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

by Christie Capps

When Mrs. Drummond returned, orders were given for a modiste. He was surprised to find he had already given instructions soon after their arrival. It seems that even in a daze, Darcy managed his household well. Georgiana’s dressmaker would be at Darcy House within the hour.

  “Master William,” Mrs. Drummond addressed him as she always had. “I am as pleased as punch with the mistress and know I am overreaching by reporting a private conversation to you, but, in my delight, I cannot keep silent.”

  “What is this?” He was curious. His housekeeper had never before commented on personal matters of the family, so this was highly out of character.

  “When I did as you asked and offered to deliver the jewel boxes to Mrs. Darcy’s sitting room for her to survey all she now owned, she declined. It was then that she asked about the library.” Mrs. Drummond practically bounced in her pleasure. “Your dearly departed mother, Lady Anne, would be pleased that you made a love match, sir. Of that I have no doubt.”

  The housekeeper had served under the authority of his mother for years and had known her well. Darcy smiled and laid back against the headboard, where Thornton had put him when he woke.

  Suddenly, Darcy was excited. He anticipated a new beginning with his wife where he could reveal all they would share. Wait until she saw the library at Pemberley and the multitude of walking trails. She would love the gazebo to the east set at the edge of a lake where she could take a book and a picnic while she enjoyed the afternoon breeze. He would lay it all out for her to relish. Imaging her joy at learning what her life was to be, he could not contain his own happiness. He felt full of relief. They would be happy. She would love him as much as he loved her. He loved her?

  Yes, he loved her. Contentment filled him, chasing out all fear of having his heart exposed to harm should she continue to not return his affections. He would love her enough for the both of them until she caught up. Until then, he would be the gentleman his parents raised him to be, someone she would long to spend time with, to enjoy companionship with, and to learn to cherish. His smile was unrestrained.

  Disturbing his pleasurable thoughts, the front door suddenly slammed back until it hit the wall and a voice of doom yelled so loudly he could hear each individual word—which was no mean feat with the distance the sound had to travel to reach his ears.

  “Where is my nephew and where is the trollop he married?”

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh had arrived.

  He wanted to throw something, preferably his fist. Blushing at his disrespect for his mother’s sister, he stood with the help of the crutch and his valet. Manipulating his way to the doorway, he started down the long hall, cursing his slowness with each painful step.

  Elizabeth had reached Lady Catherine first.

  “I understand you are from Kent?” he heard Elizabeth ask. Whatever she had intended to say next was rudely cut off by his aunt.

  “I know where I am from, you impertinent girl! I demand to see my nephew. Where is he?”

  His aunt was in fine fettle. Before he could shout a response, his wife answered, much more calmly then he had intended.

  “Lady Catherine, you may be aunt to my husband, but this is my home. Your making demands is highly inappropriate and unwelcomed.” Elizabeth kept her tone soft. He heard his aunt start to interrupt. Elizabeth continued, “You may make all the demands you feel you deserve and you may stand out here at your leisure, or you can be welcomed to Darcy House as the guest you could be. As I see it, Lady Catherine, you have two choices. Remain here and shout, or allow the staff to see to your comfort. Your outer clothes will be gathered, you can follow Mrs. Drummond into the drawing room where you can warm yourself by the fire, and enjoy refreshments with me while we discuss this situation in a refined manner. The choice is entirely up to you.”

  He hurried as fast as he could, frustration mixing with his ire. His responsibility was to protect his household and his wife from harm. He felt powerless and useless. Finally giving in, he dropped the crutch to the ground and bore the pain. Moving much quicker, he arrived at the top of the stairs in time to hear, “I will not be spoken to in such a manner in my sister’s home,” Lady Catherine insisted. “Do you know who I am? I am the daughter of an earl, the sister of one of the most superior women who ever walked on this earth, and the mother of a child perfectly formed to be the mistress of this household. Who are you? Who is your mother? Who are your people? Can you claim a superiority of birth to justify attempting to coerce me to your bidding? I ask you again, who are you?”

  With each word, his aunt had inched closer to Elizabeth. His wife stood her ground. In fact, she leaned closer as soon as Lady Catherine finished her offensive cross-examination.

  He watched in awe, impressed with her bravery. His wife was younger, smaller, and had far less experience with confrontation from someone with strong opinions like his aunt. He was proud of her.

  Grabbing the bannister, Darcy descended as quickly as his ankle would allow. By the time he got to the bottom, he was hopping on one foot and hopping mad at the same time. Before he could open his mouth, his wife spoke.

  “Lady Catherine, poor manners will not be tolerated in our home. Not by you, and not by anyone related to me. Your nephew chose me to be his wife long before he asked for my hand. Who are you to question his judgment?” Elizabeth pointed her finger at Lady Catherine’s chest, her voice still sounding serene. “You stated one fact I agree with …”

  Elizabeth stopped speaking, leaving the thought in mid-air. Even he wondered which portion of his aunt’s tirade she considered truthful. Lady Catherine waited. Then she waited some more, her irritation increasing with each passing swing of the grand clock pendulum. Finally, she could stand it no longer.

  “Out with it!” she demanded, her head thrown back and her nose elevated as high as her opinions. “What fact could we ever have in common? You are a simple girl, one who used her arts and allurements to capture Darcy. Your mercenary nature has been told me in minute detail by my own rector. He shared how you abandoned your interest in him as soon as a wealthier man came into the shire. You do not deserve to live in this home. You do not deserve to enter through the front doorway. You have done nothing to earn a place in this household and in the Fitzwilliam family.”

  “Well, that is a shame, Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth shook her head. Darcy wondered what she was up to. She was not intimidated by his aunt’s outrageous lies. She stood her ground and he finally stood right beside her.

  She turned to him.

  “William, your aunt and I were speaking of your mother.” She grabbed his upper arm and stepped closer to him so he could lean against her. “Pray, let us move into the drawing room so you may rest your injured leg. The trip from your chambers to here must have been exceedingly painful.” She smiled at him, ignoring his aunt. He wanted to embrace her or applaud. “Come, let us see to your comfort, husband.”

  Leaving his aunt standing in the entrance hall with her mouth hung open was priceless. She sputtered. She hissed like an old barn cat. But no words left her mouth.

  When they reached the drawing room, Elizabeth looked back.

  “Lady Catherine, are you coming or not?” His wife’s left brow lifted, and he was enchanted. How could she do that? Take him from explosive anger to pleasure?

  “What?” the question burst from his aunt.

  “You were hoping to tell me of Lady Anne, were you not? I would love to hear about such a superior woman and think to know my husband better by hearing of the woman responsible for his birth and the development of his character.” Elizabeth waited.

  Lady Catherine followed. Darcy would have bet his fortune on her not doing so—and he would have lost.

  NINE

  By the time Lady Catherine was finally shown the door, several hours had passed. Elizabeth had kept her dignity the whole time. Lady Catherine? He sighed. There had been a few instances where he thought he would have to step between her and Elizabeth to protect his wife. However, his aunt was not immune to g
ood manners and an uplifted eyebrow. They did not part as friends, but he doubted Lady Catherine would try to abuse his wife again.

  “Elizabeth, I find it difficult to comprehend what happened in our own home.” He leaned closer to her, being thrilled she had placed herself at his side when they were first seated. “What did happen here?”

  He did not expect her mirth.

  “Do you not know? Can you not see the similarities?” Elizabeth asked. When he shook his head stupidly, she continued. “What drives your aunt is fear. Fear of change. Fear of losing her place in society. Fear for her daughter’s future. Does this not sound familiar?”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes, my mother.” Elizabeth did not pull away when he moved closer so he tried it again. “There is no sense shouting back because they cannot hear beyond the turmoil in their own minds. There is no sense getting angry because a certain amount of their concerns are based on truth. Your aunt is much older than my mother. She must worry about dying and leaving your cousin alone, unprotected. She must worry about her name being forgotten when other family members start having children and growing families of their own, making it almost impossible for her to be involved in their lives. Yes, I noted too many similarities to ignore. Therefore, I treated her like I do my mother, and she responded the same.”

  “Well, I am amazed.” He moved his hand to hers and clasped her fingers in his. Again, she did not pull away, so he entwined his fingers with her own. They were palm to palm. Why that made his breathing hitch, he thought he knew—though he did not feel it was the proper hour to pursue the topic. “And, I am proud, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Did I prove my worth, sir? Am I to be rewarded for my good behavior with closets of new clothes, heaps of diamonds and pearls, new carriages, and your ten-thousand a year?”

  He loved that she could laugh at him. He loved her. Taking a chance, he moved ever closer, tilting his head as she responded by tilting her own.

  Her lips were full and lush, red where she had teased the corner of the bottom with her teeth. Oh, what it did to him when she bit her lip. He vowed, then and there, that he would kiss that bottom lip every time she bit it.

  He moved closer until he could feel her breath on his chin. Closer until he could almost touch her. Closer still …

  “Ee-Haw! Ee-Haw!” Instead of Elizabeth’s mouth being gently pressed against his, a cold wet donkey tongue slathered him with saliva from his chin, up his left cheek, and into his dark, curly hair, knocking his hat off.

  “What?” Darcy looked around. Instead of being cozied up in his drawing room at Darcy House in London, he was in the pasture leaning up against a boulder with Longbourn in his sites.

  “Ewww! Stop!” He pushed against the animal’s muzzle to get Benedick to move away from him. The stubborn animal had no intentions of moving. Darcy wanted to lash out at the four-legged creature, but knew how self-protective donkeys were. The throbbing in his ankle inside his boot rapidly informed him he was injured. Reaching behind his head, he found the large knot at the bottom of his skull. He must have hit the rock on his way down.

  Darcy looked up at the sky as his hand moved of its own accord to Benedick’s nose. He scratched, then pushed the donkey’s head away when its mouth opened and his tongue reappeared. Yuck! Darcy tilted his head and wiped the side of his face on the sleeve of his coat. The fabric was dry. It had not yet rained.

  Darcy looked up at the clouds covering the muted sunlight and had no idea how long he had been in the field. What he did know was that he needed to seek assistance and that everything that had occurred had resulted from his own imagination, not reality.

  He sighed. What a shame! He had not compromised Elizabeth. No, she was Miss Elizabeth. He had already met Mr. Collins so that occurrence was also untrue.

  Darcy pulled at a blade of grass and crushed it in his hand. He was not married. More specifically, he was not married to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  His heart hurt. He scoffed. He should be grateful. He should be rejoicing at not being tied to her ridiculous mother and sisters and her indifferent father who would keep such an animal, most likely for entertainment. But he was not grateful and he certainly was not rejoicing.

  “What do you think, Benedick?” He rubbed the donkey’s nose again. “Is Elizabeth the Beatrice to my Benedick?” Hearing his name, the donkey whinnied. “Not you. Me?”

  Whimsically, he thought about the characters in Shakespeare’s play and compared them with his current circumstance. Both Beatrice and Benedick claimed to have no interest in the other. They worked hard to leave the impression that they were not the least bit interested and vowed never to marry, especially each other. Yet, by the end of the play, they had found their happily-ever-after. Would the same happen with him and Elizabeth?

  She hated him. She would never consider marriage to him.

  He rubbed his hand over his face. Unfortunately, his words at the Meryton assembly had been uttered, apparently within her hearing. Recalling their conversations while she cared for Miss Bennet at Netherfield Park, he now realized she had never taken the initiative to speak with him. He was the one who had to work at finding a topic to share. He was the one who had asked her to dance—twice. She had refused him both times.

  He sucked in his breath. What had he done to recommend himself to her? To her family? To her friends? Darcy pondered his attitude and actions since his arrival in Hertfordshire six weeks prior. He had been a stubborn ass, just as much as Mr. Bennet’s donkey.

  He scratched behind Benedick’s ears when the donkey lowered its head to eat from the slippery tufts of grass which had been responsible for his fall. “We are much alike, you and I.”

  The donkey snorted.

  Darcy wanted to do the same. “No, it is true.”

  Thinking of the events to come and possible opportunities he could use to repair his reputation with Meryton society, he remembered Bingley’s ball. The day was Tuesday. The Netherfield Ball would be held on Tuesday next. He had one se’nnight to make needed adjustments to his attitude. He had not admired himself for most of the time he was in his dream state. But that could change. It would change.

  A portion of his delusional fantasy was the tree limb he had used as a crutch. He gazed around the field. Nothing.

  “Oh, good Lord.” He wanted to slap himself or bang his head back on the rock. He had a donkey right in front of him who appeared to be unafraid of him and who apparently liked the shaving soap his valet used. “Benedick! It is to be you and me, then.”

  Pressing his gloves into the soft soil, he attempted to wedge his good leg underneath him. With no success. Putting his hands behind him, he tried to use the rough edges of the boulder to push himself upright. That did not work either.

  Humiliated to the core, he did the only thing left. He rolled to his side until he could lift himself onto his hands and knees. He knew Benedick would laugh, if he could, at having a human in a similar stance to his own. Fortunately, there was no loud braying to draw attention to his indignity.

  While still poised on his hands and knees, he heard her.

  “Mr. Darcy, I can see you are unwell. Pray, allow me to return to Longbourn for aid.”

  He groaned aloud, the pain in his ankle vying with the degradation.

  “Sir!” Miss Elizabeth moved closer. “If I help you stand, would you be able to ride Benedick as far as Longbourn?”

  In that split second, Darcy had a decision. Would he let things be and hope their journey towards their future brought them together in the same manner as his dreams? Or, was it more prudent to begin now to forge a new path? He decided on the latter.

  “Miss Elizabeth, your appearance is timely and I appreciate it sincerely.” He saw only concern on her face. No mockery. No teasing. “I could do with some assistance.”

  With no small amount of effort, he stood. He could not have done so without her help, and he told her so.

  She looked around. “Benedick! Come!” The donkey ignored her, as don
keys do.

  Then, she did something so amazingly wonderful, he could not take his eyes off her. She curled her tongue to the roof of her mouth and emitted the loudest whistle he had ever heard. Not only did it catch his attention, it did Benedick’s as well.

  “Miss Elizabeth, you have proven you are, indeed, an accomplished woman.”

  She smiled at him and he was stunned to realize it was the first time she had done so. “Do you think so, Mr. Darcy? Would not Miss Bingley need to be informed so she could add it to her list of what constitutes an accomplished woman?”

  Shared laughter is the most joyous.

  The donkey stood still while Miss Elizabeth scratched behind its ears. Darcy was able to mount after no little amount of struggle. Still, all of the pressure was off his foot and the relief was immense.

  “I will confess, Miss Elizabeth, to a certain level of jealousy.”

  At her raised brow, he continued.

  “My mother could whistle so loudly that my male cousins and I would hear it when we were at the far reaches of Pemberley playing in the ponds and streams. We always knew to come running.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We practiced for hours, day after day, from one end of the summer to the other, and none of us ever came close. I am impressed.”

  She laughed. “I suppose it is a particular sort of accomplishment.”

  “Whoa.” He stopped the animal. Miss Elizabeth turned to look at him.

  “Sir?” He could see the concern on her face. “Are you not well enough to continue? The clouds look like rain.”

  He looked up. Yes, she was correct. Then he peered back at her.

  “When I was eight-years-old, I vowed I would marry the first female who could whistle like my mother.” He snickered. “My cousins and parents always knew how important it was for me to keep my word; to be honorable to a promise. So you might imagine how my father dreaded the arrival of each new milkmaid, as they often called the cows to the barn with a whistle.”

  She grinned.

  “Twenty years have passed since I made that vow.” He reached down and covered her hand where it rested on the donkey’s mane. “I will not ask you now to be my bride, as I suspect you would refuse me, and rightly so.”