Chance Encounters

by Linda Wells

  He stood, staring at him from the doorway, and spat out his name. “Wickham!”

  Wickham’s mouth was bandaged shut; he was lying on a cot, coughing, his hideously bruised and swollen face expressing the pain he felt with every gasping breath. He lifted his fevered eyes to Darcy, and a hint of the old defiance registered. He could not speak, but his eyes searched Darcy’s face, seeking the signs of the devastating pain he was sure his old enemy must be feeling. Darcy stared at him, his expression unreadable.

  Suddenly he strode into the room, silently delighting in Wickham’s involuntary flinch at his approach. Darcy stopped, his eyes running over him, and then a smile, a huge, undeniably joyous smile, spread over his tired, sombre face.

  He bent close to Wickham’s ear and whispered, “Elizabeth lives.”

  Moving back he regarded the broken man, his eyes wide with shock. Wickham saw the truth shining from Darcy’s face, and with that his downfall was complete.

  Darcy watched as the last vestiges of bravado drained from his enemy’s soul. He nodded, satisfied, and left the room. His mission completed, he returned to the place where he belonged, home to his Elizabeth.

  ELIZABETH WRESTLED with her decision to tell her father what happened with Wickham. In the past, any event of significance in her life was unhesitatingly shared with him, and now she was unsure if their relationship had been so irreparably damaged that she could ever trust him again. It was Darcy who encouraged her to tell him. After a fortnight of recovery from their day of hell, after each of them awoke night after night screaming in terror, to be comforted and returned to security by the other, and after receiving the news with unexpressed relief that Wickham had died of pneumonia in prison, Darcy felt the years of burden that Wickham had placed on his relationship with his father fade.

  Darcy told her that she had been given the gift that his father denied him. She had the gift of time to re-establish their relationship during his lifetime. It would never be the same, but they could try to reach a comfortable place where she could accept the flawed man that he was, and he could accept that his daughter was always meant to leave home to create her own life.

  So she wrote and let go of the resentment she held for him. She told him what she remembered of the incident, the physical threats and abuse, and the intense, unrelenting fear that gripped her while it happened, and as she prayed to be found. She then poured out her heart to tell him of her deep and continually growing love for William.

  Several days later, Mr. Bennet put down Elizabeth’s letter. The emotions that he was feeling overwhelmed him and he found himself crying for the first time since the death of his mother many years before.

  Mr. Bennet’s shame for his years of selfish behaviour grew with each sentence of her letter. His involvement with Wickham filled him with guilt and he prayed that his letter was not the impetus for Wickham’s attack. “My God, what have I done?” He flogged himself for contacting the man, for telling him of their attachment. He suddenly realized that his actions, meant to keep Lizzy by his side, had in reality almost ended her life. He was ashamed and disgusted and knew that he was not worthy of the title Father. Trying to comfort himself, he thought that he had no true idea of just how vile a man Wickham was. He thought perhaps he was a rake, and at the time he had deluded himself to believe that Wickham was truly the injured party by Darcy’s hands. But the more he tried to justify his behaviour, the closer he came to the truth. If he had not contacted Wickham, if he had not raised the man’s expectations to gain a reward for separating his most bitter enemy from his beloved, as well as the satisfaction of the accomplishment, Wickham would never have attempted such a deed. Or would he?

  Mr. Bennet shook his head. He had no idea how deep the animosity ran between the two men. He had no knowledge of their history, their youth, of Georgiana, of his relationship with his godfather. All he could do was stare at his daughter’s letter and berate himself, and decide that he would beg for Lizzy and Darcy’s mercy when he saw them. He knew that if they ever learned of his betrayal, he would never see her again; Darcy would guarantee that without a doubt. Lizzy wrote in the letter that it was her husband who encouraged her to tell him this story.

  Mr. Bennet thought about the man, and the way he had responded to Darcy’s arguments against their marriage and one question resounded in his mind. “Are you afraid to live with your own wife?”

  “No, and it is time that I begin again, not just with Lizzy, but with Fanny.” Darcy had shown his mercy by allowing Elizabeth to continue her contact with him. Mr. Bennet would show his appreciation by proving he had listened to Darcy’s words.

  It was time to stop regretting what he lost and enjoy what he had. He walked out of the library, and finding his wife, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Well, well, well, Mrs. Bennet. I understand we have a wedding to plan. I want to hear all of the details.” He sat down in front of her, folded his arms and looked up enquiringly.

  Mrs. Bennet was stunned. He had not spoken in weeks, and had not kissed her in years. “Are you well, Mr. Bennet?” She asked cautiously.

  “Never better, Fanny. Now tell me how we shall fete our lovely daughter and our future son.” He looked at her encouragingly.

  She slowly started talking, and realizing that her husband was actually paying attention to her, she was able to speak in a restrained, genteel manner, without all of the usual effusions and nervous declarations. Fanny Bennet did not understand what was happening, but after so many years of starving for his acknowledgement, she did not have the will to reject his seemingly sincere attempts at reconciliation. To the surprise of both spouses, they found themselves enjoying each other’s company, and for the first time in many years, they extended that company into the night.

  “CHARLES!” Jane cried.

  “Mmmm?” His muffled voice spoke as he busily nibbled on her neck.

  “Charles, look, what are they doing?”

  Charles finally tore himself away from Jane and looked hazily into her eyes, wide with wonder and staring beyond the secluded copse in the garden of Longbourn where they stood hidden. He turned his head to look in the direction where she was gazing, and saw in the distance a couple engaged in a warm embrace.

  “Well, it appears that they are doing the same thing we are, my dear.” He said, resuming his former occupation.

  “But that is my parents!” She said, shocked. “They have not so much as held hands in years!”

  Wishing to draw her attention back to him, he said, “Do you not wish us to be so engaged at their age, my love?”

  “Well of course, but. . .”

  “Then why question the actions of your father wishing to court your mother again? I think that it is charming, and I also think that if I were your father, I would be quite unhappy to be observed doing it.” He then decidedly captured her lips with his.

  Still not to be distracted, she pulled away from him, “What will Lizzy say?”

  Frustrated, Charles put his hands on either side of her head and stared directly into her eyes. “Lizzy will say nothing because her husband will be quite successful at capturing her attention, as I will do with you.” He then kissed her soundly and ran his hands over her body. Suddenly, observing her parents’ activities lost all attraction, and she melted into his embrace.

  Chapter 26

  Nearly four weeks after the terrible day, Darcy and Elizabeth journeyed to Hertfordshire. Gradually with the passage of time, and the fading of the visible evidence of Wickham’s attack on Elizabeth’s body, they started to relax again and fell into what would prove to be the routine of their days at Pemberley for all of their life together. Both of them were early risers, preferring not to waste a moment of sunshine to sleep. Neither understood the sense of the hours kept by people in London, arising by noon, dinner at midnight, or staying out until nearly dawn. What was the point of living in the dark? No, Darcy and Elizabeth both wanted to experience the world around them, and that meant living in
the full light of day.

  Each day they would rise, dress quickly, perhaps have a cup of tea or coffee, and then they were off to spend time alone together, sometimes walking, sometimes riding. Elizabeth’s skills on her horse were steadily improving and Darcy had many excursions planned for the future. When they returned, they would bathe and dress, eat their breakfast, and then, reluctantly, they would part to tend to their individual duties. At first, this was very difficult as neither one wanted to be out of the other’s sight, the pain of that terrible day was too fresh. But reality intruded. Darcy had to be out on the estate, and Elizabeth had to be inside with Mrs. Reynolds.

  They made an unspoken agreement that if they were both working inside the house they would do so in Darcy’s study. He added a new desk alongside his, just for her use. He frequently sought her opinion or just her willing ear to discuss problems of the estate, and she likewise came to him for help with her household experiences and the needs of their tenants. If she had no business to attend, she would curl up on the leather chair next to his desk and read, just so they would remain near to each other. They took all meals together, unless there was some pressing business on the grounds that he would need to address. She was still unwilling to walk anywhere further than the gardens immediately adjacent to the house alone, but just in case, Darcy had quietly directed the staff to always watch for her when she was outside. Someone was to know where she was at all times, inside or out of the house. The staff would have done it without his direction, so shaken were they by what had happened. At one time Elizabeth might have bristled at such scrutiny, thinking it a sign of control over her freedom, but now she saw it for what it was, an expression of his deep love for her. And of course, throughout the day and night, they often and spontaneously displayed their love for each other.

  They spent their evenings reading, playing music, walking, talking, laughing, and simply enjoying this private time together, before Georgiana would join them, before the inevitable guests would arrive. Their bond, so powerful almost from the very beginning of their relationship, had formed a strength that defied any foe to break.

  The day before departing for Hertfordshire, the steps of their morning walk led them for the first time down the lake path. Their route for that morning had not been discussed, but upon finding themselves walking amongst those trees, their eyes met and the grip of their clasped hands tightened. The tension was fully felt by both and they only succeeded in continuing with the presence of the other. They arrived at the location that would be indelibly impressed in their minds, where Elizabeth was attacked. She turned and wrapped her arms tightly around William and stared at the soil, still visibly disturbed from her struggle weeks ago. She relived the feel of Wickham touching her. She could smell him and could hear the cruel tone of his voice. Darcy embraced her, kissing her head, remembering the sight of her abandoned bonnet, and feeling again the terror that gripped him as he searched desperately for her.

  “I love you, Lizzy.” He whispered.

  She reached up to him, wiping his eyes. “I love you, Will.” He gently brushed her cheek with his lips, kissing her tears away.

  Darcy let go and walked over to a tree. Using his knife he cut off several young leafy branches and creating a makeshift broom, he began brushing the soil, rearranging the path so the traces of the struggle disappeared and the disturbed area now appeared no different from the rest. He reclaimed her hand and they walked on.

  Soon they reached the cliff and the spot where Elizabeth fell over. She took the cut branches from him and tossed them down into the ravine. The soft sound of their fall carried back to them. Holding each other, they looked down at the peacefully flowing stream, and watched as a doe and her fawn appeared to take a drink.

  “They are beautiful.” Elizabeth said softly.

  “Yes.” Darcy kissed her hair. “This place is beautiful.” His gaze met hers. “This is where my heart started beating again, when I found you.”

  Elizabeth smiled and touched his face. “Thank you, William. You have replaced the memory of terror with the joy of waking in your arms. I will not be afraid to come here now.” He smiled slightly, and lowered his face to hers, first kissing her brow, then gently kissing her lips, and then together they created a new memory for that place.

  ON THE SECOND DAY of the journey to Hertfordshire, Elizabeth decided to bring up the topic that had been forgotten that awful day. She sat beside him, their fingers entwined as they were almost always touching, a book open and ignored on her lap. He was similarly occupied, ignoring his book and lost in thought.

  “William, we have never spoken of your father’s letter.” She began, squeezing his hand and studying his face.

  “No, but I have come to peace with it. I have forgiven my father.”

  “How did you come to such a place?”

  Darcy rested his chin on her head and said thoughtfully, “Your uncle once asked me what I would have done if I had fathered an illegitimate child, and my answer was surprisingly similar to what my father actually did do, except he carried with it a self-imposed burden of guilt that he was denying his heir his legacy. Thankfully he did not act on that guilt and recognize Wickham mistakenly as his son, and with time it was proven that he was not, but he could not allow himself to openly love me while he felt that he was rejecting his true heir.” He paused, kissing her hair, “I could stand over my father’s grave and shout of how his behaviour hurt my life, but what would that serve? It is done. For better or worse his actions formed my character, and my experiences by his and Wickham’s hands created the person I was the day that I sat down in that theatre and lifted my eyes to yours. This past is done. Wickham’s death has released me, and my father, from the grip of guilt and regret.” He lifted his head and gently turned her face to his. “I choose life, Elizabeth, I choose you.”

  Elizabeth gazed at him, speechless and utterly overwhelmed. Her eyes soon filled with tears that spilled unheeded down her cheeks. Darcy smiled at her slightly, his own eyes brimming. He pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped her face.

  She took the cloth from his hand and dried his tears. “For a man who speaks so seldom, when you do, you simply take my breath away.” She set the cloth down, and touched his face with her hands, delicately tracing his cheek. “I love you, too.” Winding her fingers in his hair, she pulled his head down to hers, their lips meeting in a gentle exchange, expressing the depth of their passion.

  “You know Lizzy, my goal in confessing my love to you was not to make you cry.”

  “Well then, sir, you have failed completely.” Elizabeth softly replied, trying to stem the flow of her tears.

  He looked at her seriously. “That cannot be. I will not fail you.”

  “You are bound to fail sometime, sir.”

  “That is not acceptable.”

  “In anyone or just yourself?”

  “I suppose in both.” He admitted.

  She gently admonished him. “That sounds like the boy who was desperately seeking his father’s approval, not the man who has chosen to live his future and let go of the past.”

  “I am trying so hard to change, Lizzy.” He closed his eyes while shaking his head.

  “You have changed. I doubt your sister will recognize you.”

  “Really? What is different?” He looked into her eyes.

  She stroked his brow. “You smile.”

  He put his head down shyly. “Sometimes my face hurts. I have been smiling so much around you, Lizzy.”

  She laughed. “You are not used to such exercise?”

  He twisted a long curl around his finger. “No, I suppose not, but with such an example of joy before me how can I not smile?”

  “You are trying to change the subject, sir. We are talking about you.” She raised her brow.

  He hugged her to him. “Sometimes you are too intelligent.”

  “You would prefer a vapid and foolish wife?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “I believe that
you did. Shall I step aside so that you may replace me with one of the pretty ladies of the ton who so wished to decorate your arm and spend your money?”

  “Do not even suggest such a ridiculous thing!”

  “Then let us return to the subject at hand.” She tilted her head

  “Which was?”

  “Your smile.” She tapped his lips with her finger.

  Shaking his head he kissed the finger. “You are relentless, Madam.”

  “And you are avoiding the subject, sir!”

  He sighed. “What do you want of me?”

  Lifting her chin she smirked. “I want you to admit that you prefer to smile.”

  “That is easily done.” He laughed.

  Her chin still raised she continued, “And that people who smile also accept imperfection in themselves and others.”

  “Ah, now I see where you are going with this. You think that I demand too much of myself.” He pursed his lips.

  She stroked his nose. “Nobody is perfect, Mr. Darcy.”

  He held her tighter. “But everything must be perfect for you.”

  She pulled away and looked back up at him. “Now who is being ridiculous? If you have decided to stop brooding over the past, you must follow my philosophy to remember the past only as it gives you pleasure.”

  He regarded her seriously. “I am afraid that I cannot let it go so easily, but I wish to concentrate on the future.”

  Tilting her head she asked, “And embrace imperfection?”

  He pulled her back to him. “I would prefer to embrace you.”

  “Mr. Darcy!” She admonished as her face rested on his chest.

  “I will try.” He whispered.

  “That is all that I ask.” She whispered back.