by Leenie Brown
“Your cousin has lectured you about reading novels?” Darcy asked incredulously.
“Most assuredly he has. They are highly inappropriate for young ladies. It would be far better to read a book of sermons.” Elizabeth chuckled. “However, I have no need to read sermons since my sister Mary reads only sermons and insists on sharing what she has read with us on a regular basis.”
“Pray tell, Miss Bennet,” Richard’s tone was light and teasing, “which novels have you read that cause such censure?”
“Oh, I dare not say lest my reputation be ruined,” Elizabeth returned with a smile. “I will tell you, however, that it did make Mr. Collins much relieved that I had refused his offer as he could not have had a wife who read such books.”
“No!” exclaimed Darcy and Richard in unison, drawing the attention of their aunt.
“Yes,” whispered Elizabeth with a twinkle in her eye, “three days before he made an offer and was accepted by Charlotte.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, of what are you speaking? I must know of what you are speaking,” demanded Lady Catherine.
“Books, my lady. I was telling Miss Bennet about the excellent library you have here at Rosings. May I have your leave to show it to her?” He rose in anticipation of his aunt’s approval. She was always willing to show guests all the best parts of her estate, and even some of the less impressive parts if it would duly impress upon the observer how much they lacked compared to her.
“Most certainly, you must!” Lady Catherine answered. “I should think that anyone would be fascinated to see its scope … “
“Thank you, my lady,” Richard interrupted. His aunt continued on with her comments about the importance of a well-stocked library but turned them toward Mr. Collins, who was always eager to hear her opinions and agree with them. “Miss Bennet, may I escort you to the library? Darcy, you will join us, will you not?”
Elizabeth took Richard’s proffered arm, and Darcy rose to follow. However, upon reaching the hall, Darcy stopped. “I will join you in a minute. I have a book in my room that I think Miss Elizabeth will enjoy. I will fetch it and return directly.”
When Darcy reached the library, Elizabeth was walking around the room, trailing her finger along the rows and rows of books. Every now and then, she stopped, pulled a book from the shelf, paged through it or paused to read a few lines before returning it to its place among the other books.
Darcy stood at the door and watched. As much as he wished to give the book in his hand to Elizabeth, he could not bring himself to interrupt her perusal. It was ─
“Mesmerizing, is it not?”
Richard’s whisper agreed exactly with Darcy’s thoughts. It was mesmerizing — the way she moved slowly along her path around the room, the sway of her skirts, the tip of her head as she read, the soft touch of her finger on the binding of each book.
“Imagine when she sees your library in town or at Pemberley.”
Darcy’s breath hitched, and he swallowed. He had often pictured her curled up in a chair with a book in one of his libraries as he had seen her at Netherfield. Her head had been resting on the back of the chair, her feet had been tucked under her skirts and a finger wound and unwound a wayward strand of hair that hung just behind her ear. She had not seen him, but he had seen her, and the vision had not left him.
Richard cleared his throat, softly drawing Darcy’s attention away from his contemplation of Elizabeth. “Before you are completely unable to speak,” Richard said playfully, “did you get the letter?”
Darcy nodded and opened the book he held just enough for Richard to see the missive tucked inside.
“Do you wish for me to give it to her?” Richard asked.
Darcy shook his head and crossed the room to where Elizabeth was paging through a book. She smiled and closed the book she held as he approached her.
“I see you have retrieved your book,” she said as she placed the one she held back on the shelf.
He held the book out to her. “A book of verses by Wordsworth. I believe you mentioned his works being some that you enjoyed.”
She blinked in surprise and took the book from him. He had remembered her preference? She turned the book over in her hands before opening to the bookplate. Fitzwilliam Darcy. This was his book. She had thought that he was merely retrieving a book to return to the library, but instead, he had brought his own copy. She ran her finger lightly over the name.
Richard smiled as he watched her gently stroking the bookplate. He now understood why she had been so adamant in her dislike of Darcy. He suspected her dislike was covering her true feelings — feelings that ran in quite the opposite direction, but not with any less intensity. He shook his head as he looked at the pair in front of him. Were there two people more afraid of admitting their love for each other? He saw her flip through the book and the book falling open to the place where the letter with her name on it lay hidden.
“Oh,” she started, and then looked at Darcy with confusion.
“I can explain,” said Richard. He wanted her to know that, although the book was Darcy’s and the letter was in Darcy’s hand, he knew of both its existence and its contents. It would not do to have her thinking of his cousin as being improper. “There are some things of which my cousin and I thought you needed to be aware before your return to Hertfordshire. Darcy mentioned to me that Mr. Wickham was stationed in Meryton, and neither of us would like you to return home without knowing his true character, for he is a practiced deceiver and fools most, if not all, the people he meets. However, since the things that need to be said are not pleasant, we decided that, in order to give you privacy in deference to how you may feel on learning the information, it should be contained within a letter.”
“Some of the information enclosed within the letter is of a delicate nature, so we are asking that you guard it and let no one else read it. We know that we can count on your discretion in this, or we would not have written it,” Darcy added.
“Of course, you may count on my discretion,” replied Elizabeth. Curiosity was demanding that she read the letter right then and there, but reason insisted she wait.
“You may borrow the book, Miss Elizabeth,” continued Darcy, “and return it before we leave or when you get to London. However, we realize that you may have some questions or concerns regarding the contents of the letter, and so we have decided that we will not be leaving tomorrow as previously planned.”
Elizabeth turned the letter over where it lay between the pages of the book. “This letter is that important?”
“Yes, I am afraid it is,” said Richard solemnly. “Would you be available to walk in the grove with us tomorrow morning? I promise we will not walk so far as to cause a relapse of today’s indisposition.”
“Yes, I will meet you in the grove tomorrow morning, but I must admit all this has put me somewhat on edge.”
“I apologize for making you uneasy.” Darcy could not help taking a step closer to her. He did manage, however, to keep from touching her hand that was once again turning the letter over. “I would not have done anything to disquiet you unnecessarily.”
She glanced up at him. His brows were drawn together in concern.
“I could not.”
Elizabeth was certain her heart had skipped a beat at the whispered admission.
“We should return to the others before my aunt or your cousin come searching for us,” suggested Richard.
Elizabeth slowly shifted her gaze to Richard and nodded before returning her eyes to the surprising Mr. Darcy. This was not the Mr. Darcy she had met in Hertfordshire. Here he seemed relaxed, agreeable, and caring. She closed the letter safely inside Mr. Darcy’s book. Perhaps it would help her discover who Mr. Darcy really was.
Chapter 5
The sun was just stretching its fingers above the horizon, poking them into windows, waggling them under noses and across eyes, and stirring the occupants within their dwellings when Elizabeth stretched and yawned as she rose. Her sleep had not be
en sound, and her body wished for her to pull the blankets up to ward off the advances of the day and continue its repose. However, Elizabeth could not indulge in such luxuries if she wished to have a cup of tea before her walk. If she lounged in bed for too long, she would doubtlessly meet with either Charlotte or Mr. Collins, and she felt unprepared to meet either this morning. The information contained within the letter under her pillow still weighed heavily upon her mind, and she wished for some fresh air in which to think before she met with the colonel and Mr. Darcy.
She paused in her morning rituals and ran a hand over the book of verse that sat on her dressing table. She flipped it open to the place that was held by a length of material stitched with several small flowers and a heart. At the bottom of the bookmark was a single elegant G, indicating it had obviously been made for him by his sister.
She read the poem on the marked page and wondered again at Mr. Darcy’s having given the book to her before he had even finished reading it. She knew he had not completed it, not only because of the marker but also because this was a book they had discussed wishing to read when at Netherfield, and at that time, neither of them owned it.
She closed the book and hurried through the rest of her preparations, slipping into a green day dress and styling her hair simply. Then, she tucked his letter into her pocket and, taking up her bonnet and his book, slipped out of the room and down the stairs.
She was just finishing her tea when Charlotte arrived in the morning room. “Good morning,” Elizabeth greeted as she rose to leave. “I was just on my way for a walk.”
“Are you planning to spend some time reading?” asked Charlotte, noting the book Elizabeth carried.
“Yes, it is a book I have not yet read.”
Charlotte raised a questioning brow.
“Mr. Darcy loaned it to me,” Elizabeth explained, “and I would like to return it to him before he leaves for town.”
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “Is he not leaving today? I know you read quickly, but surely even you could not be finished in time to return it to him before he departs.”
Elizabeth sighed and stood impatiently at the door. She did not wish to answer questions. She longed to be outdoors and alone with her thoughts. “Colonel Fitzwilliam said they may not leave until tomorrow or Monday.”
“Interesting,” said Charlotte, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly. “It seems their departure will coincide with yours. I wonder…” her voice trailed off as Elizabeth gave an exasperated sigh.
Elizabeth did not wish to hear Charlotte’s theories on Mr. Darcy’s actions, for Elizabeth was no longer certain how to interpret that gentleman. She had thought she knew him. However, after having read that letter — the letter that shared all the details Mr. Wickham had conveniently left out of his tales, the same letter that told how Mr. Darcy’s sister had fallen prey to the schemes of Mr. Wickham –, she knew that whatever she had thought Mr. Darcy to be was completely and utterly wrong.
Seeing that her friend was not going to provide any further information or argument, Charlotte sighed in resignation. “Very well,” she said, “I shall wonder on my own until you return.”
Elizabeth nearly flew out of the room and the house, desperate to be away and alone for the time it would take her to walk to the grove and meet the gentlemen.
Darcy and Richard were waiting on a bench under a large tree in the grove. As Elizabeth approached, they both rose to greet her and then joined her, each gentleman taking a place on opposite sides of her. Together, they walked in silence for a short distance. Elizabeth knew what must be done, but an admission of errors was never easy. Eventually, she spoke.
“I must apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she began the small speech she had practiced. “I should not have listened to Mr. Wickham, and I should not have been so critical of your behaviour when you were in Hertfordshire.” She drew a quick breath and hurried on, hoping that haste would make the shame of her previous actions more bearable. “You may find it interesting to know that Jane told me not to listen to Mr. Wickham. She also scolded me about my criticism of you and insisted there must be a reason for your behaviour, for a gentleman could not be friends with Mr. Bingley and be anything less than perfect in her eyes. However, I chose not to listen and allowed my pride to rule my actions. For that, I am truly sorry.” She studied the ground in front of her. Her cheeks burned, and tears stung her eyes.
Richard gave Darcy a surprised look, which was returned in kind. An apology was not at all what either gentleman had expected. However, it was a fortuitous advance in their position, for which Richard was pleased. However, he also did not want Miss Bennet thinking herself unworthy of a man such as Darcy and once self-depreciation began, some individuals fell prey to its destruction more quickly than others. He did not know if Miss Bennet was one of those sorts of people, but he was not willing to accept the risk.
“Do not regret listening to Wickham,” Richard said in an attempt to mitigate the damage over-blown guilt might wreak. “You must remember he is a practiced liar of the worst sort. Many, many people have fallen victim to his lies.”
“I appreciate your words, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but the fact that Mr. Wickham is a practiced deceiver does not negate the fact that I failed to listen to sound reason and chose to disparage your cousin because of my wounded pride. I will not so quickly place my responsibility beside the road. It is mine to own.”
“As you wish, Miss Bennett,” conceded Richard. He had heard similar comments all his life from Darcy and knew that argument was useless. “Do you have any questions regarding what you read last night?”
She shrugged. “The letter was so very thorough and clear that I do not find I have any issue with the content. I do, however, wish to ask you how you feel I should use this information to protect myself as well as my friends and family from Mr. Wickham.” She attempted to brush a wayward tear away unnoticed. However, she was not successful and soon found herself in possession of Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief. It was difficult in and of itself to consider how she had been fooled and how foolishly she had acted without her emotions being stirred, but when one added to that the knowledge of how perilously close Miss Darcy had come to ruin, the task became insurmountable.
“His tales are convincing. They contain just enough truth to be believed.” Darcy smiled at her, hoping she understood that he did not blame her for being drawn in by Wickham. “Sharing the information regarding the living at Kympton, and the money that was given and squandered, should do some good in discrediting Mr. Wickham.” He paused. “As to my sister. I should think her ordeal may be spoken of in generalities — a young lady of means was deceived, he sought not her heart but her fortune, that sort of thing. Your father must know of any danger Wickham might pose to your sisters.”
Elizabeth stopped and looked up at him. Could she trust another with such information about one of her sisters as he was willingly placing in her hand? He must think very highly of her to do so. The small furrow between his eyes and the set of his mouth let her know that it was not easily done. It was a decision to trust — a decision he needed to know had not been made in error.
“I will share what I know of Mr. Wickham’s true nature,” she said, “but please know that I will protect your sister.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.”
His reply was little more than a whisper, and she was startled by the glistening she saw in his eyes before he quickly looked away. How he must have suffered!
“Was there anything else you wished to know?” Richard asked. Elizabeth was as fine a lady as he had met. Her willingness to admit her wrong and to not excuse it when given a chance, as well as the fierceness with which she pledged to protect Georgiana, stood as a testament to that fact. Darcy would do very well with this woman at his side.
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed as she thought. “No,” she finally said slowly, drawing out the word as her head began shaking from side to side and then stopped. “Actually, yes. There is one thing I woul
d like to ask.”
“Go on,” Richard encouraged.
“How is Miss Darcy?”
Her question touched the hearts of both men, one perhaps more than the other. Richard was able to speak first, “She is not quite herself yet. She is making improvements, but the process is slow.”
They walked in silence for a while before Elizabeth spoke again. “She will never be herself again, you know. Every experience changes us to some extent, and the greater the emotional drain, whether happy or sad, the greater the change. When she recovers, for how can she not with such good guardians, she will be stronger, but she will not be the young girl she was before the incident. And, you gentlemen will no doubt experience a period of mourning as a result. Have you prepared yourself for that?”
“I had not thought of it in such a way,” Darcy admitted, looking at Richard.
“Nor had I,” Richard agreed, “although it makes perfect sense.”
“It often takes a woman to make sense of things, you know,” teased Elizabeth in an attempt to lighten the mood. Thankfully, it worked, and both men chuckled.
“While we are on the topic of sisters,” Darcy’s heart beat a loud rhythm in his chest. He hoped that the discussion he was about to begin would not end in disaster. “Might I inquire as to how your eldest sister fares?”
Darcy noted how Elizabeth’s posture became noticeably more rigid and knew that the topic he had introduced was one that was, as he had feared it might be, fraught with unpleasant emotions. However, it could not be helped. The subject must be broached. His guilt in having committed a grievous wrong must be either confirmed, as he very much suspected it would be, and felt more fully or denied and, therefore, allayed.
“My sister, much like yours, is not herself at the moment, I am afraid.” Elizabeth gave him a tight smile.
Scenes of the tears of anguish that he had witnessed from his sister upon her first discovering of Wickham’s perfidy and the sorrow that followed and still played with his sister’s heart rose unbidden in Darcy’s mind, and he steeled himself before continuing. That he could be the cause of such suffering was not easily faced, but it was necessary that it be, for there could be no correction of an error if the wrongdoing was not first recognized. “Is this due to the defection of Bingley from Netherfield?”