The Unraveling of Mr Darcy

by Valerie Lennox

  Not that he didn’t still find her exceedingly diverting. But he could look at her without tumbling into some horrid imagined tryst between the two of them, and for that, he was glad. He found it abominable to talk to her, however, and everything that came out of his mouth had the sound of coming from a simple-minded fool. He endeavored not to look at her as much as possible, and that, too, made it quite difficult to carry on any kind of conversation.

  He had hoped that she would open her mouth and prove herself to be as empty-headed as Caroline, but it turned out that Elizabeth Bennet had a sharp but lively tongue in her head. She seemed to speak her mind without any concern for what might be thought of it. However, she did so with such wit and charm and grace that she could not be offensive.

  In fact, he was beginning to think that he could be quite happy spending time in her company, not simply in removing her clothing, which he still wanted to do, only rather more badly than he had before.

  The long and short of the matter was that he was still in hell, a worse hell than the ball, a hell that would not be relieved until Elizabeth was removed from his presence once and for all.

  Even the arrival of the mother, the positively abominable Mrs. Bennet did nothing to dampen his desire for Elizabeth. In fact, for a moment, he found Elizabeth almost defending him as she endeavored to explain to her dimwitted mother what it was that he had meant by a comment about the variety of town in contrast to the country.

  It didn’t last, of course. In moments, she was tartly taking the opposite side against him on some discussion of poetry, but as to what he was even saying, he didn’t know.

  Had he really said that poetry was the food of love?

  It was music, damn it, music. That was the Shakespeare quote. No doubt Elizabeth thought him a bumbling idiot who passed off misremembered Shakespeare quotes as his own thought.

  He was happy when the mother left, along with the ninnies of the younger sisters that Elizabeth had, but he wished that they would have taken both Elizabeth and Jane back with them, and let him get back to life as normal, which would mean he and Bingley conversing about things other than how pretty the eldest Miss Bennet was.

  As it was, he was suddenly being pestered mercilessly by Caroline Bingley, for no reason that he could ascertain. He made one comment about the brightness of Elizabeth’s eyes, and Caroline couldn’t let it go. She was everywhere, hanging on everything.

  He was attempting to write a letter. He hoped to be able to do some kind of concentrating and take his mind off the devil that was Elizabeth, but Caroline wouldn’t shut up.

  “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!” said Caroline, who was peering over his shoulder to make out the salutation to his sister.

  Perhaps, if he were to accidentally turn too fast, he would drive his elbow into Caroline’s forehead and knock her out cold. Then she would shut up.

  “You write uncommonly fast.”

  He turned to look at her. She smiled at him, a too-wide smile that seemed practiced. He sighed. He was being uncharitable to the poor girl. She couldn’t help that she had very little wits. She thought that this passed as conversation, no doubt. Besides, she was his friend’s sister. He turned back to the letter, forcing himself to answer. “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

  “How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year. Letters of business, too. How odious I should think them.” She shuddered as if filled with revulsion.

  “It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.” He was careful to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. He was trying to be polite. She wasn’t making it easy.

  “Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

  “I have already told her so once, by your desire.” At this point, he had completely forgotten what he was even writing. He dipped his pen in the inkwell, and then caught sight of Elizabeth, who was doing some needlework. By the small smile on her face, she was listening to everything that was being said and thought it amusing. He wondered what Elizabeth thought of him. He had taken pains not to let her see that he was… was… Whatever he was towards her, he had tried to hide it. She probably thought he was ridiculous, from the way she spoke to him. He gritted his teeth. Not that he cared what she thought of him. He removed his pen.

  “I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.” Caroline beamed at him.

  “Thank you—but I always mend my own.” There was a growl in his voice, even though he was striving to keep it from coming through.

  Seemingly placated, Caroline quieted. He returned to writing, even though he hardly knew what he was saying anymore. Think of your sister, he urged himself. Not of Elizabeth. By all means, stop thinking of Elizabeth Bennet.

  “How can you contrive to write so even?” chirped Caroline.

  That was it. This time, he really was going to drive his elbow into her face. Instead, he schooled himself to be still and silent.

  “Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s,” Caroline prattled.

  At this point, he lost his temper. He set the pen down and told her to leave off. He said he didn’t have any room in his letter. He tried to communicate, without saying it aloud, that he would rather she leave him alone. She was such an insipid sort of woman. If he and Bingley weren’t so close, he shouldn’t tolerate her.

  It was a pity, really, that Elizabeth weren’t of a higher birth or more noble circumstances. She was a worthy conversationalist. She was not idiotic to obvious hints. Elizabeth would never sit next to him and try to goad him into conversation while he was writing a letter. She wouldn’t be so needy. She was a different sort of woman altogether. Not only was she maddeningly enticing, she was in full possession of herself. She was smart and funny and self-assured, and he was quite unsure of himself around her.

  And then, without quite understanding how it had happened, he was engaged in another verbal sparring session with Elizabeth’s sharp tongue, as she took him to task over humility, and over the influence of friendship on behavior. He found himself again tongue-tied as he tried to keep up with her. Her eyes shone as she spoke, and there was a hidden smile behind all she said.

  Finally, he was rescued by Bingley. “If you and Miss Bennet would defer your disputes until I am out of the room, I should be most thankful.”

  Elizabeth shrugged, turning away. “What you ask is no sacrifice on my side.”

  Indeed not, he thought. She was as careless toward conversing with him as she might be toward the intricacies of hunting. She could not care less about him.

  She eyed him, that knowing smile playing at her lips. “And Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

  And just like that, he was dismissed. In truth, he was not overly disappointed, and he turned gratefully back to his letter, because—when it came to speaking with Elizabeth—he was out of his depth.

  While he wrote, though, he began to think that he was making too much of her birth and station. She was a gentlewoman, was she not? He thought of those delicate fingers of hers and he imagined them deftly undoing the buttons of his jacket.

  Inwardly, he groaned. Why did he do this to himself? He must school himself not to think any more inappropriate thoughts about Miss Bennet.

  After a while, when there was some music, he couldn’t stop himself from asking her to dance.

  She refused him.

  She must think he was ridiculous indeed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caroline Bingley sat on the bed in her sister’s room. “It’s horrid, Louisa. I think he has feelings for that dreadful Elizabeth Bennet. You heard what he said about her eyes. And then, tonight, I did everything that I could to draw him into a conversation, and he would have none of me. Then, he asks her to dance with him? Did you see that?”


  Louisa Hurst sat in an easy chair, opposite her sister. “Mr. Darcy will marry you. He has barely left your side for many months.”

  “He’s barely left our brother’s side!” Caroline seized handfuls of her gown. She was despondent. “I think we’ve been reading it all wrong. He may be quite indifferent to me. Did you see the way he was with me? I complimented his writing, and men love to be complimented. I offered to mend his pen, and he brushed me off.”

  “He was likely trying to concentrate on writing. How can a man talk and write at the same time?”

  “He should have stopped writing and spoken to me. If he truly had any intention of marrying me, he would have.”

  Louisa sighed. “Well, be that as it may, I don’t see what you expect me to do about it. I can hardly force him to marry you.”

  Caroline let go of her skirt, and she felt as if the world was going to pieces. She’d had it all quite nice and tidy. She would marry Darcy, and Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, could marry her brother. What could have been more perfect than that? Now, these stupid Bennet sisters had shown up and ruined everything. Nothing was going the way that she wanted it to. “Force him,” she murmured. “Yes, how can I force him to do it the right way?”

  “Caroline?”

  Caroline got up from the bed and walked over to the window. It was dark outside, but she could see the outline of the trees against the night sky and the stars dotting the blackness.

  “You can’t force anyone to do anything.”

  “What if I could?” Caroline asked the window. “What would compel a man like Mr. Darcy to marry a woman?”

  “There’s no point in even thinking such things.”

  Caroline turned around. “He’d avoid scandal, don’t you think? And he’s an honorable man.”

  Louisa’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you saying?”

  Caroline squared her shoulders. “I wouldn’t risk my reputation for nothing, but in the case of Mr. Darcy, there can be no risk. He would do the right thing. There is no question of that.”

  “What right thing?”

  “If Mr. Darcy and I were caught together in a scandalous position, for instance,” said Caroline. “Say… if we were locked in a bedroom together. You remember that the catch in the bedroom on the north wing is faulty? We found it when we were looking over the property that first week.”

  “Yes,” said Louisa, “we said that if you shut the door, you would be unable to leave. I meant to talk to Charles about having it fixed, but I’d quite forgotten.”

  “Well, what if Mr. Darcy and I were trapped together in that room?” said Caroline.

  “There’s no reason for the two of you to be alone together,” said Louisa. “As you say, Mr. Darcy is quite honorable. He wouldn’t do such at thing.”

  “No, I suppose not,” said Caroline. “He would have to be summoned to the room, I suppose. But if you were to write him a letter telling him to go there—”

  “Any letter I wrote would be even more scandalous. I am a married woman!”

  “That is not what I meant. I meant that you could write a letter in Charles’s hand. You can do it as well as your own. You amused all of us in the nursery by copying handwriting.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly!”

  “Write the letter, and then discover us together there, in the middle of the night,” said Caroline. “Make sure to bring our brother along. Say you are concerned about me. And then, when Charles sees us compromised, Darcy will have to propose.”

  “That’s…” Louisa folded her arms over her chest. “That’s quite devious. And risky.”

  “As I said, with Mr. Darcy there can be no risk,” said Caroline. “Come now, you are my sister. Would you see me a spinster? Mr. Darcy is meant to be my husband. You must help me secure him.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth had not spent the night in her own room the night before. She had sat up with Jane all night, dozing in a chair by the bed only. Now, Jane was much improved, and Elizabeth’s back could not bear another night in the chair, and so she was going back to her own room.

  The only problem was that she was very confused. It was dark now, and she only had a candle to light her way. She had been sure that her room was just down the hallway from Jane’s, but when she’d entered the room that she’d thought was her own, she found that it was wrong, and that the bed hadn’t even been made up for her.

  So, now she was wandering through the halls, checking rooms, hoping to find one she found familiar.

  She should probably find a servant to help her, but it was late, and everyone must already be abed by now. She didn’t want to wake anyone. She wasn’t properly dressed, anyway. She was only wearing her shift and bed jacket, because she’d gotten ready to sleep in Jane’s room. It was only after seeing how much better that Jane was that she’d decided to return to her own room.

  However, she wished she wasn’t so turned around. She’d been so consumed with Jane’s well-being that she hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to the location of her own room. And Netherfield was so much bigger than her own house, which seemed frightfully small by comparison.

  Overall, Elizabeth felt flustered. She wasn’t at home in this place, not among Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst, and most especially not with Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley was a very genial man, but the rest of them were horrid. If Jane really did marry this man, Elizabeth wasn’t sure she could bear the society of these people. She might go quite mad if she had to listen to Miss Bingley talking about the evenness of Mr. Darcy’s writing.

  It was pathetic the way Miss Bingley had been throwing herself at the man. And she seemed not to notice that he was utterly indifferent to her.

  Perhaps Mr. Darcy was indifferent to every woman. After all, he had made that comment about how most women were not truly accomplished. He had such high standards that mere mortals couldn’t possibly measure up to them.

  She’d be happy when Jane was feeling better and they could both go home. If Jane was made happy by Mr. Bingley, then Elizabeth would be happy for her. But she’d rather not have to spend anymore mind-numbing time in this place than was absolutely necessary.

  There.

  This wing. This had to be it, didn’t it?

  Yes, this was where her room had been. Right along this wall. That door there, the one slightly ajar, that was the door to her room. She pushed it open.

  Wait, was there a candle burning inside the room?

  Oh.

  She put a hand to her chest, letting out a tiny cry. Oh, dear, this wasn’t right at all. This wasn’t her room, because this room was occupied. It was Mr. Darcy’s room. At least, it must be, because there was Mr. Darcy, backing out of the closet, holding a candle and muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t dressed, either. He was only in his nightshirt and banyan.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She could see more of Darcy’s skin that she rather wanted to, and he was powerful and muscled underneath it all. There was a smattering of dark hair peaking out of his nightshirt, and something inside Elizabeth clenched in a pleasant but alarming way.

  Darcy had seen her. He nearly dropped his candle. “Miss Bennet,” he said in a harsh voice.

  Elizabeth didn’t say anything at all. Instead, she backed up, back toward the door.

  Except the door was closed, she realized as her back collided with its solidness. She fumbled behind herself at the catch. She tried to open it.

  It wasn’t working.

  Panicked, she turned her back on Darcy and looked down at the door handle. She tried to open the door.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Darcy didn’t know what was going on. He had come to this room on the urging of a letter from Bingley, which he’d found in his room before retiring to bed. He thought it was odd. He’d left Bingley only moments before, and he wasn’t sure how his friend would have had time to write the letter and deliver it. Furthermore, why bother with the letter at all? Why not simply instruct Darcy to come to
the room?

  It wasn’t like Bingley at all.

  But the note had a certain urgency to it. It requested his presence “at once” on a matter of “some importance,” and Darcy had obeyed its summons. It was only that upon reaching the room, he found it empty. Bingley wasn’t there. No one was there at all. He had opened up the closet door, thinking that this might be some ridiculous joke. Bingley did have a horrid sense of humor.

  But nothing was there. Upon quitting the closet, he had turned, and there was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. An undressed Elizabeth, only in her nightdress, with nothing more than a bed jacket over top of it. Her hair was down and in a long braid that hung over one shoulder. Her lips parted, and he thought of how pleasing the shape of her lips were, and he thought about rubbing his thumb against her lower lip, tracing that pleasing shape.

  Abruptly, she ran from him, hurrying back out of the room.

  But her way was stopped by the door, and she seemed to be having some trouble getting it open.

  He watched her for a moment, first as she scrabbled behind her with one hand, then as she turned and tried the handle. He liked the look of her body in her nightclothes from the front and the back, he realized.

  And just like that, he was aroused again. He cursed inwardly.

  This entire situation was highly improper. He was closed in a bedroom with Miss Bennet, and neither of them were dressed. It was insupportable.

  He crossed the room in long strides. “Move aside,” he said, and was horrified to hear that his voice had become a rasp, as if being in her presence had robbed him of his ability to speak like a gentleman.

  She turned to look at him. “It’s locked or caught on something. I know not what. But I can’t open it.”

  “Let me try.” Dear God, was he going to have to move her out of the way? How would he do that? Seize her by the hips? He shuddered in pleasure and something like terror. No, her shoulders, of course. But even that, his fingers through the thin fabrics both of the bed jacket and shift beneath it… It wouldn’t be much of a barrier.