by Robin Helm
More to Love
My Beloved, My Friend: Book 1
ROBIN M. HELM
More to Love
by Robin Helm
Copyright © 2018 Robin M. Helm
Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
More to Love was previously published on a fan fiction website. However, multiple changes have been made.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author, Robin Helm.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Wendi Sotis, Laura Hile, and other writer friends who are my constant encouragers. To my readers who give me a reason to write.
Acknowledgments
I extend my heartfelt thanks to my editors: Gayle Mills, Wendi Sotis, Terri Davis, Laura Hile, and Larry Helm. My BeyondAusten.com readers also have my gratitude for reading this work as a work-in-progress and commenting.
Cover design: Damonza.
Formatting: Robin Helm and Wendi Sotis.
Cover model: Melanie F. Thompson
Cover photographer: Anna Beckham
Cover costume designer: Jennifer McCoy
Venue for cover photograph: Rosewood on Country Club Drive in Lancaster, South Carolina.
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
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
ABOUT ROBIN HELM
But the Lord said to Samuel, ‘Do not look at his appearance or at his physical stature, for I have refused him. For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.
I Samuel 16:7
Early October, 1811
The second eldest Bennet sister sat alone, trying to smile as she watched the couples dancing gracefully around the floor. Occasionally, she nibbled at the cookie she held, taking comfort in the richness of the sweet almond confection. As Elizabeth was a great favourite of Longbourn’s housekeeper and pastry cook, Mrs. Bailey, she was never without several of the tasty morsels in her reticule. Mrs. Bailey, who had learned the recipes for several types of cookies while a young woman in America, kept Elizabeth well-supplied.
Knowing her mother would disapprove of her eating while she waited for an invitation to dance, Elizabeth practiced her usual ruse. She hid the jumble in her embroidered handkerchief, careful to let no one see it. In any case, she was rarely asked to dance, cookie or not, as there were always more ladies than gentlemen at Meryton’s Assemblies. This night had been no exception. She had danced only one set, and that with Joshua Lucas, a friend since childhood.
Her sister Jane’s amiable partner for an earlier dance, Mr. Bingley, stood fairly close to Elizabeth, chatting with a handsome, austere man. Mr. Bingley’s voice carried over the music and gaiety, impossible to ignore.
“Darcy! Why are you standing here with your arms folded when there are so many uncommonly pretty girls lacking dance partners? You should not keep yourself apart from the company in such a stupid manner when lovely young women are seated and gentlemen are scarce. ’Tis rudeness itself. I must have you dance.”
“I certainly shall not,” answered the gentleman, drawing himself up to his full, intimidating height, looking down his nose at his friend. “You have been dancing with the only handsome girl in the room, and your sisters are engaged at present.”
Bingley’s voice softened. “She is an angel, is she not? The most beautiful creature I ever beheld.” He sighed. “However, there are plenty of suitable young ladies who are available.”
Elizabeth smiled upon hearing his praise of her sister. Mr. Bingley’s pleasant manner and good sense caused him to rise several notches in her estimation.
The young man continued, “Look! There is her sister, and she has a very pretty face, too. I daresay she is most agreeable. You must ask her to dance. Allow me to ask my partner to introduce you.”
The young lady felt the weight of the gentleman’s disapproving stare and glanced away, but she could not avoid hearing his reply.
“She is tolerable, I suppose, but there is rather too much of her to tempt me. Return to Miss Bennet and bask in her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she crushed the cookie hidden in her handkerchief. While she had never been obsessed with her looks in the way her younger sisters were, she always took pride in her appearance. Her father had often complimented her beautiful skin and her lustrous, thick hair, while her mother made certain her bonnets and dresses were stylish.
Even so, she grudgingly acknowledged to herself that she had been avoiding mirrors for at least two years now, and lately, her gowns had become uncomfortably snug.
True or not, his comments wounded her deeply. Though she was well-known for her intelligence and quick wit, she yearned to be told she was altogether lovely. She had many friends, but she feared that being bright and cheerful with a pretty face described a governess or a lady’s companion, and she did not aspire to either of those vocations.
Secretly, Elizabeth wished to be the wife of a gentleman who adored her, as well as a mother to children she would love with all her considerable depth of heart, regardless of their outward features. She prided herself on valuing the characters of her friends and relatives rather than their physical attributes.
To be judged so harshly by a person she had never met was disconcerting. Her view of the world and her place in it was shaken.
In the moment the haughty gentleman had declared her to be “too much,” she had become, to herself, “not enough.” Not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not tempting enough.
Mr. Bingley, sweet man, would not agree with his friend. “How can you say that, Darcy? She has a perfect complexion, beautiful eyes, and dainty hands which are lovely. Her entire face is alight when she smiles, and I have also observed how graceful she is when she walks. Surely you have noticed that.”
Darcy snorted. “I have. Who could miss it? She approaches the refreshment table every half hour, and she is sorely mistaken if she thinks her handkerchief hides what she is constantly eating. Bingley, I am not in humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men, especially when that slighting is so obviously justified in this case by the lady’s lack of discipline.”
His companion rather testily replied, “I would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom. You are determined to be disagreeable, so I will leave you to it. Furthermore, I shall dare your disapproval and ask her myself.”
Elizabeth hardly ever allowed herself to dislike people to whom she had never been introduced, but she was willing to make an exception for tall, dark, brooding Mr. Darcy. Upon further
reflection, she was somewhat surprised to realize she truly despised him, despite his arresting beauty and aristocratic profile. She had never formally met the gentleman, yet she could barely stand the sight of him. Odd, for she was generally accepting of everyone.
Seeing Mr. Bingley approaching her, she stuffed the handkerchief into her reticule and placed it under her chair. Her determined attempt at a pleasant countenance was successful.
A moment later, Mr. Bingley appeared before her, bowed, and extended his hand with a smile and a request.
Elizabeth stood and placed her hand in his, determined not to disgrace herself. She held her head high and fixed a smile upon her face, allowing her brilliant, green eyes to sparkle with mischief as he escorted her past Mr. Darcy onto the dance floor.
As she and Mr. Bingley moved through the steps, she glimpsed Mr. Darcy watching them several times, his dark eyes fixed upon her, an inscrutable expression on his striking face.
Assuming that he looked at her only to find fault, her active mind formed a scheme, and she could hardly wait to set it in motion.
Elizabeth awoke early the following morning, waiting for her sister Jane to stir.
Despite the fact that she had been abed only a few hours, Jane rose at her usual time and dressed quickly.
Elizabeth sat up, yawning, stretching her arms over her head. “Jane, why do you leave the bed so early every morning?”
The elder sister raised a brow. “I walk at least two miles, dear. Did I waken you?”
“No. I was waiting for you.” She groaned. “Why must you do that at sunrise when you could sleep an extra hour and walk later?”
“The exercise is invigorating, and it wakes me quickly.” Jane smiled sweetly. “I feel better all day if I take my constitutional before breaking my fast.”
Elizabeth left the warm bed, shivering as she reached for her dress. “How long do you amble about?”
Jane chuckled as she quickly braided her long, blond hair. “I rarely amble. I prefer a brisk pace for an hour. Do you wish to join me today?” She wrapped the braids around her head and secured them.
“An hour?” Her eyes rounded. “A brisk pace for an hour? Before sunrise?” She gasped in shock. “In the dark? Alone?”
Jane buttoned the back of Elizabeth’s dress. “It isn’t really dark, Lizzy. ’Tis the best time of day. I love to see the sun come up from Oakham Mount. The countryside is beautiful when bathed in the light of dawn. I enjoy walking alone, but I should be glad of your company.”
Elizabeth’s expression was grim as she shoved her feet into her walking boots, quickly brushed her hair, and stuffed her curls up in her bonnet. After shrugging her arms into her rather tight pelisse, she faced Jane, her mouth set in a stern line. “If I can bear it, I intend to walk with you every morning from now on.”
“In the afternoon, as well?” Jane slipped into her cloak and tied her bonnet beneath her chin.
Elizabeth raised both eyebrows. “You walk twice a day?”
Jane nodded. “In all weathers. You are usually reading or napping.”
Elizabeth struck a dramatic pose, hand over her heart.
“I am done napping, and reading must wait until evening. I shall walk with you every time you go, through rain or sleet or hail or snow.” She pointed towards the door. “Forward, ho!”
Jane laughed and clasped her sister’s hand, pulling her from the room. “Come then. Time is wasting.”
The sun was just beginning to peek over the trees as they arrived at Oakham Mount.
Jane breathed deeply of the chilly air. “Is it not lovely?”
“What?” asked Elizabeth, bent over with her hands on her knees, panting. Several long, chocolate curls had escaped her bonnet, and she pushed them back from her face.
“Why, the sunrise, Lizzy! Was it not worth leaving your bed to see this glorious sight?”
Elizabeth stood, clasping her hands to her middle. “Ah. Why, yes. ’Tis truly wondrous.”
“Are you well, my dear?” asked Jane with concern, looking at her sister with troubled eyes. “Perhaps you have walked too far this morning.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I am well. My stomach hurts a bit, but if I sit on that tree trunk for a few moments, I am certain it shall pass.” She sat down rather heavily, taking deep breaths.
“Going downhill is much easier than climbing, you know.” Jane walked to stand beside her, placing her hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“Thank heavens,” muttered Elizabeth.
“What did you say, dear?”
She forced herself to her feet. “’Tis heavenly here, but we must return to Longbourn if we are to be there in time for breakfast.”
Jane smiled. “I would rather be here than eat.”
“Is this why you occasionally miss meals?”
She nodded. “It is so peaceful here.”
Elizabeth laughed as she jerked her bonnet from her head, brushing her waist-length hair back over her shoulders with her hands. “And not so peaceful at home. Be that as it may, our mother shall be upset if we are not there, and we will suffer her bad mood all day.”
Her sister grimaced and turned towards Longbourn with a sigh.
After making themselves presentable, Elizabeth and Jane hurried to breakfast, arriving to take their seats along with the rest of the family.
Once everyone was served, Mrs. Bennet fixed her satisfied gaze on Jane.
“My dear, you are radiant this morning. I thought you would lie abed after dancing so much last night. Why, I do believe you had partners for all the dances. I noted that Mr. Bingley claimed you for the opening set, as well as the supper dance. Such a fine gentleman. Mr. Bennet, you know he introduced himself to me nearly as soon as the girls and I arrived. So fortuitous that you visited him before the Assembly.”
Lydia’s triumphant voice rang throughout the room. “Kitty and I danced every dance, too, and Mary none!”
Ignoring his youngest daughter, Mr. Bennet smiled at Jane, and then turned his attention to Elizabeth. “And did you dance with Mr. Bingley, my dear?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I did, though I sat through much of the evening. As usual, there were not enough gentlemen present to partner all the ladies. I should have taken a book.”
Her mother frowned. “Mrs. Long told me that the arrogant man with Mr. Bingley flatly refused to stand up with you. Mr. Darcy! Such an unpleasant bore!” She narrowed her eyes. “Several people heard what she said and talked of it at length. Who is he to think himself so far above his company, even if he is the richest man in Derbyshire?”
Elizabeth set her fork on her plate and looked down. “He did snub me, though ’tis of little consequence as he spurned all of Meryton.” She lifted her eyes to her father. “Mr. Darcy danced with no one, save Mr. Bingley’s sisters.”
“He slighted my Lizzy, did he?” Mr. Bennet knit his brow. “I suppose the very rich can afford to give offense wherever they go, though being so free with his comments shows a distinct lack of good taste and breeding on his part. As he will undoubtedly soon be gone, we need not care for his good opinion.”
“Even if he should ask you in the future,” said her mother sharply, “you should not accept him. He is the proudest, the most disagreeable man who ever was.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea. “He shall not ask me, so there is little chance I shall ever have the opportunity to reject him.”
Jane gently touched her arm. “I think he must be shy, Lizzy. Why else would he act in such a way?”
“You are very sweet, Jane, but he is not shy,” answered Elizabeth, her colour rising. “I heard his exchange with Mr. Bingley. He said he supposed I was tolerable, but there was too much of me to tempt him.”
Seeing their shocked expressions unnerved her, so she left the table quickly, nearly all of her breakfast left uneaten upon her plate.
Do not judge based on appearances; a rich heart may be under a poor coat.
Scottish proverb
Darcy awoke at his normal
time, despite the late evening before. Sims, the gentleman’s valet, accustomed to the habits of his master, entered the room and opened the curtains, allowing the glow of sunrise to enter the bedchamber.
The gentleman sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rolling his broad shoulders and stretching.
Sims bowed slightly. “Quite a lovely morning, sir. Will you ride as usual?”
“Yes, send a servant to the stables to saddle my horse. I shall break my fast afterwards.”
As Sims crossed the room and opened the door, motioning for a footman, Darcy rose, stretched, and went to his dressing room. He smiled when he saw his riding clothes laid over a chair.
“Is all to your liking, sir?” Sims asked from behind him.
“Yes. I shall return and change clothing before joining Bingley for breakfast.”
Sims nodded. “A bath will await you. Do you wish me to shave you before you ride?”
Darcy shook his head. “No, I want to leave immediately.”
“Very good, sir.”
In a few moments, the gentleman was hurrying down the stairs, eager for his ride.
A young groom stood at the foot of Netherfield’s steps, nervously holding the reins of Xanthos, Darcy’s magnificent golden stallion.
The horse stamped in impatience as Darcy took the reins and swung himself into the saddle. He leaned to pat the stallion’s neck, speaking softly. “Easy, boy. You are restless this morning. We shall ride until you tire.”
He turned the horse with ease and galloped down the drive, heading into the fields without breaking stride. Xanthos left the path to climb an incline, and Darcy gave him his head.
Horse and rider paused at the top of Oakham Mount. As Darcy admired the glorious shades of the sunrise over the tops of the trees, a flash of colour caught his attention. He urged Xanthus forward until he could discern the forms of two young ladies nearly running down the slope.