A Very Austen Valentine

by Robin Helm

  She needed to put a stop to these traitorous feelings!

  “Would you mind some company?” he asked.

  Before she knew what she was about, she had already said, “Not at all.”

  He tied his horse’s lead to a shrub near a grassy area and joined her.

  They walked on together in silence for a while before he said, “It seems we have the same tastes in nature, Miss Bennet. You are finding all of my favourite haunts on the grounds.”

  Certainly not on purpose! She barely stopped herself from speaking aloud.

  He asked if she had done much travelling.

  “My father is a home-body, I am afraid, so my experience has been limited to the few places in England where my aunt and uncle from London have travelled and charitably taken me along. We have been to Bath, Broadstairs, and Lyme in the past. They have also shown me many sites in London, of course.”

  “Did you like the sea?”

  “Yes, very much. However, I particularly anticipate visiting the Lake District with them next summer.”

  When he did not say anything for several minutes, she asked, “Have you travelled much, sir?”

  “I, too, have not exited England’s borders other than an occasional trip to my estate in Wales. I was about to leave for a tour of Europe when my father passed on; of course, I returned to Pemberley.”

  “I am sorry for your loss.” The mention also served to remind her that senior Mr. Darcy’s passing proved to be Mr. Wickham’s loss, as well. Good. The increasing need to remind herself that she disliked this gentleman was becoming worrisome.

  He nodded. “It was five years ago. Between managing the estate and acting as guardian to my sister, I have not found time to travel. Someday, I hope.”

  “How old is your sister?”

  “Georgiana turned sixteen at the end of the summer.”

  “You have raised her alone these five years?”

  “Richard, that is Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I share her guardianship.”

  She could not imagine raising her sister Lydia, who was just fifteen, or Kitty, who was now seventeen.

  “How have you two bachelors made out as guardians? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage.”

  Mr. Darcy missed a step. He looked at her quickly, his eyes wide. “Why would you think she has given us any uneasiness?”

  “Fear not; I have heard no harm of your sister, Mr. Darcy. In fact, Charles’s sisters cannot compliment her enough; they praise her sweetness and accomplishments. I think only of my own sisters, and, I dare say, of myself at the ages eleven through sixteen. They are the most trying years for girls, I believe.”

  He seemed to breathe easier. Did she hit too close to the mark with her original statement?

  They went as far as the end of the grove and turned back. He was lost in thought, and after reminding herself of how he had treated Jane and Charles, and Wickham, too, she left him to it.

  When they reached the place where his horse was tied, he bowed. “Thank you, Miss Bennet. Perhaps next time we meet, you will tell me some tales of yourself as a young girl so I can compare your behaviour to my sister’s.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She had no intention of meeting with him again. He seemed to be taking a different path every day, so tomorrow she would walk this way again.

  “Good day, sir.” She quickly marched off in the direction of the parsonage.

  Hearing no hoof beats, she was tempted to turn back to see if he watched her leave like he did the day before, but she forced her gaze forward, instead.

  Chapter Five

  ~Monday, January 15, 1812

  Mr. Gibbs had come to Rosings several times since Anne had admitted to her feelings for the man just over a week ago, and Richard and Darcy had grilled him incessantly. Satisfied that he was in love with Anne and not after the lady’s fortune, they came to enjoy the gentleman’s company and agreed to help Anne speak to Lady Catherine.

  As usual, whenever the Mr. Gibbs came for medical reasons, he was invited to tea. Because Richard had gone out riding, Anne, Darcy, and Mr. Gibbs decided to wait until the next visit to apprise Lady Catherine of their plans to marry.

  As they sat down together, Lady Catherine said, “Thank you, Mr. Gibbs, for aiding Anne in her recovery. I would seek your opinion about a matter of some delicacy, and I would like my daughter and Darcy to hear it, as well.”

  “Certainly, Lady Catherine. I would be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

  “Is Anne healthy enough to marry, perform her wifely duties, and survive childbirth?”

  Darcy almost spit out his tea.

  Poor Anne blushed so deeply, she almost blended into the walls of the Red Drawing Room.

  Mr. Gibbs raised his eyebrows, glanced at Anne, and then returned his gaze to Lady Catherine. “I believe she is, madam. Given that we are on this subject, I would like to ask your permi—”

  “Good,” she interrupted, turning to Darcy. “Did you hear that, nephew? Your concern for Anne’s health has proven to be wise, but I see no reason to delay any further. You now have medical proof that Anne can provide you with an heir. You will marry her in the spring.”

  At the look on Mr. Gibbs face after that statement, Darcy had to hold back a chuckle. “Aunt, we discussed this during my visit last year. Anne and I will not marry.”

  “I remember no such discussion. You and Anne have been destined for each other. You will combine two noble families and two great estates. You will marry.”

  “Lady Catherine,” Mr. Gibbs said. “I was just about to ask for your blessing. Miss de Bourgh and I wish to marry.”

  “Nonsense. I am sorry for you, Mr. Gibbs.” She patted his arm. “I know my daughter would be a wonderful catch for you, but my Anne will marry Darcy.”

  Anne had finally recovered from her embarrassment and found her voice. “No, Mother, I will not. Darcy and I have no desire to marry each other. Neither of us is dependent on your approval, but we do wish you would try to understand. We have never cared for each other in that way. But Mr. Gibbs and I do love each other, very much. I have accepted Mr. Gibbs’s proposal.”

  “You will do as I say!” She rapped her cane on the floor. “Darcy is descended from noble blood. Darcy owns a great estate!”

  Anne took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

  When her mother looked away out the window in a fit of pique, Anne mouthed the words, “I am sorry” to Mr. Gibbs, and then said aloud, “Mother, Darcy is the grandson of your father, the Earl of Matlock, is he not?”

  Lady Catherine nodded.

  “And Darcy possesses Pemberley, which is quite far from Rosings. If I were living there, I would see you rarely.”

  Darcy smiled. He could see where this was going. Usually, he did not approve of using one’s connections in this manner, but in the case of his aunt, it might be the only way.

  “Of course. I know this, Anne. Why are you stating the obvious?”

  “Because I think you must be unaware that Mr. Gibbs is the son of the Earl of Eltham. He also owns the estate bordering Rosings Park.”

  Lady Catherine blinked several times in a row, her face void of all emotion.

  “And since we are already well connected to the Earl of Matlock through your family, would it not be wise to forge a new connection with the Earl of Eltham through my marriage to Mr. Gibbs?”

  Lady Catherine frowned, but was silent for some time. They all sat very still while she considered what her daughter had said.

  Finally, she nodded. “Yes, Anne. You are a clever girl.” She turned to Mr. Gibbs. “I grant my permission for you to marry my daughter, Mr. Gibbs.”

  Mr. Gibbs coughed to hide a chuckle. “Thank you, Lady Catherine.”

  Darcy shook Mr. Gibbs hand and kissed his cousin on the cheek.

  Who would have thought that Anne, who had been ill for as long as he could remember, would marry before he did?

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  ~Ja
nuary 18, 1812

  Over the last week and a half, every night after retiring, Elizabeth had made a plan that seemed guaranteed to succeed in avoiding Mr. Darcy during her daily exercise, but the next morning, she would find herself in his company again.

  At first, only to avoid walking together in silence, she revealed some accounts from her childhood, as he had requested, but after a while, she enjoyed reminiscing. In exchange, he entertained her with tales from his youth. He had spent much time with Colonel Fitzwilliam and the colonel’s older brother, Reginald Fitzwilliam, Viscount Brindon. Mr. Darcy had enjoyed an interesting childhood. Other than attending school where she could not, it was not so very different from her own, even though his family was much wealthier and his relatives were peers of the realm.

  Late mornings would be spent in Charlotte’s parlour, visiting with Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and sometimes Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson.

  In the afternoons, the ladies of the parsonage occupied themselves with sewing for the poor and making baskets for the ill. Maria accompanied Charlotte on her visits to parishioners, and Elizabeth took that time to catch up on her letters. After supper, Mr. Collins read to them from the Bible before they all retired.

  During these routine tasks, it was increasingly difficult for Elizabeth to keep her attention from drifting to thoughts of Mr. Darcy, and she had to remind herself often of all the reasons she disliked him, even resorting to writing them down and keeping the list in her pocket.

  Sometimes just the feel of the scrap through the material of her skirts was enough to change the course of her thoughts, and other times… well, she had an active imagination. She was ashamed to admit to herself that, at times, her mind would wander to possible excuses for his former behaviour.

  As she had gotten to know him better, she realized the disdain she had thought she saw might have been shyness.

  Or was it? At times, she had thought she saw him scorn the way her neighbours in Hertfordshire behaved, and especially her own sisters. But had she not felt the same way, though she did not dare do something as obvious as roll her eyes?

  It was all very confusing!

  When the gentlemen visited at Hunsford, Mr. Darcy continued to be very quiet, but his looks were not as severe. After polite greetings, he only spoke when she attempted to draw him into conversation, and every day she found herself doing so more often. Only a few days ago, she had almost enjoyed seeing him squirm in company, but now she desired he should feel more comfortable.

  No longer did Elizabeth know what she wanted, and she found herself wishing he would leave Rosings so she could find peace, but then the thought of his leaving made her more uncomfortable than his presence.

  This morning, rain kept her indoors. She was restless and not convinced that the lack of exercise was the only cause.

  As Charlotte and Maria discussed a visit made the previous day, Elizabeth’s mind conjured up an image of Mr. Darcy’s handsome face, the chocolate-brown of his curly hair, and his habit of running his hands through it away from his face, only to have that one unruly lock fall back into place to tickle his brow. His eyes, one shade darker than his hair, twinkled with mirth while she told the tales of her childhood or when he spoke of his. His face relaxed when he spoke of his sister, whom she could tell he loved very much. Those full lips revealed perfect white teeth when he spoke, and when he smiled, caused a dimple to reveal itself, making her heart skip a beat. His voice was deep and smooth as silk. Several times, when he had helped her step over a branch or hole, his strength was evident—

  No! She would not pine for Mr. Darcy!

  After checking to make certain the other ladies were not watching, Elizabeth slipped the paper from her pocket and unfolded it.

  Conspired to separate Jane and Charles

  Snubbed Jane and Charles’s wedding

  Discounted his father’s final wishes

  Selfish disdain of the feelings of others

  There. That was better.

  “Lizzy? Is that a letter from Jane?” Charlotte asked. “I long to hear about her trip.”

  Elizabeth startled, but soon recovered. She folded the paper and stuffed it in her pocket. “No, Jane has not written yet.”

  “Strange. It has been three weeks, has it not?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Why did Charlotte have to bring up Jane? Most of her recent nightmares were of her. Jane had always been a faithful correspondent, but that was before she had married. Something must be wrong. Did she have some sort of accident on her way to Scarborough? Or had she taken ill and Charles was too distraught to write?

  In a way, Elizabeth hoped it was as simple as Jane being so distracted at meeting Charles’s family that she had forgotten her own, but even that idea made her eyes prick with tears. Blinking them away, she rose.

  “May I use your writing desk, Charlotte? I wish to write to her again.” Perhaps a reminder that her family was anxious would be enough to impel her to put pen to paper.

  Charlotte nodded, and Elizabeth went to work, telling Jane about her second visit to Rosings and a little about her coincidental meetings with Mr. Darcy.

  She stared out the window at the pouring rain for a minute or two, then wrote:

  Jane, you have never thought Mr. Darcy as bad as the rest of us did, especially me. On your wedding day, you said Charles understood his reasons for staying away and did not feel slighted in the least. If Charles has made you aware of why Mr. Darcy did not attend, I wish you would write and enlighten me. I am having some trouble pairing what I thought I knew of him with what I have learned upon further acquaintance with the gentleman.

  Had she said too much? Too little?

  A knock at the door to the house interrupted her deliberation. In the hall outside the parlour, they could hear the maid speaking and then more than one deep voice. A glance at Charlotte and Maria proved they were as surprised as she to have visitors on such a day as this.

  The maid entered and announced Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  Mr. Darcy seemed out of sorts until he met her gaze, and with a blink, the tension in his face and shoulders seemed to melt away. Elizabeth’s own anxieties dissolved.

  As they stared at each other, she was vaguely aware of Colonel Fitzwilliam saying, “Good morning, ladies. Our cousin Anne sends her apologies that she could not come to visit this morning. Mrs. Jenkinson would not allow her to venture out into the rain, but as you can see, the weather could not stop us.”

  A different type of intensity than Elizabeth was accustomed to seeing shone from Mr. Darcy’s eyes. Elizabeth had no desire to avert her own, though she knew she should.

  Her breath hitched. Her hands trembled.

  Good heavens! What did this mean?

  She looked away.

  Charlotte answered, “Gentlemen are hardier than we ladies, are they not? The rain did not keep my husband from his daily visit to your aunt, either. Come, please, sit by the fire and warm yourselves.”

  The writing desk where Elizabeth sat was near the hearth. As the gentlemen arranged chairs before the fire, she pulled a blank sheet of paper over what she had been writing to Jane and turned her chair around.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “Our aunt bade us to invite you to come to Rosings for tea tomorrow. She will send her carriage so you will not ruin your slippers in the mud.”

  “How lovely!” Charlotte beamed. “Yes, of course.”

  “It will be nice to spend our last afternoon here with your party. I am afraid duty calls. I must return to London on Monday.”

  As the others fell into conversation, Mr. Darcy, who had taken the chair closest to her, turned to face her part way and said softly, “I missed our walk today, Miss Bennet.” He looked into her eyes once more.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She pulled her gaze away from him. Her reaction was silly.

  She spoke louder than he had, so nobody thought they were having a private conversation. “Whenever inclement weather keeps
me inside, it seems my yearning to return to the outdoors doubles in strength.”

  Would he take that the wrong way — as if she yearned to meet with him alone again? Oh, why had she spoken?

  The maid entered the room with a tea service. She placed it near Charlotte, then approached Elizabeth.

  “Pardon me, Miss, but ya’ said to bring ye’ letters as soon as they came, no matta’ what.” She handed Elizabeth two missives.

  “Yes. Thank you, Sally.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the letters and breathed a sigh of relief. The return address was Jane’s in London, but the directions to Hunsford were written very poorly and blotted so badly that it could barely be read.

  She turned to Mr. Darcy. “Is this Mr. Bingley’s handwriting?”

  Mr. Darcy chuckled. “Absolutely. It is difficult to forget, is it not? You might call it handwriting; I call it scrawl.”

  Charlotte said, “I can guess by your smile, Lizzy. The letter is from Jane?”

  “Yes, it is,” Elizabeth answered, placing a hand on her chest. “There is evidence that both letters were misdirected at first. Thank goodness!” She turned to the gentlemen, who were both regarding her with curious expressions. “I wonder, though, why Jane did not address the letters herself.”

  “Please, ease your concerns. Feel free to read through them,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Charlotte said, “I would like to know how they are, as well.”

  Maria nodded.

  “Just a peek, perhaps.” Elizabeth broke the seal on one and skimmed through it. “They arrived safely. Charles’s family could not be more agreeable.”

  She opened the second. “Oh! Jane says Charles is doting on her and will not allow her to lift a finger. He is even addressing her letters. Well, that explains it.”

  She put the letters on the writing desk to peruse later.

  Elizabeth blinked back tears.

  Mr. Darcy leaned toward her. “You were worried?”

  “Jane had promised to send off a note as soon as they arrived to let us know they had reached their destination safely, but none of my family had heard from Jane since she and Charles left for Scarborough, three weeks past. We were all becoming anxious.”