by Ola Wegner
There was a part of her which still could not accept the truth of the dreadful news she had received yesterday after Mr. Darcy left. Her Papa was not among the living anymore. How could it be? There was still a hope within her that she was dreaming it, or that it was a mistake, a misunderstanding...that it could be explained. The short letter from Mr. Gardiner gave no hope of that, though. Her uncle would never have shared such news with her if it had not been confirmed. The circumstances of the accident sounded tragic to her ears, and her imagination created the worst scenarios of her parent's demise. She dearly hoped that her father had not suffered long, and was not conscious and aware at his last minute. How she wanted to already be with her family, joined together in their grief.
In his message, Mr. Gardiner explained that he was sending the man servant for her earlier than planned, and that the man should arrive within two days in order to escort her to London. Elizabeth did not want to wait, though, and decided to take the early morning post to London. Charlotte and Mr. Collins had attempted to convince her that it was improper and unsafe for her to travel all alone with strangers. She had not listened to them. She could not sit and wait idly by at Hunsford when she could be with her family sooner.
Knowing that she had at least an hour before the post chaise carriage would be ready to start the journey again, she tried to mute the voices around her. It was only when someone's voice called her name close by, she looked up.
"Mr. Darcy?" she whispered hoarsely, marvelling at his presence. She blinked her eyes, but he did not disappear. He stood, leaning above her, a familiar scowl darkening his countenance.
He took a seat beside her, his broad back separating them from the people in the room, giving them a semblance of privacy. His eyes searched her face with intensity. She realized that her first recollection was wrong. He was not displeased; his expression was full of concern and worry.
"I was not aware that you were planning to return to London today, sir," she offered politely, concentrating on controlling her voice and emotions. She was not in any condition to speak with anyone today, Mr. Darcy especially.
"You thought I would not have come after you? I was on my way here half an hour after I spoke to Mrs. Collins, and she told me about what had happened."
She frowned. "You talked to Charlotte?" She was certain that her cousin, Mr. Collins, was going to run to his noble patroness at the first opportunity to chat about their tragedy, but she did not expect that from her friend. Charlotte was always very discreet.
"Yes, I visited the parsonage about two hours after you had left."
She regarded him with a blank expression. "Why did you go to Hunsford?" she asked, not quite understanding him. Surely he had no intention of speaking with her again after her blatant refusal of his proposal the day before.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "To see you, of course," his voice laced with impatience. "I planned to meet you during your early morning walk, but when you did not come to the park, I became worried that you might have succumbed to a sudden illness, and decided to call on Hunsford to enquire after your health."
She felt him taking her cold hand into his gloved one. He was wearing strong leather gloves, the ones men usually used while riding. Had he come here horseback?
"My sincere condolences, Miss Bennet," he said, his expression sincere. "I lost both of my parents, and I acutely remember my despair at the time. Even now, years later, I miss them. If I could, if it was in my power, I would take the suffering away from you."
"Thank you, sir," she whispered, so quietly that she was not sure whether he heard her.
A new wave of overwhelming anguish shot through her, tightening her chest and throat. She choked a sob as the tears started to run quickly down her cheeks. She had succeeded in not shedding too many tears on her way here, but his presence, his kind words and compassion, unlocked something inside of her.
Her control completely broke, and within a minute she was sobbing, her vision blurred, gasping for air.
Darcy touched her arm gently, and said something before he left her alone for a moment. She frantically searched her reticule for a clean handkerchief, but the last one that she had with herself was crumpled and damp.
Soon a large, round man appeared in front of her, looking to be the owner of the place, or at least someone in charge. She attempted to compose herself, as she did not want any questions directed at her as to why she was weeping. The man must be concerned that she was making a spectacle out of herself in the room full of people, disturbing them.
Darcy was next to her again, taking her arm gently. "Miss Bennet, come." She allowed him to lead her across the common area, to a small chamber at the back which looked like a private sitting room designed for more affluent guests.
She heard him ordering tea, and soon they were left alone, for which she was grateful.
"May I?" he asked, tugging at the bow of her bonnet. When she did not protest, he untied the blue ribbon and gently removed her hat. Then he retrieved his own crisp linen handkerchief and dried her cheeks, before leaving it in her open palm.
She took a deep, shaky breath, hoping to calm herself.
Darcy sat on the chair opposite her, leaning forward. One of his hands was lightly touching the sleeve of her jacket.
"I have asked for a cup of strong tea for you," he said, stroking the navy blue velvet of her spenser. "It may help you to feel better."
"Thank you," she whispered, looking at him through her teary eyes, biting her lip hard, determined not to devolve to tears again.
He must have guessed her struggle because he said, "You should cry; I cried too when my father left this world."
"He was sad when I was leaving. I should have stayed…" she choked, erupting into sobs again.
"Shush," he whispered, moving to sit beside her. He put his arm around her, and she supported her forehead against the fine cloth of his coat.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, snuggling against his solid frame. She knew she should not allow it, that it was not right to use him for comfort, but she had no strength to break the embrace. He rocked her gently, stroking her back, murmuring kind words.
There was a knock at the door, and a young girl walked in with a tray full of refreshments.
Darcy broke his hold on her carefully and stood up to take the tray from the servant, ordering her to leave them alone. Elizabeth felt instantly cold without him beside her. She rubbed her arms with her hands to stop the shiver running through her body.
She observed as he prepared tea for her. He added a flat spoon of sugar and a drop of milk, exactly as she liked to take it. Was it an accident, or had he remembered how she preferred her tea?
"Here you are," he handed her the cup.
Her hands were trembling; he assisted her, helping to hold the cup.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the taste and the feeling of the warm liquid spreading down her parched throat.
"Thank you," she said as she finished. He took the empty cup from her, putting it aside.
"Would you care for some more?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, thank you."
Darcy fell silent, which in her experience was nothing unusual for him, but then she had nothing to say either. She was grateful for his assistance. He had taken her away from the crowded place when she broke down, giving her the comfort of a private room where she could calm herself and gather her thoughts. It was, however, time for her to go. The post carriage would be leaving soon, and she did not want to miss it.
She picked up her bonnet and reticule at the same time remembering she had a small carpet bag with her as well.
"My bag!" she exclaimed worriedly. "I had it with me. I must have left it in the main room."
All her money, apart from a few coins that she kept in her reticule, was in her valise. Why had she not put her money in the reticule? How would she continue her journey if someone had taken her bag? She would need money to hire a hackney in order to get to her uncle's house near C
heapside once they arrived in London.
"What does it look like?" Darcy asked.
"A small carpet bag with wooden handles, a green one." she described.
He was out of the room and back within a short time, carrying her bag. She retrieved it from him quickly and opened it, checking whether anything was missing. She sighed in relief, her hand on her chest, seeing that the small purse, which had been a present from her mother on her last birthday, containing ten pounds, was still tucked neatly in the side pocket.
"It was under the bench you sat on previously," Darcy explained. "I hope that nothing is missing."
She shook her head. "Thankfully, no… I should have put the money into my reticule, and not in this bag. I do not know what I would do in London without it," she said more to herself than to him. She should have been more prudent, and despite her distress, looked after her possessions more closely.
"You should not have chosen to travel on your own in the first place," Darcy spoke, his tone lecturing. "It is dangerous for a young woman to do so."
"I hardly had a choice," she defended. "I need to be with my family as soon as possible."
He took a step closer. "You could have asked me to help you with your travel arrangements." He made a point to look directly into her eyes. "I would do anything for you; you know that."
She blushed under his gaze, remembering yesterday's proposal. Had it not been for the news about her father, she would have surely spent the entire night thinking about Mr. Darcy, and what he had said.
"Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your help today, for your assistance," she said with sincerity. "It was very kind of you to offer me a moment of peace and privacy. I will not forget it. However, I am sure that the post carriage is ready to leave. I should go."
She tried to move past him, but he blocked her way, reaching for her hand. "Stay with me. My men should be here soon, bringing my carriage. I will deliver you safely to your aunt and uncle."
"How would that look, Mr. Darcy?" she asked calmly. "Do you wish to compromise me?"
"A maid from Rosings is coming for reasons of propriety. Let me draw your attention to the fact that travelling without a companion by post is hardly proper for a young woman."
She pressed her lips together, muttering angrily. "I do not care about propriety. My father is dead; I want to be with my mother and sisters as soon as possible." New tears stood in her eyes, but she fought them, not wishing to lose control over herself again.
He sighed, placing both hands on her shoulders. "Elizabeth, my offer stands. Just say yes, say yes, and I will take care of everything." He cupped her cheek, stroking it with his finger. "Please, let me help you.”
His gaze was pleading, and he looked sincere. If she was to be honest with herself, she would have to admit that there was a very small part of her which wanted to say yes to him, let him assist her, deal with troubling matters, take some of the burden from her. It was enough, however, to remember the manner of his proposal, the fact that he neither truly loved, nor respected and understood her, to refuse the temptation without regret. She had no patience for analyzing his intentions towards her, nor her own feelings at that very moment. She wanted to be alone with her pain on her way to Jane, her mother and her younger sisters. There was no place for him with her.
The door opened suddenly without a knock, and the familiar, muscular figure of Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped in. Elizabeth jumped away from Darcy, but she was certain that Colonel Fitzwilliam saw them standing close to each other, Darcy touching her face.
Not looking at the two men, she put on her bonnet and gloves, and collected her carpet bag and reticule.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy," she nodded her head at them. "I am afraid it is now time for me to continue my journey."
Hastily, she stepped forward, but was not surprised when Darcy caught her arm.
She gave him a determined look. "Please, unhand me, sir," she whispered icily.
To her relief, he let go of her hand, and she rushed past the two men.
She walked through the room, which seemed less crowded, and continued toward the front of the inn. The post carriage was nowhere to be seen, and she wondered whether it had been moved to wait somewhere other than before.
"Excuse me," she enquired politely of a young lad who looked as if he worked around the stables, "Do you know where the post passengers are awaiting?"
"You missed it, Miss," the boy said.
Her heart sank. How would she reach London now? "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, Miss."
"I travel to London with them. Why have they not called for me?"
"They were calling for people, and the driver even mentioned a young lady who paid for the whole trip in advance, but Mr. Brewster, the Bell's owner, told them not to wait for you."
"He said that! Why?"
"Don't know, Miss," the boy shrugged, "Something about travelling by private carriage with a betrothed I think."
It took Elizabeth a moment to comprehend what the lad had said. Darcy must have told the owner she was coming with him, and asked his to relay the information to the post chaise driver.
"Is there another post going to London today?" she asked.
"No, Miss. That was the last one today."
Elizabeth nodded and reached into her reticule to give a coin to a lad for his help.
"Thank you, Miss," the boy exclaimed, grinning widely.
The lad ran away as Elizabeth stood alone in front of the inn, thinking frantically what she should do now.
A familiar shiver ran down her back as she felt someone's close presence behind her. Turning around without much surprise, she saw Darcy and his cousin.
***
Darcy's eyes stared after Elizabeth as she hurried through the main room towards the entrance. She clearly intended to continue her journey on her own. He had a feeling that she would not be pleased when she learned that the post chaise had already departed. Her independence was equally admirable and infuriating to him. Why could she not see that he wished only the best for her, that he wanted to spare her hardships and make this difficult time easier for her?
"Darcy, would you care to explain to me," his cousin spoke, following Elizabeth's retreat with his eyes, "what are you doing here with Miss Bennet? Is it true that her father died in tragic circumstances? Collins came with such news earlier today."
"Yes, it is true," Darcy confirmed reluctantly. He was not particularly eager to discuss this matter with his cousin. "What are you doing here, cousin?" he asked coldly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam blinked, obviously surprised with the hostility on Darcy's part. "Must I remind you that you are my sole means of transportation at the moment? How was I to return to London? You brought me to Rosings to visit our dear aunt, and I expected that you would take me back. Was I wrong? When on my return from a ride, I saw your men preparing your carriage. I thought that I had no choice but go with them. I ordered my things to be packed and here I am. You could have informed me about your plans of departure a bit earlier." His cousin's tone was light on the surface as he was regarding him carefully. "It is so unlike you, Darcy, this behaviour. Is something bothering you?"
Darcy nodded, "Yes, but it is private, and I lack time to go into details now."
Colonel Fitzwilliam's blue eyes narrowed, "Is it about Miss Bennet? What were you doing with her earlier?"
"Yes, it concerns her, which reminds me that I have to find her now." Darcy confirmed. He made a move to walk past his cousin but was stopped by a firm grasp on his arm.
"What is your meaning?" the colonel asked sharply. "I knew that you fancied her, but I never thought that there was more to it. Are you following her? Why?"
"Why do you think?" Darcy enquired sarcastically.
Without warning, he was pushed back against the wall of the small room, unable to move, pinned by his cousin's strong hold.
"How dare you?" Colonel Fitzwilliam hissed. "She is someone's daughter, someone's sister, she may be poor, but
you have no right to do that to her. Do you think that now, when her father is dead, and she is without protection, you can pursue her in such a manner? I always thought you a better man—a man of honour!"
"I will not allow you to do that," he added, "It was obvious to me that she was not pleased with your company. I myself will deliver her safely to her family if necessary…"
Darcy rolled his eyes, interrupting his cousin. "Do not be so melodramatic, Fitzwilliam. She does not need you to rescue her. My intentions are entirely honourable."
"Honourable," Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated, frowning. He let go of Darcy and stepped back. After a moment, his forehead smoothed and his face lit up. "You proposed?"
"Yes… yesterday," Darcy confirmed, a small smile lifting his lips. "I cannot imagine how you could have thought otherwise," he sounded offended.
"Forgive me, Cousin." Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice boomed, and Darcy received a sound smack on his back. "Congratulations! She is a very charming young woman. I did not know that you had it in yourself, man. I have always thought that you would eventually marry someone more ... predictable. Someone my mother would pick for you."
Darcy made a face at the mention of his other aunt and her matching ways, which caused his cousin to laugh.
"When I saw her so distressed, I just thought that…" Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, his voice apologetic. "I am happy to be wrong," he assured with a wide smile, which faltered a moment later. "She must be truly devastated with her father's demise," he added thoughtfully, "you should not push her now. You should be more patient with her."
"I know," Darcy acknowledged, and then added hesitantly, "We had a little argument, and I was trying to reach an understanding with her when you came in, explain some matters to her, make her see my point."
Colonel Fitzwilliam was nodding his head, but his expression was guarded and confused.