Mr. Darcy’s Second Chance
A little different story about a man who got another chance.
“No matter what, no matter how, where or who,
You can almost always turn around
And get a second chance.”
Copyright 2017 Gillian Smith
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
The Epilogue
Chapter 1
“I tell myself I am searching for something.
But more and more, it feels like I am wandering,
Waiting for something to happen to me,
Something that will change everything
Something that my whole life has been leading up to.”
- Khaled Hosseini
The air was so moist that it bordered on being solid rather than vapour. His shirt, clean the previous day, now stuck to his skin, damp and limp. Sweat prickled his eyes, and the July, Scottish sun glared down at him through the treetops, scorching the top of his head through his hat. Like yesterday and the day before and the handfuls of days before that which had now blurred together. The sun path across the sky seemed to drag on, ignoring the constraints of time and logic. The man felt disconnected from where he'd begun, yet with no end in sight.
He often heard voices behind his back, "Just go home, Darcy". He always wanted to go back. He never did though. He continued riding. He sighed and gave Brick a nudge with his heels so the big horse ambled a little faster.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tall man. His tanned face was a handsome blend of angles, with brown eyes. Underneath his hat, hair was dark and a little curly. Two days ago, he'd been clean-shaven, but now stubble sprouted from his cheeks and jawline.
As his horse lengthened across the road, he found two peasants standing a little too close to a lone woman who didn't look like want to be bothered.
"Gentlemen, leave her alone," he yelled. "Let her be."
"We're paying our respects," the tallest man called not glancing at Darcy approaching behind him. "Mind your own business."
The man stepped aside and Darcy could see the pronounced roundness of the young lady's abdomen.
"Leave her alone," he repeated authoritatively and handed his gun attached to his belt. The men turned, not happy being ordered around but startled when they saw the gentleman's weapon. They remounted their horses and disappeared into the cypress trees.
The woman sighed as the noise of their animal's hooves faded away. Darcy noticed packages on the ground at her feet.
"Are you all right, Ma'am?" The man asked, swinging down from the saddle and looking at her swollen stomach. "Where is your husband?"
Aside from the fact that no lady should be out without a male escort in this area, she was too far gone to be walking anywhere in the sun in this condition.
"Yes, I am fine, thank you," she answered, tucking a few strays strands of curly dark hair back underneath her bonnet. His ear detected a soft British-southern accent. When she looked up, squinting at him in the sun, he got a glimpse of fine features on a light, pretty, heart-shaped face, with fine dark eyes and lips formed into a determined line.
"Ma'am, may I help you with these?" he asked, remembering his manners and nodding to the parcels she bent to pull up, missing them by several inches as she struggled to reach over her belly. "I will help you with these," he pronounced when she didn't answer.
"I am fine," she repeated for his edification, as though he might not have heard her the first time.
"I didn't mean you were not," he responded, astonished at her lack of gratitude. He squatted down, picking up what turned out to be ten-pound bags of tomatoes and eggs she must have been hoarding.
She reached for the sacks but he stepped back, thinking she needed nothing else to carry besides that baby. "Thank you for your help, sir," she said, offering her arms again.
"I'm not the villain, Ma'am. I am a gentleman. And I'm not interested in your packages but I can carry them for you. Or put them on my horse. You shouldn't be out without an escort wherever it is you are going. Where are you going?"
"A village," she answered, observing as he secured the bags on his saddle.
"And which direction would the village be?" He'd gotten turned around and all the empty area of with numerous trees had looked alike.
"Three miles west."
"You had intended to walk three miles carrying these?" He asked astonished.
She folded her arms above her abdomen as if vexed that he would dare question her. The part of him accustomed to obedient women wanted just leave this headstrong young lady and her packages as she asked but his worried, lonely and gentlemanly nature dismissed that idea.
"I would send a servant but my husband's servants left..." she spoke out, her rhythmic British accent rounding her consonants. "I would drive in a gig but the horses went with the servants. I would ask my husband to go but he left too and don't know when he backs. I would wait but time will not wait on me much longer," she explained as he finished securing her parcels to his saddle. "I appreciate your help, sir. I do not intend to be rude or ungrateful. Those men... I am just tired and a little upset."
"Both are understandable. Would you allow me to accompany you where you are going?"
"I could not impose."
"But if I was going in that direction…" he offered.
"But you are not," she reminded him.
In answer, he took the horse's reins and led Brick in a tight half-circle so he now faced west. He gave her a half-grin, and she smiled back in amusement.
"In that case, yes, sir. I would be grateful for the escort," she agreed.
When she smiled and glanced at him with her fine eyes, the tingling at the back of his neck drained down his spine and produced an unusual warmth in his belly. Darcy blinked and rubbed one hand across his brow, clearing away the sweat and the unique sensation.
"I-I can put you on Brick and go along with him," he said, hesitating over his words.
"It is all right. I can walk."
"All right," he responded as he led his mount by the reins, walking to accommodate her pace. She was petite. He could have rested his chin on top of her head. "My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in England. Since we will travel companions for."
"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I am Mrs. Daniels." She offered her hand awkwardly, and he glanced at his own, noticing it lacked a glove and was none too clean as he shook hers. "Mrs. Elizabeth Daniels."
"I am pleased to meet you, Ma'am." He bowed.
She nodded, and he walked again, thinking their salutations were done. Instead of following, she stopped, putting a hand on her abdomen, a curious expression crossing her face. "I need a second, please, Mr. Darcy."
He waited, looking at her and trying to figure out a tactful way to say it. A delicacy and diplomacy came as naturally as setting himself afire, so he said, "Ma'am, you need to go home and rest. It is too hot for you to be going anywhere in your condition."
"I need things for the baby," she insisted, taking a deep breath and standing up straighter. "The servants took everything from the house."
"Let me take you home and I'll go to village and trade for whatever you need," he proposed. "I am going anyway and I can ride there and back by nightfall."
"Or you could take my tomatoes and eggs and disappear," she responded, putting her hands on the small of her back as if it ached.
"Yes, I could. But I won't."
"How can I be sure?"
H
e considered a moment, then on impulse slipped his wedding ring off his finger, offering it to her. "Here. I do not want your tomatoes or eggs, Ma'am. I will come back for that."
The heat must affect his judgement. Otherwise, he didn't know what could have possessed him. He had a wallet full of coins if he wanted to offer her collateral as assurance he would return. His wedding band hadn't left his finger in eleven years. His hand already felt strangely light and bare without it. He wanted to retract the offer, but he didn't.
"Many men would be happy to be free of such tethers." She paused, searching for a word.
"Many men would." The ring shone in the afternoon sun as he continued to hold it out between his thumb and forefinger. "I am not one of those men," he said. "You will have my life. All I will have is your food."
She looked up, scanning his face for something seeming to find it, lowered her eyes and held out her palm for the heavy gold band.
*~~*~~*
Darcy wasn't sure of the propriety of entering a deserted mansion. Obviously, no butler would greet him but it looked awkward to barge in. He pushed the front door open, knocking and calling for her, his voice ringing in the empty hall. When she didn't respond, he ventured deeper inside, passing through what had once been a house in all its richness but was now a damaged shell. Discoloured squares of wallpaper marked where paintings had hung and the mahogany floor and furniture looked naked, stripped of every object of value.
"Here," she called from the back of the house, her voice sounding petty and lost in the vast darkness of the kitchen. "I am here, sir."
"I didn't plan to be gone so long. I am sorry if I worried you, Ma'am," Darcy apologised, placing the bags on the kitchen table, fumbling in the flickering candlelight. "You said the nearest village was three miles away but the nearest place to trade for anything at a reasonable price is Dumfries. I had thought I could be back yesterday."
"I was not worried, Mr. Darcy," she whispered from the shadows.
"You should be worried living here alone. I would not be happy if you were my wife," he scolded as he untied the bundles. "There is no one for miles."
He picked up the candle and stepped closer to her voice and found her crouched near the cold fireplace, her arms cradling her abdomen. "What if something would-"
He saw her jaw open as her teeth clenched, eyes closing and head leaning back in pain.
"Is it time, do you think?"
She nodded, keeping her eyes closed and waiting for the contraction to pass.
"Is there a midwife? A neighbour? I will get them. Is there anyone, Ma'am?"
"No," she managed, breathing out. "I will be fine."
"All right. Is there anything I can do?"
"No. I am grateful for all you have already, Mr.-" She stopped again, panting as drops of sweat appeared on her forehead.
"I, uh, um," Darcy said. "I will just wait then, and, uh, make sure you are fine. Outside. I will wait outside."
"You do that, Mr. Darcy," she answered between shallow breaths. "That would be very helpful."
He wondered if he was being teased but he wasn't sure and she seemed focused on other things. He assured himself she probably had a dozen children elsewhere and could manage this by herself whether she looked to be out of her teens and scared out of her wits.
"All right, I will just, uh-" He backed out of the kitchen afraid to look away when she groaned, her body convulsing. "Oh, Jesus Christ!" he blasted, turning back to her. "I am taking you to bed," he decided, glad to be of some use. Helping her stand, Darcy asked urgently, "Which way is your room?"
"But we only just met."
"I only mean you should lie-" he explained before he realised he was teased again.
He helped her to an adjacent room that had probably once belonged to the cook, then laid her down and stood nervously at the end of the bed. "I will be outside. Just call out if you need me," he whispered, trying not to disturb her, and this time had made it all the way to the door before another contraction hit and she groaned.
"There must be anything I can do," he urged, hovering over her once more.
When she didn't respond he reached for her hand a little anxious, kneeling beside the rusty iron bed.
"I am fine," she assured him as the pain passed, closing her eyes so she could rest a few seconds.
"Do you want me to leave?"
She shook her head no and asked, "Do you have children, Mr. Darcy?"
"I... Yes, Anne and I have a son. Edward."
"Tell me about Edward," she asked.
"He's handsome. And talented. What do you want me to tell you, Ma'am?"
"Tell me about anything outside this room. Tell me about your family, Mr. Darcy. How long since you have seen them?”
"I... More days and nights than I want to count," he mumbled, holding her damp hand. "I left home a few months ago," he added, searching for something to say. "I needed... I had business to the north."
"In Scotland?"
"Yes..."
She scooted farther up in bed, half-sitting and propping herself against the headboard. She rested her head against the pillow and took long, slow breaths.
"You are still all right? Nothing is wrong?" Darcy asked, keeping his eyes focused on her face rather than anything that might happen below her waist. "Do you know what to do?"
"My aunt was a midwife. And my cats had kittens," she murmured, managing a weary smile.
He waited as the shadows washed over her face, marvelling at how she could find any comfort in his presence. Both their medical expertise combined made up half a nurse, and it was not his body this child was trying to come out of.
"What can I do to help?"
"Please keep talking. You have a nice voice."
A little abashed at her compliment, he blinked, and recovered by choosing a new topic, "Anne and I grew up together. We are cousins. We married after my mother had died eleven years ago. Ed came not long after. We wanted more children but Anne was unwell. There was a child coming, though, the last time I saw her."
"Your wife is with child?"
He nodded without thinking, putting his arm around her shoulders to help lift since she seemed to want to sit up further. "And I plan to be pacing my regular route in the upstairs hallway while the doctor delivers my daughter," he promised her, wondering what possessed him to say that.
*~~*~~*
"Can you hear me, Ma'am?" Darcy asked, looking at her face for any response. "Ma'am, it is Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Daniels? Elizabeth? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Her fingers pressed against his and he squeezed back, massaging her palm with his thumb.
"Thank God. There you are," he said softly, breathing out. She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. "I was worried."
"Baby?" she asked, looking from side to side in the tiny, shadowy room.
The candle had died hours ago, leaving Darcy to deliver, wash, and wrap the newborn by moonlight, which might have been a partial blessing in disguise.
"Be still. You were bleeding and I do not want it to start again," Darcy hushed her. "You have a little girl. Are you all right?"
She nodded, looking pale. He was unsure what had happened except that there had been pushing and screaming, some from him, and underneath lots of blood and slime and tears, and suddenly a new human being.
"That was the most amazing, miraculous, horrible thing I have ever seen. Giving birth, I mean, not your daughter. She is beautiful."
"Is she?" she murmured, turning her head to see. Darcy shifted the tiny bundle of towels in the crook of his arm so she could see the child's face, now cleaner and less red than it had been earlier. Her hand left his, and he laid the bundle beside her placing her arm on the child. "She is perfect, Ma'am."
"Yes, she is." She pushed away the towel, stroking the infant's tiny hand, marvelling at the miniature fingernails. "Hello, little girl," she whispered the baby who pursed her lips in response.
As he watched her holding her newborn daughter, a strange sens
ation came over him, crept down his backbone as it had on the road the previous day. He felt the odd urge to push her dark hair back from her face and kiss her forehead with gentle touch if she was his wife rather than a stranger and the child was theirs instead of hers. It seemed second nature to remain on the bed beside her and bend close, butterflies swarming in his stomach as he admired the baby with her. The child would nurse and then sleep. He would lay down beside Elizabeth, keeping watch as she rested.
He did none of those things, of course.
"So many miracles in one small form. It is fascinating what flesh, love, and God can produce," he whispered instead, watching her as the first flickers of dawn appeared on the horizon. "Welcome to the world, little one. Such as it is."
*~~*~~*
He knew he wasn't one of those men who could set women's hearts fluttering with his fancy manners and elaborate compliments, but he wasn't a tongue-tied adolescent anymore, either. Darcy could normally manage to string a sentence together, sometimes fairly eloquently, to get his point across, and he well knew of the differences between the male and the female of the species, so he was startled at his sudden bashfulness around her.
Once the crisis of giving birth had passed, and he helped her make to her bedroom after she had washed up, he felt the instant desire to be anywhere else, like a groom who has just spent his first night with his bride and was afraid to face her the next morning. What had seemed perfectly acceptable in the darkness now made his face feel hot and caused him resting in a chair across the room, staring intently at a spot on the wall above the headboard. He was reluctant to leave her alone so soon, so he adopted a distant, solicitous air, pretending he didn't know how that child had come into the world.
Since Darcy was the self-appointed cook, they were subsisting on whatever combination of eggs, vegetables, fruits, salt, and water he could create. She ate everything without complaint, listened as he rambled on, eager to fill up the silence, nodded occasionally, and fell asleep in the middle of a story which he didn't take personally. She had said he had a nice voice, which was the first compliment he'd received from a woman in a long time. Granted, it had been a married woman in labour, but still.
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