Mr Darcy's Admiration

by Lauren Hughes

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Lizzy! Don’t talk such foolishness!” Kitty's pretty young face puckered into a pout and she stopped stitching to cast a look of dismay around the cozy sitting room of Netherfield Park. “I simply cannot face another year without your constant companionship.”

  Elizabeth sighed in resignation. “Of course you can,” she said, though she knew argument was fruitless. “Jane did an excellent job for you last year.”

  Kitty’s pout grew more pronounced. Really, Elizabeth thought, her younger sister should be cautioned about such unbecoming mannerisms.

  “Jane is married now.” Kitty waved her needlepoint dramatically in the air. “She's not like us.”

  Elizabeth laughed. Jane had delighted everyone by marrying Mr. Bingley, but that was not why Kitty wanted a different chaperon. Flighty as Kitty might sound she knew well that Elizabeth’s dark hair and eyes made her own blonde beauty still more attractive.

  But Elizabeth couldn’t fault Kitty for that, for wanting to look her best. When a girl was husband hunting. “And you think I won’t scare anyone away?” she asked. “A widow in black?”

  “That’s just it,” Kitty declared, dropping her sewing and jumping to her feet to pace the Persian carpet in agitation. “The year of mourning is up. Surely society would not expect more of you.”

  A familiar sadness overcame Elizabeth.

  “It’s time you get yourself another husband,” Kitty insisted, “A healthy one. You’re young still.”

  Elizabeth swallowed the sharp reply that rose to her lips. Kitty meant well. So, she supposed, did Jane and Bingley, who also had suggested she marry again. But she couldn’t tell either of them her secret, the embarrassing truth that kept her from considering marriage again.

  She was a widow, true, but she had never been a wife. Mr. Collins had never taken her to his bed. She made the irrational decision to marry her cousin after the sudden death of their father left them all penniless and alone. And then Mr. Collins became too ill to perform his duties as a husband. So, when other wives giggled and whispered behind their hands, she had to pretend she knew what they were talking about.

  “Lizzy!” Kitty was staring down at her, hands on hips, and it was plain she’d been waiting some time for an answer.

  “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering, my dear. Thinking about Mr. Collins.”

  “That odious man is gone.” Kitty made a face. “Anyway, he was so old.”

  “Kitty!”

  Kitty refused to be cowed. “Well, it’s true. He was far too old and ridiculous to be a proper husband. Now if you had married Mr Darcy. Now that's a worthy gentleman!”

  Elizabeth bent again to her needlepoint. Mr. Darcy was indeed good looking. A tall dark lean man with piercing black eyes.

  Of course, Elizabeth reminded herself, she hardly knew Darcy. Throughout most of her marriage, he’d been away in London or at his estate in Derbyshire. Still, on his visits to Rosings Park to see his aunt, her late husband's patroness, he could have been a little more friendly.

  Kitty plopped down into a chair, picking up the needlepoint she’d dropped earlier. “I shall have a new gown made for the winter ball. And so shall you.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I will go to the ball with you if you truly wish it, my dear, but my black silk will do nicely, I’m sure.”

  Kitty’s pout returned. “Really, Lizzy, you are a stubborn creature. It’s time to give off mourning and live again.”

  At the sound of a deep, rich voice, Elizabeth looked up. Fitzwilliam Darcy, stood in the doorway. His tan inexpressibles fit like a second skin, the brightness of his top boots rivaled that of the sun, and his jacket of blue superfine clothed broad shoulders admirably. He was, indeed, a fine gentleman. No one could deny that.

  Elizabeth dropped her gaze. How long had the man been standing there? Had he heard them discussing him?

  “Mr. Darcy,” Kitty said, giving him a sweet smile she reserved for eligible gentlemen. “You simply must help me with Lizzy.”

  Darcy smiled back at her. Watching the exchange between them, Elizabeth suffered a pang of envy. Why did the man never smile at her with any affection, any warmth?

  “And what is it you want Mrs. Collins to do?” Darcy inquired.

  Elizabeth kept herself from wincing. He always referred to her that way — Mrs. Collins — as though she were still unhappily married.

  Kitty shot her a triumphant look. “I want her to get a new gown for the winter ball. Can you imagine, she says she’ll wear black!”

  When Darcy turned his dark eyes on her, Elizabeth fought to remain calm. She didn’t know why his presence unnerved her so. Perhaps because she felt he disapproved of her, though she had no idea why he should.

  “Miss Bennet is right,” Darcy said. “Your year of mourning is up. You can go about in society again.”

  “I did not go about in society before,” Elizabeth pointed out. “And I have little wish to do so now.”

  “See!” Kitty cried. “See how obstinate she is! She will never get a husband like this!”

  As Darcy’s gaze came to rest on her face, Elizabeth felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  “You are hunting a husband?” he inquired politely.

  “Of course not!” Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? “I don’t want to go about in society,” she repeated firmly. “And I certainly don’t want a husband.”

  Kitty stamped her foot in exasperation. “This will never do.”

  Darcy scowled. “You are still a young woman,” he observed to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth swallowed an exclamation. Her age was none of his business!

  “It is natural that you should wish to marry again.”

  “Well, I don’t!” All her frustration exploded in the angry words. Kitty raised an eyebrow in surprise, and shock traveled across Darcy’s aristocratic face before he composed it, but Elizabeth didn’t care. Did he want to get her out of the house? She didn’t want to leave Jane. How could he be so cruel?

  “Miss Bennet,” Darcy said. “Go tell the cook I will not be here for dinner tonight.”

  “But...” Kitty looked from one to the other, plainly reluctant to miss any of their exchange.

  “Kitty.”

  The one word was sufficient. Kitty left the room.

  Elizabeth kept on with her embroidery. Though she was probably putting stitches in the wrong places and would have to pick them out later, it at least gave her something to do, something to look at besides Darcy’s stern face.

  Sometimes, when he looked at her, she thought she saw loathing in his face, but she couldn’t imagine why. She had been a good wife to Mr. Collins, the best she knew how, caring for him through his long illness, as she would a father and a friend. So why did Darcy dislike her? Why did he want to oust her from her new home?

  She kept stitching, trying to concentrate on the colors, trying to close him out of her consciousness, but the silence in the room grew into a living thing, gnawing on her already taut nerves.

  “Kitty is right,” Darcy said finally. “You are young and reasonably attractive.”

  A compliment! And from Darcy yet. Looking up in astonishment, Elizabeth surprised a peculiar expression on his face, as though he found complimenting her difficult. “Thank you,” she said dryly. “But there’s no need for flattery. I don’t intend to change my mind.”

  He frowned. “I am not flattering you,”
he said. “I am assessing the situation. As I said, you are young and reasonably attractive. And you have connections. Many suitors will be calling on you.”

  “I don’t wish to see them,” Elizabeth insisted. “I don’t wish to marry again.”

  Darcy sighed and shook his head. “There’s no point in mourning forever. Your father certainly wouldn't have wanted that.”

  “My mourning is my own business,” Elizabeth returned, her tone somewhat sharper than she would have wished. “I have said that I will accompany Kitty to social gatherings — and I will. But I refuse to be badgered and pushed into a marriage I don’t wish.”

  Darcy’s look turned thoughtful. “From your behavior one would almost think you find marriage distasteful.”

  “That’s not true!” Elizabeth hastened to say, returning her attention to her stitching. How could she tell this man that she knew nothing at all about the physical aspects of marriage? “It’s just...I do not wish to marry again.”

  Darcy shrugged. “But you will accompany Kitty?”

  “I said I would.” Why did the man bring out such sharpness in her? She had never been the sort to be rude to people.

  “And you will order a new gown for the ball,” he persisted, “Not black? Perhaps in deep blue?”

  “I don’t —”

  “I know you don’t want a new gown,” he interrupted. “But you might give a little thought to Kitty. She’s a trifle flighty, it’s true, but the girl has a good heart. What harm can it do to humor her a little?” He flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. “I am asking this of you. Just buy some new gowns, not black, and agree to accompany us to the ball.”

  “Us?” In her anxiety she pricked her finger with the needle. She pulled in a quick breath. The puncture burned.

  He appeared not to have noticed. “Yes, Kitty has prevailed upon me to escort her. I wish you to accompany us so as to prevent any untoward talk.”

  Tears stung Elizabeth’s eyes, but they were not tears caused by the pain in her pricked finger. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Yes, if that’s what you wish, I will go with you.”

  Darcy got to his feet. “Thank you,” he said. And he actually smiled. “Kitty will be pleased. And so am I.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  After Darcy left the room, Elizabeth remained in her chair. Her fingers kept working automatically, adding stitch after stitch to the needlepoint design, but her thoughts were not on the pattern.

  Her thoughts were on Darcy. The way he treated her was a real puzzlement. She thought back, trying to remember that first time they'd met at the Meryton Assembly. She’d been only one and twenty and the sight of the handsome, proud man, resplendent in his fashionable clothes, had awed her so she could only stare at him in wide-eyed admiration. Darcy didn't seem to mind her staring.

  Then before long, Mr. Bennet died, her cousin told her he meant to marry her, and Darcy returned to London. Those months had been the worst days of her life.

  She sighed. It wasn’t Mr. Collins behavior that troubled her. It was Darcy’s.

  When she saw him a next time, Darcy had changed toward her. He was even more aloof, harsh even. He spoke to her only when he had to — and then, she felt, only to prevent others from suspecting how much he disliked her. But why? What had changed Mr. Darcy so? Why did he dislike her?

  She felt the heat spreading over her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t have been that one little kiss. She hadn’t thought of it in years. After her father's death, she had thrown herself into his arms and kissed him, her kiss landing by accident full on his mouth. It was the first kiss she’d ever given a man not her father. Perhaps it annoyed Darcy. But still, as she remembered it, he had kissed her back. He’d even smiled at her.

  When he came to visit his aunt, Darcy was an altogether different person—so cold and distant that she hardly recognized him and certainly dared not approach him. And the things she’d heard about him since he came home from the city — things women were not supposed to hear. But wives always did. Darcy had achieved quite a reputation as a man about town. Darcy could have any woman he wanted. And he had wanted many, she was certain.

  Elizabeth sighed. When Darcy married — as he must eventually to carry on the name — she supposed he would return to Pemberley for good. Slowly she looked around the cozy sitting room. After her husband's funeral, Mr. Bingley had given her carte blanche, told her to fix up the room in any way she pleased. So she’d made this room into a cozy retreat, the kind of homelike room she’d always dreamed of, a place of contentment.

  But there was no contentment now. Her husband was gone and her sisters were always badgering. Elizabeth didn’t want to go out and face the world, a world full of coldly cruel and malicious gossipers — people who knew all about her youngest sister, Lydia's, not so glorious marriage, and would whisper it about with great relish. And now Darcy, it seemed rather certain, wanted her completely out of his life.

  She swallowed a sob. She would not — could not — cry. Besides, tears wouldn’t do any good.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A short time later, Darcy entered the library and sought out his closest friend, Charles Bingley.

  “What have I gotten myself into!” Darcy said without even a greeting.

  Bingley gestured to the chair across from him. “For goodness sake, sit down.” Then he lowered his voice. “Elizabeth?”

  Darcy frowned. “Elizabeth.” He dropped into the seat. “Now that she is to become available again how am I to keep all of the eligibles from knocking down the doors? Has she no idea how bewitching she is?”

  Bingley looked thoughtful. “From what Jane has told me, she had an unhappy marriage.” He motioned to Darcy to pour them some wine.

  Darcy frowned and rubbed his chin. “That’s right. At first, you know, I thought her a pleasant young woman, terribly naive considering her simple upbringing, but pleasant enough.” He smiled. “How wrong I was, Charles.”

  “So you've said,” Bingley said with a smile.

  Darcy smiled, too. “Many times, no doubt.” He stared down into his drink. He’d enjoyed being near her, enjoyed having her great dark eyes gaze at him with admiration. And when she’d kissed him that one time...

  He felt the heat rising to his face. He could still feel that kiss on his lips. He could still feel that kiss!

  Bingley chuckled, his expression jovial. “If ever I saw a man changed by love, it’s you, my friend. And after all the women you could have had.”

  Darcy sighed. It was absurd, ridiculous, unconscionable. But Bingley was right. With that single girlish kiss Elizabeth had stolen his heart. He was in love with Elizabeth Bennet. And he had been in love with her for two long years.

  “Her husband didn’t know.”

  “Of course not,” Bingley said, now solemn.

  “We didn’t talk about the marriage much, but it seemed a peaceful union. Collins reported good things about Elizabeth, and the few times I visited the parsonage her devotion to him was apparent.”

  “Yes,” Bingley said, “there’s no doubt she was a good wife.”

  “An excellent wife.” Darcy toyed with his wine glass. “And you know I stayed away as much as possible.”

  He was a man of hot passions, as he had discovered when he attained his manhood. And however much he might seek to vent them elsewhere, those passions stayed centered on Elizabeth.

  “When duty called me to visit my aunt, I made my visits short and my conversation with her as brief and distant as possible. More than once I’ve wondered what she thought of my behavior. More than once I’ve glimpsed the hurt, the bewilderment, in her eyes. Seen it and longed to kiss it away. But —I am a man of honor and she — she was the vicar's wife.”

  Bingley nodded in commiseration. “You did the only honorable thing.”

  Darcy scowled. “I suppose so. But it was hellish. And now time has passed, the vicar has died, and the press of family matters have made it a necessity that I return to live at Pemberley. Thank goodness Kitty is such a d
istraction. But nothing will save me from the feelings that Elizabeth raises in me, feelings I hope someday to be able to act upon.”

  “You will,” Bingley said cheerfully. “And very soon.”

  Darcy shook his head. “I am not so sure. Today she insisted she doesn’t want a husband. Of course I’m relieved that she will not consider anyone else. But imagine my fear that when I finally can ask her to be mine she will not have me.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Tell me, Charles, how am I to approach her now that the year of mourning is finally up? By now she must think me the stiffest, coldest man in all England!”

  “Then you must change her mind,” Bingley said with an animated smile. “Tell her you would give your life for her. It’s quite true, you know.”

  Darcy snorted. “A declaration such as that — even though it’s true — would surely frighten her, especially after my previous distant behavior.”

  Bingley raised his glass, took a sip of wine. “Then it appears that you have embarked on the only logical course. You chivvy her into accompanying Kitty about in society, with you as escort. And then you lavish upon her charm that would put any lady at your feet.”

  Darcy frowned. “Damn it, man! I don’t want just any lady! I want Elizabeth! I have always wanted Elizabeth!”

  “Easy,” Bingley said, his glance compassionate. “I cannot imagine that she would refuse you — a man of your reputation.”

  Darcy cursed fluently. “That’s just it. Look at my reputation! If I marry her, all London will talk about us — the brother-in-law of that savage George Wickham! The on-dits will travel from mouth to malicious mouth and Elizabeth will bear the brunt of all such gossip. The men won’t dare to insult me — my reputation with a pistol is too well known — but the women will cut Elizabeth, take cruel delight in wounding her. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt, she deserves only happiness. And Charles, I want to be the man to give it to her!”

  He put his hand to his pocket, pulled out a yellowed envelope. “You said I was addlepated? Look at this! Two years I’ve saved this. Two long years.”