Waking to Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Novella

by Leenie Brown

  “Since you have mentioned her,” Darcy began, “I must speak to you of my aunt and my uncle.”

  “The earl?”

  He nodded. “Your mother is from trade. They will take note of that fact. My uncle, I expect, to be more tolerant of it, but Lady Catherine will be…” He paused and though a host of colourful descriptions passed through his mind, he did not employ them for fear of being offensive, so he simply added, “…less so.”

  His eyes held hers, his gaze was most intent, and she understood that what he had said was done carefully.

  “She will be outraged?” she asked quietly.

  “Not an unusual state for my aunt.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide as she remembered something Wickham had said. “You cannot marry me.”

  His brows furrowed. “I believe, I must.”

  She shook her head. “You are promised to your cousin.”

  “Your cousin told you this?” He tried to keep the anger from his voice, but from her response, he knew he had not been successful.

  “No,” her reply was barely above a whisper.

  “Then who?” Bingley knew of his aunt’s desires, as did Caroline, but would they have told her? Perhaps Caroline might.

  “Mr. Wickham.”

  Her reply arrested his thoughts and his breath.

  She watched his jaw muscle clench and relax, clench and relax as his face took on a look of great displeasure.

  “My aunt Philips had a gathering, and he was there.”

  “And he spoke of me and my affairs?” His tone, he knew, was harsh.

  She nodded.

  “And you listened?”

  She could not look at him. He was furious. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  He rose. “I will get tea. Do not be too long out of bed doing whatever you might need to. You are still not well.” He stopped as he reached the door. “Mr. Wickham’s lot is of his own making and far better than he deserves.” He opened the door. “I will return.”

  Tears ran down her cheek as he closed the door. She brushed them away. Foolish things, tears. Always appearing unbidden. It was not as if they could actually wash away her shame. She climbed out of bed and attended to her needs, then, feeling somewhat stronger than she had before, she wandered the room for a few short circuits before returning to bed. Her stomach twisted in knots as she waited for him to return.

  It was not a short wait. Darcy did not hurry with his tea preparations. He needed time to calm himself. Nearly a full quarter hour of moving wood outside the door under the shelter was needed before he felt ready to begin a task as genteel as tea preparation. He searched through the supplies and found a box of biscuits. Elizabeth might need more than just tea. She seemed to be doing better. “Wickham.” He spat the name at the tea tray. “Always Wickham.” He leaned his head against the wall as he waited for the water to boil.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth stood at the door to the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “I must apologize.”

  “You are not to be out of bed.” He took her by the shoulders, turned her, and directed her back towards her room. “I will get the tea, and then, you may talk.”

  “I must apologize,” she insisted as she limped along ahead of him. “I knew it was wrong to listen. I did not inquire anything from him, but I also did not stop him from speaking. I did not want to stop him.”

  Darcy froze at the comment, and Elizabeth, who was just outside the bedroom, turned to him.

  “I wished to hear him disparage you. I know it is wrong, and I am sorry.” Tears once again tried to wash away her shame and sorrow. She swayed slightly.

  “You must get in bed.”

  She took a wobbly step towards the bed, but before she could take a second, he had lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.

  “Please, stay here,” he said softly.

  She grasped his sleeve. “I am sorry.”

  He nodded, gave her a tight smile as he pressed his handkerchief into her hand and, once again, left the room.

  Chapter 5

  When Darcy finally entered her room with the tea tray, Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed, preparing to stand. Seeing him, she hurried to climb back under the covers.

  He lifted a brow and sat the tea tray on the table, taking care to keep his eyes on the tray and not her. His shirt did little to conceal what lay beneath. “Were you coming to find me again?” He waited until she was comfortably ensconced in her blankets before handing her a cup of tea. “You are not a very good patient.” He held out the plate of biscuits.

  “I have never been a very good patient or student, I am afraid. I am far too impatient.” She took a small bite of her biscuit, followed by a sip of tea. “You make a very good cup of tea, sir.”

  He inclined his head in acceptance of her compliment. Both were silent while they ate and drank. Neither willing, it seemed, to broach the subject that was on their minds. Finally, Elizabeth handed her cup to Darcy and began the discussion that needed to be had.

  “I must explain my dreadful behaviour.” She peeked up from studying the handkerchief she wound between her fingers. “I assure you that I have been taught proper social graces. Perhaps not so well as your sister, but well enough to know that encouraging gossip and sharing with others is wrong.” Her eyes returned to watching the handkerchief thread under one finger and over the next. “I shared what I had eagerly listened to with my sister Jane, and she reminded me that I should take care in listening to such things. She is very nearly always right.” She sighed. “I have been thinking this past half hour about what I heard, and I must admit, had I been less eager to hear ill, I would have questioned some things before now.”

  Darcy placed his cup next to hers on the tray. “Perhaps you could share with me what you have heard so that I might defend myself against the charges.”

  She swallowed. His eyes were hard and his tone was severe. Still, she nodded and began. For several minutes, she related all that she had heard of Wickham’s connections, his mistreatment, and his knowledge of Darcy’s engagement. She finished with his description of Miss Darcy — it was something she could not do without a few tears falling, for she could see how deeply her words affected Darcy. She knew that if she were to be subjected to hearing such things said about a family member, she would be both angry and hurt as well.

  When she had finished speaking, Darcy rose and paced the room. It was not any less than he had expected Wickham to share with an eager listener. Although he found Wickham’s description of his sister to be infuriating, he was glad that nothing more damaging had been told.

  Elizabeth watched him pace. His hands clenched and relaxed. He shook his head and seemingly remonstrated himself silently. Then, he took a place near the room’s small window and drew in what she hoped was a deep calming breath.

  “Why did you wish to hear me disparaged?” He glanced her direction. “I had thought we had formed a sort of friendship while you were at Netherfield.”

  Her brows furrowed. He had counted her a friend? “I thought you disapproved of me. Did you not only look at me to find fault?”

  “Why should I do that?” His look of surprise matched hers.

  “Because my family is of no significance, my mother is loud — as are Lydia and Kitty, and well, I am only tolerable, at best.”

  He grimaced as she continued.

  “We are fortunate to have Jane to do us credit. And I believe, you shall be happy to be free of this area as the people here are truly beneath your notice.” She watched his face as she spoke. “Do you deny it, sir?”

  He shook his head. “Have I truly been so abominable?”

  She shrugged. “Not if you were to speak to Jane, but there are many others who would say you have.”

  “Such as yourself?”

  She nodded. “Your words about me were not exactly flattering.”

  “I did not want to come to Hertfordshire,” he said, returning to his chair. “But Bingley had found an estate, a
nd I had promised him my assistance.” He smiled ruefully. “A Darcy does not go back on his word. That is what my father always said. So, I came, but not willingly.”

  She returned his smile. “That was apparent.”

  He chuckled. “My sister has not been well. She had been through a trying experience, and I was loath to leave her.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” said Elizabeth softly.

  He took a deep breath and released it in a whoosh. “We are to be married, so you should know the whole of the matter.”

  “But what of your cousin?”

  “There is no understanding between myself and Anne. It is her mother’s desire that we marry, but it is not mine. I have yearly attempted to disabuse Lady Catherine of the thought, but she holds to it firmly.”

  “You are truly not bound to your cousin?” Elizabeth was strangely happy to hear it.

  “I am not. However, I must caution you that my aunt will act as if you and I have done her daughter a grievous wrong. She will no doubt claim you have trapped me.” He smiled. “She is not always the most sensible of women.” He leaned toward her. “Mr. Wickham is aware that there is no understanding between Anne and me. He is well-versed in spinning a tale with just enough truth to make it seem credible.” He stood and took another turn of the room. As he did, he began to relay to her the whole of his acquaintance with Wickham. From their friendship as children to their growing apart as Darcy’s father began to show preference to Wickham to their time at university, when Wickham’s lack of morals and integrity became painfully clear, he left nothing out. He told her of the deaths of both his own father and Wickham’s. He explained how the living had been refused and how a settlement had been made in place of it — a settlement that was quickly wasted. Then, he told of Wickham’s returning to claim the living he had refused.

  With each detail, Elizabeth’s stomach turned and her sense of shame deepened.

  Darcy reclaimed his seat beside her. “Perhaps that is enough for now.”

  “There is more?” The words squeaked out of her. How could there be more? The list of grievances against Wickham was extensive.

  “There is.” He placed a hand on her cheek. “You should rest.”

  She shook her head. Tears pricked at her eyes. He was so gentle, so caring. How could he be so when she had given him no reason to be? She had abused him to her sister and had eagerly listened to tales about him. He was not the man she had supposed him to be. “I will not rest until I know all.”

  He chuckled and brushed a tear from her cheek. “You will no doubt come find me if I leave you.”

  She smiled. “I will.”

  “Very well, but I must warn you that this part of the tale is the worst.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide, and she sucked in her lower lip as she nodded her understanding. He had already told her of Wickham’s love of gambling, drinking, and many women. What could be worse?

  “My sister has thirty thousand pounds.”

  Elizabeth gasped not only at the size of Miss Darcy’s worth, but also at what she knew must follow such an introduction. “He attempted to get it?”

  “He did.”

  Elizabeth sank back against her pillows. Her eyes closed, and her hand rested on her heart. “How foolish I have been.”

  His hand closed over hers. “He is proficient at his game.”

  She looked at his hand and blushed.

  He mumbled an apology and removed his hand from hers. Why was he so tempted to touch her? To embrace her? To see her well no matter what she had done? He relaxed back into his chair, and after receiving an assurance of secrecy from her, he told her about how his sister had been charmed by Wickham and convinced that she was in love with him to the point of agreeing to an elopement. “Fortunately, the scheme was discovered before any permanent damage occurred, though I fear her heart may never be as it once was.”

  Elizabeth could find no words to express all that she felt. There was shame, yes. To have been taken in by a pleasant countenance and pleasing words was mortifying. But there was also a deep sadness, a pain that threatened to crush her heart when she thought of what Miss Darcy must have experienced. To be tricked in such a way!

  “It is why I had no desire to leave her,” he said softly. “It does not excuse my actions, of course, but I do hope it helps you understand them.”

  “Oh!” cried Elizabeth, “And then to see him here in this place! It is no wonder you greeted him as you did!”

  “I can have Bingley assure you of much of what I have told you. He was not witness to Wickham’s actions, but he has heard much from my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, on the subject.”

  “Why should I need confirmation?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.

  “It is only my tale and does not agree with Mr. Wickham’s. How are you to judge the veracity of either without evidence?”

  “There is evidence enough,” she retorted. “You have not flattered yourself, and what brother would tell such a tale about his sister unless it were true!” She coughed lightly into the handkerchief she still held. It was beginning to feel as if a feather was tickling her throat and leaving little scratches in its wake.

  “You should rest.” He placed a hand on her forehead. “Your cheeks are flushed and you are still warm. The fever is not gone and should not be stirred up any further.”

  She coughed again.

  He tipped his head. “I think we might have something to soothe that,” he said with a smile. “I will go get it and a bit of water for you. Will you stay here?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He stood and taking up the tea tray turned to leave.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she called after him.

  He turned toward her.

  “Do you forgive me for my foolishness in listening to Mr. Wickham?”

  He smiled. “Can you forgive me my words from our first meeting?”

  Her brows furrowed, but a smile played at her lips. “I believe I can.”

  “Then we shall begin anew — wiser for our foibles.”

  Elizabeth watched him leave. He appeared different to her. His shoulders were not so rigid, and there was a certain softness to his movements that had not been there before. Mr. Wickham’s words came once again to her mind. “Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous.” She shook her head. She had not changed in consequence. She was now as she always was, the daughter of a gentleman who, though of good standing in Hertfordshire, was far less prosperous than Mr. Darcy. Her mother had not changed nor had her aunts and uncles. They were still from trade, and yet, Mr. Darcy seemed at ease with her now. She had, she assumed, breached the wall and entered the circle of those with whom he felt comfortable. She smiled and shook her head again. To think that being the friend of Mr. Darcy suddenly pleased her so! It was, she knew, due to her growing understanding of him. He was not as she had contrived. It was on his character and reviewing his actions in this new light of understanding that she was still thinking when he returned.

  “A bit of water.” He held out a cup to her. “It is warm.” He waited for her to sip from the cup and then, setting it aside, scooped a spoonful of honey from the jar he carried. “Mrs. Reynolds would sometimes mix in some herbs or lemon, but the honey is what coats and soothes,” he explained. “And it is rather tasty.”

  He was correct. It was deliciously sweet, and she licked the remaining honey from the spoon before returning it to him.

  “Now rest.” His tone was very much that of a caretaker who would brook no objections.

  Elizabeth relaxed back onto her pillows.

  Darcy settled into the chair with his book. “Shall I read?” he asked. He waited for a nod from his patient and then began.

  His voice was pleasant and the poetry, good. Soon, Elizabeth found her eyes refusing to stay open. Her tired, sore muscles relaxed, and sleep began to overtake her senses. As she drifted to the edge of consciousness, his voice quieted. He
placed a hand on her forehead as he had several times to check her fever. Then, soft as a rose petal, he kissed the spot where his hand had lain.

  He watched her chest rise and fall in the easy rhythm of sleep. “Why do you affect me as you do?” he whispered. “It is beyond your beauty for you move me to my very soul.” He kissed her forehead once again. “Rest well.”

  And as he returned to his chair to continue his reading silently, she did.

  Chapter 6

  “Through that door,” said Bingley, shaking the rain off his hat and pointing Mr. Bennet and Jane in the direction of the bedroom Elizabeth occupied. “I shall join you as soon as the kettle is on the flame.”

  Mr. Bennet, with Jane by his side, hurried to the door indicated and pushed it open.

  “Well, that is a pretty picture.” Mr. Bennet chuckled. Darcy had fallen asleep in his chair next to Elizabeth. “Mr. Bingley was not wrong in Mr. Darcy’s attentiveness, was he? I never thought to see Mr. Darcy playing the part of a nursemaid.”

  “Papa,” chided Jane. “He has saved her. You must not tease him for doing so.”

  “Perhaps you are correct.” Mr. Bennet walked to the chair and took the book from Darcy’s hands. “Hmmm. He has good taste in poetry.” He peeked over the book at Jane. “Not that I thought him capable of poor taste.”

  The noise and having his book taken from his hands roused Darcy. He straightened himself as quickly as he could when he realized he was not alone.

  “It is quite alright, my son,” Mr. Bennet was studying Elizabeth’s face. “We have all fallen asleep while reading at one point or another.” He turned to Mr. Darcy. “Her cheeks are slightly flushed. Has she woken at all?”

  “Yes, sir. Not long after Bingley left. Her fever has not grown worse, but it has not subsided either. She has not complained about her leg, but she has started to cough.” He nodded a greeting to Jane, who had placed herself on the bed next to her sister. “Have you brought the surgeon or apothecary?”

  “The surgeon is on his way. Young Thomas James fell — slipped on a wet stone, I hear — and the lad’s arm needs setting. Mr. Sheppard will be along after he has completed that call. I was assured that my Lizzy was in good hands.” He smiled at Darcy and motioned to the door. “I think we can leave her to Jane now while we talk.”