Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions

by Valerie Lennox

  The worst of it all was that she simply missed him.

  She knew she could not go back to him, and that all was spoiled between them.

  For a long time, she had wanted nothing more than him, and she had been willing to do anything to have him. Now, however, she could not have him at all, because he was not worthy of her.

  And she realized now, that back then, back when she was calling on Miss de Bourgh or chasing him to Rosings, it hadn’t been just Darcy she was chasing, but herself. Some hidden, brave part of herself that had awoken on the deck of a pirate ship, a part of her that scorned propriety and sought out fire.

  She had not saved Darcy, but she had saved herself.

  And she would need that hidden part of herself now. She would need all her strength.

  * * *

  It took a long time for Darcy to make his way to the Fitzwilliam country home. Not because the journey itself was especially arduous, but because he kept sleeping in late at every inn where he took rest and then having very few daylight hours to travel.

  But eventually, he arrived at last.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam met him in the drive as he tumbled out of his carriage. “You look dreadful.”

  “I feel dreadful,” said Darcy.

  “As you should.”

  “Oh, yes, I owe you an apology. A host of apologies. But I’ve not come for that, I’m afraid. I’ve come for help.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam smirked. “It’s about time.”

  And thus began the hell again.

  Days bled into nights, and he screamed and swore and sweat and begged, and called everyone in the household all manner of horrible names. He vomited and smashed his hands bloody against doors and tore out handfuls of his own hair. He was convinced he had made a mistake. He could not get free of the laudanum. There was no way he could do such a thing. He could not live without it.

  Surely, he thought over and over, surely it was the only thing on earth or the sea or in the heavens that he truly loved.

  And then he would think of Elizabeth, and he would know it wasn’t true.

  “Elizabeth,” he would whisper in those moments. “I love Elizabeth.”

  And their child. He had thought he would never marry, never sire an heir. He had thought the opium had stolen that from him. But Elizabeth had weaned him from the stuff long enough to make a miracle happen, and he had spit in her face for it.

  She would probably never forgive him.

  She shouldn’t forgive him.

  And yet, he had to go to her and beg for her forgiveness anyway. Because even if she couldn’t absolve him, he owed it to her to tell her that he had wronged her. And he must spend every hour of every moment for the rest of his life trying to make it right by her.

  So, he fought on.

  Days passed and then weeks and then months.

  Two months on, he felt strong again. He wanted to go to her then, but Colonel Fitzwilliam wouldn’t allow it. He said that Darcy needed more time to be sure he was free of the dependency. And besides, Darcy wasn’t strong, no matter how he felt. He was skin and bone. He had not been eating properly or taking care of himself in a very long time.

  So, it was months and months more before Darcy left the Fitzwilliam home. But eventually, he did. He took a roundabout way to Hertfordshire, passing by his sister’s grave.

  He had never visited it.

  He got out of his coach and he walked through fields of tall grass until he found the headstone. She was buried with his parents. By avoiding her grave, he had avoided theirs as well.

  At the sight of all of his family there, in the ground, he was overcome.

  He fell to his knees.

  He cried.

  He had been crying a lot since coming off the opium. It was embarrassing, but it seemed that he had been using the drug to blunt his emotions for a long time. Now, he had years of pent-up tears that needed to come out. At least no one could see him here, weeping like an old woman over the graves.

  He choked out unintelligible apologies. For not carrying on the family line, for bringing shame to the Darcy name, for the way he had treated Georgiana, for nearly losing all of his inheritance, for possibly letting the Darcy heir slip away.

  When he was done, there was no response except the wind in the trees.

  And yet, he felt lighter somehow.

  He continued on his way to Hertfordshire, to Netherfield, where he would apologize again, this time to his living bride.

  * * *

  “Darcy,” said Mr. Bingley, shaking his hand. “It’s been too long.”

  “That it has,” said Darcy, regarding his old friend. He felt as if he had known Bingley in some other life. “How are your, er, your sisters?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Hurst just had, dear me, her fourth little one, and Mrs. Halloway—Caroline, you knew her as—had twins last January.”

  “So, they are happy,” said Darcy.

  “Oh, quite,” said Bingley.

  “Good,” said Darcy.

  “Good,” said Bingley.

  They were silent.

  Darcy looked around the drawing room. He was waiting for Elizabeth to come down. Someone had been sent to fetch her, and he was simply waiting here with Bingley.

  “You look, er, well,” said Bingley.

  Darcy laughed wearily. “You do not need to exaggerate, old friend. I’m quite aware that I am not at my best. But I will be. And I must see my wife. Could you send someone to check on her?”

  Bingley stood up. “I shall do exactly that,” he said, and strode out of the room.

  Darcy was left alone for nearly a quarter of an hour. He supposed Bingley had simply been looking for an excuse to get away from him. He was probably cross, Darcy supposed. Since his marriage to Elizabeth had not been strictly proper, there had likely been some affect on her family members. Darcy should have apologized to Bingley. He should apologize to everyone.

  When someone did enter the room, it was not Bingley nor Elizabeth, but rather Bingley’s wife, Elizabeth’s sister, Jane.

  Darcy stood. “Mrs. Bingley.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said. “I’m afraid that Mrs. Darcy does not wish to see you.”

  Darcy winced. “All right. I suppose that’s fair. I can see why she would not wish that. I have a letter.” He felt inside his pocket and drew it out. He had written it in case Elizabeth wanted nothing more to do with him. He handed the letter over. “Would you give this to her?”

  Mrs. Bingley took the letter gingerly. “I think you ought to go.”

  Darcy nodded. “Indeed. I apologize for having trespassed on your time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Elizabeth stood up from the fire place in the drawing room, a scrap of paper in her hand. It was covered in very familiar, very even handwriting. “Where did this come from?” her voice was shaking.

  It was not easy to keep her emotions in check these days. It was not easy to do anything. Elizabeth was the size of a ship, and she could hardly do anything without her huge belly getting in the way of everything.

  “What?” said her sister Jane.

  “This is a letter,” said Elizabeth. “In Mr. Darcy’s handwriting. How did it come to be lying on the floor near the fireplace in here?”

  Jane flinched. “Oh, dear. I had not realized that I had not got all of it into the fire.”

  “Jane! He wrote me a letter? You burned it?”

  “He is horrid, Lizzy. He does not deserve you. He has done nothing but villainous, awful things since you met him.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not all villainous things.”

  “What good has he possibly wrought?”

  “He showed me that I mattered,” said Elizabeth.

  “Oh, Lizzy, don’t be ridiculous. You have always mattered to me. You know that I love you—”

  “But I didn’t matter to myself,” said Elizabeth. “Why did you hide the letter from me?”

  “He has been coming by daily,” said Jane. “Calling on you. Bringing
letters. Every day I tear them up. In fact, I just dismissed him, not a half an hour ago. He is persistent, though, I will give him that.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “He was here? In this very room? He came to see me?”

  Jane sighed.

  Elizabeth clenched her hands into fists. “Oh, I shall never forgive you for this! How dare you send him away and never tell me he came? How dare you burn his letters?”

  “Lizzy—”

  “No!” Elizabeth stalked out of the room, and then she was so angry, that she just kept walking. Out of the house onto the grounds. She walked as quickly as she could off into the fields. She wanted to walk until she couldn’t even see Netherfield anymore.

  And so she did.

  At which point she realized that she should not exert herself so when she was this far gone with child. She was quite tired, and now she only wanted to sit down and rest, but there was nowhere to do so. She clutched her rounded stomach and looked around at the grass and trees and wondered what she was going to do.

  She did not think she had it in her to walk all the way back to Netherfield.

  But she had walked in the direction of Longbourn. Was it closer to just keep going?

  And that was when she noticed that those odd twinges she was feeling were coming at regular intervals.

  Oh, dear Lord. She was going into labor. Out here in the middle of nowhere.

  Panic seized her. She knew that with her first babe, it might be a day or two from the beginning of her labor until delivery, so she was probably in no danger of delivering the babe in the wilderness here. But it might not be so. Some women did go quickly.

  Lord.

  She knew that she needed to get back to Netherfield. That was where the chamber had been prepared for her lying in, and that was where she had planned to have the baby. She needed to walk.

  But she was exhausted from walking already. She wanted to curl up on the ground and take a nap.

  Instead, she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. She decided, however, that she would be better off walking on the road, and she set herself in that direction.

  After some time, she had to stop to rest.

  The twinges she was feeling seemed to be growing stronger and more regular, but they were not yet painful. Still, they were growing a bit uncomfortable. She found that all she wanted to do was to walk after all.

  She set back off.

  After some time, she emerged on the road. And she was startled to find someone there. A man was waving his arms and yelling something ridiculous like, “Buttercup! Buttercup, you get back here!”

  And then she recognized him. He was not gaunt and thin anymore, but he was not yet as robust as he had been when she first met him. “Mr. Darcy?”

  He turned around. “Elizabeth!” He looked her over and then hurried across the road to her. “What are you doing? You are walking around this far from Netherfield in your condition? You must try to take care. You should sit down.” He looked around for somewhere for her to sit, and there was nowhere.

  “Why are you screaming Buttercup? Is it one of your opium dreams?”

  “What? No. I have written you that I have gotten free of the laudanum. Buttercup is my horse. She has bucked me out on the ground and run off and I can’t find the blasted creature.”

  “Free of the laudanum?”

  “These six months now,” he said.

  “Truly?” She did not dare hope it was true. But he looked so strong.

  “Truly.” He raised his voice. “Buttercup? Return at once, you dratted beast!” He turned back to Elizabeth. “You have not been reading my letters.” His face fell. “I suppose I understand that. I suppose you don’t want to see me now, either.”

  “I—” She winced as a particularly uncomfortable twinge overtook her.

  “What?” he said. “What is it? Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said.

  He looked her over. “You know, I must say, Elizabeth, you have never been more beautiful. I imagine you don’t want to hear any such thing from me right now, as you probably wish I would go away. But, you see, I have no horse, and so I cannot go anywhere, and I cannot help it. You are quite lovely. You are so bright and full of life and… and…” His gaze strayed to her belly, and his eyes shone, as if they were filling with tears.

  “And huge?” she said. “That’s what I am, after all, enormous. I’m not at all beautiful.”

  “Listen, you must let me apologize to you. I know that you want nothing to do with me, and I will respect that. I will leave you alone. I will never see you again if that is what you want. But you must let me tell you how dreadfully sorry I am for everything awful I have ever done to you. From bringing you onto a pirate ship, to nearly allowing you to be ravaged by those men, to not protecting you from myself, to abandoning you and sending you back to England when I only wanted you near me, to not seeking you out the moment I arrived and marrying you at once. And for everything that I have done after our marriage. Ignoring you and neglecting you. And forgetting that we made love, and accusing you of being unfaithful to me, and telling you to leave. And the opium. My God, for every blasted awful thing I did when I was under the influence of the opium. For not being a man, but a wretched creature. I am so frightfully sorry for it all. I know it doesn’t make up for anything. I don’t expect things to be mended between us. I know you are angry, and I understand that.”

  She felt the need to move back and forth a bit, pacing as he talked. It made the twinges easier to deal with.

  “You must let me provide for you and for our child, though. Even if you will not let me near the child. That is understandable. I see why you would do it. I would wish to see him, of course, but if you will not allow it, I will accept it. But let me find you a house to live in and let me buy you both clothes and toys for the baby and everything either of you need. Just let me do something, anything, please, to make some sort of amends for all the pain I’ve caused and—” He cocked his head. “Why do you keep making those faces? And why do you say nothing?”

  “I…” She continued to pace. “Listen, I don’t think I should forgive you. That is, I think you should grovel, get down in the mud and put your face in it, prostrate yourself, and beg me for forgiveness and then I should still not forgive you, because you don’t deserve it.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” He started to get down on his knees.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting prostrate on the ground, of course.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Well, you said—”

  “I know what I said. Don’t tell me what I said.” She cringed. “Ah, dear Lord.”

  “What is it? Are you in pain?”

  “It is normal,” said Elizabeth. “It is only the beginning stages, and I have been present at my sisters’ births, and it may take quite a long time before—”

  “What are you saying?” His face had gone white. “You are…? The babe is coming?”

  “Well, not right at this moment, but yes. Sometime soon.”

  Darcy sank his hands into his hair and turned in a circle. “Buttercup!” he screeched at the top of his lungs.

  “Listen, I was not finished,” said Elizabeth. “I shouldn’t forgive you. You don’t deserve to be forgiven. And if you should spend years trying to make amends, it would never be enough, because you don’t know how it broke me when you accused me of trying to pass off another man’s child as your own.”

  “Well, I was stupid,” said Darcy. “I was an utter idiot. And I am sorry. I am so sorry. You would have been well within your rights to have done it anyway. I was no kind of husband to you.”

  “You were stupid,” said Elizabeth. “You were quite, quite stupid, and I hated you in that moment. I despaired. Do you realize that I once wanted you more than anything on earth? Do you realize that I was once so desperate to be near you that I would have done anything at all? And then you, sneering in my face like that?” Sh
e clenched her hands into fists.

  His face fell. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

  She was quiet.

  He was also quiet, but only for a few moments. “Listen, perhaps we should continue this at another time,” said Darcy. “Because you are… well, you can’t be out here. We have to get you home. You cannot have our baby on the road.”

  “There is no danger of—” She moaned. “Oh, God, that hurts.” The truth was, the pain was getting worse at an alarming rate, and the twinges—which were more than twinges now—seemed to be coming closer and closer together. She gritted her teeth and then the pain passed. She sighed and then she began to pace again. “You don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

  “No, I don’t. And you don’t have to forgive me,” he said. “But what should I do? Should we walk together, back to Netherfield, or should I go ahead and get a coach and bring it back for you as quickly as I can? I can run there, Elizabeth. You wait, and I will—”

  “No,” she said, feeling panicked. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone on the road, laboring to bring a babe into the world.”

  “All right,” he said, swallowing. “All right, then, we shall go together.” He held out his hand. “Come.”

  She reached out and grasped his hand. “All right.”

  They walked.

  But now the pain was getting harder to walk through. She paused, crying out.

  Darcy was alarmed. “Elizabeth, should you be on your feet? Perhaps you must let me go run ahead for help.”

  “No, no, no,” she moaned. “No, you have abandoned me far too many times. You will stay with me, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You will stay with me now, and I will not let you go.”

  “All right,” he said, looking at her and nodding. There was panic all over his countenance. “I swear it, then, I will not leave you.” His grip on her hand tightened.

  And then, in the distance, Elizabeth heard the rumble of thunder.

  She groaned. “This can’t get any worse, can it?”

  “We need to walk,” said Darcy in a low and urgent voice. “Come now, Elizabeth, we must go.”

  She forced herself to move with him, but she was beginning to feel blindly terrified, because there was very intense pain now every time that she had a—she couldn’t even call it a twinge anymore, it was far worse. The pains were coming more quickly now, and they were quite bad. She was capable of walking through it. The walking even seemed to help ease the pain, but she was gasping and crying out each time one of the pains hit her.