Mr Darcy's Second Chance

by Gillian Smith

  Just then the door opened and the butler, Mr. Reynolds, greeted them. After him, an older lady appeared who was immediately introduced to Elizabeth as Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper. The woman fussed over poor baby sleeping on Elizabeth's arm and suggested taking the infant to the nursery, which already had been prepared for the child.

  Darcy's great grandfather's wall clock chimed nine, and then went back to its polite ticking, acting as if nothing had happened. A landscape Anne had painted hung on the wall of the front parlour where he and Elizabeth were waiting for the tea. Through the open door, he could see the music room and the pianoforte which Darcy bought for Georgiana for her eleventh birthday.

  After the tea and few sentence exchange with Mrs. Reynolds, Darcy led Elizabeth to the stairs. He raised the candle in one hand and reach out the second arm to his wife. The staircase was grand and spiralled gracefully up to the landing.

  The highlight of the house had been the ballroom on the first floor, although it hasn't been holding the real ball since the death of Lady Anne, Darcy's mother. The only use the ballroom ever got was on rainy days when Edward and Darcy had played ball there or Georgiana having dance classes. The door was ajar now and the big room was dark and empty.

  The door to Georgiana's bedroom was closed and Darcy put his hand on the knob, not sure if he wanted to open it or not.

  "Are you all right, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, startling him.

  The candle cast a soft glow over her face, making her dark eyes look bottomless, as though she could see directly into his soul.

  "I'm fine," he lied, letting go of the knob.

  They passed his sister bedroom and came into the nursery where their daughter was sleeping in the new cradle. Darcy also noticed that the room had new wallpapers, drawers of clean diapers, blankets, and baby clothes. Mrs. Reynolds again proved that she was irreplaceable.

  "Is the nursery all right?" He asked his wife.

  "It is wonderful. This house is very- It is very grand." She admitted with sincerity.

  "Good," he smiled. "This is your home now, Elizabeth. You are its mistress now." He said with the pride. She didn't respond. The house was so large and she looked overwhelmed by it.

  They walked to the master bedroom at end of the hall. The big room held the same carved bed, the same furniture, but everything else had been removed. Anne's clothes were gone from her dressing room and her perfume bottles and hairbrushes were missing from the dressing table. The room smelled like lavender oil and clean linens instead of like her. There was no trace any woman had ever been there. It was as though time had stopped in this house and erased one woman's life before it restarted.

  "Are you all right, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked once more, standing in the centre of the bedroom.

  "You have already asked me and I have already answered," he replied politely. "I am fine. How are you?"

  "There are ghosts here."

  He couldn't tell if she was speaking literally or figuratively, so he didn't respond.

  "Is there anything I can do, Mr. Darcy?"

  "No. You must be tired," he said. "It is late. Long pastime for bed."

  "Yes," she agreed.

  She stepped a little closer, still good two yards from where he sat. Seeming uncertain what to do, she unbuttoned the front of her dress.

  "Elizabeth…" he whispered, with no thought how to finish his sentence.

  She paused, her fingers still holding the silk fabric.

  "I-" he started and trailed off again, not finishing whatever he'd intended to say.

  He fixed his eyes on the empty bed behind her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shared it with Anne.

  It was a very long time before he noticed Elizabeth again, who was still standing before him with her bodice partially open.

  "Is this, is this your bedroom, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, breaking the silence. "Did you mean that I should leave? Do you and your wife sleep separately?"

  "No," he whispered hoarsely. "Please do not leave..."

  "...me," he added silently.

  "I don't."

  "You are my wife, Elizabeth," he reminded both of them. "And, no, you and I don't sleep separately."

  She nodded very slightly. "Come then," she invited softly.

  He stood and was in front of her in two steps, his mouth on hers, his hands cupping her face. He needed something warm and real to put his arms around to keep away the darkness. She was warm and real and if he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself she loved him. Not because he thought she really did but because he desperately needed her to.

  He kissed her like he had that day beside the road, not holding back or apologising for desiring her. And like she had that day, she responded putting her arms around his neck and parting her lips and letting the rest of the world fall away.

  Now experienced at undressing a woman, Darcy unfastened the front of her dress with one hand, stripping it off. The petticoats and corset came off next. Taking off the rest of her clothes seemed like too much time and trouble, so he picked her up, her legs around his hips and set her on the edge of the bed.

  He talked to her in murmurs and touches rather than words and heard her assuring him it was all well. She was all right. He was all right. He nodded, opening his eyes to watch her as he penetrated deep inside her. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and she pressed her forehead against his chest, moaning softly. He felt welcome inside her. She'd weighed the consequences and chosen to marry him, despite what just about anyone on the planet, including Darcy, would have advised her to do. She looked up, watching him in return, and he rocked his hips against hers, never breaking eye contact.

  When it was over, he waited while Elizabeth finished undressing, held her until she seemed to fall asleep and then tucked the blankets around her. He removed his boots and stretched out on the sofa in the master bedroom, in the corner opposite the bed. After a few minutes, she got up, nude, took his hand and led him back to bed. The clock on the wall struck midnight and rained outside.

  *~~*~~*

  "It is still very early," he told her through chattering teeth, as he slid beneath the covers. It was too soon for a maid to come and light a fire in the fireplace.

  Still awake after nursing Jane, Elizabeth moved toward him, thoughtfully bringing all the heat in the bed with her. To get him to stop shivering, she put her arms around him, fitting her naked, warm body against his.

  She purred as he kissed down her neck, across her collarbone, then gently to her breast. He reached up, lacing his fingers through hers while her other hand rested lightly on the back of his head.

  With Elizabeth, he never felt he was pushing her to do something she'd rather avoid. She treated lovemaking as a normal part of life. Didn't seem to find it painful or any more embarrassing or distasteful than stitching his shirt. She wanted to please him. He only had to tell her what he wished for.

  There was a difference between being allowed and being accepted and he felt accepted. She enjoyed being close. Touching, kissing, caressing or she was good enough at pretending to convince him. It wasn't hard to fool a man who desperately wanted to be fooled. Not much could make intimacy bad for a man but a thousand little things can make it better and feel welcome was one of them.

  If he could just stay in bed with her in his arms, he might face the coming day.

  "You're wonderful," he whispered to her. "I love you" was a betrayal and "Thank you" seemed pitiful, so he repeated, "You are. I've missed you."

  "You have missed me?" she murmured, rolling her thumbs along the lower vertebrae of his spine and opening her legs.

  He wasn't sure why he'd said that and he wasn't inclined to stop and think about it, so he answered, "It's a long walk to the nursery and back."

  He pressed his erection against her and closed his eyes, savouring the prospect of slow lovemaking before he began what was sure to be a trying day.

  "It is a trip to the nursery that does this to you?"

  Darcy abruptly sto
pped and pushed away from her. "No," he said icily. "It is not."

  She stared at him, her forehead wrinkled and her chest and neck reddened from the stubble on his face.

  "I'm going to see my steward," he suddenly decided, sitting up. "The maid and Jane's nurse name is Lillian. Mrs. Reynolds informed her that she should come here at six. She'll see to anything you and Jane need and she'll be polite about it or I'll have her head. And in the case, talk with Mrs. Reynolds if something more you would need."

  "I don't understand. Why are you angry?"

  "I'm not angry," he lied, his words clipped. He got as far as the edge of the bed before he exploded, "Why did you say it?" He searched for the right words. "Do you think I would harm her?"

  The bed shifted as Elizabeth sat up. She tried to touch him and he jerked away. "I was being funny. Silly."

  "You think this is funny?"

  "I meant you were only gone a few minutes, and you said you had missed me. I thought it was funny you could miss me in five minutes. Maybe I said it wrong. What do you mean to harm her? You care for Jane. You love her. You ask me a hundred times a day if I think she is all right. I see you with her. I hear you say you are her Papa. Why would you harm her? I don't understand."

  He exhaled slowly, knowing he had overreacted. "No, of course. I would never hurt her."

  "Then what? Please tell me."

  For a heartbeat, he thought about it and for the first time since before Edward was born, he almost told someone the truth. Still sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, he answered.

  "Anne died and the baby with her. A daughter. The girl. We named her Frances."

  She put one hand, then both, on his back, silently massaging the tense knots away.

  "After Ed died, she wanted to give me another child. She didn't want to but did it for me... Wanted to do it... because she knew I wanted it. I needed an heir." He shifted, rearranging his hands on the crumpled sheet. "But she died."

  "How she died, Fitzwilliam?" He opened eyes when heard his name. To this moment she didn't call him by that.

  "Accident," he said. "People say many things, Elizabeth. I'm certain they'll relish saying them to you. You know me. Believe what you want."

  He hung his head, unwilling to look at her and examined his bare feet dangling a few inches above the rug. He was cold again. As he sat, gooseflesh formed on his shoulders and arms, and the dark eyebrows rose protectively.

  "Being here, watching you last night and this morning, I think perhaps I do know you," she finally said. "Will you come back to bed?"

  "It's past five. I'm usually up by five. I won't go back to sleep."

  "I was not asking you to go back to sleep. I asked you to come back to bed."

  "But I won't sleep," he urged.

  "I am not asking you to sleep, Mr. Darcy."

  "Oh," he responded slowly, the tips of his ears warming as he finally took her meaning. "Oh."

  He shifted back beneath the warm covers and into another hour of no-time, forgetting himself and the world outside their bed.

  *~~*~~*

  He found Elizabeth in the nursery rocking Jane and paused in the doorway to watch them.

  "Hello," he whispered when she noticed him and looked up.

  "Hello," she whispered back, smiling. "She's almost asleep. How was your day?"

  "It was fine. I haven't been here several months but my excellent steward took care of everything and my present wasn't needed." He sat on the window seat, his back to the steamy window. Outside, the storm was passing. "How are you? Is everything all right?"

  "Everything is fine, although I keep getting lost in this house."

  "Where is Lillian?" he ventured.

  "I sent her downstairs. She was upset, I think."

  Darcy sighed. He'd been afraid of that. "I'll deal with her. I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I should have been warned you. Lillian is - she was Ed's and Georgiana's nurse, and Anne's maid and very protective of us but I didn't expect her to be rude to you. I won't have that."

  "No, she was civil. She took care of Jane. Changed her, bathed her. I had the feeling I was being appraised. She asked if your sister had gone with you to Lampton and when I said she had not, she seemed confused. Lillian thought you came back home because Georgiana returned with you."

  "Oh no."

  "She has her room ready," Elizabeth continued, "When I told her you didn't bring Georgiana back, she asked if she should put her things away like she put Anne's things away. I told her not to. That you were still hoping your sister will come home. Was that all right?"

  He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on her warm lips. "That was perfect."

  *~~*~~*

  Darcy trailed his fingers over the ivory keys, aimlessly striking a few chords. The piano was in perfect tune but Anne and Georgiana were the performers. This was his favourite room. He was usually relegated to the desk or the comfortable chair in the corner with his favourite book. The pianoforte had been his present to Georgiana but the other instruments were Anne's. If it had strings or keys, Anne could play it.

  Two wooden easels stood near the windows where they could catch the morning sun. Anne's was empty, and her boxes of oil paints and brushes had been removed. A few of her paintings still hung on the walls but the unfinished ones had been stored away. Like the quilt on the bed the night before, her paint-splattered easel had "accidentally" been left behind like skeletal remains.

  "Did Anne draw this as well?" Elizabeth asked, pausing in front of the other easel.

  On the pad was a detailed charcoal sketch of a girl, a boy, and a dog in the woods. Snow covered the ground and blanketed the tree branches, pristine except for their footprints. The girl carried a puppy, his long ears flying and tongue lolling happily.

  "No, Georgie drew that," he answered. Darcy sipped from his wine glass. "Anne liked oils. Georgie likes charcoal. That's Ed and Georgie walking in the snow..."

  "I do not know art but this seems excellent. My sister Kitty draws a little too."

  Darcy set his glass on a table and joined her at the window.

  "She has a gift. She draws what she sees, just like she plays whatever she hears." Darcy folded down the sheets of paper that had been flipped over the top of the easel, "Lillian," he told her, showing her the sketch of a tall, pretty woman standing in the back house with a basket of laundry.

  He flipped again and grinned. "Me," he admitted, showing her a man astride a horse, looking heroic. "The picture was drawn from the perspective of a small child, making the rider seem god-like.

  He folded another sheet down, then stopped, his grin going from indulgent to wistful as he saw the last drawing. It was a woman in a long nightgown standing at the window where they now stood. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders and one hand rested on her pregnant belly as she stared through the glass, watching for him to come home.

  "And Anne," he said with difficulty, caught off-guard. "That's- that's Anne, right before… few days she died. Georgie drew this for me. That's our Frances," he added, rubbing his fingertip over the figure's belly, smudging the charcoal lines.

  "I didn't know she was so far along."

  "Eight months," he said, looking away from the drawing.

  "She was exquisite."

  "Yes, she was."

  "Mr. Darcy…" she began.

  "No, it's not that. Anne's been gone for seventeen months. It hurts, but the wound is not as raw as it once was. I love her and I miss her, but it's more that Georgie drew this. I know what she must have been thinking, feeling as she sketched her. I miss her so much," he said hoarsely.

  "I know you do."

  She put her head on his chest and her arms around his waist, staying there until someone in the doorway cleared her throat, making her presence was known.

  Darcy glanced up, let go of Elizabeth and stepped back, realising the maid had returned. "Lillian. Hello."

  He might have hugged her or at least shaken her hand, had his wife not been there. He didn'
t want to give Elizabeth the wrong impression and regardless, Lillian was keeping her distance, watching Mrs. Darcy.

  "It's not right. Me staying downstairs," Lillian answered tersely, shifting the toddler she carried from one hip to the other. "I belong here."

  The woman wore a black dress and white cap covering her blonde hair. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. Tall, with high cheekbones and blue eyes. She was a competent and loyal servant but lacked the dignity and seemingly effortless efficiency some house servants possessed. Rather, there was a high-strung intensity about Lillian, as though she was always at the edge of a storm.

  "We're always glad to have you," he responded. "Mrs. Darcy told me there was a misunderstanding about Georgiana. I'm sorry."

  She shook her head brusquely, not wanting to discuss it in front of his wife. "There anything I can get you, sir?"

  Lillian had once caught him perched on dining room table shrieking like a girl and about to wet his trousers because there was a spider on the floor. He'd been nine, and it had been a big spider. Anne had joined him and also refused to come down until Lillian, eleven, smashed the spider with her shoe and rescued them. Needless to say, he was only "sir" in public.

  "No, we were just looking at some of Georgie's drawings. Did you know she'd sketched you?"

  "No. Sir. I didn't, sir. Can I have my boy here?" She gestured to the dark-haired toddler she carried. "Just for today. There ain't nobody to look after him right now and he won't be no trouble."

  "That is fine," Elizabeth answered. "For today."

  Instead of accepting it, Lillian waited for Darcy to speak.

  He looked at the pretty little boy, feeling another thread being pulled from the threadbare fabric inside him. Mrs. Reynolds had told him that Lillian had given birth to an illegitimate baby, but it was unsettling seeing the child for the first time. That should have been his daughter, but it wasn't.

  "What's his name?" he asked.

  "Francis. I've been calling him Fran," Lillian responded.

  He nodded. "That's a nice name."

  She shifted the boy a second time, seeming awkward and waited for him to speak again.