by Leenie Brown
Mr. Darcy's Comfort
A Pride and Prejudice Novella
Leenie Brown
Leenie B Books
Halifax
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without written permission from its publisher and author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.
Cover design by Leenie B Books. Images sourced from DepositPhotos and PeriodImages.
Mr. Darcy’s Comfort © 2018 Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.
Contents
Dear Reader,
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Master of Longbourn
Before You Go
Acknowledgements
More Dash of Darcy and Companions Stories
Other Leenie B Books
About the Author
Connect with Leenie Brown
Dear Reader,
This novella is part of my Dash of Darcy and Companions Story Collection. These Pride and Prejudice inspired stories are quick, sweet reads designed to fit perfectly into a busy life.
Dash of Darcy titles in this collection will answer the question “what if Darcy and Elizabeth’s story took a different path to happily ever after?” Each of these stories will depart from the original work, Pride and Prejudice, at some specific point in that story’s timeline, and while some parts of the continuation may mirror the original, most will not because these tales are reimaginings and not retellings.
Standing next to the Dash of Darcy titles are the Dash of Darcy Companion Stories. These stories will also be quick, sweet reads, but will focus on characters other than Darcy and Elizabeth. Each of these titles will be a sequel to a Dash of Darcy story. While not all Dash of Darcy stories will have sequels, many, such as the one you are reading, will.
I have included a short excerpt from Master of Longbourn: A Sequel to Mr. Darcy’s Comfort at the end of this novella.
Happy Reading!
Leenie B.
Chapter 1
Fitzwilliam Darcy lifted his pen and paused while he carefully considered his words. As he did so, he allowed himself to watch the enchanting Miss Elizabeth Bennet smile at something she was reading. For a moment, his thoughts were captivated by what it might be which had caused her amusement rather than how he should broach the next topic in the letter he was attempting to write to his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
So far, Darcy had inquired after his sister and had commented on the general news of the area and the more specific details concerning his friend Charles Bingley and Netherfield, the estate where he was now ensconced. Whether that ensconcing was more of Darcy’s free will or a sense of duty was debatable. Helping his friend was no burden. However, abiding the man’s sisters was a bit of a task and trying to Darcy’s patience. He should just tell Caroline Bingley of his engagement. Perhaps then she would stop fawning over him at every turn, but he could not do that.
His betrothal, though well-known within the family and amongst the small circle of friends his aunt entertained at Rosings, was not something he wished to have published far and wide. Nor was it something which had ever been verified by him. In fact, he had yet to admit to the reality of such an arrangement in which he found himself to more than his younger sister, his cousin to whom he now wrote, and, of course, to his betrothed. He had not even confirmed its veracity with his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, even though it was her daughter, Anne, whom he was expected to soon marry.
Anne had insisted that he not publicly tie himself to such an arrangement until it was well and truly a thing which must be. She had held out hope that she would find another to care for her, but she had not. And then, she had insisted that her health be stronger than it was before being required to perform the duties of a wife. However, she had not grown stronger. Now, as she approached her twenty-third birthday, it was no longer avoidable, and Anne had, on Darcy’s last trip to Rosings in the spring, agreed that come the new year, they would marry.
Darcy had willingly agreed. He saw no need to delay further. He and Anne had always gotten on well together. There was no reason for him to believe that they would be anything other than happy, save for the nagging worry that he always carried with him regarding her health. He cared for Anne, and he knew that the intimacy that marriage would bring would likely also bring a new, more profound, and enduring sort of love. The fact that she shared a constitution that was as weak as his mother’s drew him to morose thoughts and reflections on the pain he had experienced first with his mother’s passing and then again when his father died. To lose a well-loved parent was gut-wrenching, but to lose a wife…
He sighed. He was not certain he could survive it half as well as his father had.
A chuckle from the lady reading the book across from where he wrote drew him back from his reverie. She was why he was writing.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Sedlow, Netherfield’s butler stood at Darcy’s side, speaking in a low, discreet tone, “there is a gentleman here to see you, but he requests that you speak to him in the study.”
“Who is it?” Darcy inquired as he tucked his pen away and folded his letter.
“A Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir. He says it is of great importance and privacy is required.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. It was extremely unusual that his cousin did not enter the library and make his presence known to one and all. Richard was fond of attention and more at ease in company than tucked away in a room with a book for any length of time.
Bingley looked up from where he was conversing with Miss Bennet near the fire and gave Darcy a quizzical look as Darcy rose to leave the room. Darcy shrugged in response. He knew little more than Bingley did about why he, and only he, was being summoned. It could not be about his sister Georgiana for Richard had not been in town. He had been to Brighton with his father.
Darcy stopped mid-stride as he entered the study. Richard was standing at the window gazing out over a barren field. His shoulders drooped, and, on his arm, he wore a band of black.
“What has happened?” Darcy crossed to where Richard was.
“I could not allow an express rider to deliver this to you,” he held out a letter edged with black.
Taking the letter, Darcy broke the seal.
Darcy,
It is with the utmost sorrow that I write to you the news that at 3: 45 in the afternoon on this 14th day of November in the year of our Lord 1811, your cousin and betrothed, Anne Sophia de Bourgh, has stepped into the presence of God.
Darcy stumbled toward a chair. His legs were not going to hold him upright much longer. The words of the letter swam before him.
“She died quickly,” Richard whispered. “She was coming down to tea and missed a step or caught her toe in her hem or something. She was gone before any of us could reach her.”
Tears slid silently down Darcy’s cheeks. “My Anne is dead?” His voice was barely a whisper.
Richard nodded. “She will be interned next Thursday. My father knew you would wish to attend.”
“Of course,” Darcy muttered. He did not wish to stand beside yet another grave filled with the remains of someone he held dear, but he needed to see her, to send her on her way. “Do you wish to leave now?”
“Morning will be soon enough,” Richard r
eplied. “There is little you can do. Father has likely seen to everything by now. He had begun even before he wrote that letter to you.”
“And Aunt Catherine?”
“The laudanum in her wine is helping. Father is insisting that she join him at Matlock until he is needed in town.”
“I could stay with her at Rosings,” Darcy offered.
Richard shook his head. “No, Father will not hear of it. You have given your word to Bingley, and since you no longer have a betrothed, Father would like to remind you of your duty to Pemberley.” Richard smiled wryly. “He apologizes for being so direct.”
Darcy’s head bobbed up and down slowly as if he understood what was being said to him, but in truth, he found his thinking muddled.
He needed to be outside, away from the walls of this study which seemed to draw closer with each breath. He loosened his cravat as he rose. “I am going for a ride,” he said, brushing tears from his cheeks with the palm of his hand.
“I will ride with you.”
Darcy pressed his lips together and shook his head. He did not wish for anyone to witness the completeness of his grief. He wanted to weep in private.
“You should not be alone,” Richard insisted. “It is part of the reason I insisted on delivering this news to you myself.”
“Please.” The word was difficult to form and get out. As it was, it came out as little more than a weak plea.
“I will keep my distance,” Richard replied. “I soiled many handkerchiefs yesterday as well as a few on my ride today, and I was not promised to her.” He placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “You will eventually need to ask questions. You are Fitzwilliam Darcy, after all.”
Darcy nodded as he brushed away more tears. It was impossible for him to voice any argument, whether strong or weak, that he should be allowed to mourn in private. His voice failed him, and his mind was suddenly so very weary.
“Since I am still dressed for riding, I shall inform our host of my arrival and your plans to travel,” Richard said as they stepped into the corridor. He grasped Darcy by the shoulders and turned him about. “Use the servants’ stairs,” he ordered. “Miss Bingley will not look for you there.” He gave him a push in that direction. “Send word when you are on your way to the stables.”
For once, Darcy was glad for his cousin’s decisive manners and ability to see problems before they could present themselves. He had no desire to see anyone, let alone, Miss Bingley. So, he did as instructed and hurried to the servants’ stairs, pausing for a moment to inform a man that his horse would be required before taking the flight two steps at a time.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said in surprise as he stepped into the hall.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he nodded his head in greeting. Blast! She was seeing her sister to her room. He had hoped everyone would still be in the library, but of course, Miss Bennet was not well enough to remain in company for long. Even now, he could see the tiredness in her posture and eyes.
“Are you well, sir?” Elizabeth asked.
“I have had some unsettling news,” he answered.
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you.” He made to move past her, but for some reason, he could not do so without explaining himself further. “My cousin Anne has died,” he put it as starkly as he could. He did not wish to couch the news with anything which would make it sound any less harsh than it was. “We were to be married,” he added.
Jane gasped. “Oh, how tragic,” she whispered.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, another one of my cousins, just brought me the news. I will leave in the morning.” He gave them a small bow. “I shall wish you a quick recovery, Miss Bennet, as I am uncertain if I will see you before I leave.”
“You will return, will you not?” Jane asked.
Darcy nodded. “I have given my word to Bingley.” He could feel his throat tightening once again, and he ignored a wayward tear which slid down his cheek. He needed to be in his room. “Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed once more and turned to leave them. However, a hand on his arm kept him from making his escape. He looked first at the small hand and then lifted his eyes to Elizabeth’s face.
She said not a word. She only squeezed his arm and gave him a small smile before turning back to her sister. It was a little gesture, but one which was filled with great compassion. She did not try to offer some platitude or trite word of comfort. Her eyes conveyed her understanding, and her silence allowed for his grief to be acceptable.
He watched her pull her sister close as they continued on their way to Jane’s room and was struck once again by how different she was from most of the ladies of his acquaintance. Her manners fascinated him. He closed his eyes and turned away. How could he be thinking of Miss Elizabeth in such terms at a time like this?
While his mind reproved him, Darcy’s feet carried him to his room where his man waited to make him ready for riding. Darcy smiled to himself, knowing there was only one way his man knew to be awaiting him. Richard had likely sent him before going to the library to share his news with Bingley. Richard was much like his father in that regard. Lord Matlock was known for how readily he could formulate and execute a plan. He had an eye for detail and all the charm of a rake intent on seducing a maiden when it was needed to persuade someone to his cause. While Darcy was proficient at noting details and constructing plans, he lacked the finesse his uncle and cousin possessed.
He sighed. Lacking charismatic adeptness was much less of an issue when running an estate than it was when finding a mistress for that estate.
He thanked his man and pocketed the extra handkerchiefs that had been laid out for him on his bed as the weight of his loss settled in around him once again, causing him to pause before leaving his room. “Anne,” he whispered, “how will I ever happily manage my responsibilities without you?” He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “I cannot do this on my own,” he prayed. Then, he pulled the door open, looked up and down the hall, and, seeing as no one, save a maid, was about, hurried toward the servants’ stairs and his escape into the countryside of Hertfordshire.
Chapter 2
“Good morning.” Elizabeth kept her voice low as she entered the breakfast room where Darcy sat cradling a cup of tea. The man looked dreadful, but that was to be expected from one who was grieving. Had not Mr. Goodwin looked positively ghastly after Mrs. Goodwin and Celia died? Grief was a taxing master.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked. From the bags under his eyes, she doubted it.
He shook his head. “Only a little.”
The words came out in a raspy whisper, causing Elizabeth to stop in her tracks and turn toward him instead of continuing on to procure a bit of food from the sideboard. “Are you planning to leave early?” She watched him grimace as he swallowed the sip of tea he had just taken before she inquired.
“Yes,” he managed a whisper.
Her brow furrowed. “I do not think it is wise.”
His eyes grew wide, and his jaw did that thing it did when Miss Bingley was beginning to annoy him.
“Pray…” he turned his head and coughed lightly “…tell why.”
Elizabeth poured a cup of tea and then took a seat near him. “You are ill.”
“It is nothing,” he retorted.
“Your throat hurts, you are coughing, and I would dare to venture that you have a fever.”
He shrugged and took a sip of his tea, grimacing once again as he swallowed. “I must go.”
She nodded. “You must, I agree, but you need not go today.”
“I must.”
Elizabeth drew a breath and released it slowly. There were feelings that one did not just forget and that often renewed their acquaintance with a person when witnessed in the mien of another. “I can imagine how much you must long to be near her, even if she is no longer here, but you cannot travel when you are so ill. If you rest for a day or two, the fever will likely break, just as it did for Jane, and then you may venture forth. You will still arrive wi
th time to do and say all that you feel you must.”
Darcy shook his head. “You cannot know.”
Elizabeth took a deliberately slow sip of her tea. “You cannot know that I cannot.”
The way his brow furrowed was gratifying to a degree because it meant he was considering what she had said, but it also worried her since, to this point, he had not been slow with a rejoinder during any of the discussions they had had where their opinions had not immediately agreed.
“You are not the only person to have suffered loss,” she explained softly.
“I apologize.”
“You are unwell, so you are forgiven,” she replied with a small smile. “Now, to the issue at hand…” She paused to greet Colonel Fitzwilliam as he entered. “You must not focus solely on your desires,” she continued as the colonel began gathering his breakfast. “You have a sister, do you not?”
Darcy’s brows remained furrowed as he nodded.
“To whom will you leave her when your fever becomes rampant, and you expire and all from a want of patience?” It was harsh, but he seemed the stubborn sort, whose brain was currently addled by illness and who needed an argument to be laid before him in indisputable terms.
“It is but a chill.”
Elizabeth wanted to roll her eyes. He was perhaps more stubborn than Lydia!
“You are ill?” Richard asked as he took his seat.
“He is,” Elizabeth answered. “You can hear it in his voice and, if you watch, even tea hurts his throat.” Her words matched Darcy’s grimace perfectly as he swallowed. “And he has not refuted my claim that he likely has a fever.”
Richard chuckled. “You are as devious as the nursemaid I had when I was a boy. She always knew what ailed me before I ever admitted to it.”
Elizabeth hid a small smile behind her cup as she took a sip of her tea. “It is beneficial to know the signs of illness if one wishes to cover them and avoid the apothecary’s concoctions.” She placed her cup on the table.