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

by Christie Capps

  “God in heaven, dear woman. You take far too much upon yourself.”

  “And you do not?” Her plea seemed to fall on deaf ears as he shook his head repeatedly.

  “Which of us bears more shame?” he asked. “The man whose offensive manners against you and your loved ones was deliberate, or the woman who unwisely, but innocently, trusted an undeserving man?” His hands opened as he raised them towards her in supplication for her to understand, his tone hard. “Do not speak to me of being unworthy, Elizabeth Bennet. Do not speak of yourself in this manner ever again, for there is no other woman of my acquaintance who is as deserving of praise. There is no one who would not have been broken after Wickham’s attack. No one!” He stepped closer and his countenance was menacing. His arms lifted to grab her shoulders, but fell when she stood firm.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Ignoring him, she slapped her hands to her cheeks, ignoring the pain. Then she spun back to him. Elizabeth had no doubt the grin on her face looked silly in the midst of the battle they had been embroiled in. “Praise our God in heaven, Mr. Darcy, because I did not shrink back in fear of you. I did not cower, and I did not hesitate to stand my ground.”

  She giggled and then paced the room, reviewing their confrontation. Later, she would consider his words more carefully. However, at that moment, the salient fact was that her response to him had been the Lizzy Bennet from before the assault. From the pit of her stomach to the top of her head and back again, she rejoiced at what she perceived to be a monumental accomplishment.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but we shall have to postpone this heated conversation for another time, possibly in the next few minutes, if you do not mind.” She touched her hand to his chest and leaned in. Sandalwood and citrus. His confusion made her laugh. “I am far too proud of myself right now to continue being disagreeable.”

  “I beg forgiveness for raising my voice.” he interrupted, solemnly.

  “Oh, do not despair, Mr. Darcy. I have no doubt there will plenty of opportunities in the future to do so again.” She patted his lapel. “Do you not see the victory I have won? Do you not feel the joy that I can again look at the past as it brings me pleasure, skipping over the parts that could bring injury to my heart? I am simply delighted, sir, and wish you to share in my happiness.”

  He tenderly touched the side of her cheek. “I believe your happiness is tied to mine and I find I love you, Elizabeth, most ardently. I believe I always will.”

  What was a girl to do with a pronouncement so heartfelt it touched her soul? Lifting her chin and leaning forward, she placed her lips against his.

  FIVE

  He kissed her back. Thoroughly and deliciously kissed her until her toes curled and her brain melted into a puddle somewhere in her mid-section.

  “Ah-hem!” The emphatic clearing of Mrs. Carr’s throat broke into their consciousness, causing them to jump apart. “Celebrating our courtship, are we?”

  A rosy hue covered Mr. Darcy’s cheeks as Elizabeth became aware of the heat in her own. Before the gentleman could beg forgiveness, Elizabeth joyously clasped the midwife’s hand and proclaimed, “I am well. I am exactly like I was before, Mrs. Carr.”

  Disconcerted by the dark look crossing the woman’s face, Elizabeth looked back to the man still standing next to the fire. “I am well, am I not? Gratefully, I am recovered from my fright.” Uncertainty flowed through her veins where heat and passion had been seconds prior.

  Mrs. Carr sighed, then sat in one of the chairs at the table in the center of the room.

  “Miss Lizzy, you have every reason for pride in the progress you have made and I am grateful you are rejoicing with your first forward step.” She hesitated.

  “But?” Elizabeth inserted, as she took the seat across from her friend.

  “But…healing cannot be rushed.” Mrs. Carr put both her fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes. Bowing her head and shaking it slightly, her hands dropped to her lap. “Recall the wise counsel from Mr. Darcy’s father about putting trust in something solid.”

  Elizabeth nodded. For Pemberley.

  “You are with a man who appears to be solid and secure. He is tall in stature with strong arms and legs, broad shoulders, and large hands.”

  Elizabeth looked to him and found him to be exactly as the midwife described. He was embarrassed to have his physical form assessed by them both, as evidenced by his heightened color and lowered eyes.

  “What would happen to your joy if an illness suddenly befell him and he became physically weak, dependent on you and Thornton for his care? What would happen if someone like Lt. Wickham walked through that door with him not able to assist you?”

  “What a horrible thought!” Elizabeth was upset with the direction of the conversation. Her mind returned to her last sight of Lt. Wickham and she trembled. Spasms in her joints from the fear surging through her paralyzed her into immobility. She could barely catch her breath.

  “Yes, it is in every way horrible.” Mrs. Carr admitted as Mr. Darcy rushed to seat himself next to Elizabeth. He reached for her hand, yet at the last minute he stopped. The midwife nodded her head in agreement with his actions, making Elizabeth more confused. “I see your fright and your inability to move beyond your terror, Miss Lizzy. This, I am afraid, is normal. This does not mean you are fully recovered at all.”

  “Will I ever be able to let go of this…this dread…this inability to…” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes, then thrust her fists into the air. “I am angry! I am so angry!” Her eyes bore into the woman who sat across form her, unwanted tears pooling and threatening to fall. “How dare you tell me what I do not want to hear! How dare you…” She stood so quickly her chair toppled to the floor behind her. Planting her palms on the wooden surface, she leaned over until her face was close to Mrs. Carr’s. Elizabeth growled, her voice unusually low and quiet. “How dare you make me think of him! I had put him from my mind. I had moved past him…do you think I want to think of his pleasant smile turning feral? Do you think I want to recall his hands gripping my arms so tightly they burned with pain? Do you think I want to remember his vile lips on mine and his hands…traveling where…” Covering her eyes with her palms, she watched with stunning accuracy the events of the day before as if in slow motion, as if Wickham were counting the steps of a dance he was learning and she was at a distance observing.

  Mr. Darcy caught her as she swayed. “Enough!” He brooked no argument. “If I did not believe your motives were pure, you would be on the next stagecoach back to Meryton, Mrs. Carr.”

  “Sir, she will not heal if she ignores what happened or if she pretends it did not happen. For the rest of her life a sight, a sound, a noise, or a smell will render her transfixed as panic overtakes her, placing her in danger. What if she is holding your child when it happens? What if she is in the middle of one of London’s busy streets and a carriage is bearing down upon her as she stands frozen?” The midwife pleaded for him to understand. “You will not always be there, Mr. Darcy. Although your desire is to keep her from harm, until she learns to cope with the harm that has already befallen her, she will never be able to move past this.”

  “Is there not a better way?” Elizabeth heard his plea.

  “Sir, think of how Miss Lizzy would have reacted to my cautions had this attack never happened. Would it have brought her to tears or would she have smiled at my words, thanking me for my concern, and then proceeded with caution on her own terms?”

  He nodded his head, his chin rubbing against Elizabeth’s hair.

  Elizabeth heard every word. “You are correct, Mrs. Carr,” Elizabeth quietly admitted from the safety of his chest. “I would have done exactly as you have stated.” She sighed, pulling away from Mr. Darcy, though she did not completely leave the security of his arms. “My reaction proves your point. I should not lie to myself, or pretend what is not reality as it will not be to my benefit.”

  “When your wound heals, Miss Lizzy, you will be able to fight an enemy and stand on your own as you
did in the field. Your instinct will be to protect yourself rather than await Mr. Darcy’s or someone else’s assistance.” The woman folded her hands together and pulled them to her middle. “You will lose your vulnerability, Miss Lizzy, if you take one day at a time, one step at a time, rather than running ahead.”

  “This is not over?” The words creaked from her throat. “I am not done with this?”

  The midwife shook her head. “Do not minimize what you have accomplished. You did not believe you could leave my cottage, yet you did. You did not believe you could feel happiness and pleasure, yet you were giving every evidence of doing so when I walked into the room. You also found pleasure in being impertinent if my guess is correct?”

  Both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy nodded, with a slight grin.

  “You will reach your destination. I have no doubt of your stubborn attentiveness to this task until you could take on Napoleon himself should he unexpectedly appear in Derbyshire.” Resting her chin on her folded hands, Mrs. Carr smiled. “You will, again, be fierce.”

  Elizabeth huffed. “Although you do not paint a pretty picture of me, you do know me well.” Looking up to the man holding her, his expression rife with concern, she teased, “Are you certain you desire to proceed with a courtship knowing my mulish tendencies?”

  “I would want to proceed even if you brayed your displeasure, Elizabeth.” Tipping his head, he kissed her cheek.

  Just then, Thornton returned with their brushed outer clothes as they quickly partook of tea, cold meat, bread, and cheese.

  Hours later, as the carriage moved northward, Elizabeth rested her head against Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. Both Thornton and the midwife slept, each tucked into opposite corners of the seat facing them.

  “Thank you for kissing me, my dear,” Mr. Darcy whispered into her ear. “I had hoped to do so sooner rather than later, although I would have bided my time with equanimity.”

  She giggled. “I cannot believe the great Fitzwilliam Darcy teases.”

  He chuckled softly enough not to awake their companions. “While I admit to you that my name sounds magnificent, what with having two last names instead of one, I am not so intimidating.” He ran his hand up and down her upper arm. “If you call me William as my family does, I will be pleased.”

  “Merely pleased?” Elizabeth was immediately overjoyed. “William, are you sure you would not be elated, ecstatic, or, at the least, enraptured?”

  “Ha!” he quietly snorted. “I am a Darcy who is reputed to never share my emotions. In our society, it is just not done.”

  “You are a funny man, Mr. Imperious Darcy.” Elizabeth patted his chest. “Believe this of yourself if you will for I felt your arms tremble when you held me and begged me to breathe in and out when you found me. Your strong emotions helped calm my own ragged feelings into a semblance of control.”

  The mood instantaneously turned somber.

  “Elizabeth,” he muttered as he pulled her tighter to him. “I have never wanted to kill a man, to cause permanent harm, like I did when I realized what he had done to you.” He cupped his hand over his mouth, air flowing swiftly through his nostrils. “To think I used to call him a friend.”

  A tear gathered in the corner of his eye.

  “William,” she breathed his name as she kissed his jaw.

  “How can you understand?” Leaning his head against the squabs, he pressed his eyes closed. “Since the death of my father, Wickham has perpetrated injury after injury to me and anyone I have valued. Early this summer, he convinced my sister to elope. When I arrived unexpectedly and stopped them from heading to Scotland, he yelled so Georgiana could hear that he had only wanted her money and to harm me.” He kissed her hair. “Lizzy, he hurt me to the point where I thought I could never recover from the pain.”

  “Oh, no! I am so sorry, William.” That he had called her by a name only those most familiar to her used, was a precious memory she would store to bring out and hold dear later.

  Placing his forehead against her own, he continued. “But, that hurt was nothing like the agony shooting through my heart when I saw you crouched beside his prone figure.” Burying his face in her neck, he paused. “I love you, my Lizzy. I want so badly to take your wounds to be my own. I wanted to turn back time so I could have run him down with my horse or put a bullet between his eyes, or fifty of them, before he had opportunity to interrupt your stroll and...” His mouth moved to her ear. “I wanted…I wanted…” He growled.

  “For Pemberley, Will,” she whispered into his ear. “We will take, as Mrs. Carr said, one step at a time. We will be moving in accord. We will watch over your sister as an eagle watches her young. As a team we will be as formidable as the walls of your home. We will vanquish our enemies and will fight anyone who threatens our peace—together.”

  She stroked the side of his face. Sandalwood and citrus. “However,” Elizabeth said, drawing out each syllable of the word, “I do imagine the two of us, each with our strong opinions intact, to have spectacular debates where we will run up against each other’s stubbornness fairly regularly.”

  She could tell when her words penetrated. His arms relaxed and his chest became a more comfortable perch.

  “You do, do you?” he chuckled.

  “I do.” She pulled back to smile at him.

  “And what do you propose we do to settle these differences, my lady?”

  “This.” Her mouth traveled to where it yearned to go. This kiss was far more certain and Elizabeth decided her father’s favorite Latin phrase was correct. Uses promptos facit. Practice makes perfect.

  SIX

  For the third night in a row, Elizabeth closed her eyes as her head rested on the pillow. She could not keep herself from thinking of William. Throughout each day, his attentiveness chipped away at the icy recesses of her damaged heart. Each night, she forced her mind to recall only the good of their interactions from the time they had first noticed each other at the Meryton assembly. For four days past (she refused to allow her thoughts to recall what event had caused the change) there had been many opportunities to observe the fundamental qualities inherent in the master of Pemberley. In truth, Elizabeth admired them tremendously.

  Mrs. Carr had been correct—again. She was not completely recovered.

  As the long night hours had gone from dusk to dawn, Elizabeth’s mind played terrifying tricks on her, allowing horrid memories to trickle into her awareness, shoving aside all thoughts of the man with the sterling character and welcoming the other—causing nightmares of the acutest kind. It was a painful reminder she could not banish the recollection by merely wishing it to be gone.

  Her father had cautioned her at six-years-old not to climb trees if the boys were playing on the ground underneath. Elizabeth had been indignant. She wanted those mischief-makers to know she could ascent higher and faster than they could. When her papa indicated how vulnerable her bare legs would be to their innocent gaping, she had willingly and gratefully done as he had asked. No one of the male sex had looked upon her thighs since, not even her father.

  That man’s grabbing fingers had clutched the muslin of her dress, lifting it…

  In her dreams, she fought him as fiercely as she had done on that day. In doing so, Elizabeth had to disregard the cool air blowing over her shins where his lower body had not covered them. Clinging to her modesty by attempting to keep her skirt down would not have allowed her to scratch at him, to double up her fist like the young boys had shown her and pound at his face, and to not frantically pat her hands over the ground until she found a weapon.

  For three nights, she woke in a sweat, screaming for help and pushing the bedclothes down her legs to cover her ankles. Calling—always shouting for William.

  Mrs. Carr’s presence kept him away. They were in a public building where decorum had to be maintained at all costs.

  Each morning his face displayed his distress that he could not come to her as her pleas echoed through the wooden doors down the hallway to his chamb
ers until the midwife succeeded in quickly waking her. Each time they climbed into the carriage, the shades would instantly go down and Elizabeth would grasp for him as he did the same to her. Sandalwood and citrus. Safety. Soothing comfort.

  On this day, their fourth, they would reach Pemberley. As the demons from the dark vanished in the light of the sun, conversation would lighten until the couple finally relaxed. The shades of the carriage were opened and the November light created a comfortable glow inside the coach.

  “Would you tell me of your sister?” Brimming with curiosity, Elizabeth had quizzed him and teased him until they comfortably filled the hours. Each turn of the wheels, each pull of the four horses attached to the harnesses, brought them closer to their final destination. Anticipation grew until she could barely keep her composure. Lt. Wickham had called Miss Georgiana Darcy proud, as arrogant as she had once thought the brother to be. Wickham had lied, so Elizabeth refused to give credit to his accusations.

  Darcy smiled, that little grin that lit his eyes and pulled his cheeks up until his dimples were handsomely on display. If she ever had the opportunity of requesting him to sit for a likeness, it was the expression she could look upon for her lifetime.

  “Georgiana is rather reticent and always has been. She is similar in height to you, or perhaps a little taller. In looks she is as lovely as my mother, with light brown hair and blue eyes. She enjoys music and reading.” His smile grew. “Despite Miss Caroline Bingley regaling you with my sister’s long list of accomplishments, Georgiana despises painting tables, knitting purses, and needlework of any sort. Yet, she obediently seeks to please me, so Pemberley has not one plain wooden stand left in all its many rooms.”