeted a gray-headed woman wiping her hands on a flour-sack apron as she walked into the room. “I would like to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet.”

  At the raised eyebrows of the older woman, he quickly corrected himself, red rising to burn the tops of his ears. “Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Mrs. Margaret Reynolds is my housekeeper. Our housekeeper. Pemberley’s housekeeper.”

  It was a rough beginning, and Elizabeth speculated if it was a portent of her future. If it got any worse, she would have to beg to infringe on the other set of newlyweds for a small room in their home, even sleeping in Bingley’s barn, if necessary.

  “Elizabeth? I thought you told me your bride was named Jane.” The housekeeper shook her head as all of the color left Darcy’s face. “I must have heard wrong. My mistake.”

  The implication of her comment made Elizabeth’s stomach churn. Even though she had suspected her husband was attracted to her sister, having it confirmed by a party completely unrelated to them was alarming. And appalling. And incredibly disheartening.

  Two men carrying her trunks past them finally brought her attention back to the present. As they turned to climb the grand staircase, they asked. “These go in the boss’s room?”

  Before either the housekeeper or her husband could reply, she stated firmly. “No. They go into a guest room.” Without looking at either Mr. Darcy or Mrs. Reynolds, and uncaring that any of them would know this was not a regular marriage, she stepped away from them and walked out the front door, closing it quietly behind her.

  Muted light drifted through the window glass and woke Elizabeth the next morning. The smell of freshly brewed black coffee permeated the hallway when she stepped out of her room after washing and dressing for the day. For the first time since she left Baltimore, she was homesick— missing the normality of her life as she had grown to know it.

  Leaning back against the wooden walls, she was reluctant to join Mr. Darcy or Mrs. Reynolds. The evening prior had been uncomfortable. The housekeeper had served over-cooked venison with un-seasoned boiled potatoes for supper. When Elizabeth had asked what animal venison came from, she was shocked to find it was the graceful, delicate deer that Mr. Bingley, no, Mr. Darcy had written about in his first letter. Eating was much more difficult with the knowing.

  Normally, her life’s motto had been to think of the past as it gave her pleasure. However, the events leading up to her decision to accompany Jane and marry a complete stranger were fairly grim. As each day passed, the struggle to feed the Bennets had been more and more difficult. Pleas for assistance from her father had fallen on deaf ears. Elizabeth looked to the ceiling and squeezed her eyes shut. How could a man, a father, ignore the needs of his family? If she thought on it a million years, she would never understand his indolence. With her and Jane out of the household, there were two less mouths to feed.

  Mr. Darcy and Jane’s husband had been generous in providing funds for their trip. After tallying up the actual cost of the journey, a small amount was set aside for Jane’s trousseau and the rest was given to Uncle Gardiner to stretch as far as he could for the Bennets remaining behind. There had been no time for Elizabeth to procure new garments as they had boarded the train within days of receiving the last letter. Until that letter, that unexpected offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy, Jane would have had to travel alone.

  Elizabeth took in a deep breath and opened her eyes to her new reality. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to descend the stairway, taking two more deep breaths as she walked. She was a married woman who was now responsible for the running of her husband’s household. Uncle Gardiner had said western men missed companionship and the comforts of home. Resolving in her heart to find a measure of happiness before the day was over, she entered the kitchen to the sight of burnt toast piled on her husband’s plate. She immediately knew where to start.

  “Good morning.” It took as much effort to smile as to frown. Her pleasant greeting was met by Mrs. Reynolds’ wry grin. Mr. Darcy looked up from his coffee and nodded his head. If a man desired companionship, she was determined to be the best he could hope for. She started again.

  “Good morning, Will Darcy. Are you well?” She had stopped across the table from him and stared until he finally looked up, her smile pasted on her face.

  He slowly lowered his cup, a frown on his face, his free hand tapping on the tabletop.

  “Good morning.” His voice was gruff, like he had not yet used it.

  Taking it as a good sign that he responded, she walked to the stove to see that the toast was not the only food with charred edges. Thickly cut bacon filled the cast iron skillet in layers. Eggs were frying in a second skillet and were dark brown on the bottom.

  The housekeeper kept an immaculate home, but the woman could not cook.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds. I appreciate your rising early to care for our needs.” Elizabeth put her hand on the frazzled woman’s shoulder. “If you do not mind, I would like to prepare breakfast my first day in my new home.”

  The woman looked at the pans filled with the meat and eggs and the platter of cold toast on the table before looking back at the new lady of the house.

  Elizabeth, though at first startled by the elderly housekeeper’s gaff upon her arrival, had later found her to be a gentle soul who cared deeply for the Darcy family. She offered Mrs. Reynolds her biggest smile as she plucked the spatula from the housekeeper’s hands.

  After lifting the eggs out of one skillet to a stoneware plate resting by the side of the stove, she shifted half of the bacon to the empty pan. Spreading it thin, she moved the pans to the side of the stove to cool the temperature as she asked for flour, salt, baking powder, butter, and buttermilk. Within minutes she had biscuits rolled out and in the hot oven.

  Turning the bacon, Elizabeth kept the flour bin handy as she requested a pitcher of milk and black pepper. When the items were procured, she shooed Mrs. Reynolds away and prepared the rest of the meal. Within twenty minutes, a platter of steaming, puffy biscuits rested alongside a pile of crispy bacon, eggs fried until their whites were done but their yolks were still runny, and a large bowl brimming with country gravy.

  After refilling Mr. Darcy’s coffee, she poured her own and sat at the table across from him. Mrs. Reynolds still stood in the same place she had been since Elizabeth had taken over, a huge smile on her face.

  “Come, sit. Enjoy breaking your fast.” Elizabeth waved the older woman over.

  Mrs. Reynolds grabbed six plates and the accompanying utensils and placed them around where the couple were seated.

  “Breakfast smells and looks wonderful, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled back at the housekeeper, whose gentle voice spoke of her Georgia roots.

  At that moment, the shuffle of booted feet was heard at the door to the kitchen. The same two men who had carried her trunks to her room entered along with an older gentleman. Washing at the kitchen sink, they stopped cold as they approached the table.

  Elizabeth thought their concern was that they would have to sit on either side of her, so she stood and moved to the right side of her husband. Mrs. Reynolds sat next to her and the elderly man took the chair at the opposite end of the table, where Elizabeth had been.

  Once seated, Mr. Darcy said a prayer of thanks, and the men dug in. Only a few minutes passed before the older man spoke, his Southern drawl much more pronounced than his wife’s.

  “Maggie, you have outdone yourself this morning. Perhaps ole’ Darcy here should have brought him home a bride sooner.”

  Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t me who cooked.”

  Elizabeth looked around the table and found smiles on everyone’s face except her husband’s. Her first inclination was to spitefully pour a large heaping serving of black pepper on his biscuit, however, she refrained. Slowly breathing in through her nostrils, she charted her course.

  She was not made for discouragement.

  “Welcome to our table.
I am Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.” Until she knew the circumstances better, she would be formal with the introductions. She asked the names of each man. The eldest, John Reynolds, was married to the housekeeper and was Darcy’s foreman. The other two men, who looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties, were brothers, Dan and Melvin White. “Please help yourself and eat your fill. There’s more where that came from.” She waved towards the stove.

  For a long while, the only sound in the dining room was the scraping of forks on the plates as the bowl and platters were soon emptied until not one crumb remained. The sense of accomplishment Elizabeth felt warmed her insides.

  When she stood to help Mrs. Reynolds clear the table, she was waved back to her seat. “No, ma’am. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

  Sipping the hot coffee, she absorbed the talk of the men. It was soon apparent how respected her husband was by the men who worked for him. Darcy listened to their suggestions carefully before nodding his approval, then he spoke without ordering so they all knew how their time would be occupied for the day.

  Chairs slid back from the table as the men rose to leave. A chorus of, ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ came from the men—excepting her husband—before they walked out the door.

  He hadn’t said a word. Not a nod. Not a mumbled expression of appreciation. Elizabeth wanted to lift the sixteen-inch cast iron skillet and whack him upside the head with it. She breathed in deeply to settle herself. It shouldn’t matter.

  Resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand, her eyes followed the one man she should know better than any other human, except she did not.

  “Mrs. Darcy, are you well?” Mrs. Reynolds had poured boiling water over the dishes and left them soaking in the sink. Bringing the pot over, she refilled both of their coffee mugs and sat directly across from Elizabeth.

  “Hmmm. I thank you for asking.” With one last look at the door, she turned her attention to the housekeeper. “Please call me Elizabeth or Lizzy and, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call you the same as my husband does.”

  Maggie chuckled into her cup. “When Will was little, he had the hardest time saying his “R’s and “L’s”. After trying for several years, he finally started calling me by my first name as his father did.”

  “You have been here a while then?”

  “Since right before Will was born.” In a pose similar to the one Elizabeth had been holding, she looked out the window opposite the kitchen. “His mother was heavy with child when George Darcy came to town. He went door-to-door asking if there were any women willing to work for good wages to help his wife. My John and I had claimed our 640 acres as soon as we had arrived from Atlanta, but we hadn’t yet built a home.”

  “Just as now, women were scarce and those who were here had their own families to tend. When we were offered a large cabin with all the furnishings by Will’s father, we jumped at the chance. Our new home had been built by Will’s grandfather. Mr. Josiah Darcy lived there until the big house was built. Then he went back east and came home with his wife and son. The cabin sat empty until years later when old Josiah’s son, George Darcy, was old enough to be on his own. When he was at university, he met Anne Fitzwilliam. They married and returned home, thinking they would stay in the cabin the whole of their married life. However, Will’s grandfather was killed in a logging accident. His wife had not adapted well to frontier life, so she returned to her family, leaving her son and daughter-in-law the ranch. It was Mr. George Darcy who offered us the cabin.”

  “And Will’s parents?” Elizabeth had thought he was going to tell her of them the day before when he spoke of his time spent away from Pemberley.

  “Will’s mom was always frail. She had spun-gold hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She was tall and slender and one of the kindest ladies I’ve ever met.”

  Elizabeth was stunned. It was like she was describing Jane. No wonder her husband constantly found his eyes drifting towards her sister.

  “After your husband was born, the doctor recommended they not try for another child. Nonetheless, Anne insisted she had enough love to give a herd of young ones. Sadly, she was unable to carry any more children to birth. Until Georgiana.”

  “My new sister?”

  “Yes.” Maggie looked down at her cup as if the answers to the world’s problems could be found amidst the grounds at the bottom. “Anne died giving birth to her daughter. Will was twelve years old and I was afraid, as close as they were, that he wanted to curl up and die with her. Then he saw that little red-faced bundle of miniature squalling female, and his heart was lost. He has been the best brother a little girl could have.”

  Elizabeth nodded. Her youngest sister, Lydia, was born making noise and she had never stopped. She wondered if her sister-in-law was the same.

  “Would you tell me about Georgiana?”

  “George Darcy mourned the loss of his wife to the extent that he allowed little emotion to be shared amongst his children. He became a hard taskmaster to young William and an indifferent father to his daughter. Will hated leaving her here when he left for school. However, it was not long before Anne’s brother and his wife offered to raise her with their young ones. Though they were all older than Georgie, they showered her with attention and affection.

  “Georgiana Darcy is quiet like your husband. She is now sixteen and looks very similar to her mother. Will takes after his Pa.”

  “Why do you refer to my husband’s father by both his first and last name? You do it for no other family member.”

  Maggie sucked in a breath and Elizabeth immediately knew she had trespassed into private territory. “Never mind. I do not need to know.”

  The housekeeper reached over the wood surface and placed her hand on Elizabeth’s forearm. “You had no way of knowing, but Will’s Dad took in the son of a friend of his named George. The man….”

  They were interrupted by Maggie’s husband running back inside the house, yelling, “There’s been an accident.”

  Both women jumped up and grabbed their jackets hanging on hooks. Before they had their arms in the sleeves, they were running out the door.

  Mr. Reynolds quickly explained the cause of the accident as they ran across the yard. It was a widow-maker, a heavy broken limb entangled in the surrounding trees that falls randomly on unsuspecting timber workers. This one hit Darcy on the shoulder, knocking him to the forest floor before landing on the back of his lower leg. A jagged piece of bone ripped through his denims and blood flowed freely onto the ground. Elizabeth wanted to vomit at the sight.

  Falling to her knees where the side of his face lay in the dirt, she touched his cheek where his dark eyelashes rested. His chest rose and fell with regularity, but he was out cold. It was the first contact she had had with the man since he had helped her in and out of the wagon. She was surprised at the smoothness of his skin. He must have shaved right before breakfast.

  Shaking her head to clear it of the random thought, she looked to the men standing by and realized she was as scared, if not more, than they were. The wound looked wicked, and his stillness frightened her more than the pool of blood accumulating by his leg.

  In spite of the fact that she was unhappy at being married to him, she did not want harm to befall Will Darcy. She would need his help settling into her new life as a frontier bride.

  The thought shamed her. How could she be so selfish? The pain her husband must be suffering humbled her.

  “Is there a doctor close?”

  “It would be hours before he could get here, ma’am,” one of the men answered.

  Elizabeth glanced at their surroundings. She saw the limb that had caused the damage where the workers had apparently moved it and wanted to walk over and kick it—hard, frustrated at the obstruction to her transition.

  Again, she was acting more concerned over how this was affecting her than the injured man on the ground. Stop it, Lizzy!

  “We need to stop the bleeding and set his leg while he is still unconscious.” S
he stood and moved around to his head, dropping again to her knees. “Would someone bring a knife, towels, and some blankets we can put under him when we roll him onto his back? Enough blankets that will bear his weight.” One of the workers ran back to the house with Maggie. Elizabeth did not remember the man’s name, but was grateful the housekeeper was with him. She appeared to be a woman of sense.

  Her younger sister, Mary, had fallen and injured herself many times before the doctor figured out she needed glasses. Steep, narrow staircases in their home had been the bane of the family as the middle child suffered from sprained ankles and a broken bone in her arm. However, moving a young girl to her room was far easier than a tall well-muscled man who was several inches over six feet. She was grateful for the men standing by.

  Without thought, her slim fingers threaded through his hair as she bent to whisper her plans into his ear. There was no response, and she was thankful.

  When they returned with the blankets, she spread them out and rolled the edges like the doctor had showed her the last time Mary had fallen. Taking the sharp knife, she moved to his leg and started to cut his pants to move the fabric from the wound, but her hands were shaking so badly, she was unable to make the first cut.

  One of the men stepped up and took over. The bone protruded almost an inch above the torn skin. They had to act quickly.

  “Let’s move him now. On my word.” The foreman grabbed Darcy’s shoulders while one of the men was at his waist and the other at his good leg. Elizabeth held his bad leg in place and Maggie had replaced her at his head. “Now!”

  The move was over in seconds. A groan came from her husband’s lips and sweat broke out on his brow. In one fluid movement, Elizabeth clasped his boot and pulled it off. Then she grabbed his sock and did the same. An odd thought ran through her mind that it was the first time she had ever seen a bare male foot. It was as thick and large as the rest of him. She clutched his ankle between her two hands and fell backwards, pulling at the same time as one of the men pushed the bone through the skin back into place. Darcy’s scream reverberated from one stand of trees to the next. She wanted to cry. Or throw up.