A Life Apart

by Harriet Knowles

  Traitorously, her body told her she was glad she would be staying at Pemberley a little longer. And she had to admit to herself, it wasn’t just Pemberley now. It was the brooding and handsome Mr. Darcy, too. Now he was at Pemberley, her sleep was disturbed by the thoughts of him in the master’s bedchamber, right next to hers.

  She knew he wouldn’t come to her, wouldn’t take her in his arms, wouldn’t lower his lips to hers. But that knowledge didn’t stop her dreams. Last night, she had dreamed she had told him of her feelings for him and in her dream he had recounted the same feelings in return.

  She sighed. Nothing like that happened in real life, it never did. Aunt Gardiner had said to her — oh, so very long ago;

  It is perfectly possible to marry someone you have barely met before and make a successful marriage. And that is what you must do.

  She wondered if it might really be possible. When he had left her alone at Pemberley and returned to London, she had known then that he had no intention of working at making their marriage a successful one. And it would need both of them.

  But things seemed different now. He was here, and they were spending time together. She admitted to herself that she was beginning to feel some affection for him.

  She leaned back further and closed her eyes. Her heart might say one thing, but her mind reminded her of his family, of their determination to end this marriage. If she did not push him to annul the marriage, they might find her, might have her committed one day when she was unprotected by him.

  Her breathing hitched, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Think of something else! Push this out of your mind! You cannot think of this here!

  His gentle touch was a shock on her arm. “Madam, are you unwell?”

  Her eyes flew open. For her own happiness, she would need to stay beside him. For her own safety, she would need to leave him.

  But, before another thought could cross her mind, there was a sudden jerk, and the coach began to tip over, throwing them both sideways.

  There was a scream from outside, and a horse neighed wildly. Mr. Darcy’s arms were around her before the coach stopped tipping, holding her, preventing her from falling too far, too fast.

  Time seemed to have stopped. The coach was still. She drew a deep, shaky breath. The coach was tipped crazily sideways, the floor on that side splintered and broken, cold air exploring the interior. And she was crushed up tightly against his body.

  “Elizabeth, are you all right?” His question was urgent, intense, alarm in his voice. “Tell me that you’re unhurt.”

  “Thank you.” She pushed the hair back from her forehead. “I am unhurt.” She looked round at him. “Are you uninjured, sir?”

  He nodded. “We must —” But the door on the other side was wrenched open from the outside and the coachman was peering in, his face fearful.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir! Are you injured?”

  Her husband’s arms were still around her, holding her. He looked up at his servant and then down, past her. “We cannot get out of the lower door. You must assist me in helping Mrs. Darcy up to this door.” He looked at the coachman. “How are the staff? Are there any injured?”

  “I believe not, sir. Only some with small cuts or bruises.” The coachman reached down and Mr. Darcy lifted Elizabeth so that she was standing on the corner that was most nearly level. A slight tightening of his arms, then he’d let her go and was pushing himself up through the doorway above her.

  He smiled down at her, and she smiled uncertainly back at him. Why was he happy? Then he’d extended his hands down toward her.

  “Let me lift you up, Elizabeth.”

  He’d used her given name. She had understood when it had been so in the heat of the moment, but she had expected him to revert quickly to formality.

  Hesitantly, she took his hand and he supported her as she climbed onto the seat. Then he leaned forward and put his hands on her waist. “Please allow me.”

  He lifted her towards him as if she weighed nothing at all. Through the narrow doorway and the coachman helped Mr. Darcy assist her until she was standing on the roadside.

  She shivered, and he leaned down towards her. “Come and sit down, Elizabeth,” he whispered, and she stiffened.

  “I am well, sir.” She walked over towards the servants.

  “Are you well, Emilie? And how about you, Mrs. Oates?”

  The deputy housekeeper curtsied. “We are uninjured, thank you, Mrs. Darcy. The other servants have assisted us.”

  “I am glad.” Elizabeth looked round for her husband. He was with the coachman, inspecting the horses, and the junior coachman was busy unbuckling the straps that harnessed them to the shafts.

  She watched as he listened to Mr. Darcy, nodded and then took one of the horses and rode away, the makeshift reins in his hands, and without a saddle.

  She smiled as Mr. Darcy walked back towards her. “That man will know about it, riding without a saddle.”

  He laughed. “He does not have to ride far. I believe the inn is only a mile or two along the road. He will arrange a conveyance from there to take us to the inn and send an express to Pemberley and Mr. Reed will return with the second coach for us, and assistance in recovering what we can of — or from — this one.”

  Elizabeth looked over at the coach. “What happened to it?”

  “Come and see,” he invited, and they walked round the vehicle.

  “I thought at first it must have been a broken axle,” Mr. Darcy mused. “But, look. There has been something here that damaged the wheel rim and the wheel itself buckled when it rolled over that rut.” He frowned. “My wheelwright will now regularly inspect every vehicle I have.”

  “It looks as if we were most fortunate.” Elizabeth touched the buckled and splintered wheel.

  His hand touched hers, sending a lightning bolt of sensation up her arm. “I could not have borne it if you had been hurt, Elizabeth.” His voice was low.

  She raised her eyes to his face, startled. But it must be the aftermath of the accident. Nothing could change between them. Nothing.

  Chapter 36

  Several days later, he was feeling very frustrated. Everything seemed to have gone back to how it had been before.

  Except her name. He was still calling her Elizabeth. She had not commented on his use of her forename, but neither had she objected. He had to suppose that it was, at least, a step in the right direction.

  But she seemed — distant, somehow. As he’d tossed in bed that night, he’d remembered being concerned for her well-being in the moment before the accident, but the circumstances had precluded him asking her about it.

  He wondered what was troubling her. He thought back. They’d been talking about ordinary matters, nothing had seemed amiss. Then he thought she was resting, she’d leaned back and closed her eyes.

  He’d been happy, he could watch her without embarrassment. But her breathing had become laboured and she’d screwed up her face as if in discomfort.

  But just as he had expressed his concern, the broken wheel had sent her into his arms. He remembered the feel of her in his embrace, his need to protect her.

  She was his. He knew now that he could never let her go. But how was he to convince her?

  The footman quietly entered with the day’s post. He brought the small stack to Darcy’s side and then placed two beside Elizabeth’s place setting.

  In a few moments, his wife entered. “I am sorry to have been the cause of your having to wait, sir.”

  “Not at all, Elizabeth. I hope you slept well.” The unvarying formal question must be as frustrating for her as it was for him each morning, he wished he could change it.

  “I am well, sir. Thank you.” She curtsied and took her chair. He saw her face fall very slightly as she saw the letters beside her place and decided that he must arrange that the post was not brought in until after breakfast was nearly over in future.

  She had been eating a little better, and he had been pleased to see it, but today, she took
only a cup of tea. He frowned, how to save the day?

  Perhaps he should peruse his own post to give her time to read hers. Then she would be able to put any news behind her and he could suggest something to occupy them. Tea and pastries in the hothouse, perhaps. She would enjoy that.

  He picked up his letters, shuffling one to the bottom. He would not risk her recognising her mother’s handwriting. Neither would he tell her that he regularly received such missives from Mrs. Bennet.

  She would be writing — as always — to beg him for introductions to his wealthy friends for her daughters; for permission to visit her ‘beloved’ Lizzy; and money for new gowns so that they did not let down such a fine, rich estate as Pemberley.

  He frowned at his thoughts. Mr. Bennet should be putting a stop to this. But Darcy had never replied to Mrs. Bennet. It was Elizabeth’s choice as to when she wished for a reconciliation with her family, not his.

  He broke the seal on the first letter and glanced at the contents. He knew he would have to reread it later, when he was in his library and her nearness was not fogging his senses. But he wanted to appear to be reading so that Elizabeth was free to read her letters. He knew she would be sad after reading them. But he would exert himself to find something in which she could take pleasure. Thus he might help her forget again her unhappiness at her estrangement from her family.

  As he read, he watched her put down her teacup with a sigh and turn to her own letters. She didn’t smile as she read them, although he saw that she turned back and reread the one from her sister. He kept the appearance of attention on his own letters, but out of the corner of his eyes he could see the wistful expression on her features.

  Should he ask her of the news from home? Would such an enquiry please her, or cause her more distress?

  He really wished he knew her better, knew what to do to make her happy. And he knew he wanted to stay married to her, have her with him, not send her away.

  He wondered when he would dare tell her that.

  But today, he must wipe the sadness from her face and from her mind. He must.

  He put down his post and took up his coffee cup. He would have liked some more breakfast, but it might make her feel unwell. “I was wondering if you might like to take the phaeton with me round to the hothouse this morning?”

  She liked it there, he knew that.

  Her face lit up. “What a lovely idea! Thank you, sir, I would like it very much.”

  Her smile warmed him. He wished her to be happy, wished it with all his heart. Then all he would need was Georgiana and perhaps Richard to come and stay. He was sure Elizabeth would be happy in company.

  Chapter 37

  Elizabeth felt happier as she sat beside him in the phaeton and he drove the tiny vehicle round the lake. It seemed very intimate, even more than when they travelled alone in the coach.

  He looked down at her, and smiled. “I am pleased your new warmer clothes have arrived, Elizabeth. You look wonderful.”

  She felt the blush on her cheeks and looked away hastily. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Now she didn’t know what to do. She was becoming used to his company and grateful he was spending so much time with her. But this could not be. She must set him free, must have the marriage annulled or she would never be safe from his family.

  She was embarrassed at her pleasure when she pleased him, embarrassed that she sought his approval.

  But this time of stolen pleasure must come to an end, she must harden her heart and bring it to a conclusion. Sadly, she knew it must be soon.

  Examining her heart, she knew it was already too late for her. When she left here, she knew her heart would be broken for ever, both for Pemberley and for its master.

  She couldn’t look at him, but she must take in the sights that she could of the estate, make herself memories which would soon be all she had. She raised her head and looked ahead.

  She sensed his relief at her determination to lift her spirits and began to be troubled as to what would be his thoughts when she left Pemberley.

  What should she do if he wished her to stay? Looking out at the landscape wasn’t of much benefit to her, a mist of sadness seemed to be drawing a veil across her vision.

  She was much relieved when they arrived at the hothouse. He opened the door for her and she entered.

  The peace and the sense of growing, verdant life was exactly what she needed. A single glance took in that tea and pastries were already laid out for their convenience, but she didn’t stop at the table, rather wandering on along the slightly winding path through the lush growth. At the end, she stopped and tipped her head back to look up at the trees.

  A shiver went through her. Mr. Darcy was near.

  “I almost wish I had built it taller,” he said, conversationally. “These trees are only a few years old. Their growth each year is prodigious.”

  “It is hard to believe.” Elizabeth kept her gaze averted. Her heart was beating erratically. She wondered if he could hear it, the pounding was so loud in her ears. “Why, those leaves must be near a yard long.”

  He stepped up beside her. “And you might find it harder to believe that the leaves grow afresh each year.”

  He turned and looked at her. “Come and sit down, Elizabeth. I wish you to eat a little.”

  He had noticed she hadn’t taken breakfast. Jane’s letter had made her almost homesick. She knew she could never return, but it seemed as if life at Longbourn was little changed. Nobody seemed to miss her. Charlotte never wrote. She pushed away those thoughts. She could not ask for a more attentive companion than Mr. Darcy and he did not deserve to see a miserable expression on her face.

  “I confess I am a little hungry.”

  “You are?” He seemed pleased. “Would you care for me to order a more substantial meal for you?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Thank you, no. It would mean I would not then be hungry for lunch.”

  He chuckled in reply. “Perhaps you would like to divest yourself of your coat. Otherwise you might feel cold when leaving the warmth of this place.”

  “It is well-thought of,” Elizabeth murmured, and when they reached the table, she turned away slightly and began to unbutton her coat.

  Soon they were sitting down, and Mr. Darcy leaned back against the chair. He looked over at her, thoughtfully, but didn’t speak until she had finished eating.

  She smiled at him. “I have finished now, sir. You may risk distressing me with your questions and it will not have prevented me from eating.”

  He smiled appreciatively. “I see you can tell what my intentions are, even when I do not think it is very obvious.”

  She smiled slightly, wondering what he wished to talk about. She suspected it might have to do with her letters this morning.

  He looked down at his cup. “I have been considering when to talk about this, Elizabeth. I think the time is right to invite my sister to Pemberley. Georgiana is nearly sixteen years old and is anxious to make your acquaintance. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, would undertake to accompany her here. We would be a quiet party, but they are both pleasant company.”

  Elizabeth thought about his suggestion. “I am honoured that you wish to introduce me to your family, sir.” She looked up at him, a little desperately. It was going to be so hard to leave him.

  “But I think that it might be better that we do not meet. If I am to live apart, perhaps have you annul the marriage, then it would be better for your sister not to be acquainted with me.” The teacup trembled in her hand and she put it down hastily.

  Chapter 38

  “But I have been concerned that you might be lonely, Elizabeth. I know ladies need other ladies as their friends.” He had wanted only to make her happy this morning, and gain her consent to allow Georgiana to join them. But she had brought the whole conversation round to the future again.

  “Perhaps we have allowed the situation to continue as it is for too long, Mr. Darcy.” She raised her eyes to his. “I am able to
manage as I am at present. But I think we need to make a decision soon. It cannot be good for either of us not to know what the future holds.”

  Darcy got to his feet and began to pace along the path. He fumbled in his mind for the suggestion he wished to make to her. He shook his head. She seemed so determined to part, but he was not yet ready to tell her what he really wanted. But how would he manage?

  He smiled mirthlessly. He had spent weeks away from here, wanting to be alone at Pemberley, resenting her presence. Now he wanted her here, could not imagine the echoing emptiness that would remain when she had gone.

  He swung back to her. “So, what do you want, Elizabeth? How would you like this situation resolved?” He ran his hand through his hair frustratedly.

  She looked utterly composed. Only her uneven breathing seemed to belie her calm exterior.

  But she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “I want what you want, sir.” Sadness had settled on her features again. “You are the one who has been placed in an impossible situation by my family. I must bear the responsibility for it.”

  He turned and paced away. He could not believe that she meant her words. It seemed the only answer she ever gave him. She still talked of living apart from him. He swung round. “And if I ask you to stay here? At Pemberley?”

  He was right. There was alarm in her eyes — almost fear. What was she afraid of?

  He swallowed. She could not be afraid of him, surely? Was there something here, something terrible she could not tell him about?

  “I do not think you would want that, sir.” She seemed to be hunting for the right words to use, words to convince him — perhaps words she did not believe herself. “Every time you see me, it must remind you of the terrible obligation you were placed under, the awful change to your circumstances that you would never have freely chosen.”

  He frowned down at her. “I think that you, too, were placed under a very much unwanted obligation, Elizabeth.” He turned away again. “If the marriage is annulled as you wish — if it even can be — you will have the same difficulties as before. You will be unable to go home, unable to make your way in society.”