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

by Christie Capps

  She wept.

  “I will lift you up to your father.”

  She had no words. Shaking her head, she tightened her arms until she feared he could no longer breathe.

  “Very well, then.” Mr. Darcy moved to his own horse. “You can ride in front of me.”

  She wanted to cry in relief, only to realize the tears were already falling.

  The horse stepped to the right as Darcy settled in behind her. Her arms were clasped around his waist. She would not let go. Do not let go!

  They walked slowly.

  “Count, Elizabeth,” he suggested softly. “Count the steps of the horse, count the number of times they snort, count the buttons on my vest, then multiply them by twelve. Do not allow yourself to think of anything other than numbers.”

  “Why?” She had to ask when his request finally cleared the muddle of her mind.

  “Numbers do not change. They can be relied upon. They are strong. Resilient against any influence.” He hugged her to him. “So, count, and if you need, I will count with you.”

  She hesitated, so he started. “One. Two. Three…” He paused until she took up where he had left off, reciting each digit under her breath.

  Occasionally, he would lift his hand from her back to smooth her hair. Twice, he turned his head to place his mouth against her forehead. She knew not if it was a kiss or his means to check if a fever had set in. Whatever the reason, each time she had to start her counting anew.

  She was not hot. She was chilled to the bone and wondered if she would ever be warm again.

  She shivered.

  He pulled her tighter and breathed her name. “Elizabeth.”

  One hundred twenty-seven.

  He carried her into the cabin, leaving her wrapped in his coat. Sandalwood and citrus.

  The tea was bitter. Laudanum. Restless sleep. Dreadful nightmares. Quiet.

  She woke to him sitting next to the bed. Mrs. Carr moved in the background. His greatcoat covered her from her shoulders to her feet. Her boots had been removed. She blinked. Morning light filtered through curtains pulled back from the small window next to the front door.

  “Might I provide something for your comfort? Are you in need?” he inquired.

  She shook her head slowly back and forth. There was one piece of information she wanted to know.

  “Lt. Wickham?”

  “Dead.”

  She gasped. Fear rather than sorrow. “My father?”

  “No.” His voice was firm. Trust. Care. “When he arrived in Meryton in the back of a cart, two of the townsfolk with young daughters took matters into their own hands. Justice was served.”

  Was it wicked to be pleased at the death of a human being? Was something lacking in her when gladness filled her heart?

  “He is no longer here?”

  “He is not.”

  “But, you are.” It was not a question.

  “I am, Elizabeth.”

  He did not move a muscle from where he was seated. He did not lean towards her, nor take her hand in his. He watched her as he had done each time they had been in company. What she had thought was disdain was now warmth. How could she have been so wrong about the goodness of one man and the honor of the other?

  “Mr. Darcy, I…” Emotions swirled in her heart. How could she explain to him how poorly she had judged him? Why was he here? Though Wickham had not succeeded in his quest, the fact that he had made the progress he had caused her ruination. Her father, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Mrs. Carr were all witnesses to her degradation. “I…”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “I am here. I am going nowhere. You are secure. I will see you are always safe from harm.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Sandalwood and citrus. Sanctuary. Shelter. Refuge. Affection. Respect. Tenderness.

  For the first time in the past four and twenty hours, she felt a hint of peace.

  TWO

  “You must drink.” Mrs. Carr had kindly tended to her needs while Mr. Darcy stepped outside.

  “I am afraid.” Elizabeth voiced her fears as she wrapped her fingers around the cup. Closing her eyes, her vision flashed to the man in the field. Her eyelids popped wide open and she stared, unblinking, at the bridge of Mrs. Carr’s nose. Despite it being the height of rudeness, she could not force herself to look away.

  “Drink, Miss Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth obediently sipped the cool water, never wavering from her focal point. She handed the vessel back to the midwife before she dropped it from the shaking of her hands.

  “Young lady, I fear the reality of my world would shock you to your core.” Mrs. Carr’s tone was gentle. Her words, though harsh, were evenly spoken. “Be they nobleman or tradesman, gentry or farmer, some men believe they have the right to take what is not theirs. It is a small sort of man who uses his strength to force a woman, or a girl, to his will. Then they callously go their way with no concern for what they have left behind.”

  “Did he…can I…?” Elizabeth’s eyes dropped to her fisted hands, the sharp nails pressing into her palm. The rhythm of her heartbeat galloped as air passed quickly through her nostrils, mimicking the sound of a horse running at full speed.

  “No, Miss. He failed in his attempts. There is no possibility of a babe.” The midwife laid her palm over the sharp knuckles raised on the back of Elizabeth’s hand. “You are yet a maiden. You will not suffer as many of your peers have done.”

  Relief! Pure blessed relief!

  “Why did you trust him?” Mrs. Carr asked.

  Elizabeth heard no blame in her voice, no accusatory tone. She suspected the midwife’s inquiry was a genuine attempt to gain understanding. Elizabeth’s head dropped as shame filled her, causing her chest to still to the point she feared her heart would stop completely. Tears dripped from her chin, leaving dark spots on Mr. Darcy’s coat. Pain, disappointment, anger, and humiliation fought an internal battle with humiliation gaining victory. To her shame, she was not nearly as intelligent as she had prided herself in being.

  “Why, Miss Lizzy?” Mrs. Carr pressed. “For, if you do not consider how this happened, you cannot protect yourself in the future.”

  “I did not allow this to happen!” she yelled at the woman in front of her. “I trusted him. I trusted in the honor of his uniform. He was charming and had the same sardonic humor as my father. I relished that he preferred my company over my sisters. I trusted him!”

  A door slammed open and strong arms surrounded her. She grabbed at him, clutching the fabric of his coat, smelling his neck. Sandalwood and citrus. She sobbed.

  “Why are you provoking her?” Darcy demanded of the midwife. “What right have you to upset her?” He stood, lifting Elizabeth in his arms. “We are gone from here.”

  Elizabeth heard them as if from a distance. Their words were indistinct. She did not care what was said or what they did. She did not care if she took her next breath. She did not…panic surged through her chest. The light from the opened door wrought terror for what lay beyond. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip as her hands quivered. She wanted to crawl inside Mr. Darcy’s skin, as bile rose into her throat. She could not—no, she would not go outside that door! She could not! She could not!

  He stopped and she wept, collapsing against him, all hints of strength gone from her muscles. Elizabeth swallowed the bitterness in gulps, knowing her efforts were in vain. He swept her loose curls back from her face as she emptied her stomach into the vessel Mrs. Carr held under her chin.

  Numbers. He was whispering numbers in the aftermath of her vomit, wiping her mouth with the cool cloth the midwife had provided.

  From the safety of his arms, she looked to the doorway. “I cannot,” she whispered, unsure how and when they came to be seated on the side of her bed.

  “Then, you will not,” was his quick assurance.

  “No, you shall,” insisted Mrs. Carr, on a sigh.

  “Why do you provoke her? You, who promised safety, who confessed to both her father and
me your love and care for her,” Darcy demanded.

  Mrs. Carr answered calmly. “Sir, you do not comprehend the damage, the destruction to a woman when a man commits this violent act against her and she is not allowed to learn how to protect herself.” Mrs. Carr took the offensive vessel outside and returned. “Pray, listen to me.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Mr. Darcy nodded, his chin sliding up and down Elizabeth’s forehead.

  “Since the day Miss Lizzy took her first steps, she wanted to run. As she grew, she would wander off to wherever her imagination took her, much to the chagrin of her mother. By the time she was a young lady, she insisted on the freedom to wander the fields and forests at every opportunity, always pressing to go her way, alone.” The midwife shook her head. “I reminded her repeatedly of the dangers, both to her reputation and to her body, but she fiercely clung to her independence, and would go on her way.”

  Elizabeth felt Mr. Darcy nod again, and wondered at her own stubbornness. Surely, she had not been as bad as Mrs. Carr claimed?

  “When the militia arrived, discerning parents kept their daughters close.” Mrs. Carr sighed. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were the exception.” The midwife looked directly at Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth wondered why she had not considered her parents as being different than other family heads. “Do you have a sister, sir?”

  “I do.”

  “Would you allow her to traipse out of sight of your home alone with a regiment of unknown men in the community?”

  “I would not allow it ever!” Mr. Darcy insisted.

  Their comments swirled in Elizabeth’s mind and her conclusion was horrifying. “I caused this? I am responsible?” she blurted.

  “No!” came Mrs. Carr’s immediate response. “Not at all, Miss Lizzy. However, think…think hard about what you need to do to keep yourself safe in the future. If you choose not to walk the countryside alone and if you choose not to trust a man you have recently met who has not had time to reveal his true character, you choose to protect yourself. You control, as best as you can, your own safety. Do you understand, child?”

  “I choose?” Elizabeth pondered the thought and was surprised at the surge of confidence and power that shot through her. “I choose.”

  “No, Miss Lizzy. Do not put the emphasis on choose. Put it where it needs to be—on I.”

  I choose. I choose. She closed her eyes as tension flowed from her body. I choose.

  “Do you fear the sunlight?” the midwife asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you fear the grass?”

  “I do not.” Elizabeth finally raised her eyes to the woman she had known since birth.

  “Do you fear the sky and the trees?”

  “Not at all,” Elizabeth insisted.

  “Do you fear me?”

  “Never!”

  “Do you fear Mr. Darcy?”

  “Absolutely not.” Her eyes met his and the last of the chill from her spine melted in the warmth of his gaze.

  “Yet, I think you did not always feel this way, did you?” the midwife softly asked.

  “I did not.” She tightened her arms. “Though I am not certain why I do now.”

  “Dear, the reason is simple, though profound.” Mrs. Carr patted Elizabeth’s knee. “The true measure of a man is best taken by how he reacts when under extreme pressure. Your Mr. Darcy’s first response was to protect you rather than remove himself from a distressing situation. He chose not to retreat from an event that did not personally concern him out of fear of having his name tied to a woman who was potentially ruined. His instincts, his inherent tendencies, were to safeguard his own, to do all within his power to both cushion you and comfort you. His concern was solely for you, not his former acquaintance.” She turned her eyes to Mr. Darcy. “Oh, yes sir. I have heard the rumors of your past dealings—how you robbed Lt. Wickham of a valuable inheritance.”

  “Do you believe his claims?” he demanded.

  “I did not believe them to be right or wrong as I did not know either of you, and I was not aware of the extenuating circumstances. Nevertheless, both your actions yesterday and his have clearly exposed who lied and who did not. Who is a man of honor and who was not, is that not so?”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth was now listening with interest. Everything Mrs. Carr said was sensible. Her being in the field alone left her vulnerable. Her not taking the time to know Lt. Wickham’s character left her defenseless. Her stubbornly holding onto the hurt of Mr. Darcy’s initial insult overheard at the Meryton assembly, blinding her to the man he truly was, had been wrong. He was a good man.

  “When you walk out my door, Miss Lizzy, you have little to fear. Why? Simply because you are not the same young woman who came into my home yesterday. You are much wiser, more discerning, and less insistent on your own course.”

  Elizabeth nodded as she meditated on the midwife’s final comments. Her words were empowering as she understood the truth of them. She was not the same person. She was forcefully learning her own limitations and that her world was not what she had thought it to be. Coming to terms with her situation, she slid off Mr. Darcy’s lap, although she clasped both hands around his elbow, hesitant to completely let go.

  “Mr. Darcy, might I inquire what gives you strength of mind when under trial?” Elizabeth needed to know how to keep reason when stressed, how to mold her thinking from the events of the day prior to something more positive.

  “My secret has always been Pemberley.”

  “Your home?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Darcy rested his hand on Elizabeth’s. “When my mother died, my father, who was almost overcome with grief, counseled me to focus on what was most solid in my life. Pemberley is a grand estate that has been in my family for centuries. The building is solid brick and stone and has withstood violent windstorms, flooding, and at one time, tremors in the earth. Years later, at the death of my father, the sorrow of my loss and the responsibility of caring for my young sister threatened to overwhelm me. Again, I looked to Pemberley. By taking each task which was necessary to preserve calm in my home, doing what I needed to do for Pemberley, I gradually felt calm inside myself as well. Even today, when matters threaten to undo me, I think of what I can do for Pemberley.”

  “For Pemberley,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “Yes.” Mr. Darcy dipped his head in agreement. “Yesterday,” he cleared his throat. “Yesterday, my mind again went to Pemberley, for I had been reflecting only that morning on what life would be like with you installed in my home, Elizabeth. From the time you spent at Netherfield Park caring for Miss Bennet, I have believed we could forge a union that would create a happy, loving household brimming with peace.”

  “You did?” His dark eyes displayed his heartfelt tenderness. His winsome words soothed her. “For Pemberley?”

  “For me,” he whispered as he bent forward to place his lips lightly on her forehead.

  Mrs. Carr interrupted the moment, as they heard a horse rapidly approaching. “One more question, sir. Had that been Miss Lydia Bennet you found in the field, how would you have responded?”

  Pausing briefly, he replied. “I would have given the same directions to my friend. I would have loaned her my handkerchief and offered words of consolation as I assisted her away from him.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Carr’s brows rose as she looked towards Elizabeth. “Think on that, Miss Lizzy.”

  Mr. Bennet burst through the opened door. In front of Elizabeth stood a father who was not the composed man she had known all her life. His breath was short and his cheeks red while the outline of his mouth was pale.

  “Lizzy, Longbourn is in an uproar,” he exclaimed. “Jane is attempting to soothe your mother and younger sisters as they wail the loss of Lt. Wickham. The furor in Meryton is equally as disturbing as the two men responsible for the rake’s death are being held until the assizes. Poor Sir William Lucas, as magistrate, is being vilified for keeping them jailed by others who were harmed by the lieutenant.” Mr. B
ennet wiped his hand across his brow. He breathed deeply as he calmed himself. “I am afraid you cannot come home, Lizzy. We cannot have your name connected to the events of yesterday. As it is, the general opinion is that the father of one of the girls in the community was responsible for Wickham’s initial injury. We can protect you only if you are unseen. The combination of your bruises and the knowledge of your pattern of strolling in that particular location would condemn you.” He gulped. “I am so sorry, my dear girl.”

  Elizabeth felt the blow with excruciating sharpness. Pain tore through her as she fully understood the damage. The day past had not only changed her view of herself, it had forever changed her future. She shuddered. Within seconds she was wrapped in Mr. Darcy’s arms. Sandalwood and citrus.

  “I will keep her from harm.” Solace. A promise. A future.

  THREE

  Mrs. Carr packed the items she would need for the journey while Mr. Darcy rode to Netherfield Park to take his leave from the Bingley family and prepare to remove himself from Hertfordshire. Elizabeth would not be allowed home to gather her belongings. Her father would task their housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, with filling her traveling trunk.

  Word would go out that in addition to the happy courtship between Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mrs. Carr would act as chaperone for the couple as Mr. Darcy took Elizabeth to meet his sister in Derbyshire, the seat of the Darcy ancestral estate.

  Mr. Bingley, who had stopped at the midwife’s cottage on his way to offer consolation to Miss Jane Bennet, would assure and reassure his family and friends of Darcy’s devotion to the young woman he hoped to make his wife.

  Elizabeth remained seated on the edge of the bed. She had never been one to have others plan her life, nor was she comfortable with the ruse. Her father had encouraged self-reliance in his second daughter as the youngest two of his five children turned out to be the most demanding. By the time the numbness trickled from her thinking, questions came pouring in. With the midwife the only other occupant of the room available, Elizabeth started with her.

  “Mrs. Carr, I wonder if I could ask, how do you come to have so much knowledge about…about how best to recover from this type of…attack?” The question was boldly asked. Elizabeth would not fault her if the woman chose not to reply.