Darcy and Diamonds

by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  “I understand,” he said softly, then turned to watch the path.

  “You do?”

  “Well, no. I can’t understand what it is like to be a woman. I have always had to be in control of—everything. Since a young age, I had to run our estates, care for my younger sister, manage all of our assets and—I have, in many ways, had total freedom.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and ducked as they passed under a low-hanging limb. “And in other ways, you carry great burdens.”

  She saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Indeed. But I was never forced to marry. Oh, my Aunt Catherine did attempt to do so—but I never had to marry to gain freedom.”

  “And you do not judge me for wanting my freedom?”

  He would not look at her, and his voice was low as he said, “No. I cannot judge that. But not all men—surely, you cannot think all men would attempt to control you as much as your late husband did?”

  Elizabeth was about to say “Daniel did not control me” but—he had, hadn’t he? He had tried to mold her, in so many ways.

  And when he failed, he became quiet and furious and could disappear for days on end.

  Elizabeth spotted the upper windows of Netherfield—they would be back to the paddock in moments. She should ask about Caroline, now. Say it. Say the words.

  Ask if he loves her.

  Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I should offer you my sincere condolences, on the passing of your husband.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said automatically, disturbed that she felt more relief than sadness now. “It was three years ago.”

  “Three years is nothing, though, is it? Grief is a funny thing.”

  Elizabeth wanted to ask whom he grieved, but at that moment there was a shout, and Jeremy and a groom came running toward them. Mr. Darcy immediately began directing them as to where Sabine was last seen. Before Elizabeth could say a word, she was being led back to the stable by Jeremy. He guided the great horse to the mounting block, but before Elizabeth could slide down, there was Mr. Darcy.

  “Excuse my touch, Mrs. Allerton,” he said, his voice a low, husky baritone. He placed his hands around her waist and helped her to the ground, setting her down gently as if she were a china cup. As if she were something precious.

  “I—thank you. I thank you, Sir,” Elizabeth said, feeling strangely breathless.

  “Do not walk,” he said by way of answer. “I will have the grooms—” he paused, and they both looked around, realizing that the two young men had taken Nero and apparently gone off to rally a hunt for the lost mare.

  “I will carry you to the house.”

  “No, I simply must insist—”

  “Mrs. Allerton.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was lower still, if possible. A bass vibration that she felt in her chest. Elizabeth realized his hands still held her waist.

  “What?” Elizabeth said. She felt a bit off. A bit dizzy. Perhaps she had hit her head.

  “I’ve—I’ve got you.” And then he lifted her in his arms, and she was nestled next to his wide chest, and she could look up and see his freshly shaven jaw.

  “This is,” Elizabeth cringed as he shifted her, her rib aching. “This is entirely unreasonable. I can walk on my own.”

  He nodded as he swiftly walked toward the side entrance of the great house. “You are hurt.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “I am not. I am perfectly capable of—”

  He stopped suddenly and looked down at her, those perfect blue eyes holding her captive. Her heart beat so fast she wondered if he could hear it.

  “Let me down,” she said softly.

  “You are not accustomed to having anyone help you,” he said in return. It was not a question.

  Elizabeth stiffened slightly. If she had hit her head and thought Mr. Darcy to be sweet and caring, now in the harsh morning sunlight he appeared overbearing. “No. I have my freedom.”

  His brow furrowed, ever so slightly. “That is one word to describe it.”

  Elizabeth felt her eyes widen. Mr. Darcy looked annoyed. Well, yes, she supposed he would be. His morning ride had been disturbed, and now he was carrying her about like a child.

  And, Elizabeth realized, rather treating her like one, as well.

  And he kept speaking!

  “You say you ride every morning? Alone? That is dangerous, Elizabeth. You should have at least a groom present. What would happen if you fell like this at Steadham House? With the sun barely risen and no one nearby to help you?” His shook his head, his arms tightening momentarily around her person.

  “I—how did you know the name of my estate?” Elizabeth said.

  He knows about Steadham House. He knows about Daniel. What else does he keep tabs of?

  “Have you been to Steadham House?” she continued.

  “Bingley may have—he may have mentioned,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

  He’s lying, she realized.

  Elizabeth forced herself to take a calming breath. How dare he? He hadn’t seen her for years, and now was ordering her about and speaking to her as if she were a child. She was a fool to have thought…to have thought…to have had any thoughts about him, whatsoever! Mr. Darcy was apparently as high-handed as ever.

  And he was hiding something.

  “Sir, I thank you for your assistance, but I do not require a lecture.”

  “A lecture! It is simply common sense, Elizabeth—”

  “We certainly do not know each other well enough for you to use my given name. And as you are not my father, brother or husband, I cannot think why you should concern yourself with my morning riding habits.”

  Mr. Darcy stopped, agape. “Woman, you just fell off a horse! Should I have left you alone in the woods?”

  Elizabeth gasped in indignation and was about to dream up a very good retort—but for once she could not think of one. Not when Mr. Darcy’s massive chest was heaving beneath her, and his eyes were flashing, and his arms were tight around her. Still, she would have come up with the perfect retort but at that exact moment, a group of men, led by her brother Bingley, appeared on the verandah. Too late, Elizabeth remembered that the men had planned a hunting party.

  They all shouted and began running toward her. But it was only when Caroline, dressed in a jaunty hunting outfit, stepped out onto the porch that Mr. Darcy froze momentarily, and then finally placed Elizabeth back onto her own two feet.

  17

  Elizabeth

  “Oh, Lizzy, if only you were not so headstrong!” Mrs. Bennet wailed, bustling around the bedroom. “Your skirts are ruined, and it will serve you right if your head is broken, too!”

  Elizabeth groaned and lay back on the pillows, closing her eyes against the late afternoon sun. After the hunting party had discovered them, Mr. Darcy had ensured she had assistance walking inside. Then he had disappeared, as had Caroline Doughton.

  Elizabeth had taken a bath and been happily resting when her mother appeared, transforming Elizabeth’s bedroom into a flurry of sickroom activity.

  “None of this is warranted, Mama. I am fine,” Elizabeth said. Her mother had ordered trays of tea, hot water and towels, and whatever tinctures Jane could find. “Please, please, shouldn’t you attend to Mary? Or Kitty? Or…anyone?”

  Lizzy opened her eyes when only silence greeted her query. Had it worked? Had her mother left?

  No.

  The bedroom door had been left ajar, and Mrs. Bennet reappeared within seconds, this time with a tired-looking gentleman behind her.

  “Lizzy! Wake up! This is Mr. Abernathy. He has come to examine you.”

  Elizabeth sat up in the bed and studied the stranger. He was tall and gaunt, an older man with a full head of pure white hair. As he stared down at her, his equally white and lush eyebrows drew together. He wore a small set of spectacles, and his jacket was much more fine than the apothecary the Bennets had always used.

  “Mr. Abernathy? Pleased to meet you. I did not know we had a new apothecary in Meryton,” Elizabeth sa
id.

  Mr. Abernathy stopped at the foot of the bed and sketched a slight bow. “It is Doctor Abernathy, Mrs. Allerton. And I have no idea where Meryton is, nor do I desire to discover its exact location.”

  For once, both Elizabeth and her mother’s eyebrows rose with identical shock. “Indeed, Sir,” Elizabeth said. So he was a doctor and a gentleman…and quite proud of both! “Are you a houseguest here, then?”

  Doctor Abernathy made a slight dismissive gesture, then walked around the side of the bed, pulling up a chair. “I am now, though but this morning I was happily eating sausages in London before receiving word of an urgent matter.” If possible, his frown seemed to deepen. “This does not seem to be an urgent matter. If anything, Mrs. Allerton, you appear to be in perfect health.”

  Elizabeth shifted, glancing at her mother. Mrs. Bennet had taken a seat in the chair by the window and she shrugged slightly at the doctor’s words.

  “You were sent here…for an emergency?” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes! I was told a young lady fell from her horse and that it was quite serious. Five hours later and here I am, quite famished—never finished my breakfast you see—and this does not appear to be an emergency. But come, come, let me examine you further.”

  “Mr. Abernathy, I am quite well. It was not a bad fall. I do apologize if you made this trip for naught, though I am sure my sister can provide plenty of restorative…sausages. Please be assured, I am quite fine and do not need any further—”

  “Lizzy! Stop arguing with the good doctor. He has come this far and been paid for,” Mrs. Bennet said in a warning tone. “Do not be strong-headed. Though it’s a good thing you have such a tough skull, or you might’ve broken it to pieces!”

  Elizabeth stiffened as her mother began to sniffle and cry, yet again.

  “Very well, Mr. Abernathy. Please assure my mother that all is well.”

  Mr. Abernathy sniffed and walked closer, tilting her head this way and that. His fingers pressed lightly against her temples, and he asked if she had any bruises or pain. Within ten minutes the examination was over. “I am satisfied you shall live, Mrs. Allerton,” the older man sighed. “But I am not satisfied that there was any need for me to have been the one to determine your state of wellbeing.”

  Mrs. Bennet bustled up to the bedside, grasping Elizabeth’s hand. “We are ever so grateful you made the journey, doctor! And ever so grateful to our dear Mr. Bingley for sending for you.”

  Mr. Abernathy paused as he packed his kit. “Charles Bingley? I’d never met him before today. No, it was Mr. Darcy who sent for me. And he is a man whom I never refuse.”

  Although Elizabeth had proclaimed herself fully recovered, her mother insisted she spend the rest of the day abed. When Elizabeth had protested, Mrs. Bennet had assured her that her absence would only increase Mr. Gladwell’s regard.

  “That is the last thing I was thinking of, mother!” Elizabeth had said.

  “Oh?” Mrs. Bennet had replied. “Well, I am sure Mr. Darcy will be just as eager to see you tomorrow. You must make them work a bit, Lizzy! Now, now, don’t give me that look. Everyone saw Mr. Darcy carrying you across the fields—if you were younger, I could have spoken with him about your being compromised.”

  Elizabeth had ended up quite annoyed with her mother, much as she’d been when she’d been younger. Mrs. Bennet had ignored her cross glare, smiled serenely and said, “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. Two eligible men both talking to you—and asking about you—all day! Mr. Gladwell told me that he’s to come into an inheritance soon, you know.”

  “I don’t care about Mr. Gladwell, or his inheritance,” Elizabeth had said.

  “Of course not!” Mrs. Bennet had cried. “Whatever it is, it can’t rival Mr. Darcy’s ten thousand a year! Why, I barely care about Mr. Gladwell, either. Though he does have such lovely golden curls, don’t you think? Rather like a cherub…”

  Her mother had finally left to dress for dinner, and although Elizabeth had fully intended on joining the group, she lay down for one moment…

  And woke hours later, with a bright, full moon hanging high in the sky.

  Elizabeth sat up in bed, the sudden movement making her ribs ache. But as she slowly got to her feet, the pain lessened and she felt almost as if she had not spent her morning making a complete and utter fool of herself.

  Elizabeth groaned and felt her way toward the wardrobe. Thankfully, the full moon provided enough light for her to find her plain, brown dressing gown and put it on, and find the time on the bedside table clock. It was near midnight. She was famished, and decided to sneak down to the kitchens to try and find some bread or cheese.

  But after she quietly ventured downstairs and through the halls, she discovered the kitchen was not empty.

  “Mrs. Greyson!” Elizabeth cried. “Whatever are you doing here so late?”

  Jane’s cook, the venerable Mrs. Greyson, turned from her work on the counter and laughed. “Mrs. Allerton! I heard about your accident! Are you well, my dear?”

  Mrs. Greyson had been the cook at Netherfield since before Charles had first let—and later purchased—the estate. Elizabeth did not know how old Mrs. Greyson was, but she’d known the woman since Elizabeth herself had been a child toddling out the church doors in Meryton.

  Now Mrs. Greyson’s hair was white and her back slightly hunched. But she was renowned for her talents in the kitchen, especially at Christmas when everyone in Meryton hoped for a dinner invitation to Netherfield, and to partake of her lemon creams, bread and butter puddings, and rich pound cakes.

  Lizzy loved her for those, but also for her wily spirit.

  “I am well.” Elizabeth put her arm around the cook, kissing her cheek. The woman waved Elizabeth away and kept cleaning.

  “Just like when you were younger. Being sweet with me so you can sneak some food.”

  “I missed dinner,” Elizabeth said, smiling cheekily as she found a loaf of bread on the side table.

  Mrs. Greyson shook her head and waved to her left. “The knife should be just there. And I could have sent you up a tray.”

  “I didn’t want to bother anyone. I can get myself bread and butter just as well as anyone, and I’m sure you’ve been on your feet all day—where is the knife?” Elizabeth looked to the left and right of a stack of plates, but could see nothing.

  Mrs. Greyson turned from tasks, hands on hips, frowning. “Odd. I swear I put my best knife there after dinner. Well, no matter.” She bustled over to another counter and brought back a knife, then shouted into the other room. “Maria! Bring me the cheese from dinner!”

  A young girl, who looked no more than fifteen, appeared, carrying a half-round of cheese and wearing a sleepy expression.

  “Don’t tell me you fell asleep in the pantry,” Mrs. Greyson grumbled affectionately, taking the cheese and pushing the young girl toward a chair in the corner. “Mrs. Allerton, meet my granddaughter, Maria. When I die, she’ll be cookin’ for you all.”

  “Gran!” the young girl yelped. “Don’t talk like that!” She turned to smile at Elizabeth, her face a constellation of freckles. “Ever so pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Maria,” Elizabeth said, charmed by the girl’s wide smile and messy bun on top of her head. “Though I feel like both you and your grandmother should be fast asleep.”

  “Hmmf,” Mrs. Greyson said. “I agree! But poor Mrs. Bingley has changed the breakfast menu. Apparently her guest Mrs. Potter had certain last-minute requests.”

  Elizabeth took a huge bite of soft bread and tried not to speak with her mouth full. “I would have ignored them.”

  “Oh, I know that!” Mrs. Greyson said, turning and dusting her hands off on her apron. “I receive letters from your housekeeper, Mrs. Ashe. Did you know our husbands were cousins?”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Really? I had no idea!”

  “Oh, I hear about you, my dear.” She smiled kindly, then clapped her hands and called
to her granddaughter. “I think we’ve done enough for tonight, Maria. You run along to bed.”

  The girl nodded and left, yawning widely.

  “Tea, Mrs. Allerton?”

  “Only if you call me Lizzy, as you always did. And let me pour,” said Elizabeth, taking a towel and hurrying to the hot kettle before Mrs. Greyson could grab it. “Please, sit.”

  Mrs. Greyson gave a great show of grumbling, but sat at the small table near the window and nodded as Elizabeth offered sugar.

  “Now, how in blazes did you fall off a horse today?”

  Elizabeth groaned and sat across from Mrs. Greyson. “I am embarrassed to admit that I was…racing.”

  “Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Greyson said, smiling behind her teacup.

  Did every older woman she knew grin wickedly behind teacups, when discussing Mr. Darcy?! Elizabeth thought.

  “Yes.”

  “And he sent for a fancy London physician for you. And he pestered my staff for tinctures and herbs all afternoon.”

  “He did?” Elizabeth said, shocked.

  “Well, his man did. But don’t worry…I know who to blame for it!” Mrs. Greyson smiled. “A fancy doctor for his fancy lady, I dare say.”

  “I’m not a fancy lady,” Elizabeth said. “And most especially not his.”

  “Well, you blush like a lady.” Mrs. Greyson winked at her, before pouring more tea. “The price for my tea is you tell me what’s got you pink-cheeked and ruffled.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Fine, I will admit Mr. Darcy is a rather—intense gentleman. And once upon a time there was…” She trailed off. “Perhaps an attraction. But he also can be rude, arrogant, and haughty. He always thinks he’s right, and told me just yesterday that I was a fool to ride alone at my house in the mornings!”

  “Did he say this before or after you fell off your mount?”

  “After,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head at her old friend.

  “You forgot to mention he’s right handsome, too,” Mrs. Greyson said. “And has more money than the King.”