Haunting Mr. Darcy

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  Not wishing to give any more attention to her disquiet regarding this, Elizabeth quickly touched another item. The fascination of tasting different foods effectively kept her from wallowing in her growing doubts and fears.

  Her attention was called back to the others in the room when she heard the scrape of Darcy’s chair as he stood. Turning around, Elizabeth knew she looked like a guilty child, but luckily for her, the gentleman was still avoiding her.

  “Thank you for the lovely repast, Georgie.”

  Miss Darcy blushed at the praise. And Elizabeth blushed at the tender kiss she saw him place on his sister’s head. She quickly turned around, hoping to distract her wayward thoughts with additional treats. There was a delicious looking plum cake at the far end of the table. Elizabeth went immediately for it only to find the boundary line pulling her away. She turned in protest towards Darcy who was exiting the room.

  “But I wanted to taste the plum cake!”

  With a pout, Elizabeth once again crossed her arms about her, and glared at the back of Mr. Darcy who, although she was sure heard her plea, was most ungentlemanly ignoring it.

  * * *

  Against his will, against his reason, and even against his character, Darcy found himself smiling at her petulant tone as he strode from the breakfast room without so much as a pause. Her beguiling presence was truly haunting him. He knew he had done a poor job ignoring her that morning. Her defiant remarks about his intentions to do so only made him more determined. To block out the musical sound of her laughter when they left his chambers, he had forced himself to recite the kings of England in chronological order. After a while, it seemed to work, for he could no longer hear her. He had almost believed he had accomplished his goal when he had reached the breakfast room.

  But of course, it could not have been that easy. He had indeed, felt disappointment when he turned and found her so impertinently standing behind him. And yet, in the morning glow of the candles that had been lit to chase the night away but not yet extinguished, she had looked every bit as bewitching as before and indisputably still there.

  Biting his lip and suppressing a smile, Darcy recalled her little prank with the newspaper, too. If he were not attics to let, he would laugh at her wily trick. Again, he had to give himself credit for making her such a lively minx. Oh, how he had wished at that moment for her to be the real Elizabeth! He would have most certainly taught her a lesson in decorum — a lesson that might not have been very decorous either.

  The idea of her being real was what brought Darcy back to reality. Their situation, this whole, sordid mess, was proof enough that whatever was happening had a definite illusory sensation. Neither of them acted entirely with propriety with regard to the other. She spoke more impertinently; he was unguarded. What if his little make-believe lady was real? Darcy shuddered at the thought. Certainly, there had been moments that he would have gone to great effort to behave differently. He colored at the forward remarks he had made so far with this Elizabeth. Am I to act in accordance with the dictates of society with my manifestation of Elizabeth? He had to smile, for part of him found their lack of restrictions exhilarating.

  Darcy stopped abruptly on the journey to his study and spun to look at Elizabeth. He almost smiled when he saw her, for he knew somehow that she would still be there. It was not as if he had done a very good job keeping Rule Number One. For a moment, the two just gazed at each other. Darcy’s perusal of her was intense and studied. He was not sure what he was looking for, but nonetheless, his eyes took in every detail.

  He watched with detached amusement as her eyes drew his attention to a cocked right brow. When their eyes met, she performed a perfect curtsey — perfect in its mockery.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir.” Her lilting voice reached his ears.

  Darcy returned her salute with a bow of his own. “Miss Bennet.”

  Their eyes once again locked together until Darcy could not hold back any longer. With a toss of his arms in the air, he once again spun in place, and he laughed manically as he continued on his way.

  “This is certainly madness!” he spoke aloud. What did I think — I could stare her out of existence? A fine job of that I did in Hertfordshire.

  * * *

  Mr. Bennet was just emerging from his rooms when he heard the rumble of voices chorusing up the stairs, heralding the return of his wife and other daughters. After a long night with Elizabeth, with but a short reprieve from her bedside to quickly bathe and see to his appearance, the last thing he needed was the drama of the rest of his family.

  He could hear his wife calling frantically for Hill, addressing the footman for another task and calling for another to fetch her husband. Mr. Bennet had half a mind to turn on the spot and hide in his chambers. But he could not, and he certainly did not wish to have her go to Elizabeth’s bedside in such a state. With a sigh, he descended the stairs to greet his wife.

  When he arrived, he could see Jane had not yet descended and was grateful for that mercy as he was sure Mrs. Bennet’s agitations would only be heightened with the sight of her eldest daughter’s bruises and injured arm.

  “Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet,’’ she said as she saw him enter the room. “We have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, though she did leave early; everybody said how well she looked, and Elizabeth danced with Mr. Wickham, though it was my Lydia who really caught his eye. Mr. Wickham thought her quite beautiful and danced with her twice. Only think of that my dear; he actually danced with her twice, and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time.”

  “Enough madam! Did you not receive my missive last evening?” Mr. Bennet was exasperated with her talk of partners and dances when his Lizzy lay upstairs, lost in a world beyond.

  “Of course I did. And as you see, here I am. I did not venture into the storm and stayed at my sister Phillips’s house.”

  Mr. Bennet looked at his wife with utter shock at the callous way of her speech. He looked toward his other daughters only to find them caught up in their own ruminations of the assembly. His feelings got the better of him then, and he spoke with more force than he had intended. “Mrs. Bennet, be so good as to share with me exactly what message you received.” When she went to speak, he added, “Word for word, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Bennet detected the angry tone in her husband’s voice and, although she did not see why he ought to be upset, answered him with more forbearance than she felt he deserved. “Mrs. Phillips’s maid passed along the message she received from our groom that we were to stay in Meryton, the roads being dangerous and likely to overturn the carriage.” With a lift of her chin, she ended with, “As you see, sir. We have done just that.”

  Mr. Bennet sank heavily into a nearby chair. “The roads were indeed dangerous last night, ma’am. And the carriage being overturned, I fear, not likely but definitely.”

  The room went uncharacteristically silent. Mrs. Bennet’s voice was barely a whisper as she spoke haltingly, “Where is my Jane? I have not seen her yet. And Lizzy, why have they not greeted us?”

  Jane came into the room then, her arm held closely and tears in her eyes. “I am here, Mama.”

  Mrs. Bennet stayed fixed where she was, her normally fickle heart beginning to beat a steady rhythm. She spoke to her husband while looking at her daughter. “Mr. Bennet, what has happened to my Jane?” The low tone of her voice was the only indication that she was affected by the sight of her bruised and injured daughter.

  “I am well, Mama,” Jane intervened, ready to assure her mother.

  “Mr. Bennet, why are you so silent?” And then remembering his earlier words, she said with heavy emotion, “What did you say about the carriage?”

  The two locked eyes, and Mrs. Bennet’s began to swim when she looked into the fatigued, heavy eyes of her husband. “Sir, I will kindly ask you again: where is Lizzy?”

  Mr. Bennet stood then and came to his wife. With a sadness in his eyes, he looked at
her puzzled and worried face, and taking her hand said, “Come dear, I will show you to her.”

  Chapter 7

  The glass was warm, the liquid a shimmering amber. As Darcy swirled it, he watched the candlelight dance and flicker through it. It was the most fascinating glass of brandy he had ever had and mostly because he was determined to make it so. Watching it meant he was not watching anything or anyone else. The sounds of the men around him nibbled at his ears, although not sufficient enough to distract his thoughts entirely but enough to keep him properly adhering to Rule Number Three: avoid undignified behavior. That was the whole purpose in him coming to his club in the first place. He had spent the day in various pursuits and nothing had kept his eyes from drifting to her ever present form. Smiling at his cleverness, he again lifted the glass to his lips to take a sip. Throughout his day he had found that if he were surrounded by people, or at least in company with another person, he could effectively numb his mind to her allurement and almost close his ears to the melody of her voice. This was what he was attempting now.

  He recalled, with a grimace, earlier in the day when he had met with his solicitor. It was not long after he had left the breakfast room that his butler, Mr. Carroll, had announced Mr. Maddings’s arrival. The portly gentleman’s entrance was never so generously received nor so welcome a sight to his employer’s eyes. Darcy usually took satisfaction in working through his books and managing his estates. It was an honor to continue the legacy that his father had left him — but never so much as now when doing his duty also allowed him to accomplish his goal.

  Early in the New Year, he had always had a standing meeting with his solicitor to review his accounts and plan for the coming year’s expenses, investments, and legal needs. It gave Darcy an opportunity to have the man update his essential documents and work the year’s income into the brackets. The meetings were uneventful and strictly business. The men had never discussed personal details not directly necessary for the solicitor’s legal drafting.

  Darcy raised his hand and, with a flick of a finger, summoned the club’s footman for another drink. He dared not lift his head, for he knew what he would see — or rather whom. His thoughts returned to the meeting with his solicitor and, with its recall, the memory of her presence. Whether he was ignoring the fact or relishing in it was hard to say. He was a weak man when it came to Elizabeth, and although he was engulfing himself in the society at White’s for the sole purpose of blocking her out, he could not entirely forget — and so he purposely remembered.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir. Good morrow and a happy New Year,” Mr. Maddings had said as he wobbled across the study rug, a heavy satchel in one hand and the other extended to him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Maddings, and a good day to you too.”

  Darcy stood and enthusiastically gave his solicitor a shake of the hand then motioned for him to take a seat across the desk from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elizabeth, who had been browsing the selections of books he kept in his personal study, straighten and turn to observe the newcomer. She had until then been driving him to utter distraction with her lilting laugh over one book or a witty comment about another. It was all he could do not to respond, let alone allow himself to restfully gaze upon her lively countenance, showing much mischief and joy as she walked about the room. Most difficult of all was to keep from questioning her about her method of reading the books. It appeared to him that she never picked any book up, but merely glided her fingers through them. Lucky books.

  The other gentleman cleared his throat, startling Darcy. He had lost himself in studying her again. Her eyes were filled with humor when he found that she had caught him, too. Realizing that it must look as if he were staring at his bookshelves for no reason, he turned resolutely back to Mr. Maddings and tried to stifle the grimace he felt for behaving so. Drat. Rule Number Three.

  “Pardon me, I . . . ” Darcy coughed inelegantly into his fisted hand and with a determined air continued. “Shall we begin?”

  Darcy resumed his seat as the other man stood and handed him a stack of papers across the desk. Mr. Maddings then came around to stand at Darcy’s left as he began their interview. His unimpassioned tone gave Darcy hope that he, perhaps, had not behaved too strangely.

  “Very good, sir, you will see in this draft that I have first tallied the investments and monies you possess with the profits from last year. In this column here . . . ”

  Darcy wanted to, nay, needed to pay closer attention to his solicitor, but his words began to drift into the background as Darcy became aware of Elizabeth’s coming up beside him on the right. Suddenly, he felt trapped between the two. He could say nothing to her without confusing the gentleman and making a fool of himself. Besides, was he not trying to ignore her so that she would vanish? Instead, he positioned himself in such a way as to rudely block her view with his shoulders. It was not as if he cared whether his ghostly Elizabeth knew his income. Indeed, rather it was an attempt to block her from his view.

  He felt himself stiffen when he heard her whisper from behind his shoulder and near his ears.

  “My, my, Mr. Darcy. You are a very rich man.”

  Every nerve in his body became alert to her nearness. He remained as still as possible and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, it was with a renewed focus on his solicitor.

  “Despite the heavy rains this year, your harvest was good, and I see no reason why you cannot increase your holdings here as you wish . . . ”

  Mr. Maddings droned on, pointing to another column or occasionally lifting the paperwork to find a different document.

  “It is good that the neighborhood in general was so deceived, sir, as to your true worth. Even my mother might have endured your conceit had she learned it.”

  He detected the teasing tone of her voice and knew that her imprudent speech was another attempt to unsettle him. She was taking every opportunity to force him to acknowledge her, but he was stronger than she was. He was positive this was the only way to resolve his bout with insanity, and so, though his lips twitched with amusement, he made no response. He did note, with relief, that her voice showed she had moved further away, though — thank God — still out of his sight.

  Darcy applied himself then with renewed vigor, catching the last of his solicitor’s words.

  “ . . . should you be wishing to increase Miss Darcy’s dowry.”

  “No, no. Although we had discussed it, I am certain it is sufficient.”

  “Very well, sir.” Maddings continued as he made a note in his book, “And I presume you may wish to take a wife at some point.”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Maddings, for it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” Elizabeth said with evident humor as she walked around and made direct eye contact with Mr. Darcy, her eyes positively glowing with mirth.

  “You presume too much,” Darcy said with more force than he intended as he tore his eyes from Elizabeth’s and looked to his solicitor. Immediately upon seeing the man’s reddened cheeks, Darcy was repentant. The man was simply ensuring Darcy was secure in whatever life events he might have. He could not be knowledgeable of Darcy’s recent struggles against his infatuation with Elizabeth nor her clear unsuitability. The man did not even know that Elizabeth had spoken to him, for only Darcy could see or hear her!

  “Mr. Maddings, I must ask that you excuse my unpardonable rudeness just now. I simply have had a fair bit in . . . on my mind of late.” More like a fair lady. “And I took it out on you, most ungraciously.”

  The man paused only briefly before replying in haste. “Think nothing of it, sir.”

  They then resumed their business with more attention on Darcy’s side. Before he had realized it, an hour had passed in review and strategy for investments, and the corrections and additions to the drafts Mr. Maddings had brought with him.

  It was clear to Darcy that his earlier show of temper had sufficiently convinced the lady to end her
charades, for though she lingered — obviously — nearby, she took mercy on him and did not again attempt to provoke him.

  When the footman delivered his new drink, Darcy took it immediately and brought it to his lips to hide a smirk lingering as the memory faded but not without bringing to mind the look of her undisguised surprise, and perhaps begrudging admiration, when Mr. Maddings reviewed his charitable obligations and the organizations to which he was the benefactor. The smile fell as Darcy realized that any approbation he garnered from this fictitious Elizabeth was neither useful nor meaningful, as soon he would be rid of her. Besides, he did not need even the real Elizabeth Bennet’s good opinion. It mattered not what she thought of him, for she was simply not acceptable. And he needed to accept that.

  “Quite the dour face you show there, Cousin.”

  Darcy startled at the thump on his back from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  “Mind if I join you this evening? I came by Darcy House and was informed by our sweet Georgiana that you were dining out.”

  “You are, of course, welcome, Richard. It is your club as much as it is mine.”

  “I see that you have already dined,” he waved to the cold, half-eaten plate in front of Darcy. “But you will not mind if I do?”

  “You may do as you please, Cousin. You always do,” Darcy said with good humor. Without realizing it, he had allowed himself to look over at Elizabeth for the first time since coming to his club.

  Upon arrival, she had voiced numerous fascinations and observations about his club. Her witty remarks were as humorous as they were distracting; twice he had found himself almost responding to her observations but had caught himself in time. It would not do to have people see him talking to himself. He could just see the bets that would be placed in the books. “How many days until Fitzwilliam Darcy is admitted to Bedlam?” Instead, he had garnered an empty table in the corner, ordered a meal and a brandy, then scolded himself into studiously not allowing a single look at her. Now he could see that her interest in her surroundings had not waned. Only Darcy could see that she was also now curious about the newcomer to the table.