The Goodness of Men

by Anngela Schroeder

  “Mr. Darcy. Why do you still wish to help me? I am guessing that all my husba…Mr. Wickham told me of you was a lie. Why would you feel it necessary to help me…a girl who has been deceived and ruined forever by a man so little unconnected to you?”

  She sniffled and attempted to dry her eyes. Darcy crossed the room weighing his words. “I will ask that the personal nature of my discourse today be kept private. I would not wish to ruin the reputation of someone I hold dear.”

  “Of course,” Margaret Anderson whispered.

  He took a breath, then began. “A little over a year ago, someone I love was almost disgraced by Mr. Wickham. He traveled to Ramsgate with the intent to use his arts and allurements to convince her that she was in love, and she agreed to an elopement. It was only by the grace of God that I arrived for an unscheduled visit that his plan was thwarted. Otherwise, he would have had her thirty-thousand pounds and she would have had a villain for a husband.”

  “Thirty thousand pounds!” Miss Anderson choked. “He has lowered his sights for my ten thousand.”

  Mr. Turner smiled and patted her hand. “I am certain it was also your charms that recommended you, Miss Anderson.”

  She smiled weakly at him before turning back to Mr. Darcy and asking, “This girl, you knew. Is she well? Did she mourn the loss of him?”

  “Yes. But she will recover.”

  Miss Anderson lay her hand on her swollen belly. “And yet, the burden of George Wickham lies within me,”—she shook her head then whispered—“and now no decent man will have me.”

  Miss Bennet patted the young woman’s hand. “Do not lose heart—you have had quite a shock. You should retire. All may seem clearer in the morning.”

  Her eyes were glazed over, except for the tears which were being wiped away with a handkerchief Turner had produced, and she nodded her head. “I do not see how but I will follow your advice.”

  “Shall I go with you?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied, standing and raising her chin. “I should like to be alone.”

  “Of course.”

  Darcy rose as well. “Miss…Mrs. Anderson. I will remain until tomorrow. Turner and I will come up with a plan. Do rest. In the morning, we shall have a solution for you.”

  “Yes,” she said, waving a hand through the air indifferently. “The morning will be fine. Whatever you decide will be fine.”

  Turner offered his arm. “Please allow me to escort you to your room, Miss…Mrs. Anderson. I would feel remiss in my duties as your host to not secure your comfort.”

  “Very well, then, sir,” she said faintly, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her out of the room, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone.

  Darcy moved to the desk. Once the letter was finished, he rang for Turner’s butler to send the letter. The chimes from the mantle clock filled the room, startling Miss Bennet to speak. “I was surprised to see you here” just as he said, “I hope that your aunt is well.”

  Elizabeth blushed as she fidgeted with the cross around her neck.

  Darcy felt the heat rise to his own face. “Yes. Turner sent word. I came at once. Only I must leave in the morning to await the arrival of all our guests.”

  “Yes.”

  The silence surrounded them, and the only sound was the ticking of the clock. She was worrying her bottom lip and Darcy wondered at her anxiety. His eyes met hers and—“Mr. Darcy, I…I believe I owe you—”

  “Blast that Wickham.” Turner walked in the room and stopped when he noticed Miss Elizabeth. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I did not know you remained.”

  “Please. I understand your feelings on the subject.”

  He nodded to her, then turned back to Darcy. “My fastest stable hand has just departed, and Miss Anderson is now settled in her room with her maid.” He poured himself a drink then walked to the fireplace resting his hand on the mantle. “She is young,” he said, taking a drink. “I hope she can rally.”

  Still looking at Elizabeth, Darcy asked Turner, “How was she when you left her?”

  “Stoic, poor girl. But, she is under my protection now, and I will ensure her safety and that of the child.” He took another drink before sitting down on a chair and thoughtfully staring into his glass.

  Elizabeth stood. “Pray excuse me, gentlemen. I must find my aunt.”

  “Yes, of course,” Turner replied, as he and Darcy stood. “Might you care to join my friend and me later for some archery?”

  “Forgive me, but I beg you to excuse me. With all that has happened today, I feel a headache coming on.”

  “Well, then we look forward to your company at dinner.”

  Darcy studied her face and noticed the slight wrinkle at her brow, cursing his friend for walking into the room when he did.

  “Yes, dinner,” she said, curtseying before leaving the room.

  Chapter 11

  It had been a long evening. First retreating to her room to wallow in her discovery and embarrassment, only to hear him in the adjoining chambers. Then, dinner, and all that followed. Elizabeth had assured her aunt and Mrs. Anderson that Mrs. Margaret Anderson had been devastated, but that Mr. Turner and Mr. Darcy would take care of everything. And Mr. Darcy will, Elizabeth knew with certainty.

  Margaret Anderson had not come down to dinner. She had stayed above stairs with her maid, sobbing into her pillow, according to Elizabeth’s own maid, Sarah. Elizabeth was grateful both her Sarah and Margaret Anderson’s Alice had contrived a story regarding the young woman’s grief.

  As father always said, if you need to know or hide anything, trust the servants!

  Trust the servants. She rolled over in her bed and stared at the wall, trying to count how many birds she saw in the paper.

  Elizabeth Bennet, in light of what you now know of Mr. Wickham…you must own the superiority of Mr. Darcy.

  “Yes,” she answered herself. “Yes, I do.” She bit her bottom lip, lost in the thoughts of this man, who only a month ago repulsed her, and who she now could not stop contemplating.

  “I like the way he knows my interests,” she whispered to herself. “He places value on me and my concerns.” He always has. At Netherfield, he would ask about the health of my sister when she had taken ill after the rainstorm. At the Netherfield ball, he offered to speak of books, knowing I enjoy reading. While residing in Meryton, he had asked me to dance three times, although he detests the activity so. “And you refused him two of the three times, impertinent girl.”

  But could he have loved me this whole time? Truly loved me? She lay in bed, feeling the emptiness of a lost opportunity consume her as the clock struck midnight.

  She knew everyone in the house had retired to bed, except for Mr. Darcy and Mr. Turner. They had racked up a game of billiards and were to finalize the matter of Margaret Anderson.

  And here I toss and turn. Unable to sleep, or read, or anything, all because a gentleman from Derbyshire has taken up residence in my thoughts. She stood from her bed and walked over to the French doors, opening them and stepping out onto the balcony with the half-full moon shining down on her. She gripped the railing and looked out into the night. He is a good man. How could I have ignored that?

  She closed her eyes and sighed. When he walked in the room this afternoon I could barely breathe. His presence filled the room. What would he have said if I could have confessed my esteem in Mr. Turner’s study?

  Shuddering from both the chill night air and her fears, she walked back in to her room, grabbed a copy of Beowulf, and sat in front of the fire, hoping the tales of the Anglo-Saxon warrior would distract the new sensations in her heart.

  It was long past two o’clock when the book fell from her hands, and she started awake. The fire had died out with only the soft glow of the embers remaining. She stretched, when she heard him behind the adjoining door.

  He was cursing, and she snickered at his vocabulary, surprised that a gentleman would use the same words as a laborer trying to herd sheep.

  Maybe it was
the lack of sleep. Maybe it was what had transpired earlier in the day with Margaret Anderson. Maybe it was all that she knew she wanted. Whatever the reason, she could not explain, but Elizabeth Bennet, for once in her life, behaved in a most un-lady-like manner.

  Possessed by something other than herself, she walked over to the door and knocked softly, devoid of a plan. Before her words could formulate, the door swung open, and Darcy stood there in his buckskins, an unbuttoned shirt, and his cravat knotted about his neck.

  “Eliz…Miss Bennet. Are you unwell?”

  “No, sir,” she looked down, trying not to meet his gaze, but her eyes caught sight of his chest, and her cheeks became enflamed. “I was trying to read, but I heard you…and believed you were in some distress.”

  “Pray, forgive me. I arrived without Briggs. I have been trying to unknot my cravat for ten minutes now to no avail.” He lowered his head and boyishly grinned making her catch her breath as his elusive dimple teased her.

  She shocked herself when she heard the words tumble from her mouth. “But, if you are all thumbs,” she whispered, “might I be of assistance?”

  He swallowed slowly, before he whispered back, “If it is not too much of an imposition.”

  Wordlessly, she took a step towards him and raised her hands, trying to still her shaking fingers. “You, Mr. Darcy, should have been raised in a house with too few servants,” she said, trying to control the quiver in her voice. “With so many sisters, we were often required to help each other dress. Knotted ribbons are a specialty of mine.”

  He grinned, and replied softly, “Remind me when next I meet your father to thank him for his economical circumstances.”

  She laughed quietly, attempting to complete her task, but unable to concentrate with his breath tickling her hands. She concentrated on undoing the knots—and not the stubble prickling her finger tips as they grazed his skin. His scent…cedar and sandalwood… “I will,” she squeaked, realizing she had not responded, before her words began to rapidly come forth. “I believe on any other occasion he would be quite amused. He often finds the humor in most all situations. However…this….”

  She finally unwrapped the silk from around his neck, moving her hands over his head, until she held both ends of the cravat in each hand.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” he said. “I am most obliged.”

  “Anytime, sir.” Realizing her blunder, she began to stammer. “Excuse me. I did not mean anytime…you need help undressing …I meant that…I would be of assistance if you needed me.” As she rambled, a rosy hue colored her cheeks.

  “I assure you, Miss Bennet, I am aware of your consideration for all that is proper.”

  She looked up at him through long lashes and smirked. “Except for helping a man of my acquaintance undress in his room when all the house is asleep?”

  “Yes,” he said, laughing. “That certainly alters my opinion of your impeccable character. I think I must guard myself and place a sentinel by my door.”

  “Aagh!” she cried, stomping her foot at his sally. “I would like it to be noted that I was concerned for your safety.”

  “My safety, madam? And what was your weapon of choice to protect me?” he asked, looking around and behind her back. “Do you have a hairpin with which you were going to gouge out an attacker’s eye?” He smiled at her while brushing away a wayward lock of hair which fell across his forehead. She was once again stunned at how attractive he was.

  “You will never know, sir, as your lack of respect for my abilities will no longer allow me to assist you, hairpin or not.”

  He playfully gasped. “Miss Bennet? You would allow me to be murdered in my bed?”

  “It is, unfortunately, at your own design. I do hope your relations will not miss you too much.”

  “I am sure some will more than others.”

  She grinned and covered her mouth as a yawn attempted to escape. “I believe I must return to my bed before sleep overtakes me here in your room.”

  “Yes, that would not be prudent. I believe your appearance would be quite noticeable to all, whether you had your hairpin or not.”

  She giggled at his claim and curtsied, “Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, Miss Bennet.”

  She walked back towards her room, and he followed close behind. As she reached the doorway, she turned to say…she knew not what…and stumbled into his arms, his hands instinctively reaching out for her waist.

  “Excuse me,” she began but was incapable of formulating another thought with him so close, and her hands resting on his chest, her eyes slowly rising to meet his.

  Unable to say a word, he lowered his hands to rest on her hips and clenched her gown in his fingers.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she murmured.

  “Yes?” his voice ragged.

  They stood in silence, the sounds of their beating hearts filling the room. “Miss Bennet…Elizabeth, I…”

  She waited, unsure of what he was going to say. And then he did not. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. She stiffened and he pulled back and looked at her questioningly. A soft smile spread across her lips as she stood up on her tiptoes, meeting his mouth with her own.

  His hands moved to her back, as he pulled her closer, their kisses becoming deeper. Her mind whirled at the novelty of her first kiss and she felt drunk on his taste, his scent, the feeling of his arms around her…until a moment later, he gasped for air and pushed her away, retreating into his room.

  “Forgive me,” he sputtered, running his fingers through his hair, shame written across his face. “I should not have… …forgive me,” he finished, shaking his head.

  “No, it was my fault. I should never have knocked on the door.” What must he think of me? I came to him like a wanton woman!

  “I should have called for a footman.”

  “Let us… let us just say ‘goodnight.’”

  She began to close the door. “Miss Bennet, Elizabeth, please listen—”

  “No. Goodnight. It is late.” She closed the door and locked it behind her, crawled into bed, pulled the pillow over her head, and stared at the moon through the windows until she drifted off to sleep sometime before sunrise.

  Darcy held his hand up against the door, listening to her bolt the lock and flee into her room.

  He needed to apologize. However, he knew that he could hardly trust himself and stepped away from the door.

  He inhaled the scent of her still clinging to his shirt. Elizabeth. Unable to sleep, he began to pace, his thoughts consumed by the woman on the opposite side of the door. He found himself in that attitude for three-quarters of an hour until he knew what he had to do.

  Packing his bags, he penned a letter to Turner, and carried his small trunk down to the stables. It was mad to wake his men at three in the morning but he had them load the carriage, and they returned to Pemberley by the light of the moon.

  I must speak to him. I will look him in the eye and say my piece. Elizabeth tried not to replay the events of last night in her mind. She could not sleep, without Mr. Darcy appearing in her dreams—his dark eyes, his undone cravat, his tender words. Her lips still tingled at his kisses, and she felt light-headed at the thought of them. You must snap out of this, Lizzy!

  She looked up as the hall clock struck and hoped for a look indicating his feelings about the previous evening.

  “Good morning, Lizzy.”

  “Good morning, Aunt Madeline, Mrs. Anderson. Has… Mrs. Margaret…Anderson already had her breakfast?”

  Both women shook their heads. “No, the poor dear has not come down. It is still early but she will probably remain for the rest of the day, and we might not see her again until we leave for Pemberley in two days.”

  “That is, if Phillip does not wish to leave earlier. He stated that Darcy’s letter this morning told us to come whenever we were ready.”

  “His letter?”

  Mrs. Anderson sipped her coffee and said, “They finished all their business las
t night. Darcy left a note for Phillip stating he was restless and left before first light. He probably arrived at Pemberley and climbed comfortably into his own bed before we woke this morning.”

  He is gone?

  “He did leave a message for you, though, Miss Bennet. But, we see it was unnecessary.”

  “For me?” Elizabeth asked, turning to the ladies, while trying to control the emotions brewing below the surface.

  “It said, ‘Please tell Miss Bennet I apologize if I was too loud last night when she was attempting to sleep. I did not mean to wake her, and if I did, I regret my actions. It was a mistake.”

  It was a mistake? How could I have misinterpreted his kisses? She felt her knees weaken as she held onto the back of a chair.

  Aunt Gardiner sipping her chocolate said, “He is such a thoughtful man. Whoever catches his heart will be a lucky woman.”

  “Yes, well,” Mrs. Anderson began, “From what I understand, Miss Darcy’s ball, might double as an engagement ball. He has invited Lady Cecilia Markham, and Phillip was telling me this morning that she is a lovely creature and would make Darcy the perfect wife…”

  “Oh, you are such the romantic! How your imagination flies from an invitation to love to matrimony in a moment!”

  Lizzy heard no more, she excused herself and walked blankly down the hall, up the stairs, and into her room, where she locked the door and stared at the birds on the wallpaper.

  “La, what a long ride to Derbyshire! You should have hired a private carriage. It is so tiresome to travel amongst strangers!”

  Lydia Bennet fanned herself and took a sip of her tea as she waited at the coaching inn for the horses to be changed out. They had been traveling for three days with two more to go, and she was already losing her thirst for adventure.

  “We do not have the money, my dear,” Wickham hissed through gritted teeth, as he and Mrs. Younge sat down at the table together glaring at their charge. “Had you not coerced me, Penny and I would soon be on our way to London.”

  Lydia waved the thought away with her hand and set down her cup. “There is still time for that. You just need to escort me and you”—she pointed to Penelope Younge—"need to travel with us to make things proper. I shall come home engaged from this ball, either to a count or a duke, and I will be the first sister married! And me, the youngest of them all!