Elizabeth & Darcy Page 2

  Darcy bowed slightly. “I mean no offense to you, Bingley. Only to point you to the truth. It is not I who has his mind set on such things, but the matriarch. And I would not mention hide nor hair of it, if I believed that Jane Bennet truly loved you.”

  A hint of blush rose to Bingley’s cheeks. “Mr. Darcy, I believe you slept poorly last night. That is it. You must have rolled from your bed on the wrong side, and your head is full of fog and mire. Elsewise I am sure you would not say such things. I shall forgive and forget them immediately.” And with that, he turned his horse and resumed his way.

  Sighing, Mr. Darcy followed. His friend was a fool in love, indeed.

  CHAPTER 4

  _________

  The two gentlemen arrived at the Bennet house midmorning. All the Bennet daughters, save one, were prepared and waiting expectantly to receive them. Elizabeth, however, had no such plans. She would stand by her sister Jane through anything, and would gladly stand by her side if the time came for her to wed Mr. Bingley. But she had no desire to continue to put herself in the presence of his silent companion.

  Bingley had visited them almost every day the past two weeks, and each time, Mr. Darcy had been there, looming. Elizabeth had attended her sister. At first she had told herself his presence was of no consequence to her. What did it matter? He and his thoughts were of little interest. He had already shown himself the most disagreeable, arrogant sort of man. Nevermind his beautiful face, nor his manly frame. Nevermind the soft, subtle power in his voice whenever he spoke; that supreme confidence that can only come with a man who knows he is right and in right standing with others. Nevermind that he was the single most attractive man she had ever known.

  Now, sitting in her room, she made an exasperated sound, tired of the turmoil that had been growing within her. It was ridiculous! He was not a man to be fancied.

  Nevertheless she found herself, each night, falling asleep with visions of him in her mind. What if he had asked her to dance? What if she had won him over with charm and wit before he had come to such a derisive judgment? What if he, not Bingley, were the one calling on the Bennet house each day, and if she, not Jane, were the one to receive him? What if…

  “Lizzie!” Her mother’s voice echoed up from downstairs, rousing her from her wandering fantasy. “Lizzie, where are you? Heavens! Come down at once!”

  She found her mother with Jane and the two men standing just outside the house. “Yes, mother?”

  It was Mr. Bingley who answered. “We thought we might take a walk in the lane, Miss Elizabeth—it is so very lovely today! And we wondered if you might like to join us.”

  He was all smiles, as ever. Elizabeth looked from face to face. Jane wore a gentle blush and looked demurely down, as she often did in Bingley’s presence. Her sister was really quite shy when she was in love, Elizabeth was discovering. Her mother wore an expression of expectation. Bingley did, too, though his seemed more urgent. And why was that? Ah, of course, it occurred to her as she glanced toward Darcy, who stood nearly expressionless as always, his finely focused eyes giving nothing away. Bingley wanted their chaperone to have a distraction so that he could speak more freely and easily with her sister. Well, there was no harm to that, she supposed. She wrestled for a moment between loathing and desire when she considered the prospect of entertaining Mr. Darcy.

  For just a moment their eyes met, and she nearly asked if she would be welcome by all in their party, when Jane interceded. “Please come, Lizzie. It’s a perfect day outside, and I do love walking with you.”

  She turned to her sister. She could never withhold anything from Jane. “Very well, dear sister. I will join you.”

  _______

  The day was very fine, it could not be denied. The sky was uncharacteristically clear and blue, and a gentle breeze sent waves through the long grass that coated the hilly English countryside. Some ways down the lane a little path cut off to the left, and, after crossing a small brook by way of a footbridge, seemed to weave its way through those hills. It was this path their party took, and its narrowness necessitated that they only walk two-by-two. Naturally, Mr. Bingley accompanied Jane, some ways ahead. With Mr. Darcy following, Elizabeth decided it would be strange, not to say rude, to refuse to stroll beside him. So stroll beside him she did. The silence that ensued between them was far too awkward to be allowed to go on unbroken, so after a short time, she broke it.

  “Are you enjoying your time in the country, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I believe I am.” He looked about. “It would seem uncharitable to say otherwise on such a day.”

  “But you might say otherwise if the weather had been foul?”

  “I do not say that.”

  “You do not disagree, however.”

  He was silent a moment. “How does one typically occupy oneself when one dwells here for extended periods of time?”

  “Do you not do so as well? I was given to understand you were in possession of a country estate of your own.”

  “I am,” he assented with a nod. “It was father’s estate, and I spent the better part of my childhood there. But a boy’s time is spent otherwise than a man’s. And I frequently dwell in the south these days.”

  “Ah. Yes, well. I find myself taking walks, like this one, very frequently.”

  “That is admirable. It must be excellent for your constitution.”

  “Thank you, it is.” And for other things, she allowed. Many men and ladies from the south seemed to have enjoyed far too much good living, and could stand to get out and walk, in her estimation. Not so, perhaps with Mr. Darcy, however. For a moment she worried he would think she believed this of him. “Not that you need it, Sir. You look… that is, you seem…” She blushed and faltered. Goodness. Whatever was she trying to say?

  “In good health?” he supplied.

  “Just so.”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  The brief silence that followed was achingly more awkward than that which had come before.

  “Do you visit Pemberley often?” she blurted, then almost covered her mouth with her hand. He had not volunteered the name of his estate, and now she feared she had shown herself to be as estate- and income-minded as her embarrassing mother, from whom she had heard the name in the first place. But if Mr. Darcy was bothered, he did not show it.

  “Not as often as I might like. But that may change soon. I think I may retire to the estate before much longer. Only, I am waiting…” This time it was he who trailed off without finishing his thought. Elizabeth nearly held her breath. Waiting for what? A wife?

  The rest of the walk passed in similar halting conversation. But if it was halting, the pauses seemed often pregnant with something—hope, perhaps? Or just the desire to make the uncomfortable interactions pass? She was not sure which. By the time they had returned to the house, she found herself wishing she had shown a better side to Mr. Darcy, in spite of her misgivings over his character. It was to her great surprise, therefore, that, just before leaving, he approached her, and said softly enough that only she might hear, “I enjoyed your company today, Miss Elizabeth. Thank you.” And with that, and a little bow, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 5

  _________

  There was to be another dance, and if it was possible, the Bennet house was in an ever greater upheaval this time than the last as Mrs. Bennet fussed and fretted over every stray hair and bit of thread. It was rumored that the young men would return south soon, and she feared for this, as Jane had yet to secure a proposal.

  “But of course,” Mrs. Bennet said, standing behind Jane and directing as Hill, the servant, worked with her daughter’s hair, “he will propose. He must, mustn’t he? It would be silly, unthinkable, rude, really, to leave without doing so. For to whom else has he shown a shred of attention or favor? Don’t you think, dear Lydia?”

  Lydia ran through the room, popping a sweet into her mouth. “Yes, mother!” From her perch in the corner, Elizabeth sighed. A common occurrence. For days she’d had to
listen as her younger sister grew more and more enamored with the idea of tonight’s dance, for a new group of men had come to visit. A small company of soldiers. None quite so eligible as Bingley or Darcy, of course, but it was certain there would be a few handsome faces and valiant hearts among them. Elizabeth worried that her mother, rather than quelling Lydia’s burgeoning desire to run away with a soldier boy, seemed to be encouraging the fantasy. Heavens. What would become of them, then? She could only hope none of the men who would be present would be dishonorable enough to encourage it in turn.

  “Well, at least there will be a bevy of other fine young men from whom to choose tonight, I daresay.” Mrs. Bennet strode to the window and gazed out, smiling, as if imagining her daughters each on the arm of a soldier. Elizabeth had no doubt the very image was passing through her mind. “I confess I would not be displeased if each of you married a man of the regiment.”

  Even from her perch, Elizabeth saw Jane’s shoulders tighten. The mere suggestion that she would not be chosen by Mr. Bingley was laying undue stress on her. Elizabeth came to her side and knelt. “Never fear, dear Jane,” she said softly. “No soldiers for you. Only him.”

  Jane smiled. “Yes. Only him!”

  “We shall see,” Mrs. Bennet said.

  They arrived to find a much more crowded room this night. Men in red coats did indeed mill about, and all the eligible (and more than a few of the less eligible) ladies from the surrounding area strode the dance floor and lined the walls, waiting their turn. The Bennet girls walked in and off to one side, but Mrs. Bennet, upon spying Mr. Bingley, strode boldly across the room to him, doubtless to inform him of Jane’s presence. Elizabeth turned about in search of a seat, not wanting to stand by the door and endure the embarrassment of eyes turned toward them once her mother’s voice had been heard. But instead of a seat, she found Mr. Darcy.

  “Miss Elizabeth.” He gave his small, customary bow. “I am glad to see you. Would you do me the honor of a dance this evening?”

  Elizabeth cast her gaze about once more, this time to see if anyone in the vicinity was watching and laughing. Was he teasing her? Was it a joke? Had he not spurned her the last time?

  “I… yes, of course, Sir,” she sputtered, her usual wit escaping her. The music changed, and a new line of dancers took to the floor. Mr. Darcy bowed again, and she strode out to join him, silently berating herself for not having come up with some excuse. Dare she trust herself to hold his gaze, after so many nights thinking of the fire that smoldered there?

  The dance began. Mr. Darcy was silent, as he often was. “Are you accustomed to selecting a dance partner as soon as she enters the room?” Elizabeth asked, hoping to break the tension.

  “I am not,” he replied.

  “An unusual evening, then.”

  They traded places in the line, she coming about him in a half-circle while he bowed again. “It would seem so.”

  “And what has brought about this remarkable circumstance?”

  He began the step that would bring him back around—feet apart, feet together, feet apart. “Is it not pleasant to you to dance, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, pleasant enough. When I believe my partner has the same enjoyment.”

  “I assure you, I do.” His voice quieted, the rich baritone seeping warmth from beneath his lordly manner. Elizabeth felt her pulse begin to quicken.

  “Do you?” Her own voice grew soft and throaty.

  “Indeed. And I would ask you again, were you to walk through the door again. And again. The pleasure is mine, and I will have it.”

  Just then the entire line shifted, and Elizabeth found herself facing another man altogether. He smiled pleasantly enough and bowed, but every bit of her cried out to stand opposite Mr. Darcy again. She watched him as he bowed to the next lady down, his face resuming its usual mask of stoicism.

  Then the screams began.

  CHAPTER 6

  _________

  “Fire!” A man’s voice called. A woman wailed overtop it, making it difficult to understand at first. But once everyone understood the word, panic rippled out like a wave. Everyone in the crowded room turned toward the door and moved at once. Bodies pressed together as sand in a bottle. Men looked about, mouths agape, and women cried and moaned.

  A strong grip found Elizabeth’s arm. She looked up and saw that Mr. Darcy had come beside her. “We must get out,” he said. “Come this way.”

  From the opposite side of the room, smoke had begun to poor in. So it was the back of the house—likely the servant’s quarters, Elizabeth reasoned—that had caught. But Mr. Darcy did not direct her toward the main entrance. Instead, he pulled her to the far end of the room, toward a tall, wide window. She understood immediately. The press of bodies could be just as dangerous as the flames, if people did not begin to file out in some sort of order. But the area around the window was relatively clear.

  Mr. Darcy reached the window and felt the glass. They seemed sturdy panes. He raised an arm as if to strike, when Elizabeth stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “Wait!” A few paces away stood a tall candle holder. She grabbed it, blew out the candles, and tossed it to him. He caught it with a nod, then used it to shatter the window.

  “This way!” he called above the din. He’d already taken Elizabeth by the arm, and she realized he was calling to others who might not make it out the front. But they didn’t wait to see if anyone followed. He cleared the shards from the frame, then helped her up and out.

  Outside the air was chill and moist; dew had already begun to gather on the grass, but it would do little good. Elizabeth could see, from her new vantage point, that the entire back of the great house had caught on fire. Enormous flames spat forth from upper-story windows, like the hot breath of angry men, and she shivered as she hoped everyone had escaped from that story.

  Her hope was ill-founded.

  “Help! Please!” A woman’s voice called. Elizabeth dashed across the yard to find the source. A woman was leaning out from one of those tall, high windows, a child in her arms. A servant woman. From outside, Elizabeth could see that the woman must have been trapped; the flames seemed to fill every room surrounding the one from which the woman called.

  “Mr. Darcy, wait!” Elizabeth yelled. He did not wait. He was already halfway up the wall, climbing like an animal along the flowered grating. But the delicate weave of wood proved too light for his sturdy frame, and, before he could reach the window, it snapped and broke, sending him sailing back to the ground. He landed on his back with a bit of a roll.

  “Darcy!”

  Elizabeth was on her knees at his side before a thought. She cradled his head in her lap. “Are you alright? Mr. Darcy!” She patted his cheek.

  “I’m fine,” he said, gazing up at her. “Better now, perhaps, than ever before, as I find you so near.”

  If the situation had not been so urgent, Elizabeth thought she could have stayed on the ground, holding him, all night.

  “We must get her down,” Mr. Darcy said. “But I fear—”

  “Yes, I know,” Elizabeth said. It was obvious. No man could make the climb; his weight would not be supported.

  But Elizabeth’s might.

  “What are you doing?” he called after her. Silly. Was it no obvious, as well? She set her feet into the latticework and began to climb, pulling herself up quickly and carefully. She could feel immediately that it would never hold anyone heavier than herself. A fool’s errand it had been for him to try this way. Somehow that only made her heart sing more, knowing he had climbed with the full understanding that he could fall to his own peril.

  “Elizabeth!” He called once more. Pausing, she turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. She was already almost to the place where the wood had snapped and he had fallen. Now he was on his feet again, standing below her. Their eyes met. “Be careful,” he said.

  She nodded and resumed her climb.

  “Hold on!” she called up to the woman, who was sitting in the open window. “I�
�ll take the baby! Can you get down if your arms are free?”

  The woman nodded as Elizabeth reached her. “God bless you, m’am. I just froze up. I don’t think I could… I mean, I don’t want to drop her! Are you sure you can manage?”

  “I’m sure,” Elizabeth said, aware of Mr. Darcy’s eyes on her from below. Only now his gaze inspired her with confidence. All her inner struggle was gone. In the moment of life and death, she found perfect clarity. His eyes were on her, and she could do anything.

  Midway to the bottom, she found he had climbed back up a few rungs. He took the babe and allowed her to help the servant woman, who was struggling to make it down, frozen as she was with fear. But once they had all made it safely to the ground, and the woman was reunited with her baby, she wept tears of joy.

  “I’ll always be grateful, m’am!” she said, smiling and weeping as she addressed Elizabeth. “And to you, Sir,” she said to Mr. Darcy. “Thank you ever so much! You’re a true knight, you are! And your lady wife here, she is a saint of Heaven. Be good to her, Sir!”

  Before they could correct her, she was off, removing her child from the smoky fumes. And leaving Elizabeth alone with Mr. Darcy—her knight.

  CHAPTER 7

  _________

  The flames proved unquenchable.

  The entire house burned that night, the fire raging well into the morning, till the very foundation was laid bare to the sky. Blessedly, a cool morning rain fell then, assuaging the flames before they could spread to the outhouses or the wood.

  Elizabeth was well enough. Had she had her wont, she would have been by Mr. Darcy’s side a few more hours. But she felt compelled to rejoin her family, to be sure of their safety and to make hers known, and he, naturally, felt compelled to do the same with his own party. So they had parted ways, each satisfied to see the other safely escaped.