Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet

by Jennifer Joy

  Spinning around, she stepped away from him.

  He held his breath until she turned.

  “Thank you,” she said, then turning back, she walked away from him.

  Two simple words, but they were balm to Darcy’s bruised soul.

  The walls of Netherfield could not contain him. Taking the steps two at a time, he barged into his room and changed into a riding coat. Minutes later, he flew over the fields surrounding Bingley’s house — the same fields Miss Elizabeth had trodden through the day before.

  Damp earth flung around him, and Darcy gleefully looked forward to being seen by Bingley’s sisters with mud on his boots and breeches. He only hoped Miss Elizabeth was there to see it, too. His subtle joke would not be lost on the lady who saw humor in everything.

  Chapter 15

  Elizabeth glided up to Jane’s room as quickly as she could. There had been nothing the surgeon could do for her other than to suggest she rest and avoid any jarring activities for the next few weeks. His visit had been brief.

  How mortified she had been to be caught listening in on a conversation she was clearly not intended to overhear. But she had spun about so quickly, she had lost her balance. The precious seconds wasted trying to hold herself upright as the floor wobbled and the hall spun around her had condemned her to discovery by the very gentleman she most desired to avoid.

  She ought not to feel guilty when he was the cause of her disequilibrium. She had not thought Mr. Darcy capable of pleasantness, but his character was proving to be a real puzzle. Elizabeth felt the danger he presented to her. She liked puzzles. She liked them a great deal too much. But she did not like Mr. Darcy. No, she would not.

  The sooner she and Jane quit Netherfield Park, the better.

  Jane’s room was dark when Elizabeth slipped inside. The maid must have drawn the curtains again.

  Her first order of business was to open them so Jane might have the more pleasant view of verdant fields bordering Mr. Bingley’s garden. If Jane sat up in her bed, one of the lakes was visible. It was preferable to the stiff damask shutting out the light.

  “Thank you, Lizzy. The draft from the window is not so great as to pose a threat to me as Mr. Jones suggests, I think. I do feel better today,” Jane said, her voice soft and scratchy.

  “I am overjoyed you are able to speak today. Your conversation is a vast improvement to what I endured in the parlor.”

  As Elizabeth knew she would be, Jane was shocked.

  “You must not say such things, Lizzy. The Bingleys have been kind and attentive. They have anticipated our every need, and I am grateful they have welcomed you to stay with me.” Her cheeks brightened, and Elizabeth pressed her hand against Jane’s forehead. The fever was cooler than it had been the night before, and it was with immense relief Elizabeth credited her sister’s heightened color to irritation rather than sickness.

  “You are right, of course, Jane. Such generosity is not to be mocked, and I promise I will only poke fun at follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies from here on.” Elizabeth would keep her observations to herself, but she was convinced Mr. Bingley’s sisters’ superficial devotion to Jane would vanish in a flash if he gave any proof that his regard went beyond the slightest admiration. For Jane’s sake, Elizabeth hoped Mr. Bingley’s nature proved constant despite the disapproval of his family.

  She then gave Jane a detailed account of the rest of their mother’s call. Given her recent censure, Elizabeth was determined to say nothing contrary toward Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst, but Jane knew she purposefully left something of import out of her narrative.

  Jane became so distressed on Elizabeth’s behalf, there really was nothing to do but tell her, which she did in an air worthy of Mr. Darcy — factual and devoid of cloudy emotions. He was such a proud man … a proud man who had risen in her family’s defense before his friends.

  Her opinion of Mr. Darcy was already on shaky ground when she related their exchange in the hall to Jane, who was gracious enough to lean against her pillows and keep her silence until she was properly situated. Elizabeth knew Jane would say something complimentary about Mr. Darcy, and she did not feel up to hearing it.

  “He is not so proud as you claimed him to be, Lizzy. An arrogant man would never admit to a fault before others who held him on a pedestal, nor would he apologize so readily to one whom he had given the cut direct at the assembly. It is remarkable, do you not think?”

  Elizabeth’s mind was so muddled where Mr. Darcy was concerned, she grasped at the opportunity to change the topic immediately. “It speaks well of Mr. Bingley that Mr. Darcy should praise him as an example worthy of imitation. He was quick to come to Mother’s defense, and he is sincere and constant in his inquiries after your health.”

  Jane smiled sweetly. “Mr. Bingley is everything a gentleman ought to be. I hope I am not making myself troublesome. I do not wish for him to think me a bother.”

  “Mr. Bingley would be the last person to proclaim you a bother. But I do feel it best we depart the moment you are well enough to make the trip home.”

  “Mama will not be happy to see us before the completion of a week, but I would rather not use her methods to achieve my heart’s desire. I want a love that lasts, that becomes stronger in its devotion over the passing of time.”

  A love different from their mother and father’s. Elizabeth longed for the same, but what was the chance she should meet a gentleman so steady and caring? Such men were rare — if they even existed outside of her illusion of Mr. Wyndham. And the chance of her meeting him… Well, it did no good to ponder the impossible. Nobody she had asked knew who he was or if he even existed. For all she knew, Mr. Wyndham was not a real name at all. She liked to pretend it was the nom de plume of a handsome gentleman who poured out the contents of his heart while lounging on a low-hanging tree branch looming over the rose garden of his castle. She would have to alter her illusion. They did not have castles in America … if Aunt Gardiner was correct in her assumption.

  Elizabeth sighed, returning from her dreams to reality. Jane had fallen asleep.

  Elizabeth would probably never meet the man of her dreams. Men such as Walter Wyndham were too good to be true.

  And until Jane recovered sufficiently to travel home, Elizabeth was stuck at Netherfield Park.

  Later, tiring of the dim candlelight casting shadows around Jane’s room, Elizabeth ventured to the drawing room.

  The scene looked innocent enough. No card tables were present, which explained why Mr. Hurst snored on a settee near the fireplace.

  Mr. Bingley held a book in front of him while his eldest sister jabbed a needle and thread through a piece of linen.

  Miss Bingley did her level best to distract Mr. Darcy from the letter he was writing at the table beside her. She had a book in her hand, but she did not so much as glance at it.

  Mr. Wickham watched Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy with all the interest of one watching a play on Drury Lane.

  When Elizabeth returned to Jane’s side not an hour later, she wished she had not been deceived by the harmless scene.

  Miss Bingley’s blatant flattery on behalf of Mr. Darcy had emboldened the gentleman to speak plainly. In so doing, he had admitted to a resentful nature and faults he took pains to eliminate (and about which he expressed a certain vulnerability in owning how he hoped others did not take notice.)

  Mr. Wickham had watched her reaction after every exchange, and Elizabeth had the distinct impression he wished to gloat over his superior understanding of Mr. Darcy’s character in light of her flawed one. Even Mr. Darcy accused her of willfully misunderstanding others’ characters.

  Had she been so wrong about the gentleman?

  The following day only added to Elizabeth’s doubt.

  Mr. Wickham had suggested a stroll about the gardens only to desert her when Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst arrived (the path only accommodating a width of three persons), leaving Elizabeth alone to walk with Mr. Darcy.

  She half-expect
ed Mr. Darcy to turn on his heel and walk away, but he did not. He offered his arm, and not knowing how else to make her escape without being incredibly rude, Elizabeth accepted.

  Miss Bingley looked over her shoulder a couple of times, but Mr. Wickham led his companions along at a healthy clip while Mr. Darcy was in no hurry to catch up with them.

  “Is Miss Bennet much improved today?” he asked.

  “She is, thank you,” Elizabeth said. It was much more difficult to converse with Mr. Darcy now that her dislike of him was not so marked. Would that Mr. Wickham had walked with her instead, but she knew what he was about. Miss Bingley’s dowry was a much more alluring temptation, and a gentleman without fortune must be practical.

  “And you? How do you fare?” Mr. Darcy looked down at her, his dark eyebrows pressed together and his mesmerizing blue eyes focused solely on her.

  Elizabeth did not understand why heat crawled up her neck and into her cheeks. Fortunately, a stiff autumn breeze brushed past them, giving her a reasonable excuse for the color she knew had invaded her complexion.

  She answered, “I am well enough. You took the worst of it, and it is I who should be inquiring after your health.”

  He smiled — something he had been doing more of lately.

  Mr. Darcy had a pleasant smile. Elizabeth was near enough to appreciate his straight, white teeth. He smelled nice too. She was close enough to appreciate that as well, though when she realized in horror where her thoughts had led her, she took care not to appreciate the effect Mr. Darcy had on her senses overmuch.

  “My head is as hard as you claimed yours to be yesterday, perhaps harder.” The glint in his eye suggested a humor she would have enthusiastically denied Mr. Darcy to possess the day before — especially when it was given at his own expense.

  Elizabeth could not resist teasing. “You claim to enjoy a good debate, and I have observed nothing to make me doubt you. However I, also, am not one to shy away from an argument. I will admit it and thus save you precious time you might have wasted in discerning as much.”

  “Discerning another’s nature is never a waste of time Miss Elizabeth, and I would not discredit your character by suggesting as much. To the contrary.”

  Elizabeth was flattered, but she dared not show it. “I wonder then, which of the two of us will admit to being more stubborn?”

  She expected Mr. Darcy to be silenced rather than admit to yet another flaw.

  With a smile, he said, “Ah, but is it considered stubbornness when the source of one’s obstinacy is rooted in a worthy cause? When a lady walks three miles through muddy fields in chilly weather even when, I am guessing, her family’s carriage has been refused her?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Then you admit I win the contest? You are correct in your assumptions on all but one point. My father did in fact offer me the use of the carriage, but I refused it. I thank you for giving my actions an altruistic motive when the others in our party found them shocking.”

  He paused, turning toward her and bowing elegantly. “I concede to your superiority in this area.”

  “In this area? I suppose you believe yourself superior in everything else, but I will take what praise I can, Mr. Darcy. I am not too proud.”

  He stood to his full height, and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as he held her in his gaze, the muscles on his jaw flinching in determination until he finally spoke. “Nor am I, Miss Elizabeth. Nor am I.”

  What did he mean by that?

  Chapter 16

  Elizabeth charged into Jane’s room the following morning. “Are you well? Can we leave today?” she practically begged.

  Jane was still abed, but she was awake. By the time she dressed, and the maid packed their things, at least an hour would pass. It would have to do.

  Mr. Bingley would insist they break their fast, but Elizabeth had an excuse ready for that. If they departed early enough, they could eat at Longbourn with their family and spare Jane the danger of traveling on a full stomach when she was so recently recovered … that is, if she was recovered enough to go.

  Elizabeth paced in front of the window, tugging on the fabric of the drapes to open them while Jane sat up in her bed.

  Oh, would Jane never give an answer!

  Turning to face her, Elizabeth restrained herself from tapping her toe against the carpet, but she was certain Jane could read the impatience in her expression. Elizabeth could not help it — no more than she could help her dreams the night before.

  She shivered, trying to shake the memory of them from her mind. But her skin prickled and warmed despite her best attempts to rid herself of Mr. Darcy’s eyes. They had regarded her with a determination that had unsettled her thoroughly, as they had done in the garden the day before, haunting Elizabeth through the night and leaving her convinced of his increasing danger to her.

  Why had Mr. Darcy — of all people! — invaded her dreams? Several times Elizabeth had tried to replace him with Mr. Wyndham, but to no avail.

  Mr. Darcy would never consider her with any regard. Not when he so clearly disapproved of her family and inferiority. But Elizabeth had to admit she was drawn to his strength of character. The glimpses of humility he had recently shown intrigued her. There was no denying the pull of her curiosity.

  Yes, Mr. Darcy was dangerous. She and Jane needed to quit Netherfield Park immediately.

  “Pray sit down, Lizzy. You make me dizzy. Why are you agitated?” Jane asked.

  Elizabeth forced her feet to still by the window, clasping her hands together and slowing her breath to quiet herself. “I am only anxious to return home, that is all.”

  She ought to confide in Jane, but it would delay their departure, and it was imperative they leave that day. That same morning. Within the hour, if at all possible.

  Jane reached out to take Elizabeth’s hand. “I am grateful to have such a selfless sister to care for me. It must have been difficult for you to be so much in company with Mr. Darcy, as well as Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Will you please write to Mother to send for the carriage while I dress?”

  Music to Elizabeth’s ears! She might have skipped on her way to her room where she had already secured paper to write on and a pen with which to compose her plea.

  But Mother had other ideas. Not one hour later — the hour in which Elizabeth had hoped to leave — she replied that the carriage could not possibly be sent until Tuesday. Three days hence. Three days longer than Elizabeth was willing to remain at Netherfield Park.

  Drat it all.

  Elizabeth was left little choice but to abuse Mr. Bingley’s kindness further by asking for the loan of his carriage. She despised asking for favors, and especially of so recent an acquaintance to whom her dearest sister held a romantic preference.

  However, Elizabeth was convinced that a prolonged stay at Netherfield Park would do nothing to advance the attentions of Mr. Bingley toward Jane. It would only lead to more bitterness from his sisters, who up to now still claimed to adore Jane when it was convenient to them. They would turn on her quicker than a flash of lightning if they truly believed their brother’s heart in danger.

  Besides all that, what gentleman wanted for a sickly wife? No, far better for Mr. Bingley to witness Jane’s speedy recovery as a testament to her stout health.

  And far better for him to have to exert himself to win her. Did not men enjoy making sport? Where was the sport and satisfaction of a hard-earned conquest when the lady he would pursue was too easily caught? Would his affection wane to nothing, to match the exertion he had made to win her? No! Jane deserved some struggle. Love should not come easily, or it would be taken for granted, and she would find herself the brunt of her husband’s mockery just as their own mother was from their father. (Not to say Mr. Bingley was prone to biting sarcasm and wit … but his sisters were another matter.)

  Entering the breakfast room, certain to see Mr. Bingley’s jovial face, Elizabeth stopped short when it was Miss Bingley who greeted her. At least she acknowledged Elizabeth
’s presence by looking up from her plate. The same could not be said of Mr. Hurst, who only had attention enough for the sausages in front of him. Mrs. Hurst, as was her wont, pinched her face in imitation of her sister.

  Well, Elizabeth was as pleased to see them as they were to see her. But she was a guest in their house, and she would do nothing to ruin Jane’s prospects. She would behave. Bobbing a curtsy, Elizabeth bid them good morning with a light air and a smile worthy of their unhappy reception of her intrusion.

  “Is Dear Jane quite well?” Miss Bingley asked with some interest.

  “She continues to improve, thank you. I had hoped to find Mr. Bingley. Is he not in?” Elizabeth asked. Miss Bingley did not wish for her conversation any more than Elizabeth wished to waste time on empty chatter. The sooner she found Mr. Bingley, the better.

  Miss Bingley raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. “He is out riding the property with Mr. Darcy. My brother takes his responsibilities seriously, and Mr. Darcy wastes no opportunity to teach him what he must know. He would not purchase his own estate otherwise, and Netherfield Park offers the perfect opportunity to improve his managing skills without risk. As quickly as Charles is learning, I daresay we shall not remain long in Hertfordshire.”

  Mrs. Hurst added, “I should say not! It was never his intention to stay long. He would much prefer to settle in Derbyshire.”

  Miss Bingley’s lips pulled into a tight smile, her eyes never once departing from Elizabeth. “Of course, he would wish to settle near Pemberley. Anything to be closer to Miss Darcy. She is such a lovely young lady; so accomplished.”

  Mrs. Hurst was quick to add, “A real credit to any family. She has everything a gentleman of circumstance could wish for — fortune, connections, a family worthy of her station.”