Something: Old, New, Later, True: A Pride & Prejudice Collection

by Christie Capps

  “Some success, I agree. Women seem to like me.” Bingley nodded his head hesitantly.

  “Yes, well, I was wondering what you would do to impress Miss Bennet with your romantic nature?” He finally got to the crux of the matter.

  “You think I have a romantic nature? Why, how kind of you, Darcy. I was not aware you had noticed.”

  Darcy shook his head briskly. He now felt foolish and embarrassed for bringing up the subject. Far be it for him to expect a reasonable response from the ever-vacillating Bingley.

  “Well, old man, to answer your question, I would start with flowers.” Bingley warmed to the subject. “I would purchase … no, I would pick the largest bouquet of pretty flowers the garden had to offer. Any lady would sincerely appreciate my personal effort for this task, I am sure.”

  “Bingley, it is November. There are no flowers in the garden.” Darcy, ever the pessimist, pointed out the obvious. The ground had been covered in morning frost for the last several weeks, leaving behind wilted greens and stalks with no buds or pretty petals.

  Undaunted, Bingley added. “Poetry. I would ask you for suggestions, borrow one of your books, wrap it, or, rather, have it wrapped in pretty paper with a lovely bow on top she could use in her hair later. The perfect gift!”

  Darcy considered. “Thornton! I need a book, paper, and a bow.”

  “Very good. What color, sir?” his valet questioned.

  “Red?” Darcy suggested.

  “Pink.” Bingley answered at the same time.

  Darcy considered the recipient of the gift. While Miss Jane Bennet was all soft colors and gentleness, his Elizabeth was alive and spirited. Red would do.

  “Which book, Mr. Darcy?” Thornton kept track of each item packed when Darcy traveled. He knew the titles of every book his master carried with him each time he left Pemberley or Darcy house.

  “Possibly Shakespeare’s sonnets?” Sonnet 18 was one of his favorites. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.” How well that described Elizabeth. “Yes, that volume will work well,” he determined, only to watch Thornton move his eyes to the night stand next to the bed. Darcy wanted to smack himself in the forehead. There was Elizabeth’s own copy between Plutarch and Wollstonecraft. Now it was he who sighed.

  “Might I offer a suggestion, sir?” Thornton asked. “You might want to speak to Miss Bennet. She is closest to her sister and would know which poems are her favorite. You only have an hour until dinner will be brought up, so time should not be wasted suggesting and rejecting ideas.”

  “Excellent point, Thornton.” He looked at Bingley. “Would you mind?” He tilted his head to the door.

  “Mind what?” Charles immediately responded, then blushed an unmanly shade of pink. “Oh, yes, I will inquire if Miss Bennet is available.” Jumping up, he hastily departed the room.

  “I desire to proceed in a manner which will be pleasurable to the future Mrs. Darcy from now on, Thornton. Neither you nor I have experience with attracting and keeping the affections of a woman, and I feel a bit like a blindfolded man trying to find a needle amidst a stable full of straw,” he mused. “With that said, I am fiercely determined my wife will not regret marriage to me.”

  “Which is as it should be, sir.”

  SEVEN

  Mrs. Bennet felt it was a slight against her person that the ceremony would take place without the typical celebrations. There had been no time to parade her daughter through the neighborhood so she could be feted with congratulations and enlightened as to the marital responsibilities by knowing matrons. She succinctly outlined to Darcy each loss she suffered as mother of the bride by the rapidity of the marriage.

  Darcy had asked her how he could make the sorry situation up to her.

  “You can throw my other daughters in front of other rich men, sir,” had been her vulgar reply.

  Had his new mother-in-law known how disappointed he was as well, she might have been ashamed at her complaining spirit. Or, not.

  Never had he dreamed he would stand in the front of the chapel waiting for a hesitant bride while leaning on a crutch hastily fashioned by local carpenters. Determined to proceed on his own, by the time he had bathed, dressed, hobbled down the hallway, and cautiously navigated the stairs, he had rivulets of sweat dripping from his temple, his underarms, and down his back. His palm was sore from gripping the wood and his good leg felt like it would give out at any moment. The fabric under his arm had bunched up so his jacket fit crookedly. He was afraid to right himself. He would not be married from the stone floor where he would have landed had he lost his balance. It would not have helped his reputation in Meryton society!

  Mrs. Bennet was persistent. “One daughter married and another on her way,” she repeated to anyone who would listen, which consisted of her husband and children, Mr. Collins, their neighbors, the Lucas family, and Bingley and his sisters. Bingley’s brother-in-law had remained at Netherfield Park. The size of the gathering had been another one of her complaints. Apparently, she had hoped for the whole of the community to offer their joy. Whether it was for the actual marriage or her portion in making it happen, Darcy had no way of knowing.

  When Elizabeth had appeared in the doorway, her hand on her father’s arm, he forgot his pain and he no longer heard the mutterings of Mrs. Bennet. She took his breath away. Later, he could not have told anyone the color of her dress or of the silk ribbons on her bonnet. Light pouring through the church windows bathed her face, giving her an angelic glow. Her eyes shone and he could not look away. Was it magic? Had she bewitched him? He swallowed to make sure his tongue was not hanging out of his mouth. He had never seen such a beautiful woman, and his heart was ready to burst that she would soon be his to take to his home.

  When Mr. Bennet placed her small hand in his, he felt her gentle squeeze. Closing his eyes for a moment, a picture flashed before him of a willing, happy Elizabeth standing next to a perfectly healthy groom. Reality hit him squarely in the face when he unintentionally started to lean towards where Bingley was standing. Elizabeth tightened her grip and pulled him upright.

  “I thank you,” he whispered.

  She smiled.

  His heart soared.

  The ceremony began.

  He promised.

  She did as well, though she grinned impishly when reciting the vow to obey.

  Psalms were read. Communion taken. Prayers offered.

  Married. He sighed, as did Bingley.

  He had made it through the hour it had taken for the service and wondered if the bishop was taking personal delight in his discomfort. Surely, a man of the cloth would be above seeking vengeance for interfering with his schedule? He glanced at Mr. Collins sitting in the pew with his arms folded across his chest and a sour look on his face and found his answer. They were imperfect humans too.

  Kindly, Elizabeth took his good arm and helped him walk to where they would sign the register. She moved to his right side to bolster him while he sloppily penned his name.

  He wanted to sit down. He wanted to be back in Elizabeth’s bed with his ankle propped up on a stack of pillows. He wanted her with him. Good heavens! How could such an innocent desire cause … well, he was still in the chapel. He would think on all things holy. Genesis, Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. Was that it? No. He had forgotten Leviticus.

  Phew! He was married, but he had no right to think like a married man until they were alone. Together. Later. Much later. He sighed again. Mrs. Bennet and her plans!

  “Mr. Darcy,” his wife sought his attention.

  “Elizabeth, we are married. You are free to call me by my given name.” Her being formal with him was not a good start. It was starting to weigh on him until she giggled softly.

  “I would be pleased to do so, sir. Yet, I cannot.”

  “Cannot?” He was puzzled. “Why not?”

  “Because I do not know exactly what to call you.” She stood close to him. She was a distraction. Lavender. “Is Fitzwilliam the name you are called by your famil
y?”

  An easy question.

  “No, my mother’s family name is Fitzwilliam, so it was entirely too confusing to keep the name when we were together.” He smiled at the memory of his childhood. “Since I was very young, I have been called William. I would hope you would do the same.”

  “William.” She tried the name and it rolled easily off her tongue.

  He broke out in another sweat thinking about that particular appendage. Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts of the Apostles …

  “Are you well, husband?” she innocently asked.

  “As well as can be expected, I believe.” Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes.

  “William, the carriage is outside the door. Might you feel more comfortable being seated?”

  He wanted to hug her tight. Other than Thornton, who received a generous salary for doing so, no one saw to his needs. No one looked after his comfort. Joy filled his soul.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. I would appreciate the relief.”

  Excusing themselves, they settled into the squabs after Thornton and Bingley aided him inelegantly up the steps. Yesterday’s conveyance would have been much easier, but far less dignified. He would not take his bride to their wedding night in a pony cart.

  The wedding night! Could he not think of anything else? He had waited almost eight and twenty years and he had the loveliest wife a man could possibly want. Why should he not think of the hours ahead? Then the full extent of their circumstances hit him. He could not walk on his own. He was in pain from his thigh to his toes. Any slight movement hurt. Even the weight of the bedclothes was too much. He wanted to growl. Had it been manly, he would have sobbed.

  Oh, Lord! What was she expecting? No doubt, what every other bride anticipated or dreaded. Had her mother spoken to her? He wanted to roll his eyes at imagining the conversation—his wife mortified and his mother-in-law smirking at what was to come. Argh!

  “William, I believe we need to have some conversation. It would not do to be silent the three miles to Netherfield Park.”

  “Are you nervous?” he had not meant to be blunt.

  “Yes.”

  “Of?” he was compelled to ask.

  “Of almost everything, to be honest.” She looked at him directly, refusing to shy away from a topic she had likely never spoken of to a man.

  “Would you mind if we stopped at Longbourn for tea?” he queried.

  “Are you certain?” Her brow was wrinkled and her head cocked to the side. He had puzzled her, but he was now set in his course.

  “I am.” Tapping on the roof of the carriage, they stopped. Giving directions to the coachman, they turned into the long driveway leading to her former home. He could almost hear Mrs. Bennet’s screeching from the carriage behind them. She had demanded the wedding breakfast be held at Netherfield Park, the stateliest home in the shire. Darcy had declined, not wanting to place such a burden on Bingley’s staff, but she refused to listen. In addition, he had wanted to be free of the other residents of Longbourn since before he had arrived the day prior. He had wanted away from the company of Elizabeth’s family.

  Mrs. Bennet would have to live with the disappointment. They would not be staying at Longbourn nor attending the breakfast.

  “Mrs. Darcy?” He liked the sound of her new name. “Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy.” He said it with emphasis on the different syllables and decided he liked the way it sounded, no matter how it was pronounced.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy?” she teased.

  “I quite like your new name, Elizabeth.” He tried not to grin and failed spectacularly. “Pray forgive me in advance if I overuse it until I get used to hearing it spoken aloud.”

  “You are forgiven.” She laughed aloud. Only the day before, he had accused her of failing to absolve him from his errors. Today, she was quick in her response. “Now, please share with me your reasoning for calling at my home?”

  “You see, Elizabeth, that is exactly the problem. Longbourn is, officially, no longer your home. Netherfield Park is home to neither of us as well. While we are in Hertfordshire, we are essentially homeless.”

  “I see. It seems we do have a problem.” She tapped her finger to her chin. “What are you suggesting we do to resolve this issue? Do we drug you so you can make the journey to Derbyshire so we can spend our first night together in your home?”

  “Our home, my bride.”

  “Fine, then. Our home.” She, again, tapped her finger. “With Pemberley being several days travel from Meryton, even if we departed immediately, rather than wait for tea to be served, we still would not be spending tonight in our home.”

  “I have married a wise woman, Elizabeth Darcy.” The carriage stopped. “If you would keep me company, I suggest we stay where we are to enjoy our tea in the privacy of this conveyance whereupon I can be liberally doused with laudanum so I sleep away the pain while we travel to Darcy House in London. Then, we will be in our home before dark. Darcy House it will be for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.”

  “I find your plan to be sound,” she quickly agreed. “Pray remain seated while I make arrangements.”

  She did not sound nervous. In fact, she seemed far more agreeable to his suggestion than he had imagined. He had married a reasonable woman. He wanted to celebrate. He wanted to make the trip as fast as possible, he wanted his ankle to be sound and pain free, and he wanted his wife with a passion so fierce it shocked him to the core.

  In due time.

  Frustrated, he set things in motion. Thornton plied him with the drug after making him as comfortable as possible. Elizabeth sent a note by express to the Darcy House staff to prepare for the master and his new wife’s arrival that evening. Mr. Bennet walked into Longbourn and chose not to look back. Mr. Collins stood outside the carriage window and wrung his hands, muttering. Elizabeth’s sisters, especially Jane, wished them well, then moved into the house to get out of the chill. The couple raced off to town before Mrs. Bennet could remove her bonnet.

  Thornton would see to the collection of his possessions from both residences in Hertfordshire and then hasten to London in the servant’s carriage to see everyone settled. In the meantime, Elizabeth was in charge. With that last thought, and what was probably a silly-looking smile on his face, Darcy slept.

  The trip was made with minimum discomfort to him. He did not wake until hours later when he was ensconced in the master’s chambers with pillows tucked in the appropriate places. Had that been him snoring? Certainly not!

  Looking around, he was disappointed to find he was alone. Where was his wife? Was she pleased with her new home? Did she find her new chambers to be a place she would want to reside? Did she like him yet?

  EIGHT

  Darcy woke the next morning ready to rally the troops. Elizabeth first needed a tour of their residence with an eye to updating any of the furnishings, should she desire. A modiste would be summoned to provide the new mistress of Pemberley and Darcy House with a complete wardrobe—something appropriate for her new position in society. Jewelry boxes needed removed from the safe to study each piece to see if it appealed to Elizabeth, or not. The Darcy family jeweler could be called to have the pieces she rejected redesigned or reset. Nothing was too much work for his bride. Notices would need to be sent to the circulating papers and letters needed to be written to his family to inform them of his marriage. He had much to do on this first morning of having a wife.

  Nonetheless, his first task was to safely get out of bed. He still had a bit of a fog left over from the laudanum. Before he could extricate himself, someone tapped on his outer door. Elizabeth? He was intensely disappointed to find it was his housekeeper, Mrs. Drummond.

  “You asked to see me, Mr. Darcy?”

  I did? Perhaps, he had issued the instructions the night before. The housekeeper was a no-nonsense woman who ran his Darcy House efficiently. She could be kind when needed, but brooked no laziness in any member of the staff, including herself.

  “I did.” He had no reason not to agree. It was time
to put his plans into action. “Pray return in a half hour, Mrs. Drummond. We have much to discuss.”

  While Thornton attended to him, he inquired as to the staff’s initial impression of the new mistress.

  His valet, as was typical, had much to share.

  “Molly was assigned to assist her last evening and this morning. She reported how your wife offered sincere comments of appreciation when each task was done. Cook was pleased to receive a kind word about the tastiness of the creamed peas, and Mrs. Drummond’s nerves have settled and she is ready to proceed with any instruction Mrs. Darcy might have.”

  “Has Mrs. Darcy broken her fast?”

  He hated to admit he had no clue where his wife was, if she was still lying in her bed next door—tucked under the covers enjoying the space of her new bed. It was made for two, not like the one he slept in at Longbourn. Her bed. Lavender.

  “Yes, she was downstairs early and is now in the library, seated before the fire with a stack of books on the table and a cup of fresh tea in her hands.” Thornton smiled, and Darcy was happy to see him pleased. “Mrs. Darcy was offered a tour of the house, but has decided to wait until you are up and around. She asked only about the reading room and the music salon.”

  He nodded. How like his Elizabeth.

  “Mrs. Drummond did as you requested, sir, and explained to Mrs. Darcy that she had complete oversight of the premises. She offered to review the accounts and give her the keys to the linen cupboards.” Again, the valet smiled. “Mrs. Darcy politely declined for the moment, saying she wanted to settle in first and that your health was her first priority.” Thornton dropped his voice almost to a whisper. “I was most happy to hear this, sir, though it was not unexpected.”

  Darcy nodded, delighted with the report.