The Second Mrs. Darcy: A Pride & Prejudice Variation Novella

by Renata McMann

  After Reverend Barton left, Elizabeth looked down at the baby she held. Catherine seemed such an awfully big name for such a tiny baby. “Kate,” Elizabeth whispered, trying the name out. Kate nuzzled the finger Elizabeth stroked along her cheek. She hoped that meant the baby was hungry. She took her upstairs, changing her out of the fine white gown her mother had sewn her. None of Kate’s clothing fit her yet, all being too large, but Elizabeth wanted to set aside the dress she was christened in.

  Chapter 8

  By the following week, Kate was thriving. She would now sleep for nearly three hours at a time and nurse for ten or fifteen minutes. She still was smaller than Fitz was at birth, but she was gaining weight. Nevertheless, Elizabeth hadn’t had three consecutive hours of sleep in a long time. If she wasn’t bringing Kate to Nelly to be nursed, she was watching the nursing, since Nelly’s tendency to fall asleep made Elizabeth afraid Nelly would roll on Kate. Elizabeth hardly noticed whether it was day or night. The sky was so gloomy and the rain was so constant that candles were needed at all times.

  It was a rare moment of sound sleep for Elizabeth when someone startled her awake by opening the door to her room. If he knocked, she hadn’t heard him. The darkness was nearly all encompassing, not telling her if it was late at night or very early in the morning, but a candle flame flickered as he strode purposefully toward the cradle. He leaned over Kate, holding the candle above her to illuminate her face. Angry that anyone should barge into her room and, worse, go near the baby, Elizabeth sat up, snapping, “Get out of my bedroom. Stay back from there. You have no right to be here!”

  He turned toward her, the light of the candle now illuminating his face. To her shock and surprise, she recognized Mr. Darcy. He was covered in mud. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see my daughter.”

  Elizabeth slipped out of bed, mortified that she’d just reproached Mr. Darcy for wanting to see his child. Belatedly realizing she was only wearing a nightgown, she pulled a shawl over it and came to the cradle. “She should wake soon. She never sleeps very long.” She hoped her tone conveyed her contrition for rebuking him.

  “I apologize for intruding, and for not being here sooner. I didn’t receive news about Anne until four days ago. Lady Catherine told me I had a daughter, but she wasn’t likely to live long. She expected her to be dead before I arrived. I wasn’t here for Anne. I wanted to be here for my daughter.”

  Numerous thoughts came to Elizabeth. How did Mr. Darcy get to Pemberley, since the roads were impassible? Was the mail delayed that long? The roads must be worse than she thought. She wondered if the reassuring letters she wrote to her family ever arrived. But she voiced only one question. “Where did you see Lady Catherine?”

  “She’s staying at the Red Lion about ten miles south of here. The roads were too bad for her to continue. I walked from there.” He looked down at himself and said, “I should clean up. I’m sorry for intruding,” he repeated. He looked nearly as tired as she felt. He gave her a look she couldn’t interpret, shook his head, and left.

  Elizabeth still had no idea of the time, but she started readying for the day. While she was dressing, Kate woke up. She took her to Nelly and then downstairs into the parlor, asking a maid to light the fire, for them to sit beside.

  Darcy came down, mud free, but with wet hair. Something about seeing him like that, tired and slightly disarrayed, sent a strange shiver through Elizabeth. It was, she realized, too intimate a state. No one should see Mr. Darcy like this but his wife. “Let me apologize again for my intrusion,” he said a third time. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but reaching my daughter before I lost her as well. I would like to hold her.”

  “Sit down first.” She didn’t mean for it to sound like an order, but she could see he was exhausted, and had the suspicion he had little practice holding infants. She didn’t want him dropping Kate. She was exhausted too, and had spent too many of the past days giving orders she wasn’t even in a position to give. Apparently unperturbed by her words or tone, Darcy sat. Elizabeth stood, crossing to hand Kate to him.

  “Mr. Barton insisted on baptizing her. She is Catherine Anne Darcy. I’m sorry, but someone had to make a decision. I call her Kate.”

  “It’s understandable,” Darcy said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Why didn’t you write me?”

  “Write you? I can’t write you a letter.”

  “It’s what, three in the morning? You are alone with me here and you couldn’t write me a letter?”

  “I promised Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Sometimes promises need to be broken,” he said. For the first time, his tone showed a discernable emotion, and it was anger.

  “I got word to Lady Catherine. I made sure she knew you hadn’t been informed. I assumed she would write you.” Elizabeth didn’t know why she was defending herself. She’d kept her word as best she could, and done all she should. She was living, alone, in his giant empty manor taking care of his child. What right did he have to be angry with her?

  “She didn’t write me. She blames me and my daughter for Anne’s death.”

  “That’s a shoddy excuse,” Elizabeth said. “Mrs. Darcy was alive when I wrote to her, and for quite some time after.” She realized her words lacked tact, but she was much too tired to care. “I assume Mrs. Darcy wasn’t forced to marry you. She was an adult and made the choice.”

  She was surprised at Darcy’s bitter laugh. “No. She wasn’t forced to marry me.” He paused, as if contemplating saying something more, but only added, “She wanted to marry me and wanted a child.”

  Elizabeth noticed a footstool and moved it to where Mr. Darcy could use it. He put up his feet and continued to hold Kate. Elizabeth curled up in her chair and fell asleep. She awoke to Kate crying. Briefly, she wondered where she was. Her mind still foggy with sleep, she took in Darcy still holding Kate, rocking her in his arms and speaking softly to her. Elizabeth smiled.

  “I suspect she’s hungry,” she said, coming fully awake. “Let me take her to the wet nurse.”

  “Wasn’t she fed just before I came down?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “But she gets hungry pretty quickly.”

  Darcy wanted his valet, his solicitor and someone to tell him how to deal with a tiny baby. He also wanted a chance to say goodbye to Anne. He couldn’t be angry with Mrs. Reynolds, because he told her to obey Anne’s orders. A part of him wanted to be angry with Elizabeth, but he knew that was unfair, too. She had no way of knowing the true extent of Lady Catherine’s contrariness. Whatever else he could say about Mrs. Bennet, she cared for her children and wouldn’t have hesitated to send him word under similar circumstances. Growing up with her, Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to guess at the cold and vindictive nature of his aunt.

  Besides, Mrs. Reynolds and the other servants not only informed him that Elizabeth had been a steadfast and caring companion for Anne, but also credited her with saving Kate’s life. Everyone else, it seemed, gave up on her, a stance he was sure wasn’t helped by Lady Catherine.

  Darcy sighed, pacing the length of his study. He should send Elizabeth away, but with Nelly Douglas as wet nurse, he needed someone who would insist she nurse Kate as often as Kate needed to nurse. Kate was still too small, too frail, to be put into the care of someone who didn’t love her. Seeing Elizabeth with her, hearing about how devotedly she tended Kate, Darcy knew Elizabeth was the one person, aside from himself, who truly loved his daughter. If he sent Elizabeth away, it might well cost him Kate.

  If he kept Elizabeth, it might cost him his sanity. He’d already made the mistake of stopping again at Elizabeth’s room to see his daughter. As it was early in the evening at the time, he hadn’t expected her to already be prepared for bed. Her nightgown wasn’t particularly thin, since it was still quite cold, but it was a nightgown. Sitting in his home with his daughter in her arms, she was the embodiment of all his dreams about her. When she looked up as he entered, love for Kate still shining in her eyes, it was all he could do not to fall on his knees and
propose to her.

  He could hardly court her. Not only was he in deep mourning, he dared not do anything to drive her away. His daughter’s life appeared to depend on Elizabeth Bennet. It was all very well for people to say Kate was getting better, but he knew Nelly Douglas had to be awakened half the time she nursed Kate. During the day, she was fine. At night, she often slept through the lusty cries of her own son. She would certainly sleep through Kate’s gentler cries. No, Elizabeth simply had to stay, as long as he could keep her.

  After a week, he no longer considered Kate’s cries gentle. He wasn’t very near her, but somehow he heard her many times. Admittedly, he left his bedroom door open so that he could hear better. Kate woke up very often, much more often than he thought a baby should. Although he told himself he shouldn’t, Darcy would creep down the hall, staying just out of sight, and listen. Elizabeth was always there, carrying Kate to the wet nurse, changing her, singing to her and holding her. He would lean against the wall and close his eyes, picturing Elizabeth and his daughter.

  The rain finally stopped, and the sun made an attempt to dry up Pemberley. Relieved to be free of the exquisite torment of Elizabeth’s presence, he rode out to inspect the damage, which was extensive. Three tenants’ cottages were flooded and the road was impassible in several spots. Some stock was lost in the flooding. He put men to work on both domiciles and roads, glad that he could pay for as much labor as was needed. The initial inspection done and work groups deployed, Darcy urged his mount toward the manor. He found that as much as he’d longed to be free of the pain of being near Elizabeth, now he hurried home in hope of seeing her.

  Lambton, his next inspection revealed, suffered worse, so he paid to have the roads rebuilt. The roads not on Pemberley property weren’t his responsibility, but his father always maintained them and Darcy kept that tradition. He knew the whole region would suffer if the roads were impassible.

  Mastering his fear it might make Elizabeth unnecessary, he sent for the wet nurse from Lambton to relieve Nelly Douglas, but found her child had died and she let her milk dry up. There were probably other possibilities, but he couldn’t find time to look into them, the wet nurse for his child being a delicate choice. A voice in the back of his mind said that he was stalling because if he hired a competent wet nurse, Elizabeth would leave. He pretended he didn’t hear that voice. He told himself he was leaving the situation as it was because he was terribly busy and Kate was thriving.

  His rationalizing wasn’t far from the truth, for Kate was growing stronger and the flooding had left much to do. In spite of the latter, he took to returning home early, for he found that Elizabeth dined and readied for bed in keeping with Kate’s schedule, not staying up into the evening. If he wasn’t home at a reasonable hour, he missed having dinner with her. He looked forward to their meals and wanted to prolong them, enjoying their talks filled with news of Kate and about the books Elizabeth read from his library, but often Kate needed her before they had a decent dinner.

  Watching Elizabeth excuse herself and hurry away, interrupting yet another meal by responding to cries she was always the first to hear, he longed to hurry after her. To, just once, catch her up in his arms and hold her. He cherished his memory of her sitting in her room, holding Kate. He adored the way she laughed when he said something preposterous about a book, and found himself taking discussions of them down ridiculous paths, just to see her smile.

  He sat down, realizing he’d risen when she left and never reseated himself. He couldn’t court her, he knew. Her rejection, her words vivid in his mind, surely still held, no matter how she laughed at his foolishness or smiled at his daughter. Elizabeth made it clear then that she didn’t love him, and he didn’t dare do anything to drive her away now, such as pressing his suit. Kate was so tiny and so vulnerable. The clothing Anne made for her was too large, but they had nothing smaller.

  Just that morning, he saw Kate in the same gown she wore when he first beheld her. Smiling, he realized it almost fit her now. He’d been home for almost a month, and Kate, if not thriving, was surely growing.

  A month! Had it really been a month? There was so much still to do. He would be able to work harder now. His valet had made it back to Pemberley. News had also arrived that Lady Catherine had safely reached Rosings. He hoped she would remember that, in truth, it was Kate’s home. He fully expected his aunt to try to disinherit the granddaughter she’d declared both a murderess and dead.

  Elizabeth wasn’t exactly lying to her family when she wrote them that bad roads kept her at Pemberley, but she knew she wasn’t telling the truth, either. When a plethora of letters finally arrived, they didn’t include orders for her to return. Her letters never mentioned Mr. Darcy, but spoke often about Kate. She recognized she was compromised by living without a proper chaperone, but she considered Kate’s health more important than her reputation. After all, if Lydia could survive her scandal, surely Elizabeth would be able to find someone to take her, eventually.

  Not that she wanted anyone to take her, she realized. She was perfectly content as she was. Of course, this included walking the grounds of Pemberley, reading and discussing books from Mr. Darcy’s library with Mr. Darcy, and caring for Kate. She knew this borrowed life she was living would have to come to an end eventually, but she resolved to do nothing to hasten it.

  Which was why she held her tongue when confronted with Darcy’s continued aloofness, although she was hurt by his formality. She enjoyed her conversations with him, and not only concerning books and Kate. She also found herself interested in the work he was doing to repair the damage of the flooding, both at Pemberley and in Lambton. She always suspected he was a good landlord, but his constant personal attention to this impressed her. He obviously no longer loved her, because he was always very correct and formal with her, but she flattered herself that he at least did not find her presence displeasing.

  Their days fell into such an easy routine that she was taken aback one day when a maid requested her presence in the parlor. That she just put Kate down, something Mr. Darcy would know, only added to her unease. Why would he send for her after seeing her so recently, and when he knew she was without any legitimate means of refusal?

  Elizabeth was so perturbed by this uncharacteristic summons that she was forced to acknowledge the mounting tension in herself. She knew she was living without assurance of her place, but Darcy’s summons spurred a disquiet in her that bordered on fear, and she did not like that at all. A small part of her hoped he was about to cast her out. At least she could return to her family and a life where she knew her role was sure. Even thinking this as she marched toward the parlor, she resolved to fight. She would not leave Kate.

  Mr. Darcy, seeming more aloof than was his custom of late, greeted her at the door of the parlor. He practically hovered as he walked her to a chair, expressing a nervousness she was unaccustomed to associating with him. It served to increase her own worry tenfold.

  “Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy began after she was seated. He didn’t sit, but rather stood before her. “Reverend Barton called my attention to something that cannot be ignored any longer. I am very grateful for your care of my daughter, but in providing it, you have ruined your reputation irretrievably. You know I would be happy to marry you, but I explained to Mr. Barton that you do not reciprocate these feelings. Nevertheless, he thinks it necessary for us to marry. I agree. With your permission, I would like to allow him to post the banns.”

  Elizabeth stared at him, then shut her mouth, realizing she left it gaping open. Was he proposing to her again? And what did he just say, that he would be happy to marry her? Happy wasn’t the word she wanted to associate with marriage. The marriage she wanted required love, joy, passion and devotion. “You don’t need to do this,” she said. “I had to stay for Kate.”

  “If you don’t marry me, you will have to leave Kate eventually. You are acting the part of a nursemaid. I could hire you to that position, but you are the daughter of a gentleman and it’s unsu
itable. You really don’t have an alternative.”

  At least she understood his tension now. If his previous proposal was insulting, this one was equally so. He was offering to marry her because Kate needed her and because she was accidentally compromised. It would make him happy to have his daughter well cared for. Of course it would, and he would get a presumably biddable and, he probably thought, eternally grateful, wife. A bride who would be forever in his debt for not kicking her to the street, sullied and prospectless.

  Elizabeth looked down, taking a deep breath to rein in her anger. She had to set her resentment toward Darcy aside and deliberate on what was most important. Kate needed her and, she admitted, she needed Kate. She couldn’t leave her. Elizabeth always expected to love her own children and suspected she would love her nieces and nephews. She never expected to love a child totally unrelated to her. Especially not enough to overcome her unwillingness to marry Mr. Darcy in the face of his continued insults. Yet, her love for Kate did.

  Her emotions under control, she looked up at him. Darcy loomed over her chair, strain apparent in every muscle. Her hand twitched of its own volition, and she had to restrain herself from reaching out to sooth him. She searched his eyes, seeing only worry, her mind roaming through memories of every pleasant meal spent talking. To her surprise, she had a ready inventory of his smile, of their hands accidentally clasping when they reached for the same book, of him holding Kate in his arms, gazing at her with a father’s love.

  Was she really that unwilling to marry him? He showed no signs of his past attraction to her, but she realized her attitude toward him had changed. She respected him. She enjoyed his company. Where once he seemed aloof, now he seemed simply restrained, and it gave her pleasure to draw him out.