by Jennifer Joy
He remembered. Sinking deeper into the water, Darcy said, “I spoke out of turn of what I did not know. Please forgive my foolishness.”
“Another apology? I do not know if I should be flattered to be the recipient of such precious and difficult words for you to utter or if I should be concerned that I draw out your worst characteristics so much you see the need to apologize for them.”
Darcy was ashamed. He remembered his words clearly. He had called her “not tempting enough,” and he had refused to ask her to dance, though gentlemen were scarce at the assembly. Darcy had observed Miss Elizabeth tap her slippered toes to the rhythm of the music. She would have made a worthy partner, but he had been in a foul mood. And, if Darcy was completely honest with himself, he had not wanted to encourage the attention of a country maiden set on marrying above her situation. Darcy had not thought Miss Elizabeth good enough for him. That was what it had boiled down to.
How wrong he had been. In a lifetime, Darcy could never deserve what Miss Elizabeth had selflessly done for him. She was the bravest person he knew, and she had attached herself to him without a second thought because she believed in his innocence. Miss Elizabeth’s display of loyalty to a man who had spoken thoughtlessly to her, and her gracious acceptance of his friendship humbled Darcy to his core. He did not deserve her.
Darcy wanted her to understand how differently he saw her now. “If we could return to the assembly, you would be the first lady I would ask for a dance. And no sooner would our dance end than I would ask for another, and another.”
Softly, she said, “And I would accept.”
He chuckled, his relief great. “Your mother would have loved that.”
“She would have, and rightly so when she has five daughters to see happily married. Sometimes I wish she was not so enthusiastic in her efforts, but desperation often moves us to say and do things we would not otherwise express.”
Just as Bingley had said. Had Darcy listened to him then, he and Miss Elizabeth would not be in Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse apartment, forced into a betrothal, and running from the law. Had Darcy been more sympathetic of Mrs. Bennet’s plight, which she did nothing to conceal, their futures would look drastically different.
Seeing Mrs. Bennet’s faults in light of his own shortcomings made Darcy recognize how harmless she was. Especially when he was the one who had put Miss Elizabeth’s life in danger. What had Mrs. Bennet done but irritate his sensibility with her bold hints? He had been unkind while she had been nothing but honest.
“If things were different, what would you have done with your life?” Miss Elizabeth asked.
Darcy sighed. He did not see any benefit in dreaming about what would never be, but he preferred her conversation to his own thoughts. “I would return to Pemberley — to my home, to my sister. I miss her.”
“Pray do not speak of what makes you sad. I hear it in your voice. Tell me what would make you happy,” Miss Elizabeth implored.
That was the problem. Happiness was impossible for Darcy without his home, his beloved sister, and the hope of spending every day of the rest of his life with the woman he adored.
Staying on neutral ground, Darcy said, “I suppose I want what most gentlemen do. A comfortable home, satisfying work in which to occupy myself, meaningful conversations with loyal friends, good books to improve my mind and entertain my thoughts, and a lady with whom to share my life.”
What would Miss Elizabeth think of Pemberley? Darcy imagined the look on her face when she stepped into his library. He would bring her a cup of tea and a tray of food when she lost track of time because she was in the throes of an amazing story. He imagined the conversations they would have beside the fireplace. Miss Elizabeth would ensure the halls of Pemberley where lively with laughter.
He shook his head. “What of you? What do you want with your life?”
She chuckled softly. “So few diversions are available for young ladies, I could not help but long for a grand adventure like the heroines in my favorite stories have. Of course, with a book, you have the advantage of knowing that after their trials and tribulations are through, their reward will be a happy ending. I think that is what I wish for the most now. A happy ending. I shall be content with that.”
Could Miss Elizabeth … Elizabeth … imagine a happy ending with him?
Having trespassed the boundaries of decorum more times in one day than he cared to count, Darcy emboldened himself to say, “Miss Elizabeth, if I may presume on your friendship, I should very much like to call you by your given name. And, if it pleases you, pray call me William.”
“Yes, William,” she answered immediately, adding lightheartedly, “You may call me Elizabeth or Lizzy or any variation you fancy. Only do not call me Eliza. Miss Bingley calls me Eliza, and I have taken a dislike to the name because of it.”
Darcy laughed. “I understand … Elizabeth,” her name rolled off his tongue.
Her mention of Miss Bingley reminded Darcy of Elizabeth’s pearl necklace. He had noticed how often she reached up to clasp the pearl only to find it gone.
Darcy wanted to know more about her necklace, but he did not want to ask directly should it provoke unhappy memories. And so, he asked, “Is there anything from the carriage you would recover if given the chance?”
Elizabeth’s reply was instant. “My necklace. I do not expect you to understand it, but that worthless little trifle was priceless to me. It cannot be replaced — not with diamonds or a string of real pearls.”
“What makes it so special?”
“My father gave it to me.”
Darcy said nothing, hoping she would continue. He was not disappointed.
Elizabeth continued, “I was six years of age when a fair came to the village. It was harvest time, and the crops had been bountiful. I remember how happy everyone was. My mother and sisters spent all of their pin money by the end of the first day, but I still had mine. I wanted something special. The last day of the fair, Papa invited me to go into the village with him. He wanted to see if any new books had arrived, and I was happy to accompany him. I saw the necklace at the first stall, but when I asked the price, I learned I did not have enough money. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”
Darcy saw the shadow of Elizabeth’s hand reach toward her throat. He wanted the necklace to be there for her so badly.
“Papa and I walked through the booths, and I looked at the necklace every chance I had, knowing I would never see it again. My father was so interested in adding to his library, I did not expect him to notice the bauble.” She paused, and Darcy leaned forward, captivated.
“He sent me to the shop to buy a sweet while he purchased the books he had found. On my way back to the carriage, I wandered by that first booth one more time for a glimpse of the necklace. It was not there, and I tried not to cry. By then, I had imagined it was a teardrop from the Queen. Not just any teardrop though. It was a tear of joy, shed when she was reunited with her true love.”
Darcy wished he had known six-year-old Elizabeth.
She continued, “On the way home, Papa gave me a velvet pouch. ‘Open it,’ he said. Imagine my surprise when I saw the necklace. As beautiful as the glass pearl was, what touched me more than anything was that my father had noticed me. He had cared enough to use some of the money he would rather spend on books on something special for me.”
Darcy did not know what to say. He had lost more coins than the cost of hundreds of her necklaces, but he would pay a small ransom to return the Queen’s teardrop to Elizabeth.
“What about you? You lost so much more than any of us did,” she asked.
He answered, “The pocket watch found beside the marquess was a gift from my father. He had received it from his father, and it had our surname etched on the gold casing. I knew it would be handed down to me, and so I did everything possible to prove to him I would live up to its significance.”
Darcy steadied his voice. He was born into a line of extraordinary men, and it
fell to him to continue their legacy of excellence. They would be gravely disappointed in him now.
“I returned home from University with high recommendations from all of my professors. I had hoped to please Father with my hard work and dedication, but if he was pleased with me, he did not show it.” Darcy swallowed hard, feeling his disappointment all over again.
“He must have been proud of you. Maybe he did not know how to tell you so,” Elizabeth suggested.
Darcy appreciated how Elizabeth tried to console him, but while he had never spoken of his strained relationship with his father to anyone before, Darcy found that he wanted to tell Elizabeth. It became important. Darcy trusted her.
He said, “I hated how desperate I was to hear my father say he was glad I was his son. Not knowing what else I could do, I took it upon myself to show him how valuable I was to the estate. For weeks, I pored over ledgers. I interviewed the land steward, hungry to learn everything he was willing to teach me. I spoke with the tenants and with the servants. I read books on everything from household management to crop rotation. No detail was beneath my notice if it would contribute to the estate. One evening, he came into the library where I had books spread out over the table. One by one, he closed them, arranging them back on the shelves. I did not know what to think.”
Elizabeth gasped, but she said nothing. He suspected she held her breath just as he had in his father’s library.
Darcy continued, “Then, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the pocket watch. He told me he was proud of me, that he could not wish for a better son, and that I was ready to uphold the Darcy name. He placed the pocket watch in my palm and folded my hand over it.” Darcy’s chest tightened. “I feel … I felt … his approval every time I held that pocket watch in my hand.”
Chapter 27
Elizabeth dozed on the couch while William slept in her uncle’s chair. She was exhausted, but sleep evaded her. Her thoughts were full of William. His moody spells, his proud demeanor, his (mostly) unbending propriety, his need to be right all the time… Elizabeth understood him now, and his insecurity endeared him to her. They were not so different.
Too many times during the night, she had been tempted to smooth back the hair that had fallen over William’s forehead. Elizabeth wanted to tell him he was an exceptional gentleman, faults and all, and she would not change him for the world.
She let him sleep while she did her best to straighten up the apartment. Elizabeth prayed her uncle would see no need to set foot inside the room for a few more days. He would know someone had been inside. There was no way to disguise their presence completely, though she did her best.
The workers would arrive soon, and she and William would need to depart in the same manner in which they had come the night before.
Elizabeth opened the door to return the water buckets to their spot by the pump and nearly exclaimed aloud when a blast of frigid winter air washed over her.
William scurried up from his chair, his hair adorably disheveled and his eyes droopy with sleep.
She greeted him with a smile as he took the buckets from her hands.
“Ever the gentleman. I had hoped you would sleep longer,” she said.
“And leave you with all the work?” William’s eyes twinkled with a smile.
She grabbed the remaining two buckets, and together, they went downstairs to the courtyard. After receiving slobbery greetings from Uncle’s guards, they went to the pump where William washed his face and slicked his hair into submission.
Watt and Wilberforce took advantage of William’s vulnerable position under the pump to inspect his pockets for more meat pies. The sight of William laughing while the dogs indelicately shoved him from side to side in their efforts to pilfer the contents of his pockets warmed Elizabeth from the inside out. Droplets of water streamed down his curly hair and whiskers, soaking into his shirt.
When William took off at a run across the courtyard with the two dogs bounding after him, Elizabeth took advantage of his absence to cool herself at the pump.
His laughter and the dogs’ playful reaction to him set butterflies fluttering in Elizabeth’s stomach. When William’s eyes landed on her and she received the full brilliance of his smile, Elizabeth melted despite the cold.
Everything she had spoken of the night before, her hopes, her dreams… Elizabeth saw them realized in William.
He walked up to her with a crooked smile that made her knees wobble. William raised his hands toward her face, and Elizabeth instinctively leaned in, her body on fire.
Gently, he stroked her cheek, and her breath caught in her throat.
“There was a drop of water,” he said, clearing his throat and taking a step away. “We ought to gather our things and leave soon.”
William turned, and for a second Elizabeth contemplated his wide shoulders retreating toward the steps leading to the apartment. She was disappointed. She had thought he would kiss her again.
And with the realization of how badly Elizabeth had wished for William’s touch to be genuine and not compulsory, for his words to be tender instead of practical, Elizabeth knew. Her heart was William’s to treasure or disregard, to cherish or ignore.
Lord help her, Elizabeth had fallen in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Elizabeth held back her laughter when William suggested they hire a hackney to convey them to his uncle's residence on Mayfair. Their improprieties were too many to count, and she appreciated how William’s kindness moved him to breach decorum yet again. An unmarried lady and gentleman alone in a coach — shocking!
“You are anxious for your sister. I would not delay your hearing any news about her. Even if it means adding to my list of wrongs against you,” he explained.
Elizabeth arched her eyebrow and held her tongue. She was sorely tempted to tell William how much she enjoyed being the recipient of his improprieties, but she did not know if he would appreciate her humorous coquetry. “Thank you,” she said instead. Gratitude was safe.
She settled against the cushions and wiggled her toes in her boots, grateful for the abuse they had been spared.
She and William had discussed their plan of action by order of importance. First, they would go to Lord Matlock’s house to see what the colonel had found out about Mr. Bingley and Jane as well as any other news he could communicate to them through the cook. Since the Matlocks were not currently in residence, few would think to look there for William.
Second, they needed to find Mr. Bingley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Holton.
Finally — and this was the most important — they would search for Mr. Wickham.
It was a lot to do, and Elizabeth’s knees bobbed up and down in anxious impatience as she willed the coach to take them quicker through the crowded streets. She could endure anything once she knew Jane was well.
Taking a deep breath and pressing her fidgety knees down with her hands, Elizabeth asked the safest question she could think to ask. “What is the story with your uncle’s cook and the strawberry tarts?”
William’s eyes crinkled up at the corner, and he smiled.
Elizabeth stifled a whimper. William was beautiful when he smiled. Her safe question was not so safe after all.
He explained, “Cook has been old since I can remember. When Richard and I were much younger, we developed a reputation for getting into the strawberry tarts before they could be served. We thought we were so clever, but Cook was onto us. One time, she tricked us by putting salt and pepper in the tarts instead of sugar.”
“Did you learn your lesson?”
“We were too inquisitive to learn anything. The tarts my aunt served to her guests at tea received no complaints. We knew then that Cook had tricked us.”
“I suppose you went in search of the good tarts?”
William chuckled. “We did. And Cook caught us in her pantry. We made a bargain. She would make a few extra strawberry tarts for us as long as we stayed out of her domain. The request was reasonable, and since we were ha
rdly in a position to negotiate, we accepted her terms. I spent many summers visiting my cousins until I went to University, and she always had strawberry tarts waiting for Richard and me. Fresh strawberries in the summer, preserves in the winter. They were equally delicious.”
Elizabeth’s stomach grumbled. “They sound delicious. I imagine you and the colonel got into all sorts of mischief when you were younger.”
He smiled in answer but remained curiously silent. Elizabeth reveled in her improved image of William as a child. She would have liked to have known him.
The hackney came to a stop, and William handed her out.
“We are only a few streets away. I could not risk anyone following us to my uncle.” William said, looking up and down the street cautiously.
Elizabeth rubbed her hands together to warm them, saying, “You need not explain. I would never complain over a few streets when I love to walk.”
He looked down at her. “I have yet to hear you complain of anything at all … aside from me, that is.”
She restrained a chuckle. “You must admit you have given me cause for censure in the past, but it pleases me to inform you that I have nothing but pleasant thoughts about you, despite being aware of your faults.”
William grinned, holding his arm out for her to take.
A short time later, William pointed to a large house that looked very much like all the other properties on the street. Without turning his gaze, he said, “This is my uncle’s residence.”
He could not risk being recognized at his uncle’s house, and Elizabeth had convinced him to allow her to go. They continued walking, and William nodded toward a park visible through an opening between townhouses.
There were several trees which would provide shade over the grass lawns in the warmer months. Elizabeth imagined children running around while their nurses scrambled after them and their mothers and fathers sat elegantly on the benches dotting the path.
