A Case of Some Delicacy

by K C Kahler

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bingley motioned for Lucas to return to the library with him. “You have lifted our spirits. We were most disheartened before you brought a little hope. Let me offer you something—a brandy, perhaps.”

  Lucas waved it off. “I really should not stay too long. Longbourn will be most anxious for news. Will you call for my horse while I show Mr Robertson how to apply the poultice?”

  They had arrived outside the library door. “I shall see to it. And perhaps I may send a note along with you for Jane?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Bingley caught Mrs Trent on her way somewhere. “Will you have Mr Lucas's horse readied?”

  He turned into the library. Before he even reached the desk to write his note, Lucas bounded back through the doorway. “Bingley, can you tell me… I thought perhaps Mr Darcy might wish to convey a message to Longbourn as well. Is he lucid?”

  “Lucid?”

  “If I spoke to him, would he be able to respond coherently?”

  Someone cleared his throat from the far corner of the room. “Of course I am lucid. What sort of question is that?” Darcy rose from his chair, scowling at the two men.

  “What the devil!?” Lucas pointed at Darcy and demanded of Bingley, “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I do not understand.”

  Darcy approached as Lucas gaped at him.

  “Is this some sort of sick joke? For a man whose gun exploded in his face four days ago, you look remarkably well, Mr Darcy.”

  Darcy tried to glare fiercely, but his eyes kept sinking to John Lucas' stockinged feet. “I believe you are the one playing a sick joke. Bingley, what is he doing here? You hardly have time to entertain guests.”

  Now two great, tall fellows glared at Bingley fiercely. “I am not entertaining him! He brought herbal remedies for Hurst.”

  Lucas blinked. “Mr Hurst? Mr Hurst is the one who lies upstairs with powder burns and a fever?”

  “Yes. Did you think it was Darcy?”

  “Yes! Everyone thinks Mr Darcy is on his deathbed.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Well, everyone at Longbourn.”

  “But how could that have happened?”

  “I think Thomas was the one who—Blast! It does not matter now!” He turned to Darcy, “All the Bennets believe you to be suffering from a life-threatening fever.”

  “All the Bennets,” Darcy repeated. He paled and his eyes searched Lucas’s face.

  “Yes. All of them,” Lucas said urgently. “It is imperative that she—that they learn the truth as soon as possible.”

  Bingley took Lucas's meaning. “You are referring to Elizabeth? Hurst and I recently formulated a theory about Darcy’s feelings for her. Of course I will explain this misunderstanding in my note.” Bingley moved around the desk. Then he remembered what else they believed about Darcy at Longbourn. “Darcy! Everyone at Longbourn also believes you are engaged to wed your cousin!”

  “What?!” the taller fellow shouted.

  “Miss Lydia and Mrs Bennet were most agitated by something Mr Collins had said. He claimed to have seen the betrothal announcements. Your aunt asked him to edit the text or some such before it goes in the papers. He went on and on about the splendid match when I was there on Friday.”

  Darcy glared at him. “And did you tell them it is not true?”

  Bingley shrugged. “Well, not exactly. I was not about to call Lady Catherine a liar right in front of Mr Collins. You know how he would have reacted.”

  “But why did you not tell me about it afterwards? Do you know what you have done?”

  “Me? Blast it, Darcy—you are far too reticent for your own good! I might have known how important it was at the time had you confided in me rather than drink yourself into a stupor!” Bingley’s ire rose. “Besides, you ought to have ended your aunt’s aspirations long ago, but you have found the rumours useful for your own purposes. And you know we have not had five minutes to spare for conversation since the accident. For God’s sake, take some responsibility; this misunderstanding is your doing, not mine.”

  Darcy paced, running his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Bingley; you are correct.”

  “Am I to understand,” Lucas said, “that Mr Darcy is not engaged to Miss de Bourgh?”

  “No, he is not.”

  Darcy crossed to the door. “I must go to Longbourn.”

  “Just a moment,” Lucas called. He approached and stood toe to boot with Darcy. “What are your intentions?”

  They locked gazes. “I shall marry her tomorrow if she will have me.”

  After a long moment, Lucas nodded once and said, “Take my horse. He is already saddled and waiting out front.”

  Darcy stared at him, his brow furrowed. “You have no objections to my marrying her?”

  “That is her decision.”

  Darcy offered his hand, which Lucas shook. “How will you get home?”

  Lucas grinned. “I shall borrow your fine animal. What the devil are you waiting for?”

  With one last handshake and a rushed “Thank you,” Darcy went into the hallway. A moment later, they heard the front door shut.

  John Lucas stood staring towards the door for a few moments. Bingley did not know whether he should speak or not. Finally, Lucas turned back, “Well, let me see to that poultice for Mr Hurst.”

  Bingley slapped his shoulder. “I shall take you up myself, Lucas.”

  * * *

  Bingley jolted awake in the library. He must have fallen asleep after Lucas left. He had not been getting much sleep since the accident. He wondered how Darcy had fared.

  “Where is my nephew? I demand to see him immediately!”

  Bingley rubbed his eyes. So he had not been dreaming that angry voice. He stood and walked towards the door, only to see Mrs Trent standing there. “Sir, a Lady Catherine de Bourgh is here asking for Mr Darcy.”

  Lady Catherine pushed into the room, tracking mud all over the floor. “You must be Mr Bingley?”

  “Yes, it is a pleasure to see you here, madam.”

  “You can surely understand my abruptness under the circumstances. I insist on seeing my nephew.”

  She walked back out into the hallway and Bingley followed, where he saw another lady speaking with Mrs Trent. Bingley smiled, about to introduce himself and welcome this newcomer.

  “Where is my nephew? What room?” Lady Catherine said as she went to the stairs.

  “Mother—”

  “I assume he is in your best room, Mr Bingley. Where is that?” Lady Catherine asked over her shoulder as she began climbing.

  Bingley was relieved to see Caroline coming down the hallway. “Mr Darcy is not in his room at present, Lady Catherine. Allow me to introduce my sister, the mistress of the house. She will see that your wait is a comfortable one.”

  “It is an immense pleasure to meet you, Lady Catherine,” Caroline said smoothly. “We have heard so much about you—”

  “What do you mean, not in his room?” Lady Catherine ignored Caroline completely. “Mr Bingley, I am not accustomed to repeating myself. I demand to be taken to my nephew this instant!”

  “Mother—”

  “He is not here, Lady Catherine. If you will come into the drawing room, we shall gladly explain.”

  “Not here!? You have allowed him to travel in his condition, on these roads? Does no one have any sense but me?”

  “Mother, come down and stop interrupting every—”

  “I shall not waste my time being polite to these fools, Anne! How can you be so calm?”

  “Lower your voice!” Mrs Regina Hurst boomed from the top of the stairs.

  Lady Catherine sputtered as she swung her head around. “How dare you? Do you know who I am!?”

  “I do not care who you are!” She came halfway down the staircase. “I am Regina Hurst, and my son lies upstairs fighting for his life. Shut your unruly mouth, or I shall throw you out into the mud myself!”

  Lady Catherine
backed down two steps, shocked into silence.

  “Mrs Hurst, please forgive my mother,” Miss de Bourgh said. “She was under the mistaken impression that her nephew, Mr Darcy, was ill, not Mr Hurst. Naturally, she was very upset. She will not disturb you nor your son any longer. Come down here, Mother. This is the last time I shall smooth over the offenses given by your rudeness.”

  Lady Catherine rather meekly descended the stairs. Mrs Hurst looked to Anne, “I shall overlook this instance as long as it does not happen again, Miss-?”

  “I am Miss de Bourgh, and this is my mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

  Mrs Hurst nodded to her and glanced briefly at Lady Catherine. “I am also inclined to forgive you both as we owe a great debt to Mr Darcy. He sent for me, as well as his own physician, immediately after the accident, thus ensuring we were able to reach Netherfield before the worst of the storm.”

  “My cousin always keeps his head about him in a crisis. I am glad he was of service to you and Mr Hurst. Now, Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley, you mentioned retiring to the drawing room…”

  “Yes, please follow Caroline.”

  Caroline led their guests away, and Bingley started to follow.

  “Mr Bingley,” Mrs Hurst said. “What is the name of the young man who brought the tea?”

  “Mr John Lucas.”

  “When Mr Lucas returns, my mother, my sister, and I wish to thank him personally. Will you inform us as soon as he arrives?”

  “Indeed, I shall be happy to.”

  She thanked him and ascended the stairs. Bingley hurried to reach the drawing room, where he found Caroline conversing with a much subdued Lady Catherine.

  “Mr Bingley,” Miss de Bourgh said quietly. “Can you tell me where my cousin has gone?”

  “He went to Longbourn. He had just learned…some news. I assume Longbourn is where you heard the erroneous rumour?”

  “Yes, we came from there. But when did he leave?”

  Bingley pulled out his watch. “About an hour and a half ago.”

  “That is perfect,” she said to herself, “for that is just after Miss Elizabeth left. No doubt they met along the way.” She beamed, then recollected herself. “I probably do not make much sense to you.”

  “No, you make perfect sense. It’s high time those two cleared up all these misunderstandings.”

  Darcy splashed through muddy puddles as he raced towards Longbourn. He had no idea what he would say or do when he got there, but all that was secondary to his need to see Elizabeth. Their dreadful parting might have been a huge misunderstanding. She had believed he was engaged to Anne, which he certainly was not. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was not in love with John Lucas. He had to know one way or the other. He would confess his love and throw himself at her mercy. If he were not rushing towards the most important moment of his life, Darcy would have laughed at how low he had fallen.

  How much farther until he reached her? Two miles? Perhaps less. It seemed an interminable distance. As he rounded another turn, he was arrested by the sight before him. Elizabeth Bennet stood, breathless and in shock, her hem six inches deep in mud. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  Darcy was out of the saddle and stepping towards her before he realised it. He opened his mouth to speak without knowing what he would say, but in the next moment, the wind was knocked out of him as she launched herself into his arms. Without thinking, he embraced her tightly. She trembled—was she crying, or just cold? He held her closer and breathed deeply.

  Her face was buried in his coat. “Thank God. Thank God,” she gasped.

  She pulled back slightly, and he reluctantly loosened his grip. But he would not release her hands, loath as he was to break the contact between them. She wore no gloves.

  Her eyes travelled intently over his face. “You are not shot.”

  “No, I am not.” He cursed his stupidity for uttering such an absurd answer. As he expected, she seemed to recall herself, and whatever unguarded mood she was in ended.

  “Good. Lydia would hate to see either of those dimples lost to scars.”

  Her attempt at levity would not distract Darcy. He was steady to his purpose. “And you? Would you hate to see me scarred?”

  Her eyes softened again. He held his breath as she brought her hand up to the side of his face. “Of course. I could not bear it.”

  He cradled her hand to his cheek, relishing the feel of her bare skin against his. After a few moments, she retracted her hand, and he said, “I am not shot, and I am not engaged.”

  She looked down. “Yes, Miss de Bourgh corrected our misapprehension on the latter count.”

  “Anne?” he asked, confused. But he interrupted when she tried to answer. “It matters not, as long as you know the truth. While we are clearing the air, I must confess something.” He waited until she looked up at him again. “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet, ardently and absolutely. I know that your heart may already belong to another. But I want no further misunderstandings between us. If there is any chance to win you, I shall do whatever I must. I shall spend my life proving myself worthy of your regard.”

  It seemed an eternity as she gathered herself to reply. “What a waste of your life to spend it proving to me what I already know or attempting to win that which you already possess. For my heart belongs to you, utterly and irrevocably.”

  The happiness this reply produced was such as he had probably never felt before, and an expression of heartfelt delight diffused over his face. But then he remembered one more issue he must confront. “But what of John Lucas? Do you not love him?”

  “I love John as I love Jane. I can never give up his friendship. It is a part of me—will always be a part of me. Perhaps, under other circumstances, I might have been happy trying to make a life with John. But not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I fell hopelessly in love with another man, a man who is not remotely like a brother to me.”

  Darcy swallowed. “Please tell me I am that man.”

  She laughed. “Yes of course, you fool. Who else could it be?”

  Darcy pulled her into his arms again, and the sense of rightness nearly overwhelmed him. “Then I beg you to marry this fool, Elizabeth. I love you beyond reason. Please say you will be my wife. Please say you will spend your life with me.”

  She stiffened and began to pull away. In desperation, Darcy blurted, “Or if you think this too sudden, if you need more time to decide, will you consent to a formal courtship? Let me prove my constancy, my devotion to you.” He waited in agony for her answer.

  “Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, and he was comforted by the sound of his name on her lips. “What of the great differences between our stations? What of my low connexions, my vulgar mother, and ridiculous sisters? Society will not approve of me—and certainly not of them.”

  He took off his gloves and reached for her hands. How could he explain? “I must tell you that Mr Hurst’s gun, not mine, misfired on Saturday. It is Hurst who battles for his life now.”

  “Oh no! Poor Mr Hurst! It must have been terrible.” Her compassion always moved him, and this time it moved him to lift one of her hands and kiss her bare knuckles. She allowed it.

  “It was terrible. And do you know what was the very worst of it? Hurst never once asked for his wife; he asked only for his mother. If that is the sort of marriage society would approve, then I want no part of it. The concerns you mentioned before—I dwelled on them from my high horse for far too long, and I nearly lost my perfect match. I do not care, should never have cared, what society will say about you. I have long loathed high society! Why should I now let its precepts dictate the most important decision of my life? Anyone who comes to know you will understand, nay approve, my love for you. And I have come to care for your family too. It only took seeing them through your eyes instead of my own, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You rescued me from my lofty perch and gave me the courage to interact with people for the sheer delig
ht of genuine camaraderie.”

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam.” Her face, her eyes, and her voice—they all expressed what Darcy had long wished for: unconditional love. Despite all his faults, despite the pain he had caused her, Elizabeth loved him. This witty, brave, lovely country miss was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy! He sank to one knee and felt the cold mud oozing around his leg.

  “Are you daft? Get up out of the mud!” She tugged on his hands to no avail.

  “Elizabeth June Bennet, I love you. Nothing would make me happier than spending the rest of my days with you by my side. Will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

  She took breath to reply. “I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I shall marry you!”

  Darcy rose and swept her into his arms, swinging her around. Her laughter and the distant roar of Oakham Stream filled his ears. He put her down and took her hands again. “Your hands are freezing. Where are your gloves?”

  “I rushed from the house thinking you were on your deathbed. I am lucky I remembered my boots!”

  “Here, wear mine.” He handed them over and watched, elated, as she pulled them onto her delicate hands.

  “Oh! Fitzwilliam, your aunt and cousin now believe you to be gravely ill. They came to Longbourn, and we spread our poor information to them. You must find them and set them at ease. To avoid the stream, they were to take the high road and reach Netherfield from the north.”

  “Do you wish to be rid of me so soon? Bingley will explain the misunderstanding to them, I am sure.”

  “But they were very worried. Miss de Bourgh told me how you exchange letters with her. Why did you never tell me?”

  “There are many things I should have told you, but I was perfectly content just listening to you. You have no idea how much I love the sound of your voice and the expression on your face when you speak of your loved ones.”

  “And I should have told you the nature of my relationship with John. But really, I mentioned him so often and shared so many improper details with you about my friends and family, you should have just asked me.”

  “I was petrified that you would reveal a secret engagement.”