“I hope I have not caused you too much pain. I know not to what extent he has injured you.”
Elizabeth, wishing to clear herself in his mind in regards to what he must be thinking, spoke fervently. “Wickham has not injured me, leastways in the manner you think.”
Darcy smiled though still plagued by the rest of his history with Wickham that remained unspoken. She watched with growing concern as he stood and resumed pacing again. “There is more, is there not?”
Darcy halted suddenly and turned his head towards her. “It matters not. I do not wish to distress you further.”
“I would like to know it regardless.”
Darcy struggled with indecision as he looked into her eyes. It was the pureness in them that caused him to waver. He wished not to pervert her view of the world by disclosing further the degenerate character of his former childhood friend. And yet her face earnestly pleaded with him to continue. It occurred to him then that her wish to know was as much for herself as it was to ease him of the burden he felt.
With sudden clarity, he recalled the passage from the poem he read to Georgiana earlier — the one that had Elizabeth reaching suddenly for the book with a startled look. ‘Showing life’s triumph in the map of death. And death’s dim look in life’s mortality.’ A chill spiraled up his spine as he once again considered what force brought Elizabeth to his side. Was it his own imagination as he thought or was it something more sinister? The horror of that thought caused him to close his eyes tightly, his heart clenching painfully. He feared the answer. A moment later, a peace stole about him, and Darcy, unsure as to what force had calmed him, opened his eyes to see Elizabeth’s small figure close to his, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. The sweet torture this discovery caused within his heart was severe. If I could but feel her! Slowly, Darcy reached his arms around her, wanting, aching to feel her like nothing he had ever before known. Her goodness calmed him even as he pushed aside that ache, pretending instead that he did feel her warmth beside him.
Neither spoke for several minutes. He marveled at her desire to comfort him. She marveled at the way her regard for him had transformed over the time she had been tethered to him. He too realized that his feelings for her had undergone a transformation. No longer did he consider only his own situation but hers as well. She had removed his pride and taught him what it meant to please a woman worthy of being pleased. The next words of the poem then came forcefully to his mind, ‘Each in her sleep themselves so beautify. As if between them twain there were no strife.’
Whether she was dreaming or he had gone mad, Darcy decided then that he could have no secrets from her. He revealed to her his anguished history with Wickham wherein it pertained to his young sister. With difficulty, he outlined Wickham’s attempted seduction of his young sister at Ramsgate, his strategic plan to revenge himself upon Darcy through the tender heart of Georgiana. Wickham’s mercenary motives aside, his embittered hatred for Darcy was the real motivator. Her only sounds were soft sobs and gasps as he recounted the anger and pain of discovery, the guilt and helplessness of the moments after, and his heartache for his responsibility in it all.
* * *
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered his cousin’s house with his brows lowered in concern. Georgiana’s summons was disquieting. She requested he come quickly and that he not tell Darcy of his visit. He was to meet her in her music room, alone, which added to the strange nature of the entreaty. Her words were filled with the evidence of her unsettled state, and he wondered what she wished to discuss with him. It was obviously of great importance, and yet she did not want her own brother to know. He feared she had more to disclose with regards to that blackguard Wickham! The very thought caused Colonel Fitzwilliam’s hands to squeeze angrily about his riding crop, the wood beginning to splinter before he relaxed his hold.
It was not long into his interview with Georgiana that he, too, was filled with concern. Though grateful the topic had nothing to do with Ramsgate, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not be insensible to the implications of what he discovered from his young cousin with regards to Darcy’s most recent behavior. Before going to confront Darcy, he sent for his cousin’s valet and the housekeeper. Gads, he hoped they were all wrong.
* * *
Jane entered her sister’s chamber, her heart so full that at first she knew not what to say. Exhausted from holding herself in check over the last half hour, she collapsed against the bed, her arms about the middle of her sister. She longed for nothing more than the calming and healing embrace of Elizabeth as she sorted the emotions she was experiencing.
When she was able to gather her composure, she poured forth the contents of her heart to her ever quiet, ever listening sister.
“He has come, Lizzy. I know not what to think other than that he has come. Mr. Bingley called today, not a half hour ago. Oh, Lizzy, I need you. I need you. You must advise me as to how I shall act and what I shall say.”
Seeing no response, Jane once again laid her head against her sister’s chest, listening for the comforting sound of her beating heart. Tears swam in her eyes and finally spilled over onto the soft linen of Elizabeth’s nightgown. While she listened to the steady beat, she whispered again. “I love him still, Lizzy. As God as my witness, I love him still. And I do not know how I am to keep my heart this time.”
Chapter 13
It had been several silent minutes since Darcy had finished his narrative about Wickham’s despicable plot against Georgiana, and still Elizabeth had not spoken. They remained in a sort of embrace, each attempting to comfort the other through the harrowing account, each wishing desperately to actually feel the comfort of that embrace.
For Elizabeth, her mind was aching in acute confusion as she considered how completely her misguided loyalties had been placed. Although it had been many days since she had felt so severely against Darcy or favorably towards Wickham, the days had not the power to lessen her anguish regarding how wrongly she judged either gentleman, knowing that she had allowed herself to be so absolutely fooled. Her heart felt painfully tight and spoke to her of the regard she had developed for Darcy. He was, and had always been it would seem, a good sort of man, and she had previously not allowed herself to see it. The discovery of her misguided judgments caused Elizabeth to feel as if she were pulled in two different directions. Indeed, she was beginning to feel stretched thin, unable to discern one emotion before the next took hold, overwhelming her anew.
Her heart yielded to Darcy’s power, and yet her mortification of how wrong she had been about him made her wish fervently that she might disappear from his view, indeed, that she might somehow leave this horrible, awful, wonderful dream.
The gentleman was no less affected by their discourse. He took no pleasure in recounting his history with Wickham, nor did he relish in seeing Elizabeth so distressed. Yet her reaction was balm to his open wounds, soothing his pain over the ordeal, for he could see that her gentle way empathized with him and also with his dear sister. Her tenderness warmed his heart. And though he could not know her own pain with the knowledge of Wickham’s deception, that unpredictable organ in his chest felt stronger for having shared his pain with her. Witnessing her kind compassion was as if the pieces of his heart were now melding together as one. His many regrets from the past dissolved only to become more powerful sentiments, his admiration and regard for Elizabeth and his convictions regarding her growing with strength as he stood there within the protection of her arms.
Whatever Elizabeth was, whether specter or hallucination, he was haunted by her now more than ever, for her otherworldly power had reached into his proud heart and secured it for herself.
A commotion without brought both Darcy and Elizabeth from their private thoughts and alerted them to footsteps approaching the study door. Before either could gain better mastery of themselves, the door opened abruptly. Darcy and Elizabeth each immediately and embarrassedly took hasty steps back from each other, conscious of their compromis
ing position.
“Darcy, my boy! A glass of your port, if you will!” Colonel Fitzwilliam declared unceremoniously as he entered the room, preceding a flustered Mr. Carroll.
Darcy’s gaze flickered anxiously from his cousin to Elizabeth twice, his cheeks matching her heightened color before realizing how utterly ridiculous his worries were. Ignoring his cousin, he locked eyes with Elizabeth, seeing the humor, telling him that she too felt the relief and realized the ridiculousness of their embarrassment. True, his posture might have looked odd; however, no harm could be caused by it.
Elizabeth bit her lip, attempting to keep from laughing. She had been mortified to be found in Darcy’s arms. Such a breach of propriety was certainly not a laughing matter, and yet when reality settled once again on her addled senses, she could not help but find herself quite amused that she had altogether forgotten her invisible state. Caught up in the moment, the instant had felt all too real for both of them. Now looking at Darcy, Elizabeth noticed the heat from his cheeks recede only to seep into his eyes. She was stunned, paralyzed by the way his dark eyes pierced her then. Although a warmth of her own was spreading from her heart throughout her form from the strength of his gaze, she felt frozen in place.
“Are you well?” Darcy asked Elizabeth, remembering her distressed state prior to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s entrance into the room.
Elizabeth smiled softly at him, her eyes bright with happy contentment. “I am quite well, William.”
“Not all bad considering the devil of a day I have had, thank you for asking,” the colonel answered before raising the glass he had just poured to his lips and empting it.
Darcy frowned at hearing his cousin’s voice, forgetting momentarily that Richard was there and had answered him as well. Darcy remained fixed in place, still regaining his composure and bearings with the sudden addition to their company. For the first time, he noticed his cousin was a little worse for wear, standing just to the side of Elizabeth. His butler was still standing in the open door.
Upon making eye contact with his master, Mr. Carroll said, “Colonel Fitzwilliam to see you, sir.” Although his statement was quite obvious, his tone indicated his disapproval of the colonel’s unceremonious entrance as well as his taking liberty with Darcy’s stock of spirits.
Darcy chuckled, surprised at the level of frivolity he suddenly felt towards the whole, ridiculous situation. “Indeed, Mr. Carroll.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his refilled glass again as if in toast. “I do not think we will have further need of you, Carroll.”
The family retainer simply raised his brow and turned a proud chin towards his master, awaiting orders from that quarter before taking his leave. Darcy smiled understandingly at his butler and was pleased to see Elizabeth was amused too. “Thank you, Mr. Carroll. You will have to excuse my cousin; he seems to have lost his mind along with his manners.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam sputtered, choking on his drink. Darcy turned then to him and, with a laugh and a pat on his back, teased his cousin. “What is the problem, Richard, cannot hold your liquor anymore? If so, your officers will likely drum you out of the army.”
The smile on Darcy’s lips faded when his eyes met his cousin’s most serious, pained expression. His face was awash with concern, and Darcy’s own countenance suddenly sobered. “Good God! What is the matter, Richard?”
The colonel shook his head and silently took up the seat near the fire, taking the decanter of port with him. Darcy again importuned him to speak.
Richard, feeling tired and wary of the interview he was to have with his cousin, sighed and said, “Hold a minute, Cousin.”
Darcy looked mildly surprised, never knowing his cousin to delay anything and sensing the seriousness plaguing his cousin, was amazed to see him so reserved. Even in the most difficult times, Darcy had always known his cousin to keep his mettle about him and be a man of action.
“He almost looks as if . . . ” thought Darcy.
“He is overwhelmed,” Elizabeth observed.
Nodding absently to her, he smiled slightly at the way their thoughts matched. Overwhelmed was an apt description and one he had never before used in regards to Richard. Even during the debacle in Ramsgate, his cousin had held a command over the situation that Darcy could not. Though he had been troubled as well, Darcy had admired his cousin’s fortitude under the stress. He had not risen to the rank of colonel in His Majesty’s Army without mastering hard circumstances with ease. This knowledge led Darcy to ask again the question he had previously meant for another.
“Are you well, Richard?”
His cousin waved away the question, lifting the decanter to refill his glass again. “If not well, I shall at least be well foxed when I have finished this.”
Darcy frowned, walking towards the companion chair to the one Richard occupied. He was about to speak when his attention was caught as Elizabeth motioned for him to come towards her. Immediately he turned and walked to her side, following, as she led him to the window. With their backs to the room, the two gazed out the window at the twilight. Darcy looked down at Elizabeth in question.
Although unnecessary, Elizabeth still whispered in response to his unspoken entreaty. “I believe, sir, that whatever is burdening your cousin can have nothing to do with me and I was going to suggest that you take up the seat there.” She paused and motioned behind them to the sofa along the wall. “That way I might leave you to your business with your cousin in privacy and slip into the library.”
“I do not think that is necessary.”
“Oh I assure you, Darce — it is, indeed, entirely necessary.” The colonel responded by raising the decanter up to his face to actually kiss the glass.
Darcy half turned to his cousin, his concern growing and yet manifesting itself as irritation. “By all means, Richard, drink until you have not a wit about you.”
To his further irritation, Darcy heard his cousin laugh. He detected an edge to the sound that drew his brows together once again.
“At least in that, we shall be equals,” the colonel said before laughing sardonically again.
Darcy breathed deeply, his jaw clenching. He turned silently towards Elizabeth and said, “I would have you stay.”
He ignored the flippant reply his cousin made regarding his plan to go nowhere anytime soon and instead looked deeply into Elizabeth’s eyes. He did not care for the idea of spending any time away from her, never knowing when the minute would come that would be his last. Whatever was troubling his cousin could not be worth being away from her. He waited until she came to a decision and nodded.
“If this is your wish, I will stay.” She smiled gently at him and turned so that she again faced the window, allowing him this degree of privacy with his cousin.
Darcy admired her a moment longer, taking in the beautiful curve of her neck, the soft brilliance of her hair in the light from the lamps and the smoothness of her skin. Sighing, he turned towards his cousin. As much as he wished he could spend the evening thus occupied, whatever was causing his cousin to be in such a state needed to be addressed.
Walking to Richard, Darcy took the decanter from his hands and, while ignoring his protest, poured himself a glass before returning it to the table next to his cousin. He took up the seat from which he could observe both the countenance of Richard and the form of Elizabeth, standing near the window beyond him.
Darcy eyed his cousin over the rim of his glass as he took a moderate sip. The burn of the liquid down his throat focused him to the task before him. To his surprise, Darcy felt beyond his depths. Usually, it was Richard prodding him to talk and not the other way around. He thought of how to begin, and his lips twitched when he decided to use his cousin’s own tactics.
While Darcy thought of flippant and ridiculous notions to provoke his cousin’s ire in the manner used most effectively against himself in the past, his cousin was formulating his own troubled plan of action for getting Darcy to acknowledge he was ill. His sister and staff all confirm
ed the strange behavior, and their collective voices amounted to one thing: his cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley had lost his mind. The very thought blanketed Richard again in a cloud of fear and worry. He brought the drink to his lips again for a long gulp. A direct attack had never been the colonel’s approach of choice before, but such would be his course tonight; he had not the fortitude to maneuver Darcy to reveal his secrets in his usual manner. If he waited much longer, he would not have the clarity of mind either.
Richard began. “You have developed a taste for lemon tarts.”
Darcy sat back, a little surprised at the obscure statement. “I... Yes. . . . They have a certain appeal to me now.”
Darcy kept his face unreadable, but his eyes flicked towards the window and the figure behind his cousin. Elizabeth turned and smiled cheekily.
Richard made no delay in issuing forth his next statement. “And yet you do not consume them still.”
“What is this nonsense, Richard? Are you spying on my eating habits?”
“You did not answer my question,” he responded, unmoved by Darcy’s offended tone.
“I do not believe you asked a question.” Darcy shot back.
Fatigue settled again upon Richard and his patience snapped. “Dammit, Darcy, I believe you take my meaning. You want an inquisition then you shall have one. Why do you request a food, which you have heretofore detested, with your every meal or repast and yet never eat it?”
Darcy laughed uneasily, pretending to find his cousin ridiculous. “What does it signify, Cousin? Are you my nanny now? Making sure that I eat all of my peas,” Darcy scoffed. “When you retire from the army, you ought to look into becoming a governess.”
Richard huffed, moving to his next point. “What about your bed?”
Haunting Mr. Darcy Page 17