These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

His dark eyes, as warm and tender as she remembered for all those months, captured her. “I have been away so long,” he quavered. “You cannot understand what it was, knowing that I could never again speak with you, to make things right—somehow learn if you could ever think well of me. I thought that even if I should ever be free again, I would have lost you forever. I needed you, Elizabeth—oh, how I need your love! Please tell me that it is not pity that brought you here. I could not bear it!”

  She cradled his bowed head. “I came here, William, because I could not live without you.”

  His body straightened, a breath of joy lifting his shoulders. The ghost of a smile threatened for the first time, but uncertainty still darkened his eyes. “I do not understand,” he gasped. “How? When did your sentiments change?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I know not how to answer that. It came upon me so gradually, I could not fix the spot or the hour. I knew… oh, I knew, when Mr Bingley came back to Jane, and he told us that you—” she squeezed her eyes and clamped her lips together as that searing grief flashed through her heart once more. She sniffed, trying to control her breaths, then a warmth caressed her cheek.

  Her eyes flew open to meet his earnest, hopeful expression. His index finger brushed her face; curving over her cheekbone, caressing her earlobe, and then curling down her throat to sweep up over her chin. His gaze followed his finger, but when it reached the lower edge of her lips—moist and parted in wonder—he sought her eyes again.

  “Please, Elizabeth,” he whispered.

  She swallowed, watching him do the same. He was trembling, his shoulders quivering and his face dipping with each breath. She mouthed his name, releasing the last of her mourning to the mists of the dawn, and arched into his embrace. His lips, cool and soft, met her skin first, then there was the tickle of his warm beard. She stilled, thrilling in the taste of him, the feel of him breathing and living in her arms.

  He lifted his mouth fractionally to nuzzle her cheek. “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth!” he sighed.

  She caught the back of his head to pull him down to her again, longing for just a little more. He pressed willingly into her, coaxing her mouth to open to him. Elizabeth allowed him to tilt her head, to hold her tightly against the length of his lean body. Rational thought vanished, the sky and the trees and the mountain itself fell away, and there was only his warm breath, his strong hands—only him.

  A laugh bubbled in her throat and she took his face in her hands to kiss his unshorn chin, his chilled nose, his proud forehead, over and over again. He was smiling in truth now, his tall frame relaxing at long last. “Elizabeth, I think you must tell me again—I am not dreaming? This is real?”

  She tilted her head to press one more kiss to his warm, tender throat, then turned his body with hers. “Look there, William,” she urged.

  He glanced down to her, his brow furrowed. “The sunrise?”

  She smiled and took his hand in hers. “We need no longer hunger for dreams nor fear the dark, for we will never be cold and alone again.”

  His arm tightened about her, pulling her head to his shoulder. “Elizabeth?” She turned up to look at him, though his eyes remained fixed on the house in the distance. Pale golden beams glinted off its windows, and its lake seemed alive with the morning light. He drew a long breath and released it slowly. “I am ready to go home now.”

  44

  Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to Pemberley alone that morning. He took himself at once to a hot bath, and then his bed, but not before assuring Hodges that Darcy was quite well, and would return shortly in the phaeton with Miss Bennet. He had not waited all that far down the slope, after all. It would not do to leave a lady without protection, but it was obvious that his protection was no longer required.

  Georgiana was summoning him within an hour of retiring to his bed, but he ignored her, and told his footman that unless Darcy was still insistent upon his immediate departure or the house was afire, he was not to be disturbed until mid-day. When he did at last emerge, somewhere around the hour of luncheon, the house was still. The black shrouds had been removed from the last of the windows, the music room thrown open, and the staff were about their tasks as if nothing at all were unusual… except for the whispers of awe and wonder that flew about the house.

  Darcy had also retired—at Miss Bennet’s insistence, he was told—but the young lady herself was in the breakfast room when he arrived. She looked up at his entry, her eyes puffy, and offered him a weak smile. “Good morning, Colonel. I trust you rested well?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her and drew aside a chair. “I doubt it qualifies as rest, but it was not the back of a horse for a change. Forgive me for speaking so to a lady, Miss Bennet, but did you retire at all?”

  She rubbed an eye. “No, I could not. I went to speak with my sister to learn how Miss Darcy was faring. I am sorry that she was not able to speak long with her brother. It must have been a great disappointment after looking for him so long.”

  He sighed and lifted his shoulders. “I did try to caution her, but I suppose that matters little against the circumstances. I’ve no doubt Darcy will be in a better mood to greet her this morning, thanks to you.”

  She fingered her cup and looked up. “Colonel… he is still rather wary of everyone. I was barely able to persuade him to take to his own chambers, and that only because he was rather chilled from the elements. I made some mention of how diligently you had sought to recover him, and he abruptly asked me not to speak of it again.” She shook her head and yawned. “I do not know how his faith in even you was broken, but do not expect him to welcome you with open arms when he sees you today.”

  He rose to the generously laden sideboard, his steps jerky with agitation. “How can he not trust me? Good heavens, we are like brothers! I hope you explained that bit about the marriage announcement on your carriage ride back. I think it must have been my father, for it was certainly not me; which puts me in mind also of my aunt’s intentions to wed me to my other cousin. I wanted no part in that, and dear old Mrs Reynolds was only trying to prevent another announcement from making its way to the papers.”

  “I told him as much as I knew,” she offered. “He seemed glad of the sentiment, but I do not know how much he believed.”

  Richard poured himself a stiff coffee and growled. “Well, I shall see if I can talk some sense into the bear when he emerges.”

  “Richard.”

  The colonel’s shoulders jumped beneath his coat, and he turned to face the door, his expression apprehensive. “Cousin?”

  Darcy had paused in the door, wearing clean clothing, but otherwise all but ungroomed. He returned Richard’s greeting with a hard look. “You were to leave last night.”

  “I was otherwise occupied last night,” Richard shrugged, then sauntered to the table again. He caught Miss Bennet’s eye, but her look was not hopeful.

  Darcy entered the room in silence. He drew to the board, but merely stared at its provisions. Waiting for someone to fill his plate, I should think, Richard rolled his eyes. Another glance at Miss Bennet, however, revealed some degree of disquiet in her expression. She was watching him pensively, apparently less confident in his responses than Richard.

  Darcy turned from the board, empty handed, and came to stand near Miss Bennet. He did not touch her, nor even speak to her, but the look they shared for a long, uncomfortable moment, sent a tingle down Richard’s spine. The young lady was weary, that much was clear, but she shone back such a look of encouragement and trust, and Darcy was hungrily drinking it in. Richard looked back to his plate.

  “Richard, you may take an hour’s time to gather your belongings, and then you will depart.”

  He dropped his fork. “What? After I spent the entire night out searching for you—and cold, too—and before that raced here from Liverpool in a time I could have posted at Newmarket19?”

  Darcy stiffened. “Your services are no longer required, Richard.”

  “
My ser—” He jerked his chair back and threw his napkin back down on his plate. “Darcy, I would speak with you in private, for what I have to say to you is not fit for a lady to hear!”

  Darcy seemed to flinch a step closer to Miss Bennet, though in fact his feet had not stirred. “That will not be necessary.”

  Miss Bennet shifted in her chair. She did not speak, but Darcy’s gaze snapped instantly to her. Her expression, full of regret and pleading, seemed to chase some of the tension from Darcy’s shoulders. His tall frame drooped, and for the first time that morning, Richard spared a second to look beyond the wild beard, beyond the imposing figure. The man was barely standing, and likely had not rested even a moment. He stared long at Miss Bennet, but when his eyes rose again to Richard, they were still guarded. “You may take the new carriage for your journey.”

  Richard shoved his chair back under the table with a clatter. “As you wish, oh, Master of Pemberley! I shall return to London this instant. Be a good chap, and bid my cousin farewell for me. I do hope you plan to speak to her this morning.”

  He turned to go, but just before he gained the door, Darcy’s voice stopped him. “Richard….”

  He paused, tilting his head low to hear, but not turning round. “Darcy?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and Richard could imagine Darcy’s fingers twitching behind his back as they used to do in crowded ballrooms. He thought he heard a whisper from Miss Bennet, but could not be certain.

  He could almost hear Darcy’s teeth grinding. “I will speak to Georgiana. You may delay your departure until after I have done so.”

  Richard glared over his shoulder. The arrogant, conceited, stubborn ass! Darcy had drawn himself up once more, his chin high and his hands locked into fists at his sides. Richard sighed and left the room. Let Miss Bennet work her magic, else the man was a hopeless case.

  ~

  “Fitzwilliam! Fitzwilliam, it is really you!” Georgiana flung herself across the room, not noticing until it was too late that her brother had braced himself for her affections, and was now trying to disengage to some degree.

  “I thought you were dead!” she sobbed. “And last night, it was so brief, I thought I must have been dreaming it all. Tell me, you are here, are you not?”

  Darcy pushed her back to her own feet, but allowed his hands to rest upon her shoulders. “I am here, Georgie,” he answered quietly. “Are you well? Have you been well looked-after?”

  “Yes, Brother, but first tell me how you came back! Where have you been for so long?”

  He hesitated, his mouth formed to speak, but he could not think what to say. “Some distance away,” he finally managed.

  “Oh, but Richard must have found you! He would not tell me. He said he had nothing to tell yet, but he must have gone looking for you!”

  “It was not Richard who delivered me, but two kind souls.” His face pinched. “I hope I have not cost them their own security.”

  “But you came back at the same time as Richard!” Georgiana protested. “He was looking for you, I know it.”

  “Do you? Georgiana, I cannot trust anyone so easily, and nor should you.”

  “But you are free now! What can anyone do to harm you?”

  “What did they want in the first place? I’ve a notion they did not get it. Until we know, we shall trust no one. Our ‘guests’ are all to depart at once.”

  Georgiana’s eyes widened. “Does that include my friends?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Mrs Wickham must not remain. We will arrange suitable lodgings for her in consideration of her condition, but her husband I do not trust. I will not have her here.”

  “But he does not know where she is!” protested the girl, her eyes brimming. “Please, you mustn’t send Lydia away. She is my friend!”

  “You will not be without a friend, for Miss Bennet will remain,” he suggested. “I would not send Elizabeth away,” he added softly.

  Georgiana’s tears stopped and she regarded him suspiciously. “You would send one sister away, but not the other?”

  “One of them is not wed to George Wickham!”

  “And Elizabeth would permit you to send her sister away?”

  “She will understand my reasons. We are of one mind, Georgiana.”

  The girl rose, her features twisting in anger. “Is there anyone you do trust besides Elizabeth Bennet? Why do you suddenly return and listen only to her? Where was this great attachment before, Brother?”

  “It is not for you to question,” he answered shortly. “You do not know what I have seen. You are naïve—innocent, rather, and I would have you remain so, but you must not challenge my judgment.”

  “Well, you cannot send Lydia away, for she is my guest,” Georgiana tried stubbornly.

  “Would you lure Wickham here? I am surprised at you, Georgiana, I would have thought you would have nothing to do with him!”

  “It is not Lydia’s fault that she believed him. I did, too,” Georgiana crossed her arms. “It would serve him right for his child to be raised here at Pemberley, where he is never welcomed.”

  Darcy’s face washed in horror. “Georgiana! You know that is impossible. I see the woman has bewitched you!”

  “Has not Elizabeth—” this she spoke in an irritating sing-song— “bewitched you, Brother?”

  His jaw clenched. “Georgiana, I have longed to see you for months, and I hope you have regretted my absence as well. I will not have our reunion tainted by such pointless arguments! Elizabeth will remain here, but Mrs Wickham must go. Richard is traveling to London. He can accompany her back to Longbourn. It is just as well that she should go soon, for I understand her confinement is drawing near.”

  Georgiana grew pale. “Do you mean that Richard is to go, too?”

  Darcy turned his back, unable to face her any longer. “There is a conspiracy against us, Georgiana, and I know only that it stems from within our own family. We cannot afford—”

  “But Richard!”

  He turned back sharply. “We shall discuss this no further!” He paused, seemed to regret his words, and looked to the ground.

  Georgiana was breathless and wide-eyed, still digesting the stranger in her brother’s place. “Fitzwilliam—” she began to protest.

  His face hardened again. “We are finished discussing it. Bid your adieux to Mrs Wickham.” Then he left the room, jerking the door closed with his own hand.

  45

  By early afternoon, Elizabeth had finally retired to her own room, but she did not try to rest. No, William would need her….

  She sat down to her bed and rubbed her eyes until they watered. Her heart ached when she saw the mistrust flashing in his eyes with each new person he encountered, for she knew it for what it was: fear. Perhaps he had genuine reasons to doubt those close to him, or perhaps the shadows from his captivity were truly so dark that he could not see, but she dreaded what would come when he pushed everyone away. Surely, he must understand that he needed to trust someone else, for he would never learn the truth if he did not.

  She wished, perhaps foolishly, that she had heard at least some part of what George Wickham would have had to say. Lies, likely, but within the most convincing lie was always a kernel of truth. Would that she could have sifted his words! But after last night, when she had collapsed, broken, to the ground, he had bidden her a foppish adieu and galloped away. She wondered if he ever had desired Colonel Fitzwilliam’s protection, or if it had all been some elaborate tale to draw out her interest and compromise her in Darcy’s eyes. Or perhaps it had been an attempt to access Georgiana directly. She shuddered and tried not to dwell on what might have befallen, had not Darcy arrived when he did, and forgiven her as he had done.

  Elizabeth dismissed her maid and dropped to her bed with the old journal. Reading would be a welcome diversion, but she did not feel herself equal to any of the great works in the Pemberley library. Lady Georgina’s ramblings and missives were typical
ly short and colourful—the perfect combination to keep her from falling asleep. Elizabeth thumbed idly through the entries she had already read. Lady Georgina discovering herself to be with child—the child must have been George Darcy, she supposed; her husband leaving for business on the continent, in the aftermath of a tragic earthquake that had threatened some of his commercial interests; receiving the Earl of Matlock and her sister the Countess for the summer holidays—she presumed them to have been the colonel’s grandparents.

  Elizabeth smiled drowsily with each deftly phrased quip penned by Lady Georgina. She had possessed a knack for delivering an insult in such a way that the victim was compelled to thank her for her graciousness. If only she herself knew how to be so subtle! She sighed, and despite her best efforts, her fingers fell between the pages and her eyes grew heavy.

  A knock brought her instantly to attention, and she swallowed the thick feeling in her mouth before trying to speak. “Yes?”

  The answering voice was muffled for the first few words. “Lizzy, you had better—” the door burst open, and Lydia continued loudly as she flounced through it— “come out here at once and set Mr Darcy straight! He is making a dreadful fuss of things, and dear Georgiana cannot stop crying!”

  Elizabeth stifled a yawn and stretched, laying aside the journal. “Lydia, what is this all about?”

  “Mr Darcy, that’s what! He will not listen to anyone, and it seems that you are the only person he has not cast out of the county. Come make him be reasonable, or I declare, I shall give birth in the drawing room just to spite him! Did you know that he is sending the colonel and me back to London?”

  Elizabeth straightened and her feet found the floor. “To London? I knew that he had asked the colonel to leave, but I spoke to him afterward and he promised to reconsider. But you? My own sister?”

  Lydia made a face and pointed to her stomach with the hand that bore her wedding ring.