Men of Consequence

by Francine Rainey

  Chapter Fourteen

  She upset his balance. It has been little more than a week since she was in his home, and his peace was destroyed. She had not come down to breakfast this morning, and last night at dinner, she had been different, quieter. He had caught her gazing at him when she thought he was not looking, but whenever he returned her gaze, which was always, she looked away. He did not know what it meant, but to have her looking at him sent the most delicious feelings through his body.

  Darcy walked to the safety of his library. He had to leave the drawing room; he could still smell her perfume, or was it just his imagination? He shook his head. She was dangerous to his sanity. He wanted her too badly, and he was always on heightened alert now that she was near. His blood boiled, his heart leapt for joy, his mind anticipated her conversation, and his eyes followed her person. It was wonderful. It was terrible. This love, he had lost control, and it was disconcerting, but he would not trade it for the world. He felt alive with energy: and with frustration, as she was not yet his. He did not have the right to love her.

  He pushed opened the door to the library and froze. Lavender. Darcy’s heart pounded, and a shiver ran down his spine. Ironic, he had sought the library to rid himself of the agony of this longing, only to be pulled in like a magnet by her tormenting presence in the very place he sought refuge. Darcy halted, hand on handle, he could retreat, go for a walk, find another activity to soothe his agitation. It took less than three seconds for him to step over the threshold. He looked to his left, and there she sat in the cluster of chairs, the light from the windows streaming upon her. Her feet were curled beneath her, and she bit her lip as she read.

  “Mr. Darcy!” She turned luminous eyes upon him, and then quickly untucked her legs and frowned as her feet performed a clandestine and futile dance to find the slippers that were on the side of the chair to her left – where she likely forgot them when she moved to her current seat to take better advantage of the sunlight.

  Darcy bowed, walked toward her and picked up the wayward slippers. While still bent, he lifted sapphire eyes framed with thick black lashes and said dryly, “Miss Bennet, these slippers seem to have misplaced their owner. Would you by any chance know to whom they belong?”

  Elizabeth looked into his eyes and inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. He was unfairly handsome. Then she bit her lip, chuckled, and accepted the proffered slippers. “You have found me out, Mr. Darcy; I remove my bonnet while walking and my slippers while reading. Shall you want your sister to associate with such unladylike behavior?”

  Darcy smiled. Careful Elizabeth, he thought. She was looking at him with that impish smile, and every cell in his body was on high alert. “Miss Elizabeth, I do not know how bonnets can enhance your walk, nor slippers your comprehension; they both seem superfluous to the activity. You may discard them at will. My sister is safe with your example.”

  Elizabeth smiled and glanced at him and back down at the book, resting on her lap. Now that she had released her prejudices and realized that Darcy was not an ogre, she found it even more difficult to bear the intensity of his stare. She was no longer clear on the message those intense blue eyes sought to convey, and she was deathly afraid of misinterpretation. She had a feeling that one wrong interpretation and she may find a part of herself wandering in their depths forever.

  “Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.”

  Elizabeth looked up as Darcy’s baritone reverberated through her. She shook her head slightly, “I beg your pardon?”

  Darcy nodded toward the book in her lap. “Woodsworth, Tintern Abbey.”

  “Oh, yes!” Elizabeth looked down at the book.

  “Do you agree with his views on nature, Miss Bennet?”

  “A little, Mr. Darcy. I do not worship nature, but when I commune with what God has made, when I feel the sunshine and experience the colors, shapes, and textures, I am somehow made better. I am peaceful. I feel closer to God and people. What of you, Mr. Darcy, where do you find your peace?”

  Not in the library with a creature so beautiful that her mind, body, and eyes intoxicate me, Darcy thought. Elizabeth looked down and smoothed imaginary wrinkles for her gown, again unable to hold Darcy’s intense gaze. Darcy adjusted his cravat and cleared his throat to compensate for having been caught staring. “Many things, Miss Bennet, a good book, friends, listening to enchanting performances on the pianoforte,” he looked at her, and she quickly looked away again, “and riding, to name a few.”

  “Aye, riding at breakneck speeds across Netherfield’s grounds brings you peace, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy smiled. “Were you spying on me, Miss Bennet?” He asked, inordinately pleased that Elizabeth had watched him.

  “Not spying, Mr. Darcy, observing.” She lifted her head haughtily. “That I peered from behind a large oak that concealed me is immaterial.”

  Darcy laughed. When the laughter ceased, he held her gaze with a large smile and dimples peeking at her. As she watched, his smile was replaced by an expression so intense that it caught her breath.

  Elizabeth quickly said the first thing that came to her mind. “I imagine you have many responsibilities that require the need to escape, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy inhaled, the intensity of the feelings he felt for her nearly overwhelmed him. “I do have many responsibilities, but it has been a long time since I have considered them more of a privilege than a duty, Miss Bennet.”

  “Still, it must have been challenging to become master of such an estate at what, two and twenty?” Elizabeth asked, turning fully toward him, suddenly keen to understand him better.

  Darcy nodded. “It was. My father had prepared me as best he could; however, nothing but leading can truly prepare one to lead. I was desperate to make my father proud. I felt responsible for all those who depend upon the prosperity of Pemberley. Though Pemberley has maintained its prosperity, it was and can at times be…overwhelming.” Darcy wanted to unburden himself to her; he wanted her to understand him.

  “It seems you handled it admirably,” Elizabeth said.

  “I made my share of mistakes, especially in the beginning, but I have learned to listen to all sides, to listen to my steward, and to investigate a problem thoroughly before making a decision. I am not successful alone. There are others who deserve credit.”

  Elizabeth looked at him with soft eyes. “You were so young. All that responsibility and the guardianship of a young girl – a lot of hard edges with no soft place to land.”

  Darcy raised his brow. Elizabeth shook her head slightly and smiled, “Tis just something my father would say when facing a difficult decision: you know, difficult decision, no easy answers. Breakneck speed across a field now seems more appropriate. I shall not tease you about it, Mr. Darcy.”

  Their gazes locked again, and the intensity took her breath away.

  Mr. Darcy leaned forward. “Miss Bennet…”

  “Elizabeth! There you are! Oh, hello, Brother!” Elizabeth and Darcy both jumped at Georgiana’s voice. “I have found the piece, please, will you come practice with me?”

  “Of course.”

  Darcy and Elizabeth rose. Elizabeth gave a quick curtsy to Darcy’s quick bow. As she walked to the door, Darcy followed her with his eyes. Elizabeth stopped. “If music brings you peace, Mr. Darcy, I shall endeavor to practice more.” Elizabeth turned back and nearly ran into Georgiana with her haste to leave the room. Mr. Darcy stood still, nothing but his eyelids moving as he blinked rapidly; then he heaved a great sigh and dropped into the chair.

  Darcy had concluded his business earlier than expected, and now he wanted to get the unpleasant business with Francesca done so that there would be no distractions from his time with Elizabeth. As Darcy’s carriage pulled in front of Francesca’s townhouse, Darcy looked at his pocket watched and rubbed the back of his neck. Darcy huffed as he stepped from his carriage and gazed up at the grey stone townhouse. It was slightly worn, but still in good enough condition
and in an acceptable neighborhood. He wondered who paid the lease, knowing that it was unlikely that Mrs. Waters could afford such a place. Wanting to lessen the chance that someone would recognize his carriage outside of Francesca’s townhouse, Darcy gave his driver instructions to return in fifteen minutes. Fourteen minutes longer than he needed; Darcy surmised. As Darcy stepped down, a feeling of apprehension settled upon him. He turned to the driver, “If I do not appear at the appointed time, circle around and park at a safe distance, but keep the house in sight, and watch for me.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Sighing heavily, he walked up the stairs and was admitted by a housekeeper with a kind face and sensible eyes.

  “Mr. Darcy, ma’am.”

  Francesca gasped and stiffened. She had expected Darcy at the end of the week. She then turned to Hayden, who had been lounging and drinking brandy all day. Hayden sneered.

  “Send him to the drawing room, Hall,” Hayden commanded the housekeeper. As they rose, Hayden leaned close to her ear, she could feel hot breath upon her neck. “This is your last chance. Do it right.”

  Francesca pulled her arm from the grasp, “Do not worry for my ability; I know what I am about, but you had better leave off the brandy if you wish to trade strategies with Fitzwilliam. He is superior in every way.” She smiled as Hayden’s face twisted in fury. Then, Francesca walked briskly, smothering the urge to skip like a child from the room. Fitzwilliam had come!

  Darcy stood stiffly in the drawing room, his back to the door as he gazed absentmindedly at the room’s sparse furnishings. Darcy felt as if cold fingers stroked his spine: something was amiss. He remembered Matlock’s warning, “Do not trust her, Son; she is not what she appears to be.” Darcy had been so relieved to have been released from the entanglement that he did not question his uncle. Still, he had never thought her evil, misguided by the men in her life, but not villainous; however, now, he could not rid himself of this apprehension. Darcy shook his head, then he chastened himself to cease being foolish. This was likely nothing more than an attempt to reassert herself into his life, or more importantly, to his money. He would hear her, deny her, and then leave, and that would be it. Darcy sighed and his shoulder’s relaxed.

  “Fitzwilliam,” Francesca called softly, and Darcy turned and watched as she sauntered toward him, her hips swaying seductively. Her beauty and kindness were what drew him years ago, and had her conversation not been so insipid – he may well have fallen in love with her. She was not overtly flirtatious or lewd. She had a vulnerability about her that evoked a protectiveness within him. But he sometimes sensed that she was holding back, that what she presented to the world was a performance, carefully crafted. There was something sad about it, and if she were not so beautiful, he could now see her as a sister in need of protection. However, he knew that beneath the vulnerability was a sensual woman, and he had no intention of ever being drawn in again.

  “It is so good of you to come,” she said softly. “Please, be seated,” she indicated the couch for two.

  Darcy bowed slightly and took the chair across from it.

  “Shall I call for some tea?”

  “No, I thank you.”

  Darcy shifted in his chair and looked about while Francesca smoothed her skirt and looked away. It was awkward. Darcy felt ashamed of his weakness years ago. He had violated his father’s principles when he took her as his lover for that brief period in his youth; this shame permeated his being and seemed to mock him in the silence. Shifting again in his chair, he cleared his throat, “You are well?”

  “Yes, yes, very well. And you?”

  “Very well.” Darcy sighed at the banality of the conversation. After what seemed to be an eon, he spoke again, “You wished to speak with me,” Darcy stated, caring little for his bluntness. Francesca fidgeted, and Darcy watched her; her nervousness caused his initial trepidation to return.

  Francesca rose and walked about the room, her fingers trailing over the furniture. Finally, she peered at him with a searching glance. “I,” she started, then clearing her throat, she began again, “Do you recall our time together?” She smiled a close-lipped smile, then she shut her eyes as if savoring something delicious. “It was the most wonderful time of my life.”

  Darcy leapt from his char. He felt guilty for feeling nothing but the desire to run. “Mrs. Waters, I…”

  “No, no, please,” Francesca held up her hand as she rushed forward and lightly touched his arm. “Hear me, please.” She looked at him with large, pleading eyes that made her look younger and even more beautiful. Darcy stiffened, then nodded slightly and pointed with his hand for her to resume her seat.

  “I am not acquitting myself well,” she said as she twisted her hands in her lap. “I only meant to remember what we were together. I know it was brief, but I,” Francesca cleared her throat, “I cared for you deeply and I…” another awkward pause ensued as Francesca struggled to find words.

  Darcy thought, No, I will not take you as my mistress.

  “Did you not care for me at all?” she asked bluntly.

  Darcy leapt from his seat again. He did not desire to have such an intimate conversation with her. It was improper, although not nearly as inappropriate as their prior relationship, so Darcy had no recourse to impugn her questions. Their break had been swift and clean. One day she was there, and the next day she was not. Darcy had already begun to tire of her but was too much of a gentleman to send her away. He had been thankful for his uncle’s interference. He had been young, inexperienced, and overwhelmed. And even though he had found comfort in her arms, he had still been dissatisfied. He had wanted more.

  Darcy resumed his seat and leaned forward and took her hands. She looked at him with such bright, beautiful, hopeful eyes. She was an alluring woman, and he had found her kind and gentle, perhaps if she had stayed, he could have come to appreciate her other qualities and learned to love her and perhaps his desire for her would have been sufficient for them to lead a companionable life. His subsequent time in the ton, with the grasping, insipid young misses who would grow up to be like their vulgar, self-important mothers, had taught him that he could have made a much worse choice than the beautiful, and companionable Francesca Waters. However, now, it was much too late. He had found the “more” and mercy was she magnificent! Nothing in all his days had prepared him for the flood of wonder, joy, happiness, and desire that he experienced with Elizabeth Bennet. With her, he was fully alive – every part stimulated. When he secured Elizabeth’s hand, his life would add a missing piece that all this wealth had been powerless to procure. No, it was far too late now.

  “Mrs. Waters, I am grateful for your care during such a difficult time. Indeed, if there is some way in which I can be assistance to you now, please know that I am at your service.” Darcy stopped short of saying that a future with him was not possible. Instead, he searched her eyes to see if she understood. Francesca looked back at him, and Darcy watched as a veil slid down over her eyes like fine silk, and the bright and hopeful expression shuttered, and she exhaled a long, resigned breath – and Darcy felt like a cad. He continued to hold her hand, unable to remove from her the small amount of comfort he had to offer.

  He does not love me. Francesca’s broken heart whispered to her. Very well, I know how to act. He does not love me, but I shall just have to assure that he changes his opinion. She would do anything to avoid a life of uncertainty, selling herself to the highest bidder to avoid deprivation and misery of the acutest kind. She had never really known love, never felt wanted, except for the brief time she spent with the kindest man she had known. However, now she knew that even that time was an illusion. She had hoped that Matlock alone was responsible for the break, but she understood now that Darcy had never loved her. She had failed. She fought to keep the tears from escaping their bounds. The handkerchief he placed in her hands alerted her that she had failed in this, too.

  Darcy sat back in his chair and watched her with soft eyes
. If he could help her, he would. He did not want to be yet another man who had failed her. “Mrs. Waters,” she refused to lift her eyes. “Francesca,” he called, and she looked up, “is there some way in which I can be of service?” he asked softly. They peered at one another for some moments. He watched as he saw hopelessness morph into resolve.

  Francesca squared her drooping shoulders. She had already been a mistress to too many and did not desire that degradation again. But she had to eat, to live, and society gave females few options. She knew what she had to do.

  “Thank you, there is something I should like your help with,” Francesca smiled softly and cleared her throat. It was dry, and she knew she would need her voice, “Please, will you not have a cup of tea?”

  Darcy suppressed a sigh; it would be impolite to refuse when she was clearly in need of sustenance, “I will, thank you.”

  Francesca rose, pulled the cord, and walked to the door and waited for the housekeeper rather than return to her seat. When the housekeeper entered, she instructed her quietly. Darcy paid scant attention. He wanted to know her need and render aid as efficiently as possible. He could not offer her a position in any of his estates, nothing existed that would not be a degradation for a gently-born woman. No, perhaps she would accept a position as a governess. No, she had no formal education. Perhaps as a companion to an elderly woman? No, she was much too young and lovely for such a humdrum existence. Darcy sighed; how could he assist her without risking rumors?

  Darcy was so engrossed in his problem-solving that he failed to hear Francesca’s return. Darcy heard a cough and emerging from the intensity of his speculation, he turned and lost all the air in his lungs as he gazed into a pair of familiar vivid, sapphire eyes, rimmed in black with large dark irises and thick, long lashes belonging to a young lad with dark hair, angular nose, biting his lips and displaying deep dimples.