Seven Days With Mr Darcy

by Rose Fairbanks

  Yours,

  A.F.

  For the first fifteen miles, Darcy and Elizabeth had easy conversation. Elizabeth praised Darcy for his fast thinking in sending an express to the Gardiners and requesting Lydia be brought to Town. Additionally, Elizabeth conceded she enjoyed The Tempest better on her more recent read-through. Naturally, she remained critical of Miranda’s lack of independence and complete submission to Prospero.

  “Although,” her lips twisted in a wry smile, “perhaps if I had been more like Miranda, I would have told my father everything I heard Wickham say. Then Lydia might have been safe from him weeks ago.”

  “She may yet be safe. Others have suggested that Wickham has no motive to wound me. Further, he would need proof that we — that is his…investment in Lydia’s feelings was secured.”

  Darcy chanced a look at her face to see that she understood his meaning. She twisted her hands in her lap and furrowed her brow.

  He attempted to soften the blow. “There is no reason to think that she would even be susceptible to his charms.”

  Elizabeth mutely nodded, and melancholy descended between them. They stopped at a coaching inn for new horses and refreshments before continuing their journey. Darcy had remained silent, considering various strategies. If his aunt’s health was as poor as her letter made it seem, then he would not be journeying to Longbourn. Nor did he know how much time he could dedicate to assisting Bingley with making amends to Jane Bennet. A letter would have to suffice for both situations and yet did not seem adequate.

  A raindrop landed on his nose, interrupting his reverie. He squinted up at the sky. The second half of their journey might be delayed by rain. He scowled at the clouds. Beside him, Elizabeth laughed.

  “So serious,” Elizabeth teased. “The serious Mr. Darcy,” she said in a horrible impression of him. “Or should that be Lord Darcy?”

  “Do you think you are the only one who can make light of another person?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do your worse, sir. I am not afraid of you.”

  “I am Elizabeth Bennet,” he said in an obnoxiously high voice that sounded nothing like hers. “I am pert, sarcastic, and clever. Far cleverer than you.” Then he raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly to copy her signature expression.

  “Oh, I do not sound like that!” Elizabeth playfully slapped his arm, which was being increasingly pelted with rain.

  “No, I am pleased to say you do not,” he chuckled. “Do I really sound so dour?”

  “I used to think so,” Elizabeth confessed. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Now, I know that you are merely quiet, reserved, and serious. There is no fault in that any more than there is a fault in my liveliness.” She laughed for a moment. “Well, I suppose that depends on who you ask. Lady Catherine would have nothing kind to say.”

  “Let us speak of pleasanter things,” Darcy shouted over the pounding rain. “Do you agree with some of the critics that Shakespeare was examining Plato’s theory of the soul with Prospero?”

  “Pardon me?” Elizabeth cried out.

  Darcy looked over at her. Her ringlets were now plastered to the side of her face, and droplets trickled down her chin. The hat she wore had no brim. Her clothes were growing increasingly sodden. Even worse, the condition of the road was deteriorating, and the horses were slowing. Then the phaeton lurched to a stop.

  “What is it?”

  “The wheel must be stuck!”

  Darcy tossed the reins to Elizabeth and jumped down, his boots splashing in the mud. He stomped around to the back of the carriage and found one of the wheels trapped in a rut. He pushed on it with his shoulder, hoping to free it. However, despite feeling the horse take a step forward, the wheel did not budge. Again, he shoved on the carriage, his boots slipping. As he fell to his knees, he heard a sloshing sound beside him.

  “Allow me to help.”

  “Who will guide the horse?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I didn’t need to guide it at all. It wants out of this storm as much as we do.” Elizabeth said and took a position.

  “No! No, you could hurt yourself,” he said.

  “And I suppose sitting in the rain for hours would have been better?” Elizabeth said.

  Darcy laughed. He knew better than to attempt to change Elizabeth’s mind. “Ready?” he called, and they pushed against the carriage. It rocked forward, and they groaned with exertion. Then the phaeton rolled backwards with such momentum that they fell, landing on their rears. Mud splattered around them.

  Elizabeth erupted in laughter. After a moment of shock, Darcy joined in. After several minutes spent in laughter, Elizabeth had tears streaming down her face. She wiped them away with her mud-soaked gloves.

  “Can you imagine what Lady Catherine would say if she saw us now?” Elizabeth said between chuckles. “Falling in the mud is strictly for the lower classes,” she said while tilting her nose in the air.

  “Cease that, woman,” Darcy growled and pulled her to him. Yesterday, he had hesitated and allowed her to turn away if she desired. Today, he had no restraint. As his lips touched Elizabeth’s, her arms wrapped around his neck and she clung to him. Releasing her mouth and trailing kisses down her throat, he spoke into her silky soft skin. “Come, we must get out of the road.”

  Elizabeth blushed and allowed him to lead her off the road. He had no fear of being observed. No one else would drive in such a deluge. But he worried about her health, or at least her comfort. He led her to a thick copse of trees hoping the branches would provide some refuge. As they ran through the woods, a large structure became visible.

  “There!” Darcy pointed. “We’ll ask for shelter there.”

  As they darted through the path, hand in hand, Elizabeth’s laughter increased. “I think I know this place!”

  “Do you?”

  “How far are we from Bromley?”

  “I think we may be about five miles. We should be near—”

  “Eltham Palace! The Great Hall was built by Edward IV. Later, Henry VIII grew up here. After the Civil War, a baronet leased it. As the previous tenant let it fall into disrepair, they built a new manor house. They use the Great Hall as a barn and prefer their estate in Yardling.”

  They reached the building and opened the doors. “Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Oh, the hammer beam roof is more beautiful than I could imagine!”

  Darcy looked around and saw dust and clutter everywhere, but once again Elizabeth saw the architecture of their surroundings. She could see the potential in buildings…and people. It was why she gave him a second chance and why she saw the good in Wickham. The wind whipped through the cracks in the windows and Elizabeth shivered beside him.

  “Come here,” Darcy said and pulled her into his arms. Her head nestled right over his heart. A heart which beat only for her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured into his coat.

  As he rubbed his arms up and down her back to warm her, he wished they could avoid what would follow. Soon, this storm would end, and they would resume their journey to London. With it, they would learn the consequences of their secrets. And soon, far sooner than he would like, Darcy would have to take on the responsibilities of a barony. Even if all those matters were settled to the best possible arrangement, it would still mean an interruption of the peace he found at this moment. He could offer Elizabeth houses, carriages, fine clothing, and jewellery, but all she desired was a man of good character and sense who valued her for who she was. In the months since leaving Hertfordshire, he had recounted their conversations, the glances they shared, the feel of her hand in his during his long-fought-for dance. He could hardly say when he fell in love with this woman. Was it in Hertfordshire or was it after leaving her, after he understood how rare she was and the effect she had on his life?

  It mattered not, for what he had also learned was that his love for her grew daily. First, merely because he embraced the love instead of fighting it. Then, because of the honesty they expressed when he had fir
st arrived in Kent. Lastly, as their encounters brought them together daily, he could see more of her character. Each day revealed a new facet of Elizabeth and each day, Darcy found something more to love about her. Soon, when they had settled affairs with their families, he would be sure she knew how much he loved her.

  “What were you asking me earlier?” She asked, her voice still muffled against the fabric of his coat. “Something about Prospero?”

  Darcy welcomed the conversation. Holding her in his arms was a great temptation and some distraction was warranted. “Do you know of Plato’s theory regarding the human soul?”

  “That it is three parts? A soul can only be at peace when its temperament embraces logic and shuns passions?”

  “Yes. Did you find Prospero a manifestation of Plato’s theory? Once he gave up his magic and anger, he was welcomed back to Milan.”

  Elizabeth thought for a moment. “I rather think I reject the philosophy in general. Natural urges should be under proper regulation, of course, but they need not be suppressed as evil.”

  “Some believe it was only when Prospero accepted his baser instincts and abilities that his soul aligned and he could join his peers.”

  “I believe that is more likely. We must accept all of ourselves. The sensible and logical as well as high spirits and…” She trailed off when their eyes met. Her breath grew shallow and raised her chin in a clear invitation.

  “Carnal desires?” He finished her thoughts.

  Gently, he pushed a wet tendril behind her ear and let his hand caress the soft skin of her cheek and throat. Then, holding her beautiful face in his hands, he made love to her lips. Elizabeth enthusiastically returned his kisses. She stroked her tongue over his, causing his eyes to roll in his head and a groan to emanate from his lips.

  It took all of Darcy’s honour to pull away from her delicious mouth. He pulled away lest they yielded to those desires that would lead to their ruin. Elizabeth laid her head over his heart again, and he rested his chin atop her bonnet. This time as he wrapped his arms around her, he was pleased to note she was not as damp and nowhere near as chilled.

  After several minutes of silence, Elizabeth spoke. “Do you hear? I believe the rain has ceased, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Will you not call me by my given name?”

  Elizabeth gave him a weak smile. “I confess I felt jealous when Miss de Bourgh called you Conor. Yes, I know all about that pet name and how you got it.”

  He smiled in return. “When I went away to school, I came back refusing to answer to the name. I would not ask that you call me Conor.”

  “I am afraid Fitzwilliam reminds me too much of your cousin and the image of stuffy old earls.”

  Darcy shook his head. “I agree; I am not fond of it myself.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “It is too bad parents must name their children. I feel as though all your names have been given to you to remind you of your position in life.”

  “They were,” he murmured against her hair. “I have another one though. Legend tells it that he was invited to a salon but declined for he had no formal black, silk stockings. The hostess told him to come wearing his blue stockings.” His smile grew with the retelling. “They did not want me to forget my Bluestocking roots and named me after Benjamin Stillingfleet.”

  “Really?” Elizabeth exclaimed, and drew back her face to look at him. “I do not think I have heard anyone else call you by that name before.”

  “Perfect. Then it shall be for your use alone. What would you have me call you?”

  “You already call me Elizabeth,” she said with a bit of a smirk.

  “As do many others,” he answered. He could consider certain endearments such as “my love” but he did not believe she would welcome them.

  Elizabeth cocked her head. “That means very much to you?”

  “I know it is probably selfish of me but in moments when we are alone — like this —.” The look of surprise on her face ceased his words. She did not expect — or perhaps even want — them to have more moments like this.

  “Belinda,” she whispered. “My second name is Belinda.”

  “Perfect,” Darcy grinned. “Absolutely perfect. Beautiful Belinda,” Darcy cupped Elizabeth’s face for another kiss. “Lizzy Bel.”

  They returned to the carriage, unsurprised to see a large puddle and much debris of twigs and leaves. Elizabeth suggested using nearby fallen branch as a lever to free the wheel, and soon they were on the road again. For the last few miles, until they reached Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth spoke of the books she had borrowed from Anne. Tucked within Letters for the Improvement of the Mind were, shockingly, personal letters.

  The authoress of the book, Hester Chapone, had first written it as letters regarding conduct to her niece. Likewise, the letters within the volume were between an aunt and niece. However, it was not entirely clear who was involved. The writer signed her name A.F. which made Elizabeth consider, at first, it must be Darcy’s mother, Anne Fitzwilliam. Yet, the niece had created some kind of scandal and had to go to France to recover. Lady Anne had died before Anne de Bourgh would have been of an age to cause such trouble, and journeys to France had been impossible for nearly twenty years. Darcy was uncertain to whom the letters belonged. There was a shocking number of Anne Fitzwilliams in his family.

  Night had fallen when they finally reached the Gardiner residence. Darcy walked around to Elizabeth’s side with trepidation. Would this be the last time he saw her? Her family would have every right to be angry with him and demand that he leave them forever. Feeling like a man about to be hung, Darcy assisted Elizabeth from the carriage and walked toward his fate.

  *****

  Elizabeth took a deep breath as Darcy pulled the borrowed phaeton to a stop outside the Gardiner residence near Cheapside. He gave her a small smile and offered his hand for her to exit the carriage. It was getting dark and still raining, and her wet and muddied gown caught under her foot, lurching her forward. Before she could even cry out Darcy’s hands were on her waist, catching her before any harm was done.

  “Thank you.”

  He only nodded, and they walked up the stairs one behind the other. Both felt too much and were conscious of the seriousness of the reasons for their journey. They were soon shown in the front hall, thankful they had dried just enough to not leave puddles on the floor.

  “Lizzy!” Mrs. Gardiner quickly greeted them. “Mr. Darcy, thank you for bringing Elizabeth to us.”

  “It was my honour. Forgive the impropriety of my visiting without an invitation.” Darcy spoke with perfect civility.

  Mrs. Gardiner looked at Elizabeth in surprise, but the latter was not astonished at his politeness at all. She had come to know him well over the last few weeks.

  “We expected you hours ago, but I can see you must have been caught in a downpour. Please, come to the drawing room and enjoy the fire. The children are abed, and we can speak freely in there.”

  “Forgive me,” Darcy said, “but as you mentioned it is quite late, and I am quite wet and muddy. I would hate to ruin anything. Nothing may be accomplished tonight and my news can wait a few hours. Would it be possible for me to call on the morrow?”

  “Certainly.”

  He caught Elizabeth’s eye and, perceiving what he was about, she shook her head negatively. He returned to looking at Mrs. Gardiner.

  “Miss Elizabeth expressed a desire to visit with my sister. Would it inconvenience you if she came?”

  “Mr. Darcy…” Elizabeth began to interject, but her aunt stepped forward and squeezed her hand, muting Elizabeth.

  “You are both very welcome, sir. Mr. Gardiner will be home for dinner. We eat at six o’clock.”

  “Does this meet with your approval, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “You need not bring Miss Darcy on the morrow, sir.”

  He gave her a look, and she let out an exasperated sigh.

  “It would not do if you are unable to speak with my uncle until after dinner. Would your sister f
eel comfortable with strangers for so many hours? Nor is it sensible to bring her in the morning, return her to your home, and then come back for dinner.”

  He stepped closer to her and a small smile played about his lips. Her aunt was entirely forgotten.

  “Are you giving me leave to arrive at your uncle’s home without the pretence of my sister?”

  Elizabeth beamed back at him. “Yes, I am giving you leave to call on me.”

  His smile broadened, and Elizabeth could not keep the lightness in her heart escaping through laughter. Fortunately, Darcy recalled himself.

  “Thank you for your kind offer, Mrs. Gardiner, but it seems unnecessary. I look forward to dining here tomorrow and speaking with your husband. Have a good evening.” He turned again to Elizabeth and bowed over her hand, stealing her breath. “Until tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth.”

  She watched him leave and then turned to face her aunt, who only smiled and shook her head at her. Further down the hallway Elizabeth saw Jane and ran to her side. Embracing her, they laughed when she transferred some mud to Jane’s gown. “Oh, dearest! How are you? Truly, tell me all!”

  Jane replied, “I am tolerable but, how are you? My aunt only told me this afternoon that Lydia is to come tomorrow and you were expected today, arriving with Mr. Darcy! You have been very sly, Lizzy! Never until this day would I have imagined seeing such an affinity between you two.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I dare say until today I could not imagine it possible myself.”

  Elizabeth loved Jane dearly and did wish to make her acquainted with everything that had passed in the last fortnight, but desired to reflect on things first. She was grateful when her aunt intervened.

  “Jane, Lizzy is very wet and must be exhausted. She needs her rest lest she catch cold. There will be time tomorrow to talk.”

  Elizabeth recognised it for the warning that it was. Although utterly grateful to have each other’s company again, after changing and drying her hair she and Jane obediently went straight to sleep.

  The next morning dawned with sunshine and Elizabeth was happy to see it. Lydia would be travelling from Longbourn this day and should arrive at noon. Jane began to awaken beside her.