A Rare Ability: A Darcy and Elizabeth Pride and Prejudice Variation (A Pemberley Romance Book 10)

by Harriet Knowles

  Then, when he had called here after the ball, he’d maligned Mr. Darcy, called him a cold, proud man, who was not at all well-liked by any that he knew.

  Elizabeth could see why he would describe Mr. Darcy thus. If you didn’t know him, he might certainly appear cold and proud. But she knew him better than that. She smiled secretly to herself. In her closet were the notes he’d written to an anonymous lady who seemed to understand.

  And John Lucas had looked proud, too, when he was unsure how he should act. It had meant he was ragged and teased by others, for acting above his station. But Elizabeth knew it was a front, to hide their puzzlement and confusion at a world they did not understand.

  Elizabeth knew she understood Mr. Darcy very well. She didn’t know why she had also distrusted Mr. Wickham, almost from the very start; but now she had been proved right.

  The remaining tea in her cup was cold, she realised. And her mood had deteriorated. What good would any of this pondering do? She was certain Lydia was ruined, and her ruin would involve the whole family, too.

  And it would not be long overcoming them, she knew. There could not be any other news that Lydia imparted that would make Mr. Wickham react in such a terrible way. Papa and Mr. Darcy would undoubtedly have come to the same conclusion that Elizabeth had, even without the opportunity to observe her sister as she had done.

  It was likely that he would never return here, and she could not apportion any blame to him if that was the case. Sadly, she wished to live the previous day again — she might have said she needed to speak to her father alone. Then Mr. Darcy would not have heard her suspicions.

  No. That would never do. He needed to know, and the earlier the better. But she didn’t know how she would ever lose that feeling in her when she thought of him.

  She pushed the tray aside and dropped her head to the table, too sad to move.

  A long while later, she heard Jane’s voice. “Oh, Lizzy! You did too much yesterday, I knew it! Come back to bed, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth pushed herself up. “Jane. I was only resting a moment. You shouldn’t have seen me like this.” She gave a reassuring smile.

  “You don’t fool me, Lizzy Bennet! Now, come on, get back into bed for a while, and I’ll get in, too. Then you can tell me what happened yesterday after I had to go home, and I’ll tell you what I saw at Netherfield.”

  “All right,” Elizabeth climbed back into bed. It might be a good idea to take these few days to think and decide what to do, while everyone else would merely think she was recovering from the fever. But she would not tell Jane what she had told her father.

  Jane climbed onto the top of the covers beside her. “I think you need to stay in bed a few days and get properly well again.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “It is a good idea, Jane. But you know me. Do you think I will manage to do that?”

  Jane made a face at her. “Well, maybe just today then. Please, Lizzy. You need not be concerned as to missing your Mr. Darcy. He is not returning to Netherfield until tomorrow — he sent Charles an express, asking if he might return then.”

  “He is not my Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said with some heat, “and anyway, he didn’t write last time, he just appeared.” He is returning - tomorrow! Her heart lifted.

  “Indeed.” Jane sat back against the pillows. “You know, I used to think he was such a disdainful man, but I think he is just very reticent. He’s much more forthcoming now that he knows us better.” She smiled thoughtfully. “I can see why Charles enjoys his company.”

  Elizabeth lay back against the pillows, too. “So, what was the nature of the visit by the Earl and Countess of Matlock, Jane? I confess I am curious.”

  Jane looked a little discomfited. “Well, I shouldn’t talk about another’s business, should I?”

  “Indeed not,” Elizabeth snuggled up to her. “But whatever they talked about in front of you and Mr. Bingley could not be confidential, could it?”

  “I suppose not,” Jane sounded surprised. “And I do wonder whether what he actually said to Mr. Darcy was the real reason.”

  “There you are, then. You can tell me without feeling guilty at all.” Elizabeth smiled expectantly.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Jane seemed troubled. “He was complaining that Mr. Darcy had left London while his aunt had been trying to find him a suitable young lady.” She looked troubled. “But then the Earl told him to go back with them as he had another matter of business to discuss.”

  “I think that must have been the real reason, Jane. He would never have said that about a suitable lady in front of you if they had been really concerned for him to marry at once.”

  Jane seemed relieved at Elizabeth’s matter-of-fact tone. “I think you’re right.” She bit her lip, “but Mr. Darcy did remind his aunt that he had attended four events in the last few weeks.”

  “It is the season, Jane, and I’m sure it is expected of gentlemen in London.” Elizabeth kept her tone light and unconcerned. Another trouble she’d have to keep to herself.

  She closed her eyes, thinking. After a few minutes she felt movement beside her, and knew Jane was getting up, thinking Elizabeth would rest. Perhaps she would doze, it might ease the headache which threatened.

  Mr. Darcy could never be hers. Lydia’s actions would ensure that. So she must not be hurt that he had attended events during the London season. But her heart whispered treacherously of betrayal. It was before he could possibly have known about Lydia. So why was he returning tomorrow?

  She rolled over and put the pillow over her head again. It would be a long day if she stayed upstairs. Yet she wasn’t sure if she could face her family.

  Chapter 38

  The next day, Elizabeth dressed carefully and went downstairs. Perhaps she could take a short walk in the gardens, it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been last week, and she needed to take some fresh air.

  Papa smiled as she came to the breakfast table. “It’s good to see you downstairs today, Lizzy. You already look better than you did, but you do need to take life gently for a few more days.”

  She smiled slightly as she sat down. “Good morning, Papa. I am hoping if the sun is warmer in the middle of the day that I might take the air for a few moments in the garden.”

  He looked at her over the top of his spectacles and put down the newspaper. “I am not sure it’s a good idea, Lizzy. The air can be very cold. This year is remarkable for feeling the ice in every breath you take.”

  She smiled calmly at him. “Perhaps at lunch you might take a step out and tell me if it might be possible for me to have a very few moments? I will not if you think it is ill-advised.”

  He shook his head. “You really are not yourself, are you?”

  Elizabeth laughed softly. “I have my appetite back, at least, Papa.”

  “I’m delighted to see it,” he said dryly and returned to his paper.

  Elizabeth realised why he had retreated behind his paper — Mama was making a noisy and effusive entrance, and she steeled herself.

  Mama was gratifyingly pleased to see her so much recovered, and talked ceaselessly throughout the meal. Elizabeth became more cheerful; it was pleasant to be back to her familiar routine.

  Mary appeared in the dining room, followed by Kitty. Both seemed very pleased to see her, and Elizabeth settled down, aware that Lydia’s place remained empty. She wanted to comment, but felt her father’s warning presence.

  It was late in the morning when they heard the sound of a coach and horses. Elizabeth was sitting quietly with her mother and Kitty. They were busy at their needlework, but Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate on it, so she held a book, although the text could not hold her attention. She was anxious about seeing Lydia again; but she was in her bedchamber, complaining of feeling unwell. Was that true? Or was she making some underhand plan?

  They all looked up at the sound of voices in the hall, the door opened, and the housekeeper announced their guests.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.” />
  Jane came into the room and embraced her mother, before crossing the room to see Elizabeth.

  “Are you sure you’re well enough to be downstairs, Lizzy?” Her brow creased. “You’re still a little pale.”

  “I am not, Jane,” Elizabeth murmured. “Do not make me out to be suffering in front of our guests.” She curtsied at the two gentlemen.

  Charles Bingley beamed at her, and bent over her hand. “I am delighted to see you, sister, and very glad you are so well recovered.” He looked at his wife. “Jane was very worried for you.”

  “Thank you, I feel very well,” Elizabeth smiled at him, then turned to Mr. Darcy.

  His intense expression burned into her, and that breathless feeling returned with full force.

  Somehow, when they were all seated, ready to take tea, Jane and Mr. Bingley seemed to be taking up all Mama and Kitty’s attention. Mr. Darcy sat in a chair opposite her and Elizabeth exerted herself to try and make his visit easy for him as she had done so many months ago, when he and his friend used to call.

  “I hope you are not too fatigued with your journeys to London and back, Mr. Darcy?”

  He looked surprised. “Not at all, Miss Elizabeth. The coach is comfortable, and I am used to travelling.”

  “Oh.” She thought again. “I hope your sister is well.”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  There was a period of silence again, and Elizabeth racked her mind again for another topic to talk about. She smiled faintly. She had known he found conversation difficult, and usually she could keep her side of the subject going easily. But now she was tired and out-of-sorts, and her thoughts were scattered.

  “Do not be discomposed, Miss Elizabeth.” His voice was quiet. “I know that I am hard to make conversation with — I knew you discovered that when we first met.” He smiled very slightly. “But you are tired, and I do not wish you to strain yourself in finding things of which to talk. I will not be uncomfortable if we sit in silence, nor if you tell me to talk of something.”

  She smiled back. “Thank you for understanding that I feel less able to make conversation than usual. But I think if we are too quiet, it will be noticed.” She drew a deep breath. “I would like to listen. Please talk to me of Derbyshire and what it is like. I have never been to the north.”

  “You know that to get someone talking, you ask of their childhood home.” Mr. Darcy smiled, and settled down. “Of course, I think it is the most wonderful countryside. The wild peaks and fells, the thickly wooded foothills, those warm my heart as I travel to Pemberley.”

  Chapter 39

  Darcy looked back on his call on Miss Elizabeth with some satisfaction that night as he prepared to dine at Netherfield. He thought he had kept her attention with his talk of Pemberley and the Derbyshire countryside, and he’d exerted himself not to falter, so that she could relax instead of trying to make his visit easier.

  But he was so tired with the effort of it all. He dropped into the armchair. He had half an hour before he would be expected downstairs. And thankfully, Bingley and his wife were easy company. His lip curled, and he shivered; he would not like to still be here if Bingley’s sisters appeared.

  A quiet knock on the door, and his valet appeared, carrying a lidded basket. “Mrs. Nicholls wondered if you’d like a few minutes with the kitten, sir?”

  Darcy frowned, could he be bothered with a kitten right now? “Thank you, Mr. Maunder.” He reached for the basket. He could tell Elizabeth about it tomorrow, and warmth spread through him — it would mean she wouldn’t have to work hard to make things easy for him tomorrow, either.

  He took the basket on his lap and opened the lid. A pair of deep blue eyes looked speculatively at him. “Forgotten me already, have you?” he demanded of it, and the tiny mouth opened in a huge yawn.

  “I see.” He lifted the tiny creature out of the basket and put the basket down while cradling the animal in his hands. Its distended belly indicated well-fed contentment and he found himself smiling foolishly at it. “What will Elizabeth think of you, I wonder?” He stroked the length of its back and it instinctively pushed up against his hand, and then folded up into a ball and was asleep.

  He settled back with it snuggled against his chest, and rested his head against the back of the chair. He could rest now, and he heard a creditable attempt at a purr, quite disproportionate to the kitten’s size. He chuckled; the purr stopped, and the kitten glared at him.

  “Sorry,” he murmured and it settled down again. He closed his own eyes. There was time to relax.

  * * *

  The next day, the Netherfield party returned to Longbourn, Darcy hoping that their welcome would be as warm as on the previous day. This time he carried the kitten with him, tucked inside his jacket.

  He’d requested that Mrs. Nicholls make sure it was fed, and it was as settled as the previous day.

  He could hear the loud voices of Mrs. Bennet and the youngest daughter in the sitting room, and knew their visit might not be as calm as he had hoped. When they were announced into the sitting room again, Elizabeth was sitting in the same place. She smiled at him during the introductions, and he stood beside the same chair as the previous day, and bowed inquiringly.

  “May I join you, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Please do, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled warmly at him, but she seemed listless compared to the previous day. The rest of the party were soon in conversation, and Darcy leaned forward. “You seem tired, Miss Elizabeth. I hope you are not going to be unwell again.”

  She shook her head and glanced over at Miss Lydia, loudly ruling the conversation. Looking resigned, she turned back to Darcy.

  “I beg your pardon if I seem rude, Mr. Darcy, but you appear to be less carefully attired today.”

  He was bemused for a moment, until she pointed to the large bump in his jacket. “Oh, yes, I wondered if you would wish to be introduced to someone you last saw on the riverbank, Miss Elizabeth.” He reached into his jacket and carefully retrieved the kitten, which opened one eye indignantly, and stretched, still barely filling his open hand.

  “Oh!” Elizabeth gasped softly. “It is so sweet,” she laughed and ran a finger along the little body. “A great deal sweeter than when you were covered in mud, little one.”

  Darcy smiled and deposited the creature on Elizabeth’s lap. “Certainly it’s a great deal more contented now. He has the housekeeper very well trained in his care, and he’s warm and well-fed. I don’t think he will ask for anything more.”

  “I think he remembers you.” Elizabeth was watching the animal as it seemed inclined to jump from her lap to his, and he extended his hand to prevent that.

  “Too far for you to jump just yet,” he commanded it and it turned round to explore her lap again.

  She laughed again. “Do you have any idea how old it is?”

  He shrugged slightly. “I think it must be about five or six weeks old — barely old enough to have been weaned. However, it seems content enough.”

  The silence between them was more companionable than it might have been without the kitten’s presence, and he congratulated himself on his foresight in bringing it with him.

  But he was very aware that she was watching her younger sister sadly.

  * * *

  The next day, he was unable to call again, having to return to London after an express from his uncle. He scowled. Wickham was able to exert a malign influence on his life, even from afar.

  He drove straight to Matlock House and was admitted at once to the library. His uncle waved at the decanter.

  “Pour yourself a drink before you sit down, Darcy, while we wait for Richard and David to join us.”

  “Yes, sir.” Darcy was puzzled. If his elder cousin was also to be involved, he wondered if more had come to light than he already knew. He poured himself a very small whisky, thinking he must keep his wits about him. “Would you care for me to refill your glass, Uncle?”

  A grunt in the affirmative reassured him somewhat, his un
cle was not usually as forbidding as he had been this last week, and perhaps the Kympton affair was about to be settled, and his own involvement had found approval.

  The door opened, and the footman announced Richard and David.

  Richard strode over and shook his hand, looking at him expressively, a look Darcy puzzled over as his elder cousin greeted him formally.

  Uncle Henry heaved himself to his feet. “Let us go to the table, it will be easier as there are four of us.”

  Darcy followed his relations silently. The Fitzwilliam family were known to settle things very much among themselves, and his own innate caution warned him to be careful. If he told them of Wickham’s exploits in Hertfordshire, then they would use that in their decision. But he could not, not without risking the ruin of the Bennet family — and Elizabeth.

  The table was already piled with bound papers and documents, and David glanced at him.

  “You’ve been assiduous in your search for Wickham’s debt over the last few years, Darcy, and ensured that no creditor has gone unpaid.”

  “Yes.” Darcy felt as if it were an accusation.

  “Does Wickham know it is what you were doing?”

  “Not at all! I have not done it for that reason!”

  Richard leaned forward. “We’re not attacking your actions, Darcy,” he said placatingly, “but David thinks if Wickham has an inkling of what you’re doing, then he might argue that you had agreed that you would meet his debts and assured him that you did not require reparation.”

  Darcy stared at David. “That is a defence now, is it?”

  “No, of course not, Darcy — at least, it has been put forward once, and was refused. But Wickham could make your life quite uncomfortable if he might yet be able to make it public.” David shuffled some papers in front of him. Darcy thought sourly that he was trying to look like the lawyer he was to gain an advantage over him.

  He looked steadily at him. Better not to say anything just yet.