Mr. Darcy's Promise

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  “Well, my favorite kiss was the second one in the carriage when I asked you to kiss me— no, wait, it was when you kissed the inside of my wrist on the night of the theatre. Oh, I do not know. I have too many favorites. Each one makes me react so intensely that I scarcely know my own body! My favorite moment was most definitely today in the carriage when you told me how you loved me. But that may be because each moment I have with you just continues to get better than the last. Do you think it will always be that way? Will you always affect me so intensely?” She looked up at him and met his gaze.

  “I certainly hope so. If it was up to me I never want to lose that racing heart when we touch, or that breathless moment during a kiss, or that tingling and heat I feel when we hold each other.”

  “Like now,” she said, laying her head back on his chest, her arms drawing tightly around him.

  He smiled, resting his hand against her neck before he kissed the top of her head. “Yes, like now.”

  They talked for another half an hour before she began to yawn and speak more quietly. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders then and allowed himself to relax into the pillow. He had never been more comfortable. This was what he had craved for months and it wasn’t difficult for him. He remained awake for an hour more, simply listening to her breathe and basking in the moment. He didn’t want to miss any movement, any touch, any sensation that he was feeling at the moment. She was his, and he was hers. All that worry about being in control was nearly funny now. He was very much in control of his actions. He was where he wanted to be and the inner turmoil was no longer present. This was enough. Hearing her talk about their unique marriage and laughing about how neither one would change how it worked out was powerful. In fact, never before had he felt more in control of his person while together than at that moment.

  He did finally fall asleep and woke to find the sun was just cresting over the mountains and shining through their window. He could tell by her slow and steady breath that she was still deeply asleep. They had wanted to be on the road about now, so he took a moment and kissed her hair. She didn’t move. He put his hand on her shoulder and caressed her back. “Elizabeth, it is time to wake up.”

  She moaned and mumbled, “No.” She held on tighter to his chest.

  He smiled. He never thought she would be slow to rise or even cross in the morning. The pace of her breathing had quickened, though, telling him that she was now awake. He looked down at her face which had a telltale smile on it. So this was how she wanted to play? “What do I have to do to get you to wake up? Elizabeth?” he jested. He saw her smile widen.

  Elizabeth was awake but she had a plan. She started to pretend to snore, and quite dramatically too. She tried not to laugh at herself when he started laughing. He picked up her hand that was draped against his chest and kissed the palm three times. She stopped snoring for a moment, but when he stopped kissing it she began up again.

  “Oh, I see, my fair princess must be kissed awake.” She let out a large snore followed by a giggle, and then she started snoring again in earnest. Suddenly, in one quick movement William rolled over her and was straddling her, still holding the one hand and trapping it above her head. He quickly found her other hand and pinned it above her head too.

  She wanted to open her eyes, but it was taking all her willpower to continue snoring loudly without smiling, of which she knew she was failing miserably at.

  Her hair had come loose from the plait and covered part of her face. He placed both her hands in one of his and brushed the curls from her face with the other hand. She was beyond fascinating, beyond beautiful, beyond tempting. He leaned down, and with his lips inches from hers, teased, “Or is it tickling she needs to wake up?” His free hand quickly grabbed her waist and tickled her. She cried out in laughter, but her eyes remained closed. He let up on the tickling and leaned in to whisper in her ear, making sure his lips touched it as he spoke, “Or does she need to hear how much I ardently love and admire her?” He sat up when the snoring stopped, but it was only quiet for a moment. She took a deep breath and let out the loudest snore yet. He laughed. “Well then, there is only one thing left to do.” He let go of her hands and placed his own at each side of her head before he leaned down and kissed her.

  Elizabeth’s plan had worked out very nicely. She kissed him back passionately, wrapping her now-free hands around his back. Their kisses were deep and full of longing, their lips parting briefly before she pulled his chest to hers. Before she had a chance to fully enjoy the moment he was up off the bed with his hands running nervously through his hair. “What is wrong?” she asked.

  Darcy had to take a moment to regain composure. He had not thought to set a ground rule about not to roll around on top of Elizabeth kissing her passionately. That, he reflected, should not have needed to be spoken. “I am sorry Elizabeth, I cannot kiss you while you are in bed yet. Certainly not like that. Not when I just want more.” He wanted to be completely honest with her. She needed to know he desired her deeply, but he was firm in the matter that their physical relationship would not begin at the Rose and Crown inn.

  She sat up, getting out of bed and walking to him, “And if I was not in bed would you kiss me?”

  “Please Elizabeth, get dressed. You said you would be good.”

  “Very well. But I still want a morning kiss. You owe me for the morning of your headache, for a woman does not sleep with a man and not receive a morning kiss for her trouble.” She took his hand and pressed a kiss against each finger.

  He sighed and kissed her gently once on the lips. “Get dressed,” he repeated in a hoarse and strained voice. He snatched up his boots and stockings before he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  *****

  After receiving the express last evening around dinner, Richard’s first act was to alert all the staff to be looking out for Wickham. He had retrieved Darcy’s pistol and loaded it and put it in his belt. He had informed Georgiana of Wickham’s plans and when he wasn’t personally with her, he placed her in the care of the strongest, tallest groomsman he found while he walked the grounds of Pemberley.

  So far there had been no sign of him, nor anything unusual. He continued to pace, eyes and ears alert to anything and everything. He made this his routine for the last eighteen hours, refusing to sleep, his body drawing on all the fortitude he’d gained from his last twelve years of military service. He was methodical in his watch. First he would check on Georgiana, then he would speak with the staff and search Pemberley’s interior. Then he would check on Georgiana again, and then he would walk the grounds, asking the outside servants for information. He was readying to perform his rounds inside when he heard a faint splash.

  It was high noon, he noted, without a cloud in the sky. He almost stepped back in: it was likely a fish or bird, but something told him to walk further. When he heard it again, his hand went instinctively to his pistol. From his current vantage point, he could see the front of the house, anyone who might approach by road, and down to the barn. He turned his attention to a nearby stream that was shadowed by tall reeds, and frowned. It was small, he knew, and shallow, but fish still swam in it. He waved to a servant down by the barn for assistance. When Sparks acknowledged him, Colonel Fitzwilliam put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the stream where he had heard the sound. The servant picked up a pitchfork and carefully made his way towards Richard and the stream. Richard approached as well, listening intently. The sound of rustling reeds gave him pause. That was definitely not a fish. Sparks crept closer, drawing about ten meters from the stream. Colonel Fitzwilliam waited a minute more, then figured he was close enough to see what made the sound. He lunged towards it, gun in hand, flushing out the man hiding there. Wickham!

  Wickham ran towards the house as fast as he could. He looked to the right and saw a servant running with a pitchfork, and he knew Richard was behind him and closing fast. He took the stairs to the house two at a time and was just about to open the door when he felt
a hand close around his coat and sharply jerk him away from the entrance. He landed on his back and slid head first down the few stairs at the entryway. He looked up to see a pitchfork inches from his face. He should have known it would Richard who reached him first. “Well, hello Richard! Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Do not call me Richard. It is Colonel Fitzwilliam to you, Lieutenant Wickham.”

  Wickham grinned. “Are you pulling rank on me, Colonel?”

  “I will pull anything I need to, including this trigger. If I were you I would not move an inch.”

  Wickham realized for the first time that Colonel Fitzwilliam held a pistol in his hand. He had only noticed the pitchfork up to that point. He looked from Richard to the servant before realizing he knew the servant. “Sparks! How good of you to welcome me home. I see you fancy yourself a hero. Tell me, how is that son of yours?” The pitchfork moved down towards his chest, pressing into his ribs.

  “Do not be talking about my son. He may not have gone to Cambridge, but he is more gentleman than you will ever be.”

  Wickham reached up to push away the prongs of the pitchfork. “Do you mind letting me breathe without receiving puncture wounds?” Sparks held his ground and pushed harder into his chest. Wickham flinched. “I guess not.” He turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam next. “Are you going to invite me in or what? And where is Darcy, anyway? Did he run off when he was needed most? Too high and mighty to handle his own business ventures? Too proud to rescue his only sister from the likes of me?”

  Richard had had enough of Wickham’s mouth. He took out his handkerchief and stuffed it in Wickham’s mouth, making sure to get it all in. “Just so you know that was a dirty handkerchief and I do not want it back. I would suggest keeping your mouth closed for the time being. Sparks, keep that pitchfork right where you have it. I am going to search him.” Richard began by checking Wickham’s belt. He found the army-issued pistol and sword and removed them, placing them out of reach on the stairs by the column. He searched his back belt loop, chest pockets, and legs all the way down to his boots without finding anything there. “Got anything else on you, Wickham?” When Wickham rolled his eyes, Richard looked up at Sparks. “Go ahead, Sparks. I would say he is being combative and aggressive do you not think so?” Wickham started making muffled sounds and frantically shaking his head no.

  “That is more like it, Wickham. I expect my prisoners of war to be cooperative. Now up on your feet, slowly. And I might add, do not try to run again or you will just die breathless and tired.” Wickham huffed and rolled his eyes. Richard knelt down, pressing his hand against Wickham’s shoulder.

  “What? You do not like my death jokes? Then here is a quote for you. Herodotus, the Egyptian historian, said, ‘Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men.’ From the looks of your uniform, you have not been sleeping in a bed the last few nights. Are you a little weary? Well, do not expect me to offer you a bed. In fact, nothing is going to be offered to you, not water, not tea, and certainly not money.” Richard put away his pistol so he could have two hands again. He pulled Wickham up by his shoulder and grasped Wickham’s hands behind his back. He gave him a shove that was less then gentle and Wickham started reluctantly walking back up the steps. Richard still held his hands firmly and said to Sparks, “Go ahead and open the door.”

  “Yes, sir.” He turned to Wickham, “Do not try anything stupid, Wickham, I use a pitchfork three hours out of the day, every day!” He felt bold and lifted his chin high. He opened the door and kept his pitchfork aimed at Wickham’s chest as he walked by.

  Mr. Reynolds recognized Wickham immediately, but saw the two men were handling him roughly but efficiently. “Colonel? What do you need?”

  “I need some rope and I need you to send someone for the magistrate. Keep Georgiana out of Darcy’s study for the time being, would you? She does not need to know Wickham is even in the house. Darcy should be here soon. Make sure he knows where to find us.”

  *****

  Elizabeth’s hand was beginning to ache. Darcy was holding it very tightly. “William, dear? I know you are worried, but you are hurting my hand.” She saw him look at her, startled, before he immediately released her hand.

  “I am so sorry. We have made good time, it looks like we will get there quicker than usual.” He pulled out his pocketwatch. “We made the five hour journey in four and a half hours. It looks like we will get there just after noon. Elizabeth,” he said, his voice changing slightly. “I have something to confess. I am especially worried about Georgiana because of a prayer I once said.” She looked at him quizzically, but he continued without pausing. “When you passed out after you hit your head, you were so very still, and I said a prayer that was something like ‘anyone but her.’ I am worried that God might take that prayer differently than I meant it. I cannot lose Georgiana or Richard either. I feel like I am being selfish and renegotiating what I promised to God in that prayer. He saved you, just like I meant for him to, but I cannot help worry that something will happen to Georgiana or Richard.” He looked out the window. He had made this journey so many times since his youth, and knew he was precisely three miles away from knowing if Wickham had been found and if any of his family had been harmed. The last ten minutes had been harder and slower than the first four hours.

  “I do not know what kind of God you believe in, but the God I know does not work like that. He knows the intent of our hearts, even if we do not fully say them aloud for Him to hear.” She took his hand back and kissed it gently. “And besides having a little faith in God, you should have a little faith in Richard. If that weasel is found at Pemberley, Richard is a trained soldier who has actual combat experience. Wickham does not.”

  “I know,” Darcy said, and let out a breath. “But Wickham is probably unstable and unpredictable because of how desperate he is. That makes him a foe we should not underestimate.” She gave his hand a gentle comforting squeeze and he looked back at her. Her eyes were damp as she gazed longingly at him. He turned around to face her and cupped her face and kissed her. She responded and kissed him back several times. The rest of the journey was spent looking out the window.

  When they finally pulled up to the front entrance, no one was there to greet them. “Odd, where are the servants? They should have been expecting us.” He stepped out of the carriage and handed Elizabeth out as well. As they stepped up the stairs he paused and put his arm out to stop Elizabeth from walking. On the stairs by the column rested a pistol and a sword. He quickly scanned the landscape. He didn’t see anyone, not even a groundskeeper or gardener. “Elizabeth, I think he is here, inside the house,” he whispered.

  She held his arm tighter. “What should we do?” He dropped her arm and she watched as he picked up the pistol and checked that it was loaded. He gently pushed her behind him.

  “Stay close.” They took a step forward, but at that exact moment they heard a gun go off in the house. He took the last few steps two at a time and ran into the house. Reynolds and two groomsmen were running down the hall. He quickly turned and followed them. “Where is he, Reynolds?”

  “In your study,” Reynolds reported.

  Darcy’s heart was racing, and he suddenly remembered Elizabeth was right behind him. “Stay in the drawing room and do not come out!” he instructed her. He then whipped around and continued down the hall. The door of his study was already open, revealing at least five men standing around in a circle. He caught a glimpse of Richard kneeling down and heard someone ask if they should get a doctor. He couldn’t see who they were all gathered around, but it looked like someone was hurt. A great deal of blood had pooled on the floor.

  Richard cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose we should fetch the doctor. Although he does not deserve it. From the looks of the bleeding he will not make it anyway.”

  Darcy heard a gasp from behind him. He turned around and saw Elizabeth. “Elizabeth! This is not a time or place to be stubborn and not do as you are told! Go to the drawing room!”

  Ev
eryone in the room turned towards the door at the sound of Mr. Darcy’s voice, and saw that Darcy and Elizabeth had arrived. Reynolds started pulling on Elizabeth’s arm, “Come, Mrs. Darcy, this is no place for a lady.”

  Elizabeth numbly allowed herself to be escorted away from the commotion. Her mind was in a daze. Wickham was shot? By who? How? Her mouth was dry and she gasped a little, struggling to breathe. She needed fresh air and to leave the house. She shook her arm loose from Reynolds’ gentle grip before she picked up her skirts and ran out the front door, all the way to the barn. Once there, she collapsed on a hay pile and wept until she could cry no more. Soon after her sobs died, she heard a carriage up at the house and stood to see who had arrived. Was it the doctor? The undertaker? She had never seen or experienced someone dying before. She didn’t even know for certain that the figure in the study had been Wickham. But she had seen enough. Richard’s hands were bloody, and there was too much blood around him. That was all she knew.

  A man she did not recognize exited the carriage. She watched as Darcy came out to greet him. They talked for several minutes at the front door. So it wasn’t the doctor. If it was, Darcy would not hold him up like that. She sniffled and used her handkerchief to dry her eyes. A rooster crowed loudly, and she followed the sound outside to the pen. She watched the chickens walk around looking for food. She absently went back into the barn and took out a scoop of corn. Her feet took her back outside and she threw a handful of corn out, too much in shock to call to the first. The hens and roosters immediately gathered to where the corn had landed, and she watched, staring mindlessly until the corn was gone. She threw another handful out and the process began again. When that corn was gone she threw out more.

  Soon her eyes were completely dry and her chest no longer felt so tight. At least she knew that Darcy and Richard were safe. She threw out the last of the corn before she rested her arms on the gate, watching them peck and scratch at the last of their treat. After a moment, she realized she hadn’t seen the mother hen who had sat on the eggs all that time. She walked past the pen to the barn in search of her. There the mother hen was, and next to her were all her seven chicks who were all busy running around her. She recognized Lizzy right away but she didn’t know which brown chick was Fitz. She watched as one of the brown ones flapped its wings and then reached its beak to scratch at its new feathers. In doing so, it lost its balance and fell over. She smiled. Now she knew which one was Fitz. She started to occupy her time with finding names for the other five. After a while she heard her name being called out. She recognized the deep baritone voice and she went out of the pen in search of it.