Mr. Darcy's Obsession

by Abigail Reynolds

  Darcy flipped it over. Still sealed. She had never read it.

  “Do you deny, Mr. Darcy, that the letter is yours?”

  “No, sir, I do not. I admit my means of communication may have been irregular, but Miss Bennet had, under false information, made some slanders against my character, and I felt the need to inform her of the truth of the matter. That is all the letter contains.” The injury he had felt when Elizabeth flung her accusations at him still hurt more than her blow ever could. That all this time she had been believing Wickham’s lies! And still did, by all appearances. As his initial anger with her had faded, the injury of knowing she believed ill of him had grown. The letter had been his only hope to relieve himself of that burden.

  Perhaps he could still let her know the truth, albeit indirectly. “Please read the letter, and you will see it contains nothing more than a defense of my character.”

  Mr. Gardiner stood and drew himself to his full height, but made no move to take the letter. “Mr. Darcy,” he said in tones that could only be called scornful, “you attempted to solicit a respectable young woman, the daughter of a gentleman, to be your mistress. Under the circumstances, I fail to see how you could expect me to have any concern for your character. You have insulted my niece and our entire family. You have no character, sir.”

  “What?” Darcy cried in disbelief. “Is that what Elizabeth told you?”

  “She is Miss Bennet to you, and yes, that is what she told me when I pressed her for the full tale behind that letter. You saw her as unprotected now that her father is dead, but it is not true. She is by no means unprotected.”

  All the fury and disappointment he had felt at Elizabeth’s refusal surged to the fore. “I did nothing of the sort! I made her a proposal of marriage, and while I misjudged her sentiments towards me, I fail to see how that can be construed as an insult.”

  “A proposal of marriage? I am not a fool, sir!” Mr. Gardiner said incredulously.

  “It is the truth. I cannot explain why Eliz—Miss Bennet would tell you such a thing. And now I insist on your reading that letter, as I believe you will find it quite consistent with my story.”

  Mr. Gardiner looked at him distrustfully, but took the letter and broke the seal. As he read it, Darcy paced across the room, stopping by the window to look blindly out at the small garden behind the townhouse. How could things have gone so catastrophically wrong? He could not imagine Elizabeth making up such a story, but when he reviewed her behaviour, especially when she struck him, he realized it was what she truly believed him to be saying and why she refused him with such fervour.

  He tried to remember the exact words he had used to her, but it was a vague blur. He had told her of his ardent love and the force of passion that drove him to this uncharacteristic action, how despite the degradation such an alliance would bring him—was that it? Could she have thought he was explaining why he could not marry her and proposing an alternative? He could not recall if he had mentioned the word marriage before she had stopped him, but how could she have thought it of him? He was no rake, everyone knew that, but who could say what lies Wickham might have told her?

  The facts were obvious. Elizabeth thought him no better than his uncle, and so lacking in morality as to make such a proposition. It was painful to think she held him in such disdain. Excruciatingly painful.

  Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat. “It appears I owe you an apology, Mr. Darcy. I do not claim to understand how such a misunderstanding could occur, but I am also convinced that my niece reported to me the facts as she understood them.”

  Darcy kept his back to him, fearing his thoughts would show in his face. “It is quite simple. She stopped me before I had finished speaking my piece, and her opinion of me is so low as to cause her to put a different interpretation on my words than the one I meant. Now I hope you will excuse my breach of manners, but I must ask you to leave, sir.” He could not continue this conversation. He needed to be alone to nurse his wounds.

  He heard the rustle of clothing as Mr. Gardiner turned to leave. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. Is there any message you wish me to convey to my niece?”

  For a wild moment he thought of asking her to reconsider, but he realized the hopelessness of such a course. Such disdain might be lessened by knowledge of the truth, but it could not be converted to love. “No. There is no message.” At least he managed to say those few words in a steady tone.

  “Good day, then, sir.”

  Darcy did not move until he heard the click of the door closing, and then he slumped his head against the wall, his eyes stinging. Not since his father’s death had he shed a tear, not even in private after the double betrayal at Ramsgate. He would not shed one over Elizabeth Bennet.

  ***

  “He said what?” Elizabeth’s voice rose in disbelief.

  Mr. Gardiner sat back in his chair, looking reluctant to have this conversation at all. “You heard me quite well, Elizabeth.”

  A knot formed in her stomach. “But that is not what happened. He spoke at length about why he could not marry me, because of the degradation such an association with our family would cause.” The memory of Darcy’s words still hurt, especially when he spoke of his ardent love.

  “Since I was not there, I cannot speak to how such a misunderstanding might occur, but I assure you, his mind was set on marriage. I read his letter, and it was clear that he thought you had refused to be his wife.”

  It could not be. She could not have so misunderstood him. “What was in the letter?”

  “The bulk of it contained a history of his dealings with Mr. Wickham. I am afraid we were sadly misled in our belief in that young man’s character.”

  “But—” She stopped herself before asking the question. She herself had wondered as to the veracity of Wickham’s story. If her uncle believed Darcy’s story, it would be for good reason. Her throat tight, she asked, “What was his reaction when he learned of my misapprehension?” How could she have made such an error? How could he have said such things about her family in a marriage proposal?

  “The intelligence clearly occasioned him pain. He must have had quite an attachment to you.” Mr. Gardiner shook his head as if deep in thought. “I asked if he wished me to give you a message, but he declined. I hope you did not have an attachment to him. I would be sorry to see you hurt by such a man.”

  Stricken, Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Uncle.” She tried to maintain some dignity as she left the room.

  ***

  A silver platter sat on Darcy’s desk, piled with the day’s post. Darcy picked up the top one, broke the seal, and tossed it aside to be discarded. Why could they not leave him alone? The last thing he wanted was to attend balls and soirees, but the invitations kept coming, even when he did not reply. He dropped the second letter on top of the first. More of the same.

  His hand froze on the third letter, whose sender was identified as Mr. E. Gardiner. The image of Elizabeth’s uncle flashed before his eyes, bringing back all the pain of that day. He had received him in this very room. What could the man want now?

  Carefully he ran his finger under the seal. For a moment he paused, fearing what it might contain, but then he unfolded it. It was very brief.

  Mr. Darcy,

  My niece has asked me to express to you her most sincere regrets for her misapprehension.

  Yours, &c.

  E. Gardiner

  He set the paper down, smoothed it, and then rested his head on his hands. He did not want to think of Elizabeth expressing her regrets. He could not afford to soften his heart towards her. She had told him what she thought of him, and that was that.

  Besides, there was no reason to assume Elizabeth had said anything of the sort. Had not that boy said her uncle was eager for Elizabeth to marry? No doubt he had come up with the scheme himself, in a last effort to recover the opportunity Elizabeth had lost, but it was too late. Far too late. Some things could never be forgotten.

  She thought he was no better than his uncle or
his cousin Henry, willing to do whatever was needed to satisfy his carnal desires, with no care for the price she would pay. He had told her he loved her, for God’s sake. How could she think he would degrade her in such a manner? Henry might be willing to pretend to such an affection to obtain a woman, but how could Elizabeth think it of him? She did not know him at all, and what she did know, she held in disdain.

  He could still marry her if he chose. The letter was all but an invitation from her uncle to ask for her hand. What would that accomplish, though? She would be a caged songbird who would not sing in captivity. Instead of lightening his spirits, she would be a living reminder that her heart was out of his reach. If he were the man she thought him, he might have done so. That would still be better than his cousin Henry, who would have used that stolen kiss to ruin her reputation so she had no choice but to cleave to him in whatever situation he chose. But he was not such a man. She did not want him, and that was the end of it.

  He stood up slowly, as if his joints pained him, then crossed the room and carefully fed the paper into the fire. He did not return to his desk until the last ashes crumbled and fell through the grate.

  ***

  After a month, Elizabeth knew he would not return. If he had not responded to the letter her uncle sent on her behalf, it meant he could not forgive her. He had said that his good opinion, once lost, was lost forever. It was her turn to bear the burden of it.

  It was time to let go of the past. Her aunt had commented on her low spirits more than once, and although Elizabeth had avoided answering any questions, she did not doubt that her uncle had confided her secret to his wife, and they were both watching her carefully. She owed it to them, as well as to herself, to change her ways.

  She needed to acknowledge that Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn was no more, and in her place was an impoverished young lady with a patchwork education and no prospects. Her younger self had cherished romantic notions, but now it was time to act the part of a sensible woman. She shook her head, recalling how horrified she had been by Charlotte’s practical decision to wed Mr. Collins. She herself could never have married such a foolish man, but she could admit now that there was some truth to Charlotte’s philosophy. Marriage to a sensible man, even without affection at first, could lead to better things, and it would safeguard her future and her family. She could no longer afford to be cavalier about that. Love, after all, had not served her well.

  She was resolved to look only forward. With that in mind, she began to offer warmer smiles to Mr. Griggs. If the range of his education was smaller than she was accustomed to, she could respect his dedication to his work and willingness to learn. If his conversation lacked sparkle, he did not lack honesty. If sometimes when she smiled at him a vision of dark hair and dark eyes rose before her, it meant nothing. She was fortunate that a man as eligible as Mr. Griggs was interested in marrying her. So she reminded herself daily, and when a certain melancholy about the situation would overcome her, she learned to closet herself in her room until she could regain her composure.

  ***

  The butler entered Darcy’s study. “Mr. Darcy, there is a young person here who says he must speak to you. He will not tell me his business, but he is most insistent that you will want to see him.”

  “Does this young person have a name?”

  “He said to tell you he is Charlie from Cheapside. He is quite disreputable, sir.”

  Cheapside. Elizabeth. Even the word could still give him a twist of pain, but he had to put that behind him. He dragged his mind back to the present. He knew no one else from Cheapside. “Send him away.” As the butler bowed and turned, Darcy remembered the urchin on Gracechurch Street. His name had been Charlie, had it not? “Simms, I have changed my mind. Send him in.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Darcy drummed his fingers on the desk. Finally the boy crept in, hat in hand, wide-eyed as he took in his surroundings and then straightened at the sight of Darcy. He was more skin and bones than ever.

  “Well, Charlie from Cheapside, how did you find me?”

  “I followed yer ’ome one day from Moorsfield, sir. Thought it might be useful to know someday.”

  An enterprising sort, indeed. “And what brings you here today?”

  “It’s about Miss Bennet, sir. There’s that gentleman what’s courting ’er. He’s at ’er house most days.”

  It could mean nothing to him if Elizabeth favoured another man. She would never be his, in any case. If only he could convince himself it was none of his business. If only the idea did not tie his stomach in knots. “Is he well-to-do?”

  The boy cast his eyes around the room. No doubt he had never been in such a fine house. “Not like Mr. Gardiner, but ’is family keeps a servant.”

  One servant. At least Elizabeth would not have to scrub and clean. That thought was not bearable. Still, she would not be without household duties. She should have been mistress of Pemberley, with dozens of servants at her command. “Does she look on his suit with favour?”

  “It’s her uncle what wants the match, but she don’t avoid his company, if that’s what yer mean, sir. But Freddie says she ain’t ’appy, and she cries sometimes when she thinks no one is lookin’.” Charlie watched him closely.

  “Is he respectable?” As if it made a difference.

  The boy shrugged. “Respectable enough. He likes his bits o’ muslin, though, he does.”

  Darcy did not allow his expression to change, though he doubted it fooled the boy in the slightest. “And how, pray tell, did you discover that?”

  “Followed him a few times, too. I’m good at it.”

  Darcy did not doubt it. It was fortunate for England that Charlie chose to work on his behalf rather than Napoleon’s. “Does she still walk out to Moorsfield in the mornings?”

  “No, sir. She don’t walk out alone at all now. But I could find out when she goes out wiv the children, if yer want, sir.”

  Just what he did not need—more temptation. “That will not be necessary.” He opened the desk drawer and took out a few coins. Charlie’s hand was already out for them. Darcy rang for Simms, who appeared instantly. No doubt he had been waiting outside the door.

  “Simms, take this young man to the kitchens and make sure he eats a good meal before he leaves.” It was a long walk back to Cheapside.

  Darcy tried to return to the newspaper he had been reading, but his heart was not in it. He could think of nothing but the news the boy had brought. He went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy, but did not touch it. Why did Elizabeth cry? Did she dislike the man? He would not admit the satisfaction the idea gave him. Or did she merely miss her family? Or perhaps it was because she no longer dared to venture on her walks.

  No, that was ridiculous. Elizabeth Bennet had never lacked for courage, and it would take more than a few misplaced words from him to cause her to change her habits. And if she disliked her suitor, she would find a way to laugh him off, even if her uncle favoured the match.

  He froze, the glass halfway to his mouth. Elizabeth had not laughed off his suit. She had cried, made accusations, and slapped him. Of course, she had believed him to be making a different proposition entirely, but still, if he thought about some other man suggesting that Elizabeth should be his mistress, he would have expected her to make a joke of it and perhaps a cutting remark. She would not let such idiocy hurt her. Why had he provoked such a reaction in her? If her opinion of him was as low as her words indicated, surely it could not be worsened by thinking he would take a mistress.

  He tossed back a sip of the brandy faster than the fine liquor deserved. As it warmed his throat, he remembered the look in her eyes just before he began his proposal, when he could think of nothing but kissing her and would have sworn she felt the same. Could it be possible that she had cared for him, had in fact wanted him to kiss her? Was that why his words had hurt her, if she had indeed misinterpreted them?

  “Simms!” Darcy called before he could think bett
er of it.

  “Sir?”

  “That boy. I will see him again before he leaves.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Simms disappeared down the hallway.

  Darcy wrapped his hands around his drink. A little hope was a dangerous thing.

  Chapter 7

  Even in his state of eager anticipation, Darcy paused before knocking at the door to Georgiana’s rooms to enjoy the sound of his sister giggling. He had so rarely heard it since Ramsgate that it was still a pleasure, albeit one that was becoming more frequent as her spirits became lighter. At times he could picture the girl she used to be.

  But time pressed, so he rapped on the door. Mary, the girl from Rosings, opened it. Although her curtsey was quite proper, the saucy manner in which she glanced over her shoulder at Georgiana was hardly deferent; it was clear she had been involved in whatever had amused his sister.

  Georgiana’s cheeks were rosy and her eyes had sparkle to them. Perhaps the past was finally starting to lose its grip on her. “Fitzwilliam, will you not join me?” She gestured to the chair.

  “For a moment only. I came to ask the pleasure of your company on a walk.”

  “Now? I had not intended to go out today, but I could, if you wish it.”

  The girl was hovering almost protectively behind Georgiana. Darcy waved his hand in dismissal, and with another curtsey, she scurried from the room. He said, “I think it is too pleasant a day to spend indoors.”

  He could tell from her slightly puzzled look that she saw something unusual in his demeanour. “Very well. Should I ask Mrs. Annesley to join us?”

  “Not today, I think.” He looked around the room, noticing her companion’s absence for the first time. “Where is Mrs. Annesley?”

  “Mary and I were talking, so I told her she could have the afternoon to herself. I hope you do not object.” The worried tone had returned to her voice.