Chapter 11
Elizabeth spent the rest of the long nighttime hours admiring the chamber next to Mr. Darcy’s. She knew it to be the mistress’s chambers and that one day it would house his wife. The very idea was both disconcerting and stirring to her. It was only a small improvement to be able to escape into this room when her companion retired for the night, and certainly she was glad not to have the mortification of residing in his private chambers as she had done before he rearranged the furniture. For this room came with its own set of difficult emotions. At its best, it was a place she could feel she was alone for the first time since finding herself in Mr. Darcy’s library. But even that solitude was uneasy for Elizabeth, for she could not deny a certain pull of a different sort developing towards the gentleman on the other side of the wall, one that made the tether between them feel more of a comfort than a punishment.
She still felt a certain embarrassment being in this room, for it was an extension of that man, and she could neither understand nor necessarily welcome the blossoming approbation she was developing for him. His more candid admiration of her was as new as it was unexpected, given her impressions of their time together in Hertfordshire. Knowledge of his admiration was softening her heart, and yet she felt as if she still ought to guard it from him. Something kept her from wishing to concede any feelings for him. Her long-standing opinion of him still pulled at her conscience. She was an intruder, unaccustomed to knowing the intricacies of a gentleman’s life outside the tea parlor or dance floor. So strange were the emotions creating the mosaic in her heart that anything she could do to distract herself from evaluating them was welcome.
Thus, she turned her attention once again to the room she occupied. It was richly furnished with soft sea greens and grays and was a combination that she found soothing in its effect. When he had first moved his bed and opened this room up to her, all the furniture was draped with sheets, protected from dust. No Mrs. Darcy anticipated in the near future. The thought brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips as she thought how Miss Bingley’s grasping efforts were making little progress if the state of the room was any indication of her success.
Somehow during the course of the day though, he must have ordered it cleaned and aired, although Elizabeth did not recall his speaking to the housekeeper about it. Now the bedchamber she had all to herself for the night was removed of the sheets and dust. The air was permeated with the smells of furniture oil freshly applied to the furniture, and there was even a bouquet of flowers in a vase at a small writing table near the fireplace.
Elizabeth moved toward the flowers and inhaled their sweet scent. Looking down at the delicate table before her, she could almost picture herself sitting there and writing to Jane about all that she had experienced as if she were merely on holiday. That had Elizabeth laughing with sardonic humor. A holiday tethered to Mr. Darcy, indeed. The turn of her musings soon gave way to more somber feelings as she thought about what she could tell Jane or, more alarming, whether she would ever be able to see Jane again — or any of her dear family for that matter.
Turning from the table, Elizabeth looked about her as if suddenly panicked at the idea. And yet the longer she stayed in this dream state, the more difficult it was for her to organize her desires towards any one resolution. She felt as if she were on a small vessel driven by the winds of a storm. One moment she would wish for land, and the next, she felt at home where she was.
Toward the man himself, the object of this unreal probation from reality, she had still more conflicting feelings. Her dislike for him was like a pair of well-loved walking boots: comfortable, predictable, and sturdy. It was easy to find fault with his arrogance and haughty behaviors. That was an easier sentiment to have as it kept her from examining the uncomfortable new feelings she felt when he looked deeply into her eyes, spoke in that way towards her, or called her name. Mercy, when he spoke her name she could almost forget what he did to Wickham or his behavior in her own village!
Remembering Wickham was like everything else, a difficult juxtaposition of conflicting thoughts. She could see that Wickham’s description of Georgiana was faulty, and though he had said brother and sister were much alike, she could only agree so far as they were both diffident. And when she had confronted Darcy about Wickham earlier in the evening, he had not denied her accusations but had simply begged her to postpone that conversation for another time. His words had slightly tempered her ire, for he had avoided the topic not because he was embarrassed by the dishonorable actions but “For now, I fear I am not up to the pain of it.” Why he should feel pain gave Elizabeth pause to doubt her complete trust in Wickham’s report. Such doubts were causing the soles of her comfortable walking boots to separate and drop out, indeed, making her feelings for Darcy that much more complex.
If there was one constant in this dream, it was that she felt everything acutely and simultaneously. She yearned for home and felt at home at the same time. Mr. Darcy — William, as he had insisted — made her feel exasperated in both good and bad ways. She longed to be alone and yet did not enjoy the separation from him. It is enough to drive a person mad!
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth as she burst into laughter at the thought. Perhaps destiny would have us both attics to let. Her laughter, though quiet, was all consuming, and she collapsed into the chair at the desk, holding her sides as her eyes watered. The release of tension she felt from this was cathartic and rejuvenated her spirits. When her laughter subsided, she sought a means to bring it back and keep her dark thoughts and disorienting feelings at bay longer.
Her eyes drifted to the writing supplies beside her. She chortled at the thought of actually writing to Jane. For she could just see the horror on her sister’s face when presented with the unbelievable story of being tied to Mr. Darcy and even having to follow him unwittingly into his private chambers, for surely Jane would die of mortification, and yet knowing her sister, she would also have something to say in concern for the gentleman’s poor predicament. Elizabeth could only imagine Jane’s sweet nature acknowledging William’s difficult position.
Elizabeth considered that William was not the type of man to wish for anyone’s pity and chuckled at the irony that he should receive it from someone he had regarded as having little feeling.
The knock that echoed through the room then effectively curbed Elizabeth’s mirth and she stood nervously, smoothing her gown and checking her hair in the mirror over the mantel before calling “Enter.” She rolled her eyes at the silly actions, the sudden strumming of her heartbeat, and the excitement she saw in her reflection in the mirror. She realized, with some surprise, that she was looking forward to seeing him again.
When he opened the door to the chambers, her thoughts were wiped clean at the sight of him in his outerwear. He was dressed for the cold outside, complete with his gloves and hat in hand. She looked at him in question.
“Mr. Darcy, sir. You are dressed for departure. Pray, where are we to go at this hour?”
Darcy bowed and, with a small shake of his head, looked at her as he replied, “Are we once again back to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth?” He was satisfied to see her color, her eyes falling to her hands in front of her. “But I have not answered your question; let me do so now. We are going out this morning . . . Ahh, I see that you do not believe me, but indeed, despite the hour, it is truly morning.”
Elizabeth looked toward the heavy drapes at the window and noticed for the first time the grey light escaping around their edges.
“I stand corrected, though it looks to be quite early. Where may I ask are we to venture at this unlikely hour? I cannot believe it is customary to arise this early in London.”
Darcy had an air of excitement about him, and it was undeniable to his companion, though she detected an underlying nervousness that could also be seen.
She stepped toward him then, and her senses detected the aromas of coffee and rolls from his room. Now she was truly diverted, taking several steps until she could peek into his c
hambers to confirm he had a tray of food at a table. “And have you already breakfasted, sir?”
She looked up at him and, realizing she was near enough to have to tilt her head to see him, suddenly lost her breath, forgetting even her curiosity.
The gentleman stood there looking down at her with such warmth and happiness that, if her breath had not already escaped her, it would have been quite taken away. His tone was softer, calmer than the boyish excitement he used earlier in speaking with her. “I have. You are welcome to anything that you like.” He raised his arm then, indicating the tray, but his eyes remained fixed upon her, immobilizing her. “Though I should tell you that we must hurry, for our appointment this morning is of utmost importance.”
Elizabeth smiled, blushing, as she stepped around him into the room, not unconscious of the ease with which she entered the room that previously caused her such embarrassment. Though not totally comfortable, she noticed she felt perhaps less shy.
She ventured towards the table and the delightful aromas there, feigning calm after standing in such close proximity to Mr. Darcy. Her companion followed her and offered her a seat before taking up one of his own, a smile about his lips and a secret in his eyes. He watched her reach for a roll, its buttery warmth immediately flooding her senses.
“Your cook is a very good one,” she stated as her fingers sunk next into a lemon pastry.
Darcy leaned back in his chair, crossing a leg on his knee at the ankle. Watching her, he said, “Is it like the books? This food, you can taste it?”
Elizabeth shrugged and unconsciously wiped her still clean hands on a napkin before her. He smiled at her practiced actions, despite the absence of any perceived crumbs on her hands.
“It is perhaps one of my favorite things, next to the books,” she replied with childish glee, unaware that Darcy picked up the roll she touched and took a bite of it himself. “I hardly think that food in real life tastes as good as it does when experienced this way. It is almost as if I can pull apart all the elements of the morsel and appreciate them individually and yet together.”
Darcy nodded, not quite understanding but enjoying the light that the topic lent to her eyes.
“For instance, I can appreciate the flaky goodness of the crust, the tart of the lemon, and the sweetness of the crème, each presenting their unique contributions to the whole.”
Elizabeth suddenly went silent, feeling modest at the excitement and enthusiasm she just expressed toward a sweet.
“Fascinating,” Darcy said simply, not knowing himself whether he referred to Elizabeth or the pastry.
“The downside, I suppose, is that, no matter how many I taste, I cannot be full.”
Elizabeth watched Darcy’s brows lower in concern before he leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “Are you hungry, Elizabeth?”
It was an aspect of this ridiculous experience that he had not anticipated, and frankly, he did not like the idea of it. It left him feeling helpless — an emotion he had always hated. He felt it when his parents died, when Georgiana was deceived by Wickham, and at times during this entrapment with Elizabeth. Yet the very idea that she might be suffering at all was almost more provoking of that loathed emotion than any of those other instances had ever been.
Elizabeth could not like the storm that clouded Darcy’s eyes and was quick to reassure him. “That is another aspect that is hard to describe, sir. I am not hungry, although I know that I desire the fare.”
Lost in his own thoughts, he did not respond. She leaned towards him, dipping her head to bring his gaze to her eyes, she said, “William.”
Darcy snapped to attention then, and despite his concerns, a slight smile tugged at his lips, her use of his name again doing wonders at restoring his previous good mood.
“Truly, I assure you. I feel no discomfort. I am not hungered in the least.” She spoke slowly, making sure he registered each word. It warmed her heart that it seemed her words cleared the concern on his face. That he should worry so much for her stirred the embers of that warmth still further.
“I am glad to hear it, Elizabeth. I do not relish the idea, indeed not.”
Elizabeth nodded and looked at the food before declaring a revelation. “I have been tethered to you for a few days now, William, and I have never seen you eat the lemon tarts. Do not tell me that you have developed a taste for them now?”
Darcy laughed and shook his head. “I have not.”
Raising her brow, Elizabeth queried, “And yet you have several here on your platter. I cannot believe that your efficient staff here would know so little of your preferences.”
“They were for you, Elizabeth.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth colored at what should have been obvious to her, and yet she was charmed by his admission. “But will they not think it strange that their master, who does not like lemon tarts, has requested them for his breakfast tray?”
Darcy seemed unconcerned and simply said, “I am the master of this house, and strange or not, if I wish to have lemon tarts with every meal, I may certainly do so.”
Elizabeth blushed with the idea that there might be even a hint of a secret meaning to his words. Abstractedly she reached towards the mug before her and tasted the sharp bitterness of coffee. Immediately her face crunched up, and she withdrew her hand in disgust.
To her surprise, this action, too, caused the gentleman to laugh. “I suppose it is an acquired taste, though I think you may like it better with sugar. Or as it were, a lot of sugar, as is my preference.”
Elizabeth smiled and shook her head at him. “I hardly think I need fear developing a taste for coffee when tea is available, sugar or no.”
Darcy looked around the table with chagrin. “Forgive me, Elizabeth. What a poor host I am. I did not even think to order tea. I hardly have it outside of morning rooms and parlors.”
Now it was the lady’s turn to laugh softly. “It is of no concern really. You need not order everything I like when I cannot partake of it in truth.”
“Thank you for your graciousness. Still I take pleasure in making you happy, even if by means of a simple cup of tea.”
His words settled a weighty awkwardness upon the two that Elizabeth could not like. She smiled kindly at him, attempting to make her reaction to his words seem as natural as they were said. She recalled with much curiosity their engagement and asked, “You said we were in something of a hurry, did you not?”
Darcy flinched and bolted out of his seat. “Indeed we are! You have effectively distracted me as you often do — delightful distraction though you are.”
“And you, sir, take great pleasure in discomposing me.” She stood, color infusing her cheeks.
“Ahh, a tempting distraction again should I follow that avenue of discussion, but I am determined now upon my previous course. We do indeed need to make haste.” Darcy smiled and said, “I will say this: I speak only the truth, these words you find ‘discomposing.’”
“Though perhaps they are words you ought not to say to me at all, William. I never guessed you to be a shameless flirt.”
The broad smile that then spread across his features, unearthing hidden dimples, stunned Elizabeth with his handsome transformation. “I am no flirt; that honor is my cousin’s. And proper or not, I told you last evening that you cannot expect me to adhere to propriety with specters of my own creation.”
When Elizabeth began to protest as Darcy expected she would, he silenced her with a finger to her lips. Though neither could feel the touch, it was quite as effective as if they could. Elizabeth was rendered mute by the sheer intimacy of the action and Darcy was spellbound by the thought of actually touching her lips. He leaned into her then and bending down to her eye level, whispered, “Allow me the pleasure, Elizabeth, of claiming you as my own for this moment. The fear of that time when you vanish as quickly as you came haunts me even now. Then I will be left only to the memories of these moments of candidness. I will speak my heart and mind while I can. For after will be when I experience tru
e madness, I fear.”
As if in a daze, Elizabeth spoke through the dryness in her throat. “Why did you not seek me out in Hertfordshire when we were both . . . ”
Darcy was silent. Desolation and pain fluttered through his eyes as an intangible weight rested on his shoulders. She wondered at the transformation of this man before her from the ardent suitor of ghosts to the drowning man before her. She watched him fight an internal battle and then reach a conclusion. She waited for his reply, but none came.
Darcy straightened, shook his head slightly and forced himself to smile. He spoke with feigned lightness as he baffled her with his change of topic. “You have done it again, Elizabeth. You have distracted me! But I am doubly determined this time, and you shall not prevail again. Come, dear girl, we are off on a mission.”
Though disappointed and bothered by his evasiveness, Elizabeth laughed at his dramatic phrasing. “Will you not tell me what mission we so valiantly venture forth to fulfill?”
Darcy shook off the rest of his unease and laughed lightly as he turned towards the door, shaking his head as he went. “Not just yet, but I will say that it is of the utmost importance. We have not a moment to lose!”
He knew his plan would make her happy. He hoped he could be successful, but he also feared that the result of his actions may cost him a dear friend in the process.
Elizabeth chuckled to herself, effectively shaking off her malaise. “Indeed, it must be for us to leave the house at this ungodly hour.”
Darcy’s laugh reverberated towards her, echoing down the hall as they traveled through the house. They paused only briefly at the vestibule for Darcy to don his hat and gloves and give a quick goodbye to the night footman, who was standing remarkably alert for being in the last hour of his stewardship.
Haunting Mr. Darcy Page 14