Darcy's Hope at Donwell Abbey, a WW1 Pride & Prejudice Companion

by Ginger Monette

  No longer dancing, the side of her head was pressed against his cheek, his words a soft breath on her ear. Their two hearts beating as one.

  Fitzwilliam exhaled a lungful of air and resumed their dance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to prattle on so, especially in our last moments together.” He chuckled softly. “You must be a gypsy to coax such a monologue from me.”

  “Not a gypsy, just a listening ear. And glad you’re willing to speak of it. As we learnt with your nightmare, speaking of the pain can help take its power away.”

  “But I’ll never forget it. The scars will always be with me. The war has taken more from me than my sight.”

  “But its sting will fade with time.”

  His thumb brushed the back of her clasped hand. “For someone who’s never been to the Front, you have an uncanny understanding of it.”

  “The war has beaten you down, but it hasn’t beaten you. You’ve come through it and survived a horrific fall. Your future is bright. You’re going to St. Dunstan’s and then home to Pemberley and the land you love.”

  “I do love Pemberley. But for someone like me, it can be lonely.”

  He drew her closer, and as they gently swayed to the languid music, aching regret for all that could have been swelled inside her. They’d walked through so much together—months in a war zone, his deafness, injuries, and rise to wholeness. They were friends. They loved each other. They could have been so happy together.

  Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’re not so taciturn as you pretend.”

  “Not around certain people.” His lips were just above her ear. “I’m going to miss you, Juliet. Who will be my gypsy to draw me from my brooding states?”

  “Spero will listen.” She blinked back tears.

  “He could never replace you,” he whispered.

  As they gently swayed in each other’s arms with their lips inches apart, that cord of attraction tightened between them. Would he kiss her? She loved him, and he loved her—as Elizabeth Bennet and as Juliet Thomas. If she angled her head ever so slightly, his lips would be on hers. Oh, for one last kiss!

  A tiny voice of reason warned her to pull away, but the roaring cry of her heart drowned it out.

  Closing her eyes, she raised her chin, holding her breath in the agonising moment. His chin slowly pivoted towards her, and then his mouth found hers. He plied her lips in an aching caress, sending a tingle shimmering down her spine. The smouldering attraction between them burst to life, and he pulled her closer, kissing her with abandoned fervour. She pushed up on her toes and kissed him back with equal affection. How could she leave this man? This man whose soul had fused with hers? Somehow she must leave. To preserve his very life, reputation, and all he held dear. She would do it because she loved him. But right here, right now, she would enjoy this moment. This one last kiss.

  The band inside struck up a new tune that wafted out to the terrace. Let me call you sweetheart.... His hand curled behind her head, and his fingers entwined in her hair.

  Suddenly he flinched and pulled away. Wide-eyed and breathing hard, he stepped back, bumping the balustrade. She stood dumbfounded as his cane clattered to the ground.

  “Forgive me,” he stammered. “Elizabeth.... She.... I just can’t. It’s too soon.” He fumbled for his cane, then turned back to her. “Thank you, Miss Thomas. Thank you for everything. I wish you every happiness in America.” He bobbed a nod, then started across the flagstones.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she opened her mouth to call out to him, but no sound came out. Their parting was inevitable. She had to let him go. She had a kiss and memories that would last a lifetime. She would have to be content with that.

  He opened the terrace door and disappeared inside.

  And then he was gone.

  For good.

  ~FORTY-ONE~

  Four days later

  Elizabeth flipped over a page of the newspaper, restlessly scanning the articles as she sipped her tea in the nurse’s dining room. Fitzwilliam had been gone for three days, and she was...alone. Lonely.

  Though she walked to the pond every morning and busied herself as best as she could helping Hartfield’s patients, really she was just waiting. Waiting to leave. And she had four more days to wait.

  Turning over another page, her eyes skimmed over two ads, but a headline sent a bolt of adrenaline surging through her limbs and her eyes darting across the text:

  Cowart’s Star Shines Brighter

  War department officials recently released a report that suggests the deeds of national hero Dr. Ernest Cowart may have been even more heroic than previously understood.

  The report revealed that several key espionage agents at the notorious “Ritz” clearing hospital in Belgium have been apprehended.

  The conspiracy’s ringleader, also known to have been forging passports, was quietly brought to justice last November. Three co-conspirators, including a sanitation worker, a Belgian washerwoman, and a nearby Belgian resident, are all deceased.

  Officials would not comment on the suspected clearing station nurse or the specific nature of Cowart’s involvement in the apprehensions, but they praised the work of our beloved doctor. Not only did he tirelessly toil to mend our broken Tommies, but he thwarted the efforts of Britain’s enemies as well.

  May Cowart’s shining star live on. Truly Cowart was no coward.

  Elizabeth’s trembling fingers released the newsprint, and she stared into the room, dumbfounded. Sapper and The Ritz’s washerwoman were dead. The nearby Belgian neighbour was probably Monsieur Bongaerts. Was the ringleader Wickham? She couldn’t be sure. But there was no doubt she was the nurse they wouldn’t comment on.

  A shimmer of dread snaked over her. They hadn’t commented because she hadn’t been caught. And she wouldn’t be.

  If she could just keep herself hidden.

  For four more days.

  

  The next morning

  Darcy rose to the surface of slumber and rolled over. He drew in a groggy breath and opened his eyes, then slammed them shut as daggers of pain pierced the back of his eyes. Had he just seen light? With his heart pounding in expectancy, he cracked his lids again and winced at the same burning sensation. He bolted upright. Was it possible he’d regained his sight? Seeking a darker environment, he pulled the bedclothes over his head and fluttered a blink. It hurt a little, but by George he detected light!

  Batting his eyelids, he repeated the experiment, then held three fingers before his face and tried again. He could tell something was there, but it was only a blurry blob. Hope soared in him. Was it possible he only needed a little time? Even if all he could do was detect brightness of light, at least he would know day from night and cloudy from sunshine. Juliet would be thrilled for him. He had to tell her, see her!

  Throwing the sheets aside, he sprang from his bed, but a surge of disappointment wilted his momentum. He couldn’t just summon Lawson and go tell her. He was at St. Dunstan’s, and she was at Hartfield. And she would be leaving in just a few days.

  He sank back onto the mattress and pushed his fingers through his rumpled hair. He was alone. Again. With neither Elizabeth nor Juliet.

  This was his new reality. He must accept it. And he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—allow the demons of disappointment to plunge him into the bowels of despair.

  He had survived a horrific fall, regained his hearing, and could now see light. Circumstances had beaten him down, but they had not beaten him.

  And he wouldn’t let them beat him now.

  

  Darcy House—Late afternoon two days later

  Darcy looked up from his chair as the library door burst open.

  “By Jove, it’s nearly a miracle!” Scott’s booted footfalls crossed the threshold. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Captain. Congratulations.” His friend and physician pumped his hand.

  Darcy chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling.”

  “How much can
you see?”

  “A little more than yesterday.”

  Scott laughed. “How much is that?”

  “Enough to surmise a person is standing in front of me.”

  “So it’s still blurry?”

  “Very much so. And bright light, even with these dark glasses they’ve given me, is painful.”

  “But it’s a start.”

  “A very welcomed one. The ophthalmologist at St. Dunstan’s said he fully expected I would regain vision in all four quadrants, though I may require spectacles.”

  “A small concession.”

  “Small indeed. Please,” Darcy gestured to the chair in front of his desk, “sit down. Shall I ring for tea?”

  “No, thank you. I can only stay a few minutes.” Scott settled into the chair. “I haven’t spoken with your doctor, but there are only two explanations that could account for the return of your sight. First is that your occipital lobe just took its time healing, or second, that this could have been another instance of shell shock—or even a combination of both.”

  Darcy chuckled. “At this point it doesn’t matter. I’m simply thankful for evidence of its return. I’m only now getting used to the idea that I’ll be able to see Georgiana, read the books in my library, and indulge my love of drawing.”

  “Strange how life can change so quickly.”

  “More like in a split-second. This is my second monumental change inside of a year. Not only do I have the pleasure of my sight, but instead of spending the next nine months at St. Dunstan’s, I’ll be back at the helm as Pemberley’s master in a matter of days.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here in London.”

  “Georgiana is arriving tomorrow evening, and we’ll be attending the christening of Bingley’s son on Wednesday. But on Thursday morning, I can assure you, we’ll be on the first train north to Derbyshire.”

  “I have some good news of my own. The Duke of Norwich pledged his support to Hartfield. Oh, and I nearly forgot. The Knightleys and the patients at Hartfield send you their congratulations on the return of your sight.”

  “Have you told Miss Thomas?”

  “I think she nearly wept, she was so pleased for you.” Scott plopped his cap on the desk. “You know she’s leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

  Darcy exhaled. “Yes, I know.”

  “I’m sure she’d love to congratulate you in person. I’m catching the nine o’clock train back to Highbury tonight if you’d like to join me. You could surprise her first thing in the morning.”

  “She declined my invitation to correspond.”

  Scott chuckled. “It doesn’t appear to be due to a lack of interest. Have you considered it could be something else? It might be worthwhile to press her on the matter. What do you have to lose?”

  After showing Scott to the door, Darcy tapped his way out to the garden. What do you have to lose? Scott’s words rang in his mind. What did he have to lose? Perhaps he should be asking what did he have to gain? Instantly the memory of Juliet in his arms and her kisses, sweet on his lips, filled his mind.

  He lowered himself onto a bench and shook his head. Not so long ago it had been the recollection of Elizabeth’s embrace and kisses that haunted his thoughts. Was he so shallow to have already forgotten her? No. It had been some eight months since he bid her goodbye in Boulogne, and he still had trouble thinking of Juliet as separate from her. But he’d made a conscious decision to embrace the present and look ahead to his future. A corner of his heart would always belong to Elizabeth. But he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in the grief of the past if he had a chance at future happiness with a woman who had proven she would be an excellent partner. Juliet had brought him from a dark and silent world and given him the courage to press on. She understood him, and he trusted her. Enough that he’d voiced his innermost thoughts to her—twice.

  Given that Elizabeth and Juliet were the only two women he’d ever had any inkling of feelings for, it didn’t appear women like that grew on trees.

  But he needed to see Juliet to help him sort out his feelings. The two women were so similar. The only differences he could decipher were that Juliet wore glasses and wasn’t as outspoken as Elizabeth. What if he found Juliet unattractive? Would he be disappointed?

  He huffed. He’d already been over all of this a dozen times. It was do or die. Time to make a decision and live with it.

  If he didn’t petition Juliet one more time, he was guaranteeing that he would be returning to Pemberley alone. He’d already lost Elizabeth. Was he willing to let Juliet slip away without fighting for her if there was a chance he could persuade her to stay?

  Darcy’s heart beat faster as he chafed his thumb over the rough stones of the bracelet in his pocket.

  Scott didn’t think it was a matter of interest. If it was a defect in character, as Elizabeth had once so vehemently pointed out to him, then he might as well know that too.

  He was terrible at making any sort of declaration of his feelings, and this would be particularly awkward after he’d walked away from her on the terrace. But if he’d spoken up with Elizabeth last year about the danger she was in, she would never have disappeared in the first place.

  Fortifying his resolve, he pushed to his feet, then strode to the entrance hall in search of his butler. “Hawkins, pack my bag. I’m going to Donwell.”

  ~FORTY-TWO~

  The next morning—Donwell Abbey

  Darcy rolled over in the bed and smiled. Just after breakfast he would pay a visit to Juliet at Hartfield. Could he convince her to stay?

  He scrabbled for his braille watch on the bedside table. Blast! He had some two hours yet to wait. He flopped over onto his back and sighed. Eight months ago he’d been on the verge of winning Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Was she dead? Alive? Did she ever think of him? He groaned. He couldn’t keep dwelling on the past. He’d come to Donwell with an eye on his future, and whether or not Juliet would be a part of that future would be determined in a matter of hours.

  He tossed and turned for another half of an hour, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and swiped his hand down his face. He’d felt this same nervous anxiety some two years ago at Rosings, knowing he was about to propose to Elizabeth. He could only hope for a favourable outcome this time.

  He donned his uniform and dark glasses, then made his way down the stairs and out of the door with Spero by his side. Absently heading for the pond, he chuckled. His first solo venture with his cane hadn’t been that long ago. Juliet had allowed him to fall and pick himself up again—showed him that he could live as a blind man. But he wouldn’t be blind for long. Tears pricked his eyes, and he lifted his chin, allowing the early morning air to lick his cheeks. How glorious to detect light! He could even make out dark patches of foliage and colourful dots of wildflowers on either side of the blurry path. Soon he wouldn’t need his cane at all. He would be able to see those shrubs and flowers—and Juliet, if she would stay.

  Nearing the sprawling oak tree in front of the pond, he drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He was as nervy as a racehorse at the starting gate. He could negotiate delicate business transactions with ease, but expressing his feelings to a woman was another matter. And he’d hardly left Juliet with a favourable impression of him. His pulling away from her, then mumbling something about Elizabeth and leaving her standing alone on the terrace like a rejected lover was nothing short of insulting.

  Lowering himself to the base of the tree, he rehashed his morning plan for the hundredth time. But aside from his plan to arrive at Hartfield just after breakfast, then apologise to Juliet for his behaviour on the terrace and ask her to stay, there wasn’t much he could plan. There were too many factors he couldn’t control.

  He sat for some time, his mind rehearsing a dozen potential scenarios. What if she refused to speak to him? What if there was no quiet place to talk? Would she understand his struggle over losing Elizabeth? What if—?

  Spero’s tail thwacked the ground, and Darcy snapped
his head up as a shot of adrenaline surged through him. That thumping tail portended only one person. What was she doing here?

  Darcy clambered to his feet and rounded the tree. Her breath drew in sharply, and the shadowy figure twenty feet away stopped short. “Ca-captain Darcy. What brings you here?”

  “I-I had to see you—before you depart—after breakfast—at Hartfield. I mean...” He started towards her. “I was planning to call on you at Hartfield after breakfast, but I see a morning walk has brought us both to the pond.”

  “Can you see me?” She stepped back.

  Her guarded response halted him in his tracks. “Only light, and blurry patches of colour like the green of your dress.”

  The ensuing silence made the short distance between them feel like a mile.

  “C-congratulations.”

  Her lone word filled the gap but nothing more. Was she not genuinely happy for him?

  He shifted. “Thank you. It’s a wonderful surprise.”

  Another pause ensued before she closed the distance between them with a more heartfelt reply. “I’m delighted for you. Dr. Scott said you could expect full restoration of your sight.”

  “Yes.” The word rode out on a relieved chuckle. “But my eyes are still sensitive to light. Thus the dark glasses.” He touched the frames.

  Her cautious manner was hardly encouraging to his confidence, but he refused to be thwarted. Drawing a fortifying breath, he opened his mouth. “I came today because I wanted you to share in my joy but also to apologise for the dance—for my behaviour on the terrace. You must think me foolish.”

  “No. I understand. It’s not easy to let go of someone you care for.”

  He winced. Letting go of two people he cared for was even harder, but he wouldn’t relinquish Juliet without a fight.

  Raising his chin, he squared his shoulders. “No. It’s not easy letting go of someone you care for. I loved Elizabeth, but I have come to care for you as well. I don’t want to let you go, and I can’t help but think you—. Would you stay, Juliet? Give yourself—and us—a chance at happiness? A chance to explore a future together?”