by Jennifer Joy
While they would shower Mr. Darcy with praise, to which he neither reacted with a puffed up chest nor with embarrassment, Elizabeth could not help but find some flaws in Mr. Bingley’s reasoning. Her forehead furrowed, and had her mother been there, she would have scolded Elizabeth for the creases in her skin.
Father noticed. With a knowing chuckle, he said, “Ah, there it is. Your observation has intrigued my Lizzy, Mr. Bingley. Like Mr. Darcy, she delights in sketching the characters of the people she meets. I wonder, what has piqued your curiosity, my girl?”
Elizabeth desired an answer, but not at the expense of asking her question. It was too intimate.
Seeking more agreeable ground, she replied, “Mr. Darcy is too new an acquaintance to suffer the consequences of my curiosity. He may choose to reveal what he wishes, and I will draw the conclusions to which his actions lead.”
Mr. Darcy met her eyes again, and she could not look away from the challenge she saw in their verdant gold depths.
How could she ever have thought he was shy?
His eyebrow raised, and there was a touch of humor in his tone when he said, “I should like to hear your thoughts, Miss Elizabeth, if you wish to share them.”
It was a dare to which Elizabeth could not fail to respond. “I find your character a study of contrasts. On first acquaintance, I would have described you as shy and awkward in conversation. As if you have been denied society for a long time. There were moments I sensed your melancholy, though you attempted to hide it.”
She ignored Mr. Bingley’s gasp, continuing, “However, your discussion today paints the picture of a self-assured, decisive gentleman who does not fear the scorn of society if it means compromising his values. Such an honorable person would see his duty in making himself agreeable in society, whether he wished for their approval or not.”
Mr. Bingley clapped. Addressing Father, he said, “She is good. That describes Darcy perfectly.”
But Elizabeth was not done. Mr. Darcy watched her unwaveringly, and the firm constancy of his look emboldened her to add, “I do have to wonder … where does an individual, whose opinion is always sought after and highly regarded, turn for support when he requires assistance? Where does he find relief for his burdens? Or must he always bear them alone?”
Elizabeth saw the shift in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, but she did not know what it meant. The muscles at his jaw twitched. Had she been overly bold or had she struck too close to the truth? Perhaps the gentleman was not as unaffected as he had claimed.
She would have apologized and changed the subject, but he had asked for her observation … and the tea arrived. By the time she poured, Mr. Darcy had recovered himself so well, Elizabeth began to doubt what she had seen. She hardly knew the man. Who was she to suppose she had any effect on him at all? He had asked for her opinion, and she had told him. As for her question … he probably thought it impertinent and would forget it and her as soon as he and Mr. Bingley departed from Longbourn.
The conversation took a much lighter turn when Mr. Bingley inquired after the other ladies of the house.
“Had they known you would call, they would have been present. But I fear they will miss you in their endeavor to avoid the arrival of another gentleman whom I am certain Mr. Darcy would never befriend. Such haughty displays of humility and studied compliments you cannot have previously witnessed. If he stays as long as he threatens, I daresay you shall have to meet him. I only hope I am present for the occasion,” Father said with a chuckle.
Which turned into a wheeze.
Which turned into a cough.
Which turned into a full out attack on Father’s lungs as he struggled for air.
Chapter 8
Darcy lunged forward before Mr. Bennet toppled to the floor. Miss Elizabeth whisked around to her father’s other side, cushioning his head as Darcy carefully lowered him to the carpet.
Reaching over to the table, Miss Elizabeth grabbed Mr. Bennet’s teacup, holding it to his lips. Tea dribbled over her fingers and soaked into her gown, but she held the cup as steadily as she could while she fumbled with his cravat with the other. Her quick thinking was impressive. Another lady would have swooned.
“Allow me,” Darcy said, making quick work of loosening the fabric, which the older gentleman pressed against his mouth like a handkerchief.
Bingley appeared in the doorway with the housekeeper. She held out a bottle with an inch of liquid at the bottom to Miss Elizabeth.
Taking the bottle, Miss Elizabeth lifted it to his lips, saying softly, “Drink, Papa. There are two more bottles in the top drawer of Father’s desk. Will you please fetch one, Mrs. Hill?” she asked.
The housekeeper stepped forward, her hands clutched together. “That was where I got that bottle, Miss. There are no more.”
Miss Elizabeth inhaled sharply.
Mr. Bennet’s cough subsided, though he breathed with difficulty. His chest rattled like a child slurping his soup. He wadded the makeshift handkerchief in his hand, lowering it to his chest.
Bingley stepped forward. “Is the draught from the apothecary?” he asked.
“No, but he must have something. We will have to send for Mr. Jones in Meryton,” Miss Elizabeth said.
Mrs. Hill nodded.
Miss Elizabeth’s ability to make wise decisions under duress, as well as her swiftness in communicating clearly so that an order could be carried out, impressed Darcy. His instincts about her at the ball had not been wrong.
“I will go to Meryton and fetch more immediately,” Bingley said, holding up his hands to ward off Miss Elizabeth’s protest. “Please. It would be a kindness for you to allow me to help. I cannot look on when I can do something. My horse is ready and fast. Let me go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Jones is often found at the room above the haberdashery,” she said. She sounded so weary. While her eyes were as fine and full of life as Darcy remembered them being at their first meeting, he now noticed the dark rims circling them. Her smile was quick and ready, but he now saw the effort with which she forced her lips upward. Her shoulders were stiff. Her chin lifted in defiance of her circumstances — of her father’s failing health.
Darcy wished he had offered to ride to Meryton before Bingley. He had come to Hertfordshire seeking help for his Little Anne, and now Darcy found himself wishing to help Miss Elizabeth.
The thought struck him with a force that stole his breath. He could help her.
Would she accept his assistance if he offered it? He enjoyed her conversation. Her character was strong. She knew when to speak her mind, but Darcy had also witnessed her discretion. She liked children and clearly took the care of her own father seriously.
As quickly as the idea had occurred to him, Darcy dismissed it. Miss Elizabeth wanted love, not convenience. And Darcy could not deny a good lady her heart’s desire.
With a trembling hand, Mr. Bennet reached up to caress his daughter’s face.
She closed her eyes, her dark lashes splaying over her cheek. They were as thick as Georgiana’s had been, but darker. Almost black. Miss Elizabeth cradled her father’s hand between her cheek and shoulder. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Darcy looked away, allowing them privacy.
How many times he had sat beside Georgiana during her bouts of illness in the mornings, his mere presence the only comfort he could offer her as he held her hair away from her mouth and dabbed her damp forehead with a clean cloth until the nausea subsided. Never had he felt so helpless.
Darcy sat back, the memories aching in his bones.
With a quivering chin and a raspy voice, Miss Elizabeth said, “I wish you had told me you were running out of medicine, Papa. Why did you not tell me?”
“Remember your promise, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet whispered.
A promise.
Darcy looked between the father and his daughter.
Miss Elizabeth blinked ferociously, but not one tear spilled down her cheeks. Darcy’s mind cleared while his vision cloude
d. They were the same. Darcy did not need to know Miss Elizabeth’s promise to be certain she would keep it. At all cost. Just like him. This changed everything. This was his chance.
Stronger, Mr. Bennet said, “Your mother. Your sisters. You must take care of them. You must.”
Her voice shook, but her words were clear. “I will not go back on my word, Papa. I will take care of them.”
Darcy knew what he must do. It was now or never. “Excuse me for my interference, but if you will allow it, I believe I am in a good position to help.”
He felt Miss Elizabeth’s glare on him, warming his skin. Her adherence to her own values raised her in his estimation. She would do what was right. She was trustworthy. She was perfect. And she needed him as much as he needed her.
“I wish to sit up,” Mr. Bennet said, raising his hand.
Settling in his chair and taking a couple of shaky breaths, Mr. Bennet first appealed to his daughter. “What can it hurt to listen to what Mr. Darcy has to say when he has witnessed our predicament?”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyebrows pressed together; her lips flattened into a thin line. She did not argue, but she made her displeasure known, nonetheless. She filled her father’s teacup, setting it down with a decided clatter on the tray at his elbow.
Darcy did not blame her. He was not pleased with the circumstances which had brought him to the drawing room at Longbourn either. If there was another way…. But there was not, and wishing things were different would not help Little Anne or Miss Elizabeth. In time, she would see the benefits of his solution.
“More tea, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
He refused, suspecting she would sooner toss the steaming contents at his face than pour them into his empty teacup. If she already chose to take offense at his offer of help, Darcy held little hope she would take more kindly to his offer of marriage. Not a promising beginning … but Darcy had begun what he had set out to do, and he would not stop until he was done. He must marry for Anne, and Miss Elizabeth was his choice. There would be plenty of time — a lifetime — for her to change her opinion later.
Mr. Bennet took a sip. Addressing Darcy, he said, “Forgive me for speaking of vulgar topics, but I fear my time is too short for politeness. I must be plain. My estate is entailed, and the gentleman who will inherit Longbourn is eager to take possession of my family’s house. I have no reason to believe he will allow my wife and unmarried daughters to continue here when he will soon have a child of his own … and more to come, no doubt. The amount of money I will leave behind is not enough to set my girls up respectably.”
Darcy chanced a glance at Miss Elizabeth. Her cheeks were a brilliant red. Her shoulders were hunched up like a cat ready to pounce.
“Some weeks past,” Mr. Bennet continued, “I caught a chill which has since turned into this dreadful cough. Not thinking much of it, for nobody dies of a simple cold, I did not seek Mr. Jones’ assistance until my cough had become much worse and my throat burned, so that it is painful to swallow. There are times I lose my voice completely. It is a fortnight now that I have been coughing blood.” He looked down at the cravat clutched in his hand.
Darcy saw the bright red stain. “Consumption?” he asked. Of all the illnesses….
Mr. Bennet nodded. “I fear my family will be left destitute without me to provide for their needs. My greatest concern is to see my daughters properly settled and cared for.”
And so, Mr. Bennet charged the daughter he clearly loved the most with the care of her mother and sisters? Darcy did not know what to think of this frail man. What he demanded was impossible in a society that mocked ladies forced to earn their living. And yet, what other options did Mr. Bennet have at this point? It was too late.
Leveling his eyes at Mr. Bennet, commanding the gentleman’s full attention, Darcy said, “I am prepared to make such an offer as to allay your fears, Mr. Bennet. I find myself in need of a wife, and you require a husband to provide for Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy heard Miss Elizabeth gasp, but he did not look away from Mr. Bennet. Once she came to her senses, she would see the advantages of their union. In time, they might even be happy.
Mr. Bennet rubbed his chin. “I know you can provide for her physical needs, Mr. Darcy. You are reported to be quite wealthy.”
“You cannot be serious, Papa,” Miss Elizabeth cried.
Darcy did not break eye contact with Mr. Bennet. He nodded his head. The reports Mr. Bennet had heard were true.
Neither did the father look away from him. “By your own admission, you do not allow for emotion. Will you be good to her? Will you treat her kindly? Love her as she deserves to be loved?” he asked.
“Papa!” Miss Elizabeth exclaimed. “Do not even consider this! I will work as a governess. I can ask Uncle Gardiner to allow me to help in his trade. I can keep accounts. Did you not say Aunt Gardiner has relatives who might help? My needs are not grand. I will save all of my earnings to share with Mother and my sisters, only do not do this, I beg you!”
Shaking his head, Mr. Bennet said, “It is only romantic for a gentleman’s daughter to earn her living in novels, my dear girl. You do not realize what you would lose.”
“And my freedom? What of that? You would allow me to marry a man we do not know? A man who could control me completely and turn back on his promise the moment we are out of your sight? A man who would not value me…” her words cut short.
Darcy’s hackles rose, but the tear running down her cheek stole his bravado. Miss Elizabeth was wise to be cautious when she knew so little about him. Composure, not sarcasm, would restore her reason. If she knew how generous he could be with her family, her objections would subside.
Addressing Mr. Bennet, Darcy said, “I will sign a contract promising to provide a residence and a reasonable allowance for your immediate family until they marry. If you require references as to my character, I can provide you with several.” Calm enough to face Miss Elizabeth, Darcy turned to her. “As for the authority I exercise over my household, I assure you that I will treat you fairly and kindly, as I do everyone else.”
“Everyone else? Do you mean your servants? I should think a wife ought to be treated with a different sort of love and respect to the housekeeper,” she snapped.
Mr. Bennet interrupted. “That is enough. You do not agree now, Lizzy, but in time you will see how this is for the best.”
“But—”
Her father silenced her. “That is enough. Wishing things were different will not change anything, and if you want your mother and sisters to have any chance of happiness, then sacrifices must be made. I am sorry, but Mr. Darcy is a good man, and he has made an offer we cannot refuse. I cannot in good conscience refuse him, and if you have half the sense I know you to possess, you will not either.”
Miss Elizabeth stared open-mouthed at her father. Not even when the sound of carriage wheels crunching over the gravel drive drew nearer did she look away.
Her upset was temporary. Tomorrow, she would be grateful.
Chapter 9
Elizabeth searched her father’s face for any sign of remorse. He could not mean it. Surely, he could not.
Heat stung her eyes. Why did he not look at her?
“Sacrifices must be made.” He had said that.
“Papa,” she muttered.
He did not meet her eyes. Would not.
Did she mean so little to him that he was willing to send her away at the first offer? Elizabeth’s eyes flooded with tears she was too angry to allow to fall. How dare he cast her off! What did they know of Mr. Darcy? He could be a monster.
Working herself into a righteous rage, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Mr. Darcy. If he had flaws — anything she could use against him to convince her father not to hand her over to the gentleman without pause or consideration — she would find them. Her vision cleared as she inspected Mr. Darcy from the top of his dark, curly hair down his firm jaw; from his perfectly tied cravat and polished boots, then back to his eyes. Were they green or
gold?
Mr. Darcy was handsome. Dangerously handsome. Roguishly handsome? No. Elizabeth would never accuse Mr. Darcy of flirting. She could not have foreseen his offer of marriage had her life depended on it.
Her flaw-seeking inspection was not entirely without results. She could not explain why a well-formed, wealthy man like Mr. Darcy was in such a hurry to marry. Neither had he stated his reason clearly. The man had secrets.
Why on earth had he chosen her? Not that Elizabeth felt anything was wrong with her, mind you, but she was not so fanciful as to believe that the gentleman before her was her own Sir Knightly, heroically coming to her rescue. It made her wonder what was wrong with him. Whatever his great flaw was, it was not visible.
The front door creaked, interrupting her thoughts and breaking her eye contact with Mr. Darcy. Drat it all, how long had she been staring at him?
Mortified, Elizabeth glanced through the window behind her to see Mr. Collins’ carriage sitting in the middle of the path to the house. Hill carried in a large trunk. Good heavens, how long did Mr. Collins plan to stay?
It was too much.
Elizabeth’s ire returned and, with it, a hefty sum of interest for Mr. Darcy’s ability to make her forget herself momentarily. She would not allow it to happen again, nor could she stand the sight of her father’s envious cousin. If Father so easily threw her future into Mr. Darcy’s hands, then he could endure the company of Mr. Collins without her help.
Before an unwelcome foot crossed the threshold, Elizabeth bolted from the room.
Good manners required her to return to the drawing room from whence she had fled, but Elizabeth did not feel at all mannerly. If it were not for Mr. Collins’ eager anticipation of Father’s death, she would not have to worry about being kicked out of Longbourn. If it were not for her father’s untimely illness, he would not be in danger of granting his cousin’s wish sooner rather than later. If it were not for Mr. Darcy….