Chapter 7

7

W hen he took another drink instead of closing his eyes, Elizabeth asked, “What did you mean when you said that Mr. Bingley tried to forget Jane? Does he still think of her? My sister called on Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley in London only to have them end any chance at friendship. Are you saying they did this without consulting their brother?”

Mr. Darcy rubbed his face with his free hand after pulling the glove off with his teeth.

He groaned, this time apparently not from discomfort. “Tell me plainly, did your sister hold Bingley in affection?”

“You have to ask?” Elizabeth was incensed. “She did everything within propriety’s restraints to show him how much she valued him. Yet, he walked away, exposing Jane to the censure of the world for her disappointed hopes. My sister was, and still is, crushed.”

Mr. Darcy tipped the container to his lips and drank until there was no more. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tossed the flask aside. His voice was so quiet that she needed to lean closer to hear.

“For as much as you hated me after my insult to you, I fear you will loathe me even more when I tell you that I, along with Caroline Bingley, convinced Bingley that your sister was merely following the direction of your mother to attach herself to a wealthy man.”

Elizabeth yearned to pinch his ear lobe hard enough that he yelped. She would have, too, had he not already been so miserable.

“If I were not such a sympathetic soul, I would toss your head to the ground, hoping you would hit a rock hard enough to knock some sense into you. How could you not see Jane’s attachment? And how could you hurt Mr. Bingley like that? Shame on you, Mr. Darcy!”

“Yes, shame on me.” He hiccupped. “This is not my finest hour, Miss Elizabeth. Or Miss Bennet. Or would you mind if I just called you ‘Elizabeth’? It is how I always think of you.”

“Are you drunk?” She huffed.

“I think I must be,” he mumbled. “If that cloud looks like something other than a bunny getting ready to hop away, then I suspect I have had too much to drink. Blast, Richard! Somehow or someway, this must be his fault. But I will fix this just like I will fix Wickham. Wretched Wickham is what I call him in my mind. He is the most wretched person I know. Do you think I am wretched, Elizabeth?”

Glancing up at the sky, there was no white fluffy rabbit visible. Rolling her eyes at their current situation, she was unsurprised when Mr. Darcy’s eyes slid closed. Hopefully, the time would pass more quickly if he slept.

The colonel was wise to give him alcohol. Anything that would dull the pain when the men tried to move Mr. Darcy was worth having him incapacitated now. The trip back to Rosings Park would jolt and jar him terribly. If only Mr. Darcy could sleep through it, but she doubted it.

In the meantime, what was she to do about him? She was so angry with his interference that she would gladly slap his jaw if he were not already so miserable. And that was another thing: How could she be angry at a man who apologized with genuine remorse? Ugh! He was a conundrum likely to send her to Bedlam if she spent any more time in his presence.

“Elizabeth, are you better now?” he asked softly but did not open his eyes. “You were in terrible pain when you left Netherfield Park.”

“From my fall?”

“Yes.”

“The headaches and dizziness lasted far longer than I wanted, but the nausea was only that day and the next. The pupil of my left eye stayed bigger than my right eye for weeks, it seemed, although I refused to look in a mirror. What lasted the longest was the confusion, the feeling that my brain was filled with London fog. Eventually, I recalled leaving Netherfield Park for a quick stroll around the lake. And I remembered you escorting me back. I wish I heard what you said to me while I was unconscious, Mr. Darcy, but I do not.”

He opened his eyes, his dark sapphire gaze directed at her and warmed her insides more than the sun. “Would you like to know what I remember most about that day?”

“What do you remember most about that day, sir?”

“Your eyelashes.”

He had to be well and truly inebriated to say such a thing. “Indeed?”

“Yes, ma’am. They lay against your cheeks, and they looked so long and thick that I wondered if you would have the strength to lift them after your injury. My fingers ached to touch them to see if they were indeed as weighty as they appeared. Proudly, I will tell you that I restrained myself.”

She laughed. “Oh, Mr. Darcy. Unlike me, I fear you will remember everything about this situation later, once the alcohol wears off, and you will think your tongue is unhinged.”

“I told you, or I think I told you, that I tried to forget you, Elizabeth. You are my Achilles’ heel, I fear.” He reached up to clasp her fingers in his. “I will never forget this day. I will always think upon it with pleasure.”

His eyes closed again. His breathing deepened. Within moments, the tension left his muscles until he relaxed completely against her.

To the emptiness surrounding them, she said, “I sincerely doubt that I will forget this day as well.”

Darcy ached from his elbow to his toes. His knee throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The rough ground underneath him pressed into his backside, causing further discomfort. Where was Richard? What was taking him so long?

He listened to hear any signs of his cousin approaching. Someone was humming a slow melody in minor notes. He smelled honeysuckle, his favorite spring flower. His mother? No!

Blinking, the lady’s face was angled away from him. Strong jaw. Pointed chin. Slender neck. Elizabeth.

Closing his eyes again so she would think he remained asleep, he marveled that she continued to hold him close. What did it mean? Was it Christian kindness? Or did it signify something more?

He needed to see her face. Shifting slightly, misery shot through him with the first flex of his muscles. Gasping from the pain, he held himself still, only to realize that the sun had shifted while he was asleep, adding to his agony. The warm rays shone directly upon his face.

How long had he been asleep? Good lord, had he snored?

“Sir, I can hear the approach of a cart. Can you hear the wheels?”

“Indeed. Evidence that my aunt does not maintain Rosings to the extent she claims.” Darcy grimaced. “First the bridge, now the cart. What will be next, I cannot imagine?”

“Let us make a game of it, Mr. Darcy. I guarantee that it will make the arrival of help seem faster. I guess that the next sign that Lady Catherine has been remiss is that the shelves in the closets of the parsonage will sag.”

“Shelves in the closet? Why would my aunt do such an odd thing? How are garments supposed to hang with shelves in the way?”

Miss Elizabeth laughed. “You shall have to ask your aunt. Now, it is your turn to guess.”

“Hmm…I know. There is a statue of Diana the Huntress in the largest fountain north of the main house. Diana is reaching behind her shoulder for an arrow from her quiver. She has a stag in her left hand. I guess that the antler will break whereupon the deer will fall into the fountain. She will be left standing without prey. Forevermore, visitors will be left to guess whether she hunted a rabbit, a fox, or something else.”

“You have given an excellent guess. My question is, where does the water currently spout from? Diana? The quiver? Or the deer?”

“The deer’s mouth.” He joined her laughter. “The water would shoot up and hit her outstretched hand, spraying everyone within reach.”

“How displeasing for your aunt. Well done, Mr. Darcy. It is my turn. I suggest that the next sign that Lady Catherine does not maintain her home to the standard she claims is that the bottom of the walking stick falls off when she bangs it sharply on the floor.”

“Never! I have seen her collection. She would claim it is a flaw in the stick rather than the unladylike demands she makes.”

“She makes demands of you? Oh, do not answer. That was too impertinent for me to ask. I beg your pardon,”she said.

Elizabeth’s face was as red as a ripe tomato.

“Do not be embarrassed, please. The simple answer to your question is ‘yes.’ For as long as I have known my aunt, she insists that everything she says, thinks, or does is the only correct way. For example, after my father died, my aunt insisted that it was my mother’s greatest desire to unite Pemberley and Rosings. I would need to marry my cousin, Anne, which I will never do. Although I have told my aunt and cousin repeatedly that I have no intention of offering for Anne, the first thing out of Lady Catherine’s mouth, when Richard and I arrived, was the date she could have her parson begin reading the banns.” He shook his head, the fabric of her skirt rustling underneath his head. It was such a pleasurable feeling, and he wanted to do it again.

“Then my question to you, Mr. Darcy, is if we were to play the same game about Pemberley, what would need to be repaired that you refuse to see?”

“Why, nothing.” He grinned. “I am teasing, of course. When a grand house is built from stone that is centuries old, there are constant repairs. The difference between me and my aunt is that I do not ignore them. If a structure like the bridge is in ill-repair, there are signs posted, and it is roped off.”

“That is good of you, sir.”

“Elizabeth…Miss Bennet, Pemberley is more than a house to me. The land and the buildings reflect my past, my ancestry. The picture gallery is filled with men and women who lived there and loved there. Children were born, and older ones died. In my almost eight and twenty years, I have a wealth of memories in almost every room.”

Elizabeth asked, “Which is your favorite room?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “You might think it would be my father’s study or Pemberley’s library, which houses an outstanding collection, but it is the nursery. You see, I clearly recall the many times my mother would pop in, irritating my tutors when she interrupted my lessons. She would hurry me to gather my walking boots and coat then we would run through the fields to the Greek folly at the top of the hill overlooking the property. My father would be there. Like me, he was a tall man with long arms. I would sit between them. He would wrap his arms around us and then tell us about our history. After a long while, I would return to the nursery like nothing happened. Yet, somewhere in the room was hidden an object from the day, possibly a bird’s feather, a smooth rock, or a pretty leaf mother found. How she arranged for it to arrive ahead of me, I still do not know. But I will never forget those years, nor will I forget that room.”

“How wonderful to have those memories to comfort you, especially after losing your parents so young. Does your sister have memories like that?”

He exhaled. “I do not know. I left for Eton soon after she was born. During the summer months when I was not at school, Father trained me to manage Pemberley. Georgiana was brought from the nursery for only a few minutes each day. Only after our father died did I start to learn her preferences. Her shyness, added to my being consumed trying to handle the responsibilities that came with my new position as master, means that I do not, in actuality, know her at all. Therefore, I am certain I did not take care of matters with Wickham in the best way for her. I did not know what to do.”

“Where is she now?”

“She has lived with Richard’s parents since Ramsgate. Since Wickham.”

“Is that by her choice or yours?”

Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “Mine. Was I wrong?” Twisting his head, he looked directly at her.

“In truth, I do not know since we have never met. Nonetheless, hearing you speak about her, her character is much the same as Jane’s. My sister would have felt punished if she had been sent away to live away from her family. Even now, as much as she enjoys our aunt and uncle in London, she is aware this is temporary. As soon as I depart here, we will travel together to Hertfordshire. I must admit that wherever she is, she would be miserable because she feels she did something wrong to chase Mr. Bingley off, which affects her future and that of Longbourn.”

“What do you mean? How would that affect Longbourn?”

She squeezed his hand, reminding him that her fingers were still entwined with his. “Four daughters who are all out are easier to support than five. When each of us marries or finds a position, the burden on Longbourn is substantially less. Jane feels deeply that she is unwed at three and twenty. She fears being like Charlotte, who did not marry until she was your age. Not only does it take money to feed and clothe a child, but anything also spent on the eldest cannot be used by the youngest. Lydia complains most vocally at being misused.”

“I see.” Disregarding the pain, he sat up, turning to face her. “I hear my cousin giving orders so they will be upon us shortly. Before they arrive, I need to ask if you would be willing to start fresh.”

“To become friends? Certainly, Mr. Darcy.” She squeezed his fingers again, then let go, withdrawing her hand. He desperately wanted to take it back. “You have promised to act to protect Miss King and all Meryton by informing my father about Mr. Wickham’s propensity for treachery. Also, should you tell Mr. Bingley that Jane is miserable without him, then you will be responsible for the happiness of two kind and gentle people. These are acts of amity, sir. I would be happy to consider you a friend.”

He dipped his head before gazing upon her lovely countenance. They were so close. If he leaned in slightly, and she did as well, their lips… He cleared his throat.

“What I meant was, I wish…”

“Darcy!” Richard yelled, warning them of his approach.

Before Darcy could continue, Elizabeth stood, stepping back from him. The moment was lost when four men approached with a hastily arranged stretcher. He was soon being carried between the men, and Elizabeth trailed behind.

She finally approached him after he was loaded into the back of a pony cart. Handing the empty flask to Richard, she said, “He did as you commanded, Colonel. The flask is empty, and I did not touch a drop.”

“Might we give you a ride back to the parsonage, Miss Bennet? The day has been traumatic for us all and I am certain my cousin would be more comfortable should you join him in the back.”

“Very well.”

His cousin smiled before handing her into the back of the pony cart and then climbing onto the front bench to drive. With a flick of his wrists, the cart jerked forward before settling into a fairly easy ride. Enough padding was provided so that Darcy’s leg was fully supported, and he rested his head on Elizabeth’s lap.

He noted that Richard’s daffodils were gone, but the chain of daisies remained on her wrist, gladdening his heart.

Darcy loved her. There would never be anyone else for him but her. Cursing himself for leaving Netherfield Park, for not waiting until Elizabeth recovered, he vowed not to live his life with any more regrets when it came to her. He would do everything in his power to make things right with Bingley and Jane Bennet. He would write to her father to warn the residents of Meryton about Wickham’s propensity for causing damage. Then, he would pursue her to the ends of the Earth, if needed, until she fell as deeply in love with him as he was with her.

“Miss Elizabeth, I need to tell you something of critical importance. Please, would you lean closer?”

Their eyes met. When she was close enough that only she might hear, he whispered, “I wish…I wish that you would love me.”

Despite the misery that shot through him with every turn of the wheel, Elizabeth’s lovely lips parted, and her fine eyes opened wide. She gave him hope.

Upon returning to the parsonage after his accident, Charlotte warned her that Lady Catherine would likely refuse to invite guests to Rosings Park if Mr. Darcy’s wounds kept him bedridden. Her friend’s words were prophetic since Elizabeth returned to Jane in London without news of Mr. Darcy. The colonel did not even come to the parsonage to inform them of his cousin’s progress. The day prior to Elizabeth’s departure, one of the maids happened to overhear a remark indicating that Mr. Darcy suffered from a high fever caused by an infection. The colonel remained at his cousin’s side, as did his aunt, which was where they needed to be.

Had Mr. Darcy felt these same worries when he left Hertfordshire after her fall? Did he wonder if she made good progress in healing? Had he been as frantic as she was? If so, then his relief at discovering her in good health in Kent would have lifted his spirits. Was that why he sought her out on the walking trails? She had so many questions and no one to supply the answers.