These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  “No! Do not write.”

  “But I must know! Did Ruy’s batman say whether he will recover from his wounds, or is he—”

  “The knife wounds are the least of his worries, and I will do all I can do for him. Do not write. You are still a married woman, my daughter. Nothing can change that, but if Miguel cannot find you, perhaps at least you will be safe. You must not write.”

  She dashed away a tear. “But even from Brasil? Even Miguel would not follow me there.”

  Her father kissed her on the cheek, then turned her to face the ship. “You do not go to Brasil. That ship sails for England.”

  ~

  Pemberley

  It seemed that not a soul at Pemberley was in their right mind. Lady Catherine had shut herself in her rooms, commandeering at least five of the maids. The rest all seemed to be buzzing around as so many black ants with no direction. Mr Hodges stood in the centre of the chaos below stairs, conducting the household as best he could, but Mrs Reynolds—who would have brought some sense of order to the mayhem—was alone in her own room weeping.

  Georgiana refused to answer to Elizabeth’s knock, though Elizabeth knew perfectly well that the girl was awake, and attended by Lydia. She could hear her sister’s urgings and blunt observations through the door, but sobs were her only answer. Sadly, she walked back to her chamber to change her clothing.

  By three o’clock in the morning, the colonel and the riders from the stables still had not returned with word of Darcy. Elizabeth had occupied herself taking tea to poor Mrs Reynolds and speaking with Mr Jefferson regarding the search efforts. What Mr Hodges and the rest of the household staff thought they could do to aid the process remained a mystery to her, but every fireplace in the house blazed comfortingly, and every corner of Mr Darcy’s favourite rooms gleamed with polish and flowers from the hothouse.

  Elizabeth paced, but from room to room rather than in one small path. Somehow, she felt as if she were accomplishing something that way. After another hour, Colonel Fitzwilliam at last sought her out. He lowered himself to a chair, still wiping his face and neck dry and caring little that he did so in her presence.

  “You have found no sign of him?” she asked in a strained voice.

  “He cannot have gone far, but damned if I know where,” the colonel grunted. “And I was so looking forward to a warm bed tonight! I think if I see another saddle this side of Easter, my feet will fall off.”

  “You have looked in at all the tenant farms? He may have sheltered there.”

  “Houses, barns, trees, yes, we have checked them all. The bother of it all is that it is still dark, and we might have ridden right by him unawares if he were not of a mind to make his presence known. Damned if I know how such a tall fellow can disappear so easily.”

  “I still do not understand why he would do so! This does not suit with what I know of him, Colonel.”

  Richard Fitzwilliam shrugged wearily, blowing air through his lips. “He is not a man given to violent temper, that is true. He was always one to brood, and I knew him often when we were boys to seek out his solitude. I never knew or cared where he went, but then, he never disappeared in the middle of the night like this. The only other time I saw him start out at truly odd hours by himself was at Rosings last year—but perhaps that may not surprise you overmuch.” He lifted a significant brow at her.

  Elizabeth crossed her arms, warding off the barb. “Colonel, what happened to him while he was away? What do you know?”

  He lowered his eyes. “That, Miss Bennet, is likely not fit for a lady’s ears. I heard he had a ghastly time of it, and there is probably much I do not know. I had warned Georgiana that he might seem… excitable. I never expected him to thrash me. It… did not help that he saw Mr Wickham the moment he returned. Or my aunt.”

  Elizabeth covered her face. “It is all my fault!”

  “Hah! Do you mean that my aunt remained here at your pleasure? If you have found a way to direct her actions, please share your secret with me, for I have never had an ounce of success. As for Wickham, yes, that was a damned foolish thing to do, but you were trying to save Georgiana. I do not entirely blame you for that, but it did a deal of harm.”

  “What are we to do? Must we simply wait until he decides to return? Oh, Colonel, I must not be here when he does! I think you are quite wrong, for I will be the last person with whom he will wish to speak.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Bennet, you are the only one who can speak to him. Remember that he rushed to find you the moment he returned, and only you can convince him that I do not wish him ill.”

  “But surely, Georgiana—”

  “Georgiana is a child. Forgive me for speaking of my cousin thus, but you know it for the truth. Darcy needs someone strong, someone who can love and reprove in equal measure. Had he found what he needs in his own sister, he would have remained here tonight. No, Miss Bennet, he adores his sister, but she is a burden just now. He needs a comrade in arms—if you know what I mean—and aside from my aunt, you are the only woman I know who is not afraid of him.”

  She turned away, nibbling the tip of her finger and gazing out of the dark window. “What do you want me to do?”

  He fell back against his chair, closing his eyes. “Slap him or kiss him, I care not. We have to find him first, and I am quite fagged.”

  Elizabeth scowled at his coarse words, but then a shiver prickled over her skin. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Colonel… I think… will you permit me to look for him?”

  He straightened, opening his eyes. “Permit? I would give you my favourite horse if you would!”

  Her gaze had gone unfocused, but a light curve played at the corner of her mouth. “No horse for me, please, but I will need Georgiana’s phaeton and ponies.”

  43

  Elizabeth clutched the reins as though the ponies would jerk them from her hands at any moment. The colonel rode his horse beside her—to watch for her safety, he claimed—but the handling of the phaeton was all her own. The colonel had insisted that it be only they two, rather than a “horde of rabble” to search for Darcy. He was likely correct, but she did not like driving the phaeton by herself in the hours just before dawn. It was better than riding horseback, and at least the rain had stopped, but nervous tingles left her hands almost numb on the reins.

  “You want to go up that slope?” the colonel asked from somewhere to her left. He rode behind the beam of the lantern, and she could not see his face.

  “Yes, there. Do you think it will be very slick?”

  There was a moment of silence, followed by; “No, but it is rather rocky. You would do better to let the ponies pick their way. They can see better than we.”

  Elizabeth gave a little on the reins, following his advice. Slowly, they laboured their way up the incline where Georgiana had intended to take them for their picnic. As they neared the crest, she was able to just make out the place where they had parked the phaeton on their last trip. She drew up, and Colonel Fitzwilliam rode to her side.

  “This is where I leave you, Miss Bennet,” he spoke quietly.

  “Leave me! Why now?”

  “There is no farther you can go with the ponies,” he reasoned. “I have no qualms about your ability to travel on foot. If Darcy is indeed here somewhere, you will have better success without me. Fear not, I shall await down at the bottom of the slope. If you need anything, I will be able to hear your call.”

  She gave up protests, merely listening to the retreating hoof beats as he trotted away. Well. She was here now, and rather cold. It would not do to linger in the phaeton, so she might as well see about what she had come for. With a very unladylike swing, she kicked her feet over the edge of the vehicle and leaped to the ground. She thought about taking the lantern from the front of the little carriage, but she could see the terrain now, better than she could see the hook that secured it, so she left it where it was.

  The area seemed different in the dim light,
and she stood a moment to collect her bearings. She started in one direction, and found it to be the wrong way. After turning around a moment, she at last saw the shadow of that massive tree, silhouetted against the first silver streaks of sunrise. She drew a sharp breath and thinned her lips, then started toward it.

  She saw nothing. She kept striding closer, somehow certain that she would soon glimpse the prominence of his shoulder leaning against the back of the tree, but… she sighed. The thick trunk’s profile was smooth and straight, concealing no man’s figure behind itself. Only her stubborn nature kept drawing her forward, as if she could will the landscape to yield up the man she sought. At last she could touch it, could reach out her hand and rest it upon…. Her fingers drew back at once, encountering not smooth old bark, but damp cloth. A branch rustled from somewhere above her head, and she looked up.

  He was staring down at her, his eyes shadowed and the line of his mouth rigid. His back leaned against the truck and his boots were drawn up, crooked upon the great limb, but the short tail of his jacket fell within her reach.

  Elizabeth fell back, her mouth stumbling. “M—Mr Darcy!”

  He did not speak, but she saw him straighten and look away.

  She swallowed. So, she had found him, but he wanted nothing to do with her. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she ought to call for the colonel, but decided against it. She could not walk away from him now!

  Hesitantly, she touched the trunk again. “Sir,” she began haltingly, “are you well?”

  There was no answer for a moment. She was holding her breath, longing to hear even a sigh or a growl—anything from his lips that could prove that he had acknowledged her. “Would it matter to you, Miss Bennet, if I were?”

  She wetted her lips, her fingers curling over the trunk. “More than you can know,” she whispered.

  A wry laugh sounded from above her. “Am I not ‘the last man in the world’ to you, Miss Bennet? If you have come to assuage your conscience, you may spare yourself the trouble.”

  “Sir… as you once enlightened me about mistaken understandings, I beg to be permitted to do the same. I have no letter, but will you hear my words?”

  He was silent, but when she risked a glance up at him, he was gazing back with a hungry expression. She drew a breath for courage. “Sir, what you saw last night was no assignation. I have no regard for Mr Wickham, and, in fact, I wish with my very heart and soul that I might never hear his name again.”

  The light was growing strong enough now for her to perceive a narrowing of his eyes. “You chose a curious setting for your constitutional, Miss Bennet.”

  “Sir, it… it is true that I expected to find him there, but it was not for my own pleasure that I sought his company. I feared rather for Georgiana—and for you. Mr Wickham had confirmed to me that you lived, and had promised information leading to your enemies.”

  “My enemies! He is one of them, Miss Bennet. I had not thought you such a fool!”

  She closed her eyes. “A fool. Yes, I am, but I am not dishonest.”

  “No?” He snorted in disgust. “There is not an honest person left in the world, Miss Bennet.”

  She flinched and looked down, then dared another glance at his face. “Does that include even Georgiana?”

  “Do not!” he snarled. “Do not dare speak so intimately of my sister! You have no business here, Miss Bennet. Leave me!”

  She did not move, but her hand gradually slid down the length of the trunk. Surely, he did not mean it.

  “Leave me!” he thundered. He pushed against the tree and landed before her on the ground, causing her to leap away and stumble. He advanced, towering threateningly over her and forcing her back. “Go! I wish never to see your face again!”

  She backed away, her hands flailing behind herself in fear of falling. Tears had already started in her eyes. He spun away, raising his fists to clench them in his hair and let out a cry of fury. His shoulders were bunched, his body quivering, and he continued in a broken voice. “Just… leave me….”

  Elizabeth stepped back into one of the large rocks, and she grasped it to keep her on her feet. William…. She was blinded now by her torment, and desperate sobs stole her breath. No, it could not end like this! Oh, William. She bowed her head over the rock, slicking it with her tears and clinging to it for strength. He could not send her away, not without hearing her—not without knowing how she loved him, that he was her heart and her life. William!

  The world had gone still. Elizabeth gulped down another tremour of anguish. Somehow, she must explain, must speak something he would hear! She lifted her head from the rock, intending to beseech him with contrite words and honest confessions.

  He had turned back to her, his hands dropping slowly. His brow clouded, and he tilted his head, his breath panting in his chest. “What… what did you say?”

  She glanced to the side, wondering exactly what she had said. “I did not speak, sir.”

  “Yes, you did,” he insisted. His shoulders were leaning forward now, as if to walk toward her, but his feet remained rooted. “You said… please, say it again.”

  What could he have heard? She swallowed. What had she been crying out in her soul? Her lips formed his name, a mere breath, and she watched him gasp, then nod faintly. More bravely now, she murmured it. “William. I—I must have said William.”

  His eyes kindled, a warmth flickering in his expression, but then it was darkened again by suspicion. “Why?” he demanded.

  She left her rock behind, taking two hesitant steps in his direction and halting. “I do not know. It is long since you have been anything else to me.”

  His eyes dropped to the ground, then flew eagerly back to her face. “Tell me.”

  She moved slowly again, her steps as soft as if she were trying not to frighten a deer. “After I thought you lost. You were gone forever, so I believed, but I could not let you go. I saw you—so many times I saw you, and spoke with you as we are speaking now.”

  “You… you thought of me?”

  “I could not cease thinking of you!” She was ten paces away now, and he had not yet withdrawn. “I would close my eyes, and there you were.”

  His chin dipped slightly, almost a nod of agreement. “I… I thought of you as well,” he confessed. His gaze bored into her and his voice grew raspy. “You were with me in the darkness.”

  Her eyes widened. Five paces. “In the darkness?” she repeated, stalling for another moment. Had he not told her that once?

  He seemed to inspect the ground now, perhaps finding the rocks fascinating. He would not meet her eyes again, even when she had closed the distance between them. Elizabeth turned her face up to him, at last surveying the changes wrought by his captivity. His hair, still damp from the night’s rainfall, curled haphazardly round his crown. It was much longer than she remembered, and just at his temples shot two fine threads of silver.

  Her eyes traveled down his jaw to the unkempt beard framing his face. How different he looked from the Meryton Assembly! His dark beard did not curl as the rest of his hair did, but lay coarse and straight, save where it tangled from his sleepless night. He was still avoiding her gaze, and she let her eyes fall to his shoulders and gasped aloud. The light suit coat he wore was a poor disguise for how thin his torso had grown, and the fact that he was shivering. Oh, William, she sighed in pity.

  His eyes flashed suddenly to hers, and he stared until she grew uncomfortable and looked down. His hand hung slack before her, its former rage spent, and her gaze fixed upon it. Did she dare? Cautiously, she extended two gentle fingers to graze the back of it.

  He drew a sharp breath, but his hand had softened even more at her touch. Elizabeth glanced to his face, and found him still staring, with that silent intensity of former days—except now, she knew something of his thoughts. Holding his eyes, she slipped her fingers into his.

  He clasped her hand at once, and a shudder seemed to pass through him. His eye
s crinkled with feeling. “Elizabeth!” he breathed.

  She tightened her fingers, and he slowly raised their linked hands before his face. His other hand hesitantly joined them, tracing the curve of her fingers and then cupping over them. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, “tell me I am not dreaming this time.”

  She shook her head, too affected to speak. He bent low over their hands, bringing them almost to his lips. Elizabeth lifted her other hand and then her fingers touched his cheek, threading through his beard.

  He began to shake, his shoulders trembling violently as his grip tightened until it was almost painful. She trailed gently over his jaw, soothing away the dishevelment and seeking again the man she knew beneath the layers. “William,” she stroked her fingers, enticing him still lower until his forehead touched hers. “William, will you trust in me?”

  His breath caught. There was a second of hesitation, then his hands were about her waist and shoulders, drawing her close. Elizabeth wound her fingers through the thick tangle of his hair as his mouth pressed urgently to her forehead. His arms tightened, and they trembled together with the force of his anguish. She said nothing, merely held him close to her heart as he finally gave way to the ravages of all he had endured.

  Deep choking sounds rumbled in his chest, and his face dropped to the hollow of her neck. Elizabeth clung to him, wishing somehow to relieve his agony. There was nothing she could say that the tears streaming down her own face and her arms wound about him did not express more eloquently.

  “Elizabeth,” he mumbled thickly into her neck, “did you…” he lifted his head very slightly, and she heard the doubt trembling in his voice. She waited patiently, her fingers caressing the back of his neck. “I am… it is not too late?”

  She brushed along his jaw, urging him to look into her eyes. “Too late?” she asked softly.