Darcy's Secret Garden

by Jane Grix

  “No,” Elizabeth said. “It is not your fault.”

  “But I gave you a fright.”

  She drew her breath in sharply as if she might break down. “Yes.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Just hold me, please.”

  He held her in his arms until her breathing slowed. The footman returned with the wine and then Darcy held the glass while Elizabeth sipped from it.

  Eventually, she stopped shuddering and took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you,” she said. “I think I will be fine now.”

  “But you are not fine,” he said. “I have never seen you like this. Something terrified you. Was it a dream?”

  “Not exactly. More of a nightmare. One that I have had before.”

  “But not since we married?” Darcy thought that surely he would have noticed if she had been this troubled before.

  “No, not since we married.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” He smiled faintly. “My nanny used to say that if I shared a nightmare, it would not return.”

  Elizabeth said quietly, “If only that were true.”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish.”

  She touched the side of his face and he flinched at the sudden pain. She said, “I am so sorry I hit you. I fear you will have a black-eye tomorrow.”

  “My glasses will hide it,” Darcy said calmly. He took her hands in his and kissed them. “All that matters is that you are well again.”

  Elizabeth said, “I cannot promise that it won’t happen again if I am surprised or startled at night.”

  Darcy said, “I will do my best never to startle you again. Perhaps I should wear a bell around my neck like Aesop’s cat.”

  His feeble joke was rewarded with a shaky little laugh. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She sighed. “It has been a long time since I had the nightmare. I thought I had put it behind me.”

  “Put what behind you?”

  She was silent for a long time and he thought that she had decided not to tell him, but then she said quietly, “One night, years ago, a man came into my bedroom at night and attacked me.”

  Darcy clenched his hands into fists. “What?”

  “I fought him as best I could, but he was bigger and stronger and ultimately, I could not stop him from – from –” She shuddered and could not finish her sentence.

  “Taking advantage of you?” Darcy supplied.

  From the motion, he knew that she nodded.

  “What was done?” Darcy demanded. “What did your father do?”

  “My father was dead and my uncle could not help. There was nothing to be done but to hush it up and pretend that nothing had happened.”

  Darcy said, “What is his name? Something must be done. The man must be punished.”

  “No,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It is too late.”

  “If I had been there, I would have killed him.” Right now, he wanted to tear the man limb from limb. Hanging would be too quick a punishment. He wanted the man to suffer.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “But it happened years ago and there is nothing to be done now. I only told you so you would understand why I hit you. I am so sorry for that.”

  Darcy said, “There is nothing to forgive.”

  “You are not disgusted by me?”

  “Disgusted? How could you think that?”

  “I am damaged goods.”

  Darcy swore. “Never say that again. It was not your fault.”

  “Thank you.”

  He held her for a long time and he sensed that there was more she needed to tell him. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  She nodded. “I had a baby. He was born too early and died.”

  Darcy clenched his jaw, not knowing what to say. From her tone, he knew she still grieved, but he thought it was for the best that she had not been forced to raise a bastard.

  She continued. “That is why I married Mr. Holt. He was a business acquaintance of my uncle. A friend. An elderly gentleman. He married me to give me and the baby a name, but in the end it didn’t matter. I would have done better to go into the country and have the baby by myself.”

  “But you didn’t know at the time that the baby would die.” Childbirth was always dangerous, but with modern science the majority of babies lived and only one mother in ten died.

  “No.”

  He asked gently, “You have said Mr. Holt was a kind man. Was he a good husband?”

  She nodded and patted Darcy’s chest. “We never lay together, like you and I, but he was a good man.”

  Darcy felt a wave of relief, glad that that she had someone to take care of her when she desperately needed it. Part of him wished that he could have been her champion, avenging her wrongs. And on a purely masculine level, he was pleased that she did not have a prior husband’s prowess to compare with his.

  She was his and he would be her only lover.

  “I will take care of you now,” he promised quietly. “You are safe.”

  He felt her smile and relax against him. “I know that. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the weeks passed, Elizabeth had trouble sleeping but it wasn’t from nightmares. No, it was her conscience tormenting her. She needed to tell Darcy the truth, that she was Elizabeth Bennet. Every time he smiled at her, every time they made love, she felt like a fraud.

  Why was she so frightened?

  She had told him about the attack and her baby, and he had been kind, so why could she not tell him the complete truth?

  Because she had lied to him for months.

  Mrs. Gardiner had warned her during her summer visit. “You must tell him who you are. One of these days, he is going to learn the truth, and he may not forgive you.”

  Elizabeth paced across her sitting room, twisting her hands together. Several times, she had decided to tell him, to confess everything, but she didn’t want to make him angry, and in the end, she kept silent. She was a coward.

  Darcy interrupted her thoughts, asking her if she wanted to go for a walk. “The weather is good. I think today may be the day for us to take the long walk around the Park.”

  He was dressed for a walk, wearing a long frock coat, buckskins and boots and carrying a straw hat along with his cane. He looked like he was ready to pose for a portrait as a gentleman farmer.

  She made herself smile. “Excellent. Let me get a shawl and a bonnet. I don’t want to become all freckled.”

  “I never thought to ask,” he said lightly. “Do you have freckles?”

  “A few. I had more when I was younger. My mother was always telling me to wear my bonnet. ‘If you become tan, you will never get a husband.’”

  He walked up to her and took her in his arms. He said, “She was mistaken, for I like you the way you are – freckled or tan, it does not matter.” And then he kissed her.

  “Ah, but you can’t see me clearly,” she teased when they drew a few inches apart. “I can wear the same dress for weeks and never comb my hair and you wouldn’t notice.”

  He smoothed her hair. “I might notice the hair,” he mused. “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy your hair?”

  He twisted one of her curls around his finger and brought it to his lips.

  He looked through his dark glasses smiling at her and she wished with all her heart that he could see her clearly, that there were no more lies between them. But that would not help, because if he had not been blind, he would not have hired her to read to him.

  She sighed.

  “Elizabeth?” he prompted.

  “It is nothing,” she said. “Release me, so I can put on my bonnet.”

  He tightened his hold on her and said meaningfully, “Perhaps we should take a basket and a blanket.”

  Elizabeth blushed, remembering what had happened the last time they had taken a blanket to sit outdoors. No one said anything to her, but she knew the servants gossiped when they returned to the house, all disheve
lled. She said, “No, not for that long of a walk. Neither one of us would want to carry it.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Darcy said and finally let her go. “We shall exhaust ourselves on the walk and come home for a nap.”

  “That sounds delightful.”

  DARCY WALKED AROUND the Park of Pemberley with Elizabeth holding his arm. The sun was warm on his face, there was a slight breeze and he could heart the sounds of the rippling river, the call of the sandpipers, and the rustle of old leaves and twigs as they walked.

  Other than having his sight restored, he could not imagine a better day.

  As they walked, Elizabeth described what they saw: first the wood, then over a simple bridge, into a valley, and to a meandering path.

  “Are you tired?” Darcy asked.

  “I am fine,” she told him. “And I’m wearing my boots.”

  “You and your sturdy boots,” he teased.

  They sat for a while beside the large pond and Darcy told her about his father who had taken him fishing when he was a boy.

  “Do you miss it?” she asked.

  “I miss my father much more than I miss fishing.”

  He heard a familiar high-pitched whistle and Elizabeth said excitedly, “I think that is a kingfisher!”

  He looked about and saw a flash of blue and then it was gone.

  “Good heavens,” she said. “It was carrying a fish in its beak.”

  “It is probably feeding its young,” Darcy said.

  “So that was a female bird.”

  “Or male. They both hunt for their fledglings.”

  “Tell me more about the kingfishers,” she said.

  Darcy smiled. “Well, apparently they mate for life.”

  “How civilized,” she said and then laughed. “Unfortunately, all of nature is not so circumspect. I remember how upset I was with a cat we had when I was a child. The poor thing had multiple – shall we say callers? – and was always breeding.”

  Darcy smiled. “That is one of the reasons why cats, who can be charming, are not allowed in the house at Pemberley. They can cry and breed in the barn. Although I did make an exception one summer for Georgiana who liked kittens. She had a basket of them in her sitting room.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  “And as soon as they were old enough, they went back to the barn.”

  “And Georgian’s heart was broken.”

  “Most likely,” he said. “But she has Mr. Tipton and her own children now, so I assume she is fully recovered.”

  “She seems happy.”

  “I believe she is.” Whether she was as content as he now was, Darcy could not tell. He was merely relieved that she had found someone kind and reputable to marry. She would have been miserable if she had married George Wickham.

  He regularly thanked God that he had been able to foil their elopement.

  He wondered briefly if he should tell Elizabeth about Georgiana’s past, but then decided to keep his sister’s secrets.

  “YOU SEEM MORE QUIET today,” Darcy said as they walked back to the house.

  Elizabeth said, “I am a little tired,” but that was not the true reason for her silence. She had enjoyed her walk with Darcy, but when they talked about Georgiana, she had felt a twinge of discomfort.

  She knew Wickham had tried to elope with Georgiana, but she could not reference that in their conversation for Darcy had told Elizabeth Bennet not her.

  With every step, she wondered how Georgiana would feel if she knew her sister Lydia was married to Wickham?

  She knew neither Georgiana or Darcy would want to be connected to her brother-in-law.

  No, she decided, it was best to keep quiet and endure her guilt.

  IN AUGUST, DARCY ANNOUNCED over dinner that he would be going to London for a few weeks and staying at Darcy House. “And I would like you to come with me, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. London was full of risks, particularly the risk of being recognized. Mrs. Gardiner had told of her mother’s death, but her sisters were still living.

  He said, “I know you would prefer to stay at Pemberley, but with the hunting season already started, there won’t be many social obligations and we can stay at home in Cavendish Square.

  Elizabeth said, “If you want me, of course I will come.”

  He smiled. “And if you wish, you can refurbish Darcy House as you have refurbished Pemberley.”

  Elizabeth smiled and said, “You know how to tempt me.”

  “And I will take you shopping,” Darcy insisted. “I want my wife to be well-dressed, even if I cannot see it.”

  “As you wish,” she said finally. It was unlikely that any of the dressmakers Mr. Darcy frequented would know her family.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What are the risks of the surgery?” Darcy asked in the consultant’s rooms. He spoke directly with Monsieur Laurent, a French surgeon who had recently begun performing cataract surgery in London.

  M. Laurent said, “Blindness, of course. And in some cases, death. But I have found that a new procedure – removing the lens by aspiration to be more effective and less dangerous. I have only lost two patients with this surgery and both of them were elderly gentlemen in poor health. You, in contrast, appear to be in the prime of life.”

  Darcy took that comment as a compliment.

  “But,” the surgeon continued, “In surgery and in life, there are no absolutes.”

  “I understand.” Darcy had researched the various methods of cataract surgery for years, and he had consulted with dozens of surgeons or couchers. M. Laurent was unique in that he did not promise success. He was a sombre, quiet man rather than a flamboyant charlatan and that gave Darcy hope.

  M. Laurent was also well trained. He had trained with some of the foremost ophthalmologists in Paris and had then travelled to Philadelphia to observe cataract surgeries performed by a Dr. Physick.

  Darcy asked about the procedure and M. Laurent described the gruesome details which included breaking the lens into pieces with a needle.

  Darcy did not look forward to the process, but he was growing increasingly impatient with his blindness and was willing to take the risk. He wanted to see Elizabeth and enjoy the remaining years of his life with greater vision. If the surgery was successful, he would see again, although he would need to wear thick glasses. “I will consider it,” he said finally. Indeed, that was why he had chosen to come to London – to consider surgery and speak with his solicitors. If he did die, he wanted to make certain that he had provided for Elizabeth.

  OTHER THAN TAKING A few shopping trips with her husband, Elizabeth spent most of her time at Darcy House, but she did take the time to call upon her aunt.

  Mrs. Gardiner greeted her with pleasure. “It is always good to see you again.” Elizabeth sat in her sitting room and they spoke of their lives as they drank tea.

  Elizabeth declined a second scone when it was offered to her. “No, thank you.”

  “But they are your favourite.”

  “My stomach has been irritated lately”

  Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes sought hers. “Are you expecting?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Possibly. I think it is too early to tell, but I felt similarly before, that first time.”

  Mrs. Gardiner shook her head as if to say, “let us not talk of that,” and said instead, “Oh, this is happy news. Have you told Mr. Darcy?”

  “Not yet.” Elizabeth did not want to give him false hopes.

  Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes narrowed. “Have you told him that you were Miss Bennet?”

  “No,” Elizabeth confessed.

  Mrs. Gardiner drew her breath in sharply. “That is not wise, Elizabeth,” she warned.

  “I know,” Elizabeth said. “But there is never a good time to confess.”

  “I disagree. The best time to confess is immediately. But perhaps, now that you are expecting, you might want to tell him that news first, to put him in a better frame of mind.”

  Elizabeth nodd
ed. “I have thought that myself.”

  “But you must tell him,” Mrs. Gardiner insisted.

  “I know.” Elizabeth wanted to tell him the truth, but she did not want to jeopardize their happiness together. The remainder of her conversation with her aunt was stilted and she was relieved when it was time to return to Darcy House.

  Darcy was not home when she arrived. Their butler said he was out for the day and would return for dinner.

  That was unlike Darcy to make appointments without telling her, but she supposed that he had his secrets too. She was in her sitting room, looking out a window upon the grounds of Cavendish Square, when one of the footmen brought her a letter addressed to Mrs. Darcy.

  Elizabeth knew of few people who would write to her. She opened the letter and was startled by the salutation: Dearest Sister.

  She quickly looked down at the signature: Your loving brother, George Wickham.

  Elizabeth shuddered, then read the letter quickly.

  Imagine my surprise when I saw you and Mr. Darcy leaving a milliner’s shop the other day. I held back, not knowing what to think, but when I asked at the shop I learned that you were Mrs. Darcy now. Well done. I don’t know how you managed to secure his affections, but even with his blindness, he was one of England’s most eligible gentlemen.

  Elizabeth felt herself flush with shame. Naturally Wickham would view her as a mercenary. She continued to read:

  Considering my past history with Mr. Darcy, I can understand your not inviting your sister and me to the wedding, but I do think you should have told your family, particularly your mother.

  It would have given your mother peace in her final hours to know that you were finally happily situated.

  Elizabeth felt a moment’s regret that her relationship with her mother had been an unhappy one, but that did not keep her from finishing the letter. Wickham wrote: