by Ola Wegner
Elizabeth wanted to retort hotly to her friend’s words, but she saw Mr. Collins approaching them.
“Are you hiding from me, my dearest cousin?” Mr. Collins asked with a pout on his too full lips, standing in front of the ladies.
“No, of course not,” Elizabeth spoke tiredly, taking an involuntary small step back. “Mr. Collins, may I introduce you to my dear friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas. Charlotte, this is my cousin, Mr. Collins.”
The parson bowed deeply. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I see that Hertfordshire should be acclaimed the garden of England, taking into consideration the number of beauties which this county has nurtured in its womb.”
Elizabeth looked curiously at her friend, checking how she would bear Mr. Collins' nonsense, but Charlotte merely smiled and curtseyed politely.
“Fair cousin.” Mr. Collins turned to Elizabeth, rudely leaning into her face. “I believe the first dance will start in a short time. You do remember your promise of the first two dances?”
“Of course, Mr. Collins. How could I have forgotten?” Elizabeth spoke with resignation, taking the professed arm, trying desperately at the same time to keep her distance from the man.
Two dances with Mr. Collins was, strictly speaking, a nightmare. He mistook the steps and figures far too many times, almost trotting over the other couples with his heavy bulk. He held her hand much too long, squeezing it almost painfully. At the end of the second dance, Elizabeth was tired and humiliated, as a woman could only be with such an ungraceful partner. Furthermore, she felt sick to her stomach because of her cousin’s odour, being nearly on the verge of returning what she had eaten earlier at home. Lastly, she suffered from a considerable pain in her left foot. Mr. Collins had stepped on it with the force of his two hundred and fifty pounds of weight at least, she was sure.
The moment the music ended, she excused herself from her cousin’s company under the pretence of refreshing herself. She remembered well from her previous visit that the library was situated close to the ballroom, but she rejected the possibility of going there as some gentlemen likely occupied the room while their wives and daughters danced. Fortunately, she remembered that just a few steps from the library was a small music room where she could rest undisturbed by anyone.
She quietly removed herself from the ballroom, trying not to catch anyone's attention. Ignoring the persistent pain in her foot, she managed to reach her destination. Thankfully, the door was not locked. She entered and sat on the small sofa with a relieved sigh. She still felt hot and dizzy, even though the room was cold, as the fire was dying. Raising herself up with an effort she walked a few steps to open the widow. That was better, the fresh cool night air. She returned to the sofa and unlaced the ribbons of her left shoe. She could see through the gauzy stocking she wore that her foot was swollen. Oh that odious Mr. Collins! How was she to dance now?
Suddenly the door cracked open and she startled in place, her hand coming to her chest.
“Miss Bennet?” The dark head appeared in the door frame.
“Mr. Darcy, what are you doing here? You should not be here, sir,” Elizabeth spoke surprised, frowning. However, the man was clearly not paying attention to her words. He closed the door after himself, and the next moment he was kneeling in front of her, taking her uncovered foot in his big hands.
“Mr. Darcy!” she protested, trying to take her foot away.
“Allow me.” His warm hands stopped her foot gently but firmly. “I know something about this. My sister sprained her ankle seriously a few years ago. It renews itself from time to time, every time she missteps.” Saying this, he was gently probing her foot.
“It is not broken, just seriously bruised, I believe,” he said gently after a moment, his hand still lightly massaging her foot. “You will probably have some heavy bruising here tomorrow. That cousin of yours should not be permitted on the dance floor,” he added angrily, and then his tone softened. “You could have had one of your bones broken; you are so delicate.”
Elizabeth flushed and stayed silent. She was getting warmer and dizzier with each passing moment. His eyes were staring into hers, and she could smell him and feel his warmth, his hand absently stroking her foot which still rested in his hands.
At last she reluctantly broke the eye contact with him. “Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your assistance, but I am much better now.” She snatched her foot from his grip and began putting her now too tight shoe on her already considerably swollen foot.
When she stood up and hissed in pain, accidently supporting her weight on her injured foot, Mr. Darcy was beside her instantly, taking a firm hold of her arm. “You cannot go back there. Let me arrange to place you in one of the guest rooms upstairs and call the doctor to make sure that nothing is broken.” She felt his arm coming around her waist. “I will carry you. You cannot move on your own.”
Elizabeth almost surrendered to the temptation of leaning into the strong frame of the man beside her, but then she remembered her mother. If any of this reached her, there would have been no mercy. Her mother would do everything in her power to make Mr. Darcy marry her. She dreaded to think how her mother would act. She turned into his arms slowly to see his face, still supporting her weight on his arm.
“Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your kindness, but you must understand we cannot possibly be seen leaving this room together. Someone may observe us, and it would put both of us in a very awkward situation,” she spoke earnestly, staring into his face, checking whether he took her meaning.
He looked at her for a moment, his expression clouded before the understanding of her words seemed to dawn on him. “I see, Miss Bennet.” He bowed his head seriously with visible respect. “I can only admire your integrity.”
Elizabeth felt pleased with his words of praise, and the look of admiration in his dark eyes, but she only said, “Mr. Darcy, I simply want to avoid putting both of us in a difficult position.”
Darcy stepped a bit closer and spoke worriedly. “Still, you should not walk on your own.”
“Mr. Darcy, I will manage.” She smiled bravely. “I saw the settee nearby in the corridor. I will hobble there somehow, and later ask someone to fetch my father. He will take care of me, as I am rather sure I will not be able to dance any more tonight.”
“I am sorry to hear that, and I am even sorrier that you have been hurt,” he spoke earnestly. “I had hoped to dance with you.” He looked almost shy saying the last words.
She blushed involuntarily, her heart beating faster. “You had?”
He leaned into her, as if wanting to say something, indescribable emotions crossing his face, when there were heard loud voices outside.
“I had better leave now. Someone might have noticed my absence,” she said quickly. She supported herself heavily on his solid frame, and he helped her to walk to the door. “I will ask you, sir, to stay here a few moments more, so no one shall think we were together in this room.”
“Of course,” Darcy said, opening the door for her, but in such a way that he could not be visible by anyone outside.
“I thank you,” she whispered, and closed the door after herself quietly.
She had barely walked, or rather hobbled a few steps outside the music room when she saw Mr. Brooke. He stood by the entrance to the library, as if waiting for someone.
“Miss Bennet.” He rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”
Elizabeth looked up at him, surprised. “Yes, I am well, perhaps not entirely well, but, sir, what are you…?” She wanted to ask what he had been doing here and what his questions had meant, but he interrupted her. “Miss Bennet, are you all right? Has someone offended you?”
Elizabeth glanced at the man confused. “Offended me?”
“Yes, I was afraid that someone might have upset you.” He looked into her face closely.
“Sir, I am afraid I do not understand your meaning.”
“I saw Mr. Darcy entering the music room earlier.”
Elizabeth f
lushed and bit her lip worriedly. “Mr. Brooke, pray believe me, I did not invite him. I hurt my foot during the dance and I wanted to rest somewhere. I thought about the music room, thinking I would be undisturbed there, but Mr. Darcy entered after me and…”
“Did he hurt you?” he interrupted her again.
Elizabeth creased her brows and spoke slowly, trying to guess the reason for all these strange enquiries. “No, he offered his help. He was very kind.”
Mr. Brooke let a deep sigh. “Thank God.”
“I do not understand.”
“Miss Bennet, I must tell you something.” Mr. Brooke led her to the settee near the library door, speaking quickly in a hushed tone. “I do not want you to be hurt in any way by Mr. Darcy.”
“By Mr. Darcy? But he had never…”
“I have seen the way he looks at you, and I am afraid he bears intentions towards you which are not entirely honourable. I know for sure he is not the man a young woman like you should trust. He keeps a mistress in London, and I know for sure that a few years ago he seduced a young girl and abandoned her pregnant with his child. There is no time to go into details of this now, but I know about it because the girl’s late father was once my partner in business. Mr. Darcy refused to marry her because of her lack of connections and substantial dowry, I believe.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes wide. “I cannot believe that. It is horrible.”
“Yes, I know, it is hard to believe. Miss Bennet, I am telling you this sad story only because I want you safe and unhurt. I would never forgive myself if you were to be his next conquest.”
“I thank you, Mr. Brooke,” Elizabeth spoke slowly. “I shall be careful. I am simply… speechless and astonished.”
“I can well believe that.”
Elizabeth was silent for a long moment, the thoughts running through her mind with great speed before she spoke at last. “Mr. Brooke, could I ask you a favour? Would you be so kind to fetch my father? I am afraid the swelling in my foot makes me unable to participate in the ball.”
“Of course, Miss Bennet. I saw you father in the library with the other gentlemen. I shall fetch him directly. But you must stay here and not move. You should not put weight on your foot.”
She watched with unfocused eyes as Mr. Brooke walked away from her and entered the library. After what Mr. Wickham had told her about Mr. Darcy, Mr. Brooke’s revelations should not surprise her in the least. But still, she could not give faith to them. She could not believe that Mr. Darcy might have had an intention of seducing her or imposing himself on her in any way. Back in the music room, his behaviour had been all that tender and kind. He had seemed to be genuinely concerned for her.
“Lizzy, my dear, what happened?” Her father’s worried voice brought her back to reality. She looked up to see her father standing over her, Mr. Brooke and Mr. Bingley behind him.
“Nothing serious, Papa, I simply mistepped during dancing, and now it hurts when I walk.”
Mr. Bennet stroked her head gently. “I will take you home.”
“I shall order your carriage immediately,” Mr. Bingley proposed, his voice full of concern. “The maid will fetch Miss Elizabeth’s coat, and perhaps she would like to rest in my study till the carriage is ready. There is a comfortable couch there, and the fire should be still up.”
“I thank you, Mr. Bingley. That is very kind of you,” Mr. Bennet spoke distractedly, not looking at the younger man, only at his daughter.
Elizabeth smiled at Mr. Bingley and tried to stand up on her own, but when she sighed quietly and frowned, her face in pain, her father took a firm hold of her arm.
“You cannot walk, child.”
“No, Father, I will manage,” Elizabeth assured him, but Mr. Bennet was already bending, taking her into his arms.
“Father, I am too heavy. What about your back?” she protested.
“I am not so old yet, daughter.” He pretended offence, carrying her to the study down the corridor, pointed out by Mr. Bingley, who walked first in front of them. “I can carry such a slight thing as you. Besides you do not weigh much more than when I carried you last time, when you fell off the tree in the park at Longbourn. Do you remember?”
Elizabeth blushed in mortification, knowing that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Brooke heard her father’s words, though Mr. Brooke should not be surprised in the least, taking into consideration their first meeting.
When she turned her head slightly, looking over her father’s arm, she saw Mr. Darcy standing by the door to the music room, looking at her. His expression seemed to reflect only worry and genuine concern; but Elizabeth averted her eyes quickly from him. She was confused. She did not know what to think about any of this at all.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth rolled to the other side of her bed and glanced outside the window, her eyes meeting grey skies. It was nearly eight o’clock in the morning, but she did not fancy getting up yet. She hurt, and it was not due to her injured foot, which did not bother her at all when she did not move it, like now. She felt a pain inside her somewhere between her stomach and chest, and the squeeze in her throat. Facing the truth was not a pleasant thing, but she could not deny her feelings any more. She had obviously managed somehow to fall in love with a man she had known for just two months, and who, according to many, was not only rude, arrogant and unsociable, but also unfeeling, selfish and cruel.
Elizabeth knew that gentlemen had children outside wedlock. It was something quietly accepted by the society. She had a prime example of such a situation example in her own family. A few years ago, Elizabeth had accidentally overheard a conversation between her parents, one that she should not have heard. Her mother was talking with her father about her sister in law, Mrs. Gardiner. To be precise, Mrs. Bennet was talking to her father, as Mr. Bennet was not participating as usual. Elizabeth had been shocked to learn that Mrs. Gardiner, her beloved aunt, was in truth a natural daughter of some young reckless aristocrat and a governess. Her mother had died in childbirth, and she had been raised by her aunt, her mother’s sister, being well provided for by her grandfather, the earl, in a quiet little town in Derbyshire. Her mother had not managed to say much more, because her father interrupted her, demanding she not speak about it. However, it was enough information for Elizabeth. She perceived that Mrs. Gardiner’s family had chosen such a distant county to keep the child far away from London’s society, perhaps wanting to prevent more gossip. Elizabeth was well aware that her aunt had been even given a substantial dowry, which, together with what Uncle Gardiner had received from his own father, had enabled him to start a very profitable business.
The history of Aunt Madeline was very sad, of course. She had never met her parents, even thought it was possible that her father was still living somewhere. But at least her father’s family had not rejected her entirely. They had considered her future, ensured she had been safe and well cared for. Elizabeth always admired how accomplished Aunt Gardiner was. She stared at the picture hanging on the opposite wall, showing the view from Oakham Mount. It had been painted years ago, when Mrs. Gardiner visited them for the summer, pregnant with her first child. Uncle had been very busy in London then, his company developing rapidly at that time.
The doctor had recommended Aunt Madeline stay for the period of pregnancy in the country, with better food and fresh air. Elizabeth remembered well that Uncle Gardiner had asked her and Jane to take care of his wife during his absence. The two little girls had walked with their aunt every day to Oakham Mount, helping her to carry the easels, paints and brushes.
Aunt Madeline did not draw much nowadays, with several little ones to care for, but Elizabeth was aware now of something she had not noticed as a child. Mrs. Gardiner must have been professionally trained in her youth, not only in drawing, but also in playing the pianoforte and speaking French and Italian. Such accomplishments were perhaps common among ladies in London, but not so much for a girl living in a small town in the north country. Her aunt’s excellent education was t
he best proof that her family had not forgotten about her. Despite the fact that she was an illegitimate child, and her father had not given her his name, she had been always looked after.
Could the same be said about Mr. Darcy’s child living somewhere? Elizabeth felt a squeeze in her heart, poor little thing, not knowing its father. Or perhaps Mr. Darcy visited the child from time to time? But if that was the case, how difficult for his future wife it would be to accept the fact that there was another woman and her child in her husband’s life. This always would be his child, and that woman its mother. What would a future Mrs. Darcy feel, knowing he was visiting them? How would she cope being put in such a situation? A future Mrs. Darcy, what are you thinking of, Elizabeth Bennet? she scolded herself in her thoughts. She reminded herself what Mr. Brooke had said. Mr. Darcy had refused to marry the child’s mother as she had no dowry to speak of and poor connections. You have no dowry as well, and though you are a gentleman’s daughter, there are no connections to speak of.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Almost nine, but the house was still quiet. For certain everyone was still fast asleep after last night’s ball. She soon heard muffled noises from the room next to hers. Jane was clearly up. Should she tell Jane about everything she had learned yesterday? After a moment of hesitation, she opted not to. She somehow felt strongly against speaking about the whole matter with anyone, even with her beloved sister. It all felt too painful and too personal.
There was always a chance that Mr. Brooke was wrong, that somehow it was a case of mistaken identity. Perhaps Mr. Brooke was misinformed, and the whole affair concerned Mr. Darcy’s cousin, or some other man with a similar surname? She would have to ask Mr. Brooke about the details when the first occasion arose to speak with him without witnesses. And there was also what Mr. Wickham had said about Mr. Darcy to consider, which seemed to be entirely consistent with Mr. Brooke’s words. The image of a rich, selfish, spoilt man, playing on his own pleasures and desires, emerged from the relations of both men about Mr. Darcy’s character.