Darcy's Kiss

by Claire Iverson

  ***

  Elizabeth became increasingly worried about Maria over the course of the next week. Idly playing scales on the pianoforte one afternoon, she wondered if she had made a mistake in bringing her to Kent. They attended a constant round of entertainments at Rosings Park. In fact, Maria and Anne de Bourgh were closer friends than ever, and their morning walks, Anne's health permitting, had become a fixed part of their routine. Elizabeth could only be thankful for them; Maria obviously anticipated the walks with pleasure, and always returned home with better color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes.

  Elizabeth found herself in sudden need to be out of the house and doing something physical. The drive she had taken earlier in the day with Charlotte and Mr. Collins, although pleasant, had been no more tiring than would have been conversing in the drawing room. It had exercised her mind and tongue, while having no such effect on her limbs. Too many days were passing at the Hunsford parsonage with no more physical exertion than such a drive afforded.

  Elizabeth gave a decisive nod and stepped out into the hall. “Sarah!” she called to the maid, wishing she could have dispensed with her chaperonage. Sarah was London-bred, and her idea of a walk was the distance from the carriage to the front steps.

  With her maid scarring behind her, Elizabeth set off across the square at a brisk pace, determined to stretch her legs and blow some of the cobwebs from her mind. Perhaps she would take the opportunity to visit the local bookshop and select some new novels to while away idle moments. The absurd frolics of the heroines in popular novels were difficult to take seriously, but were excellent for lulling Elizabeth to sleep when she longed for her own bed at Longbourn. An evening spent fending off Mr. Darcy's disdain at the same time attempting to divide her attention equally between her cousin and Lady Catherine could not be considered relaxing.

  At the bookshop, Sarah waited outside, watching her mistress through the bow windows, which displayed the newest books and magazines. Almost randomly Elizabeth chose several books and journals; at home she had not had ready access to such a large lending library, and Papa held modern novels in such high regard, so Elizabeth was familiar with most of the authors and awaited new publications eagerly.

  The walk home was tiresome, enough so to make Elizabeth resolve to find another companion for her strolls. Sarah's steps lagged, and in a whiny voice she several times complained of stones in her slippers. By the time they turned the corner, the maid was ostentatiously limping, suffering, she insisted, from a bruised heel. Elizabeth was out of patience and took the books from her. Now she allowed her pace to quicken. The village was nearly deserted, with most of the occupants resting before the evening's entertainments, but Elizabeth idly noted a hackney waiting in front of a building several doors down from the milliners.

  Elizabeth shifted the books to her other arm and glanced impatiently back to make sure her maid didn't require assistance. She heard the crack of a whip and the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones as the hackney started toward her. The coachman seemed to be in a hurry, she thought, and wondered at his hasty departure. She had seen nobody come out of the shop, either to enter the closed carriage as a passenger or to give the coachman a message. It was unusual, in this neighborhood of exclusive shops, to see a shabby coach for hire; residences of Hunsford were more apt to arrive home in a bright colored barouche, with a coat of arms on the side, or in a sporting curricle, with a high-strung pair prancing in the harness.

  Elizabeth gave a mental shrug. Most likely the coachman had been instructed to wait for a message and had grown impatient. She looked once again over her shoulder and, seeing that Sarah was hobbling pathetically along, stopped walking. She didn't want to abandon the girl together, just in case she would happen to stumble and turn her ankle. The maid was obviously more concerned about the effect her limp was having on Elizabeth than about where she placed her feet.

  When she saw Sarah stop, a peculiar expression on her face, and begin to wave her arms, Elizabeth was momentarily irritated, thinking this was some new stratagem on the girl's part to further convince her mistress of her suffering. Then she saw the fright in the girl's pasele eyes and her mouth open in a scream that could hardly be heard over the pounding of the horses' hooves and the creak of the carriage.

  Elizabeth swung about just in time to see the horses, driven on by the snap of the whip on their backs, bearing down on her at a dead run. The moment was one of those crystallized, to be recalled later in fantastic detail.

  The horses were big brutes with enormous feathered feet, which pounded the earth with the force of thunder. Their powerful reddish-brown chests, streaked with sweat, filled Elizabeth's horizon, and she was half mesmerized by the rolling eyes and foam-flecked muzzles. The man so mercilessly driving the panicked horses on was wrapped in a brown cloak, even his face shadowed from the gaze of chance onlookers.

  Elizabeth stood still for that frozen instant, expecting the horses to swerve from their path, but frantically aware all the while that such clumsy animals hadn't the agility of the leggy thoroughbreds that could be drive with such precision. This though was no sooner in her mind than she reacted. Knowing, hampered as she was by her skirts, that she had no time to run, Elizabeth dove to the side, landing with stunning impact on her right shoulder and then rolling. She felt a hot wind as the horses plunged past, and she instinctively pulled herself into a little ball.

  She didn't move for a long while, not wanting to acknowledge the pain in her shoulder. Doubtless because of the shock, her mind was blank, even at peace. It was the very stillness that intruded at last. With a groan she began to draw herself up, clutching at her shoulder, which felt as though it had been wrenched from the socket. She saw her maid running toward her, all present of a limp abandoned.

  “Miss! Miss! Did it hit you? Are you hurt? Shall I...” The expression on the girl's face changed as she took in Elizabeth's appearance. “I don't think you should move, miss. Let me get help.”

  “No, no.” Elizabeth shook her head impatiently. “Give me a hand, Sarah. The coach missed me, no thanks to the madman at the reins! I hurt my shoulder a little when I fell, but I can walk, if you'll help me. Charlotte would have a seizure if you went running in with some tale of my being injured!” she smiled weakly, more to reassure the doubtful maid.

  She looked down at herself and saw that her muslin gown was torn in several places and had a stream of dirt down the side where she had landed. She put one shaking hand up to touch her face, wiped off the dampness she could feel, then held her hand out in front. It was not the wet of tears on her fingers, but dirty white foam from the horses' mouths, so close had destruction come to her.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then opened them again and said steadily, “Let's start home, shall we? It's just a step. I'm sorry I dragged you out today, Sarah. This walk has been ill-omened from the start.”

  “Yes, miss,” the maid agreed with alacrity.

  Their faltering arrival up the front steps of the parsonage produced all the excitement Elizabeth had feared. The well-trained footman who swung open the door gave a gasp, heard by the butler. John's demeanor was normally so disinterested as to border on the inhuman, and under other circumstances it might have given Elizabeth pleasure to see his eyes widen and his expression evince shock. In addition to the pain in her shoulder, however, Elizabeth had just become aware that she had also skinned her knee, and probably her elbow as well, as both had begun to burn.

  Just then the door to the drawing room was flung open and Charlotte burst out. “Lizzy, is that you at last? I've—Lizzy!” she cried in horror. “What happened? No, don't tell me! You shouldn't be standing!” She bustled forward to take Elizabeth's other arm and eased her toward the drawing room.

  “John,” she tossed over her shoulder. “send for Dr. Peebles. Have him come immediately!” She ignored her friend's protest. “Here, lie down on the sofa.”

  Elizabeth was surprisingly exhausted by the effort she had m
ade in walking home. She found her friend's solicitude comforting, so without further argument she allowed herself to be lead into the drawing room and, freeing her arms, sank on to the sofa. Her shoulder was throbbing and her hands began to shake and her teeth to chatter.

  Sarah immediately burst into her tale of the huge black coach drawn by monstrous brown horses that had flames leaping from their nostrils and thunderclaps echoing from each hoof. This image was not so very far from Elizabeth's own recollection, but she repressed a shudder and said commonsenically, “Please don't exaggerate, Sarah. Mrs. Collins is alarmed enough as it is.” She shifted her gaze to Charlotte, whose soft face was puckered with worry. "I was nearly run down by a hackney with some fool at the reins who thought himself in a great hurry and paid no mind to who might be in his path! Thanks to Sarah's warning, however, I was able to jump out of the way with time to spare and,” she concluded, putting from her mid how close those great hooves and iron-shod wheels had come to her, “The only damage done was to my shoulder in falling. And I believe I skinned my knee.”

  Charlotte was regarding her skeptically, apparently not reassured by this prosaic recounting of the accident. “Where did this happen? Did you glimpse the man's face? He should be behind bars!”

  Elizabeth frowned. “It was just a few feet from the milliners. And, no, I was unable to see his face, although I admit I was preoccupied with other matters. I'm sure it was a hired coach. It was shabby-looking, you see, and seemed out of place.”

  Charlotte promptly sent a footman to inquire into the identity of the mysterious coach. She seemed fired with a zeal to punish anyone who, even accidentally, should have endangered a beloved friend.

  By the time the doctor arrived, Elizabeth was ensconced in her own bed, dressed in a warn nightgown to combat the chills she was feeling. Dr. Peebles was fairly young, with a crooked nose and muddy, palely lashed eyes, but his long-fingered, bony hands were gentle and the examination scarcely hurt.

  At length he smiled and said, “I think you have nothing worse than a wrench, which time will heal with no assistance from me. I predict your shoulder will be quite sore tomorrow, but greatly better by the next day, although it will doubtless be stiff for some time. And as for feeling chilled, that often occurs after an accident and is probably the body's way of assuring that you stay tucked in bed. I want you to stay warm and drink some hot milk with brandy in it. It will help you sleep, which will do you a world of good.” He picked up his bag and prepared to depart. “Send for me again if you feel the need, but I'll be surprised by a summons. Miss Bennet is young and healthy and will mend quickly.”

  With the help of hot milk and brandy, which warmed her within, Elizabeth soon fell asleep and didn't wake until the next morning. As Dr. Peebles had predicted, her shoulder ached abominably and was so stuff she could scarcely lift her arm. With Sarah's help, however, she rose from bed and managed to get dressed. For once she was grateful that she had her own a maid, because she knew otherwise she would have been force to stay in bed.

  Indeed, Elizabeth’s appearance in the breakfast room was greeted with dismay. Charlotte dropped the pile of letters she had been idly scanning onto the table, where they fanned out among the cutlery. Even Mr. Collins’s eyebrows went up in barely restrained surprise.

  “Lizzy!” exclaimed Charlotte. “I’m sure you’re not well enough to be about! Let me help you back to bed.” She began to rise from her place at the table.

  Elizabeth calmy moved forward and sat down, trying to disguise how the movement pained her. “Good morning,” she said. “Please don’t fuss, Charlotte. My shoulder is fine, and you know I’d die of boredom cooped up in a my room. I promise not to go out today. Will that satisfy you?”

  Charlotte studied her doubtfully. “If you insist, Lizzy. I’ll have John refuse any visitors as well, so as not to tire you.” She anticipated Elizabeth’s protest. “A day of rest will do us all good. I fancy Maria has been looking a little peaked lately.”

  Elizabeth applied herself to her breakfast, surprised to find her appetite intact. Charlotte was clearly reassured by the quantity of food she tucked away. She was frequently concerned for her sister, who had a birdlike appetite and barely ate enough to sustain herself.

  Mr. Collins pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs. “Elizabeth,” he said, his tone business-like, “would it disturb you to discuss the accident? My wife is determined that an effort should be made to bring the malefactor to justice.”

  “Justice?” Elizabeth looked her surprise. “I feel certain it was an accident. The man was undeniably careless, but surely talk of dragging him before a court of law is extreme!”

  “Are you so certain it was an accident?” His eyes were intent. “The maid thought it looked very much as though the horses were deliberately drove at you.”

  Elizabeth laughed to hide her uneasiness. “And did your wife also tell you that Sarah thought the horses had flames coming out their nostrils? Sarah is a nice girl, but very much disposed to see a monster around every corner! What possible reason is there ot think the incident anything but an accident? I have no enemies!”

  He nodded. “Nonetheless, it’s odd.” Mr. Collins went on to accept this explanation.

  Elizabeth was so grateful that she wasn’t even annoyed when her cousin said suddenly, “Are we going to have to cry off tomorrow? We don’t want Lady Catherine to think you’re not flattered by her invitation. Mr. Darcy would surely be disappointed. This could ruin all of your hopes.”

  Elizabeth exchanged rueful smiles with Charlotte. “Mr. Collins,” she said patiently. “I have no hopes where Mr. Darcy is concerned. However, should I have to stay here, I see no reason to believe he nor his aunt wouldn’t accept my explanation.”

  Collins looked disappointed. “It never pays to allow a promising moment to pass by unused. It might make him skittish, and reluctant to commit himself for another evening.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Mr. Darcy is not a horse! And he doesn’t allow skittishness in his mount, so I doubt he would permit any behavior in himself that could be labeled such. However, I see no reason to believe I won’t be restored tomorrow, just as the doctor said. I won’t need to ride or dance, which might strain my shoulder. I feel sure I’ll be strong enough to enjoy yet another enchanting evening at Rosings Park.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three days later, Elizabeth was reading in the rectory’s small book room when she became conscious of a discreet throat clearing, and turned about to face the butler standing in the doorway. "Yes, John?"

  "Colonel Fitzwilliam has called, Miss Bennet. I've shown him into the drawing room."

  "Oh, dear," Elizabeth exclaimed involuntarily. Hastily calling her tongue to order, she added, "I'll be right down. Thank you."

  She proceeded to her room, where she quickly changed to a less serviceable gown and smoothed her hair before hastening down the stairs to the drawing room. When she appeared in the doorway, the colonel rose to his feet and came toward her, one hand outstretched.

  "You're a ray of sunshine this morning," he complimented, somewhat tritely, Elizabeth thought, referring to her daffodil-yellow muslin gown.

  Elizabeth hid her dismay and answered with composure, "Thank you. I could wish the day had been endowed with more sunshine. We had planned to visit your aunt this afternoon, but I fear it looks like rain again. Shall we see you there, weather permitting?"

  "Yes...no..." He broke off this confusing train of words and said instead, a question in his voice, "Miss Bennet?"

  Elizabeth reached for the bell-rope and said brightly, "May I offer you some refreshment?"

  He had not moved. "Thank you, but no. Miss Bennet, surely you can guess what I've come to speak to you about."

  Of course she had guessed. She had not missed the reproachful looks Colonel Fitzwilliam had cast at her the other evening in the garden, when she had reappeared in Mr. Darcy's company. The moment the butler had announced that the colonel had called at such an u
nfashionably early hour, Elizabeth had known his purpose, which had no doubt been advanced by the events at Rosings.

  She tried to let none of her thoughts show on her face as she seated herself on the satinwood sofa and looked up to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam's imploring gaze.

  "Yes, I think I can guess," she said quietly. "But... I don't know what I should say..."

  "Let me speak first." He stepped forward eagerly and took Elizabeth's soft hand in his own. "My brother’s recent passing has afforded me the freedom to marry whomever I choose. Miss Bennet, you must have guessed how I've come to feel about you.”

  While she felt great sympathy for his loss, she wished he would cease assuming she had read his mind. It was ungentlemanly for him to imply that she spent all her time speculating on how he felt for her. She said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

  "I think the moment I met you I knew you were the woman I wanted to be my wife and the mother of my sons," he said with dignity. "You are lovely, and yet have such grace, such restraint. It is impossible to imagine you indulging in unbecoming conduct. You are so different from the other young girls who seem to have nothing in their heads but fluff!"

  Elizabeth wished she could believe he was complimenting her on her intellect, but she feared this was not the case. It did not seem to her that Colonel Fitzwilliam would welcome great intellectual attainments in his wife. Instead, it appeared he wanted a woman whom he could present to his neighbors with pride, who would never be flustered or show great emotions, who would never indulge in any absurdities, who would, in short, always appear to be above the fray. She wondered what he expected of this model of decorum at night, alone in their bedchamber. He had said the mother of his sons, so presumably he did expect to beget some.

  Elizabeth was aware that Colonel Fitzwilliam's lips were still moving, but his words failed to penetrate. Her mind kept turning back to the image of herself lying beside him in the warm cocoon of a canopied bed. Would she feel as she had when Darcy's arms were about her, and his strong thighs pressed against hers? Would she feel abandoned and wanton, tender and sweet and wild? And if she felt so, would he welcome the flowering of these emotions, or would he expect his wife to accept his lovemaking in a dignified, dutiful manner, displaying great restraint?