Mr. Darcy's Promise

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  *****

  Elizabeth was pleased to see Mr. Darcy at the table for dinner, but she quickly realized that he was still not himself. Although he had dressed for dinner, his eyes were slightly bloodshot, and it seemed that he was not carrying himself with his usual attention. His eyes, moreover, did not smile back at her when they met hers. In fact, he seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.

  “We went and delivered some old clothes to the Smith’s after lunch,” Elizabeth said in an attempt to enliven the conversation. “I hope you do not mind, but Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds said that you would not regret parting with some of your old clothes from when you were a boy. Your mother dressed you very nicely. I should give her credit for instilling principles of fabric as a child,” Elizabeth said, trying out a quick smile.

  “I do not mind.”

  Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. “Of course, they are going to stay with the Wilkinson’s until more permanent plans are arranged.”

  “Yes, I knew that.”

  She leaned towards him, speaking softly in an attempt to avoid being heard. “I am just making conversation, William.” She moved her hand towards where his rested on the dinner table, and he slid his back, out of reach. Her frown deepened. “You seem out of sorts tonight. Are you well?”

  “Yes, I am fine.” He continued to eat.

  Could she provoke anything more than four clipped words? “Well, we did not get a chance to candle the eggs last night and I did not know if you wanted to do so tonight. It has been three days since we candled them.”

  “Probably not.”

  Probably not? His two words stung, and she felt all her old fears and worries rush back. She had all but declared herself last night, and here he was, acting as if the entire business was tiresome. She drew herself up, her chin lifting. Before she could speak again, however, Richard cleared his throat.

  “Elizabeth, I hear you play the pianoforte beautifully. What would you say to playing tonight? Georgiana already promised me a piece she has been working on. What say you? Darcy, would you like to hear Elizabeth play?”

  She turned her head to her husband, but he was looking at Richard. Well? Does he want to hear me play?

  “I must admit I did not sleep well last night and I have a headache. Perhaps another night.” Darcy avoided looking at Elizabeth, but could see out of the corner of his eyes that she looked away from him. Why would she be disappointed? He studiously attacked his meat and took a large bite. He didn’t want to get into a fight at the dinner table but every time he looked at her, Wickham’s words would run through his head. Why have you appeared to enjoy my company these last few weeks? Why would you hold onto a letter from such a vile man? How exactly is he going to come claim what should have been his? He took another big bite even though he hadn’t finished his last one. He glanced up at Elizabeth through his eyelashes. How could he have such angry feelings and still be in awe at how beautiful she was!

  Her curls moved as she lowered her head and then offered Georgiana a quick smile. He watched her hands, those elegant small fingers, and then looked up at her soft mouth. Her lips were perfect! He was reminded of their moment in the library where he tasted those lips and felt their warmth and caress, and his body reacted the same as it did then. This will not do! Either I am in love with her or I am angry with her! Could it be both? His body ached to hold her once again.

  In truth, he wanted any part of her that she would give him. He would take part or all, preferably all, but he must push down the jealousy he felt at finding Wickham’s letter. He took a moment extra to fully comprehend what he was deciding to do. Was he deciding his love was stronger than these powerful emotions inside? Was he deciding that she was more important than the pain he felt? Yes, he was.

  “On second thought, perhaps some music would be helpful for my headache.” Richard’s face brightened with a triumphant grin. Darcy shook his head.

  “Perfect! Elizabeth, will you play?” Richard asked.

  “Only if Mr. Darcy thinks it will help,” Elizabeth said, her tone much cooler than before. Earlier today, she had not allowed herself the leisure to devote to his moods, but now it all rushed down upon her. Never in all of their marriage had he refused to do anything with her, but had done so twice today. What had changed? How was the man she had known to be once so warm and engaging now the one who could barely meet her gaze? It was as if he had returned to the “proud Master of Pemberley” she had met at the Meryton Assembly. She struggled with the encroaching sadness and hurt she felt.

  Darcy did not miss her change in tone, nor her deliberate use of “Mr. Darcy.” He felt a surge of guilt. He had been rude; he could not claim it to be in ignorance, but rather in malice. It takes time, he reminded himself, and his behavior would not help matters. She had come a long way since the uncontrollable tears she had on their wedding day. Last night proved it. I must be patient. She needs more time.

  *****

  After her performance on the pianoforte she knew she needed to slip out and see the chickens. It still hurt that William had declined to join her. If she searched her heart, she knew that she was more hurt than she let on. The chickens had been something special that they shared, and his refusal to join her tonight felt like a twist in the heart. She took a deep breath and decided she had better go before her sadness developed tears of its own. Elizabeth opened the front door, letting the cold air seep into the hall. She could hear the sounds of rain falling heavily against the roof, and then a flash of lightening lit up the sky. A few moments later, a loud crack of thunder sounded. She held the candle and whiskey glass tighter in her hand before turning to see Darcy standing in the hall.

  “Where are you going? It is going to storm hard tonight, Elizabeth,” Darcy said.

  “I told you at dinner that I was going to candle the eggs. Have you changed your mind? Would you like to join me?” she asked hopefully.

  Darcy’s brows drew together even as she smiled warmly at him. Why must she be so tempting?In spite of his resolution, he had not fully come to grips with his anger and jealousy and knew he needed a little space before he could spend any time with her. His heart still ached, and his mind and heart battled over whether or not she cared for him. One minute he knew she cared, cared deeply, and then another he would hear Wickham’s words ring in his ears. At the moment, Wickham’s words were quite loud.

  “No, I do not think so tonight. Perhaps another night.” He saw her countenance fall as she turned back towards the door. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. “Wait!” He watched her spin back around, again with hope in her eyes. He ran into the sitting room and came out with a blanket. He gently wrapped it around her shoulders. “Be careful, and do not be gone too long.” Just because he was hurt didn’t mean he cared for her any less. She nodded and left for the barn. He watched her walk as far as he could in the darkness and then went inside.

  He wanted to go with her, and in fact probably should have gone with her, but he didn’t know if he could be civil, much less the attentive husband she deserved. How could she betray what they had built in the last few weeks?

  He lingered by the front door, waiting for her to come back. Twenty minutes went by and she still had not returned. He could hear it raining harder outside. Thirty minutes went by and he started to pace. Candling didn’t usually take this long. Could she have been hurt along the way? He waited another few minutes before he hastily grabbed his greatcoat and a candle and headed out the door towards the barn. He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but it made sense to go looking for her.

  He entered the barn to the sounds of faint crying. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms. Why could he not have overcome his pride and come with her? He brushed those thoughts aside to make his way in her direction. The blanket was off her shoulders, and she was sitting on a pile of hay by the nest boxes, her shoulders slumped. “Elizabeth? Are you ill?”

  “It is so cold tonight!” she cried. He reached for the blanket and tried to
place it on her shoulders, but she shook her head. “Thank you though. I did not know if I should have gone back to get you. I could not leave them, not on a night like this.”

  “Is everything all right? Has something happened to the eggs?” Darcy felt even worse than before.

  “No, not really. It is just that they are hatching.” She knew her voice was sad rather than excited, and she looked over at Darcy as he sat down beside her. “I know I promised to watch them hatch with you but I could not leave them. Thank you for coming anyway.” She squeezed his hand. His arrival meant more to her than she could express at the moment.

  “I do not understand. You said it would probably be the day after the Autumn Festival. Are they hatching early?” He had been certain they were not due for several days.

  “I had not candled them for three days, so I must have estimated wrongly. I am just glad I came and found them when I did.”

  The sadness in her voice was unmistakable. Why would she not be relieved to see that they were finally hatching? “Elizabeth, please forgive me, I do not mean to be dense, but I thought you wanted them to hatch. Is this not a good thing? Now they will have more time to get their feathers before the storms begin.” Darcy readjusted the blanket and left his arm lightly draped around her shoulders.

  Her shoulders shook as she let out a sob. How could she explain her fears to him? A few tears slid down her face before she collected herself enough to speak. “Can you not feel how cold it is tonight? The storms have already hit! The chicks cannot survive their first night in this weather!”

  It hadn’t seemed all that cold to him, and it certainly wasn’t a terrible storm. Some thunder and lighting and rain but nothing serious. He wondered if she was speaking in riddles again. “The nest boxes will be out of the direct rain, Elizabeth. What can we do?”

  “I do not know. Maybe once they all hatch we really should bring them inside, at least for the night. It will keep them out of immediate danger. We would have to bring in the hen as well to take care of them.”

  “Did you not say that was not a good idea because they will not build up their winter resistance?” He truly had been listening and trying to make sense of everything she said about the chickens.

  “Sometimes we have to handle the problems day by day and hope that our actions are not harming them.”

  Now he knew she was speaking in riddles again. In her mind, the storms had already begun and she felt it was especially cold tonight, which it wasn’t. She was willing to do something that would help them weather this mild storm but might weaken their chances to weather other more serious storms. What does it mean that she is so distraught over the storm tonight? He shook his head. He would have to make sense of it later and add these things to his list he started in his study after his dream.

  “May I see them?” She nodded and took off the blanket, stood up, and lifted the nest box door. He peeked in and held the candle up to the nest box. Quiet little chirps sounded, and he could see one chick had already broken out. The other eggs were all cracked, and some even had entire pieces missing. He watched as the eggs rocked back and forth with the movement of the confined chicks. One egg popped a large chunk off, but the chick struggled to pull its wings out. It was all wet, its yellow down plastered to its body. He watched it struggle for what seemed like ten minutes, but it was getting nowhere. The shell did not budge. His heart sank as he realized its wings were trapped inside the shell. Should he help it?

  Elizabeth could see he was watching intently. “It takes a while to break out of the shell.” She watched as he reached his hand in to help the one struggling chick, and then snatched at his fingers, pulling them away. “No! You cannot help them. Hatching is part of the process. They develop strength with the struggle. If you force them you could kill them.”

  He looked at her once again. “I did not mean to force anything,” he said a little softly. “I was just giving it a little assistance.”

  “It just takes time, William.”

  His faint frown grew deeper, and he continued to look at her. Those were words he had used many times in describing Elizabeth. Time, it just takes time. He tried to memorize everything she said about the chicks. He had to make sense of this soon or he might lose a very special part of her. He made a mental note that it takes a while to break out of the shell. Got it. And you can’t force the eggs to hatch. Got it. The struggle was part of the process. Got it. And it just takes time. Definitely got that.

  They sat, watching them hatch together. He couldn’t help resist resting his arm around her. After a few moments, she let her head drop against his shoulder. Nothing else mattered; Elizabeth was grieving tonight, and he wanted to comfort her.

  He had never seen eggs hatch and was struck with the uselessness he felt now that he knew he should not help them. They struggled and fought to get out, all the while their small little chirps seemed to beg him for help. The air between them was thick with their silences. She had talked happily of this moment for weeks, but now that it was happening, she seemed somber and distracted. At one point, she took his hand in hers, but he stiffened slightly and she dropped it immediately. He cursed his own weakness. Why could he not overcome his own doubts? And why could he put his own arm around her but resist her touch?

  He wanted nothing more than to see her bright eyes again, to hear her tease and laugh, but even as he craved it, it seemed hollow. He drew in a deep breath and tried to push aside his thoughts of Wickham. It takes time. And the struggles he felt were simply part of the process.

  He sat up straighter for a moment, his mind spinning as if he had just emerged from his dream earlier. Something was within his understanding— Elizabeth’s words to him earlier. What was it? He focused hard, but the moment slipped away from him.

  “Dash it!” He cursed under his breath.

  “What is wrong?” she said, drawing away a little, her face tight with alarm.

  For a moment, Darcy did not reply as he tried to grasp the furtive understanding, but then he looked at her. Her dark eyes, fringed with those beautiful lashes, distracted him from his quest. He cleared his throat. “It is nothing. I confess my thoughts have been wandering to a dilemma I have been trapped in, and whatever progress I had made was lost. I did not mean to alarm you.”

  “If you want you can tell me about it, I may be able to help,” Elizabeth offered tentatively.

  For some reason, Darcy felt that this puzzle was his to work out alone. He wanted to ask her, Lord knew he did, but he also knew intuitively that if he could understand them then it would mean so much more. Instead he changed the subject. “How do you like Pemberley? I do not think I have actually asked you.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I like it very much. I have learned to love it even more than Longbourn. You are lucky to have grown up in such a place. It has nearly everything one could want!”

  Mr. Darcy caught that she had said “nearly everything.” He didn’t know what to make of it. “Is there something missing? Would you like something that it does not offer?”

  Elizabeth blushed in the candlelight. “I suppose it is just that I have not explored all it has yet. Perhaps I will still find what I am looking for.”

  What was she looking for? He wanted to give her everything. He wanted to give her his heart and more than anything he wanted her to want his heart. “And what exactly are you looking for?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. The question seemed to hang between them for a moment. She gazed back at the chicks to avoid answering for a moment, and then sprang up. The chick that had been struggling with its wings for so long had finally broken out. It was the last one. “Look, William! She got out! Look how strong she is! She struggled so hard against the shell that she has the strength to stand up now! She is not teetering at all!”

  Darcy couldn’t resist answering Elizabeth’s excitement with a broad smile. Watching the chick together seemed to have lessened the distance between them. He opened his mouth to say something about the chick, but instead hesita
ted. She captivated his every thought. “You are beautiful in the candlelight, Elizabeth.”

  She beamed down with motherly pride upon the chicks for a moment longer, but turned to William with a warm look in her eyes. “And you are quite handsome when you smile. I wish I would have seen it more often today.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers, and he closed his eyes, nearly leaning into her touch. She did not know why he had been so cold and distant earlier, but she could be patient. She loved him, and she would be here no matter the problem. When she had first seen that the eggs were watching, she had been uncertain as to whether or not she should fetch him. His refusal to join her had hurt her deeply.

  She had a curious sort of kinship with this hen. They had both entered into such new periods against their own inclination; the hen brooding over her eggs, and Elizabeth sent off to Pemberley to marry a man who she scarcely knew. But they had both survived; and more than that, thrived. Just as the hen was driven to endure, Elizabeth’s nature yearned for true companionship. And now they had both been rewarded with what they had worked so hard for. And regardless of whatever William was struggling with, Elizabeth knew that her love was strong enough to guide her through these turbulent waters. Tonight they had made steps in the right direction as he repeatedly wrapped his arm around her. Although progress was made, she still sensed he was holding back.

  “Elizabeth, about last night . . .”

  She drew in a deep breath. It was the subject she longed to discuss, and yet she wanted to express her patience with him. “We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

  He pressed his lips together. Was her response an indication of regret, or in answer to his coldness all day? He remained silent for a moment. Perhaps she regretted their kiss. He let himself luxuriate for a moment in remembering their sweet kisses and the feel of her hands in his hair. No. She could not regret that. And, he reminded himself, he would gladly welcome whatever she would give him. He turned his attention back to the chicks. “What should we name them, then?”