Chapter 3

3

P ain ripped through Elizabeth’s chest, her skull throbbing as if the blacksmith swung his hammer behind her eyes. She heard footsteps approaching, and then someone sat next to her, pulling her close. How she wished it was Bingley or Jane.

“Elizabeth.” His rich tones identified him as the last man in the world she ever suspected of being able to offer Christian kindness. Bingley’s friend, Mr. Darcy. What was he doing at Netherfield Park? Why was a man who loathed her offering solace?

“Am I dreaming? Are you real?” Was she or was she not sitting on the corridor floor in the embrace of Mr. Darcy?She finally opened her eyes, verifying it was indeed him.

She barely discerned the movement of his lips as he smiled.

“I am real.”

For that, she was grateful. Even though she knew him as nothing more than the cold, unfeeling, arrogant, prideful master of Pemberley who shunned her family and friends and who was responsible for separating her beloved sister from the man she loved, she pressed closer. Her subconscious craved his fortitude and his courage. Without a doubt, with him by her side, each task that needed to be done would be performed to the utmost. Charlie and Clara would not be without support. Exhaustion stirred her imagination. Would he offer the same to her?

Elizabeth snorted, shifting slightly away.

“You know about Bingley and Jane? And the twins?”

“It is why I am here.”

The air went out of her chest. She was no longer alone.

So much loss. Her heart ached for the babies. For as much as her parents often frustrated or embarrassed her, at least they remained among the living. Francine Bennet might lack culture, but she set an excellent table, was an outstanding hostess, loved each of her daughters in her own way, and fought fiercely to guarantee her daughters’ futures. When any of the Bennet girls were ill, their mother conjured up multiple cures from the apothecary while their father sat with them for hours, reading silly stories from their childhood that warmed their hearts and soothed their woes.

Bingley and Jane would have been excellent parents. Charlie and Clara would have adored them as Elizabeth did her own parents.

For months, Elizabeth teased her sister that she would be the favorite aunt, the one who spurred their son or daughter to mischief and laughter despite any restrictions placed by Bingley and Jane. She used to tease that she would teach Jane’s child to play the pianoforte ill indeed, encourage him or her to read gothic novels and hide in the treetops. Until Mr. Darcy’s arrival, the babies’ future seemed bleak.

Elizabeth straightened, her shoulder still touching his. Her confused mind, made more so by his presence, rendered her more blunt than usual. “Mr. Darcy, why exactly are you here?”

When he did not answer right away, she worried that he had not heard her. Before she could repeat her question, he finally said, “Bingley wrote to me about your sister. He asked for my help until he was able to stand on his own. Since I was the source of his unhappiness, I owed him and his wife my assistance. I was told about Bingley upon my arrival. Immediately, I went to Longbourn to prepare them for these…these new developments.”

She sighed. Her family knew. Good. She would not need to bear the burden of telling them. Grateful, she said, “That must have been difficult for you. I thank you.”

He exhaled, the sound unnaturally loud in the corridor, causing her to wonder at the reaction of her family.

“It was nothing more than my duty.”

His duty? Knowing she was too tired to be completely reasonable to restrain her ire, she gained her feet. She hissed, “Mr. Darcy, you act from mere obligation to ease your guilt. Shame on you, sir. Jane and her husband deserve more, as their children do.” She brushed her palms together as if dropping breadcrumbs to the floor to be disposed of by Cook’s broom.

“You misunderstand me.” He spoke firmly, running his fingers through his hair as he jumped up to stand across from her. “Elizabeth…”

“ Miss Bennet!” Anger shook her.

“Of course, Miss Bennet.” He stepped back, bowing at the waist. “In truth, I have no business being in the presence of a lady because I have not rested these last two days since receiving Bingley’s letter. I fear the news I received when I arrived overwhelmed me, as circumstances have overwhelmed you. I do not have the presence of mind to state my case plainly. Perhaps after I am refreshed, we will be able to address these issues with more civility.”

“Civility?” Her hands pressed into her waist. He confused her. How could he be kind one minute then as cold as ice the rest of the time? Rude and unpardonable from the start. Though he offered her a moment of comfort, she did not trust him to exercise that quality more fully or more frequently. Additionally, he made his opinion of her evident on many occasions, staring at her only to seek fault.

Had she wanted his good opinion? Certainly! He was tall, handsome with an athletic build, as well as wealthy with connections to the peerage. Plus, he had been Charles Bingley’s best friend. Yet, that had not stopped him from offending her and her neighbors.

She was confused. Therefore, she responded, “I can agree that these are not the best circumstances to discuss our situation. I, too, am weary. However, there is no one to witness our conversation at present. This again begs the question, why are you here? What is your purpose?”

He leaned closer. When his chin lifted and his nostrils flared, she felt his frustration vibrating like a wave down the corridor, washing over her, threatening to knock her off her feet. She stood firm.

Quietly, he said, “I am here to do exactly as Charles asked. I will take care of his business by closing out his estate, then take the boy and girl to Pemberley, where they will have the best life that I can give them.”

Her hand flew to her chest as she backed away from him, horrified. He would rip the babies from Hertfordshire, from the closeness of family, from her. She flung the door open to her chambers and slammed it behind her. How dare he! Fitzwilliam Darcy was not the hero the babies needed now. He was a monster scheming to steal the children from her and break her heart in two.Or was he?

She dropped to the bed, too tired to change into night clothes. Kicking her slippers from her feet, she reflected on each word spoken in the corridor, each touch of his fingers on hers. A heavy sigh shuddered through Elizabeth. She overreacted. Rather than blame her exhaustion, she had to admit to herself that she always overreacted when Mr. Darcy was around. Pulling up a heavy quilt the maid left at the bottom of the bed, Elizabeth promised herself she would apologize in the morning. Before she finished the thought, she was fast asleep.

What had happened? How had they gone so quickly from tenderness to hostility? What was the matter with Elizabeth? I mean, Miss Bennet?

Stunned, Darcy turned back toward the staircase only to meet the two housekeepers.

Without a word, Mrs. Nicholls directed him to his chambers. “If I could beg of you, Mr. Darcy, please inform Mr. Bingley’s sisters of Mr. Bingley’s death.”

“Do you have their directions?”

“If you write to Mr. and Mrs. Hurst in London, Mrs. Hurst can forward the letter to Lady Armstrong. As soon as the letters are ready, I will have them dispatched at first light.”

“Very well,” he said, staring at Miss Bennet’s door, wishing he could speak with her again to set matters straight. Would she be willing to talk to him? Or wo uld she run him through if she had a sword?

Mrs. Hill said, “Mr. Darcy, I could not help but overhear your conversation. For as much as you are fatigued from traveling here, Miss Lizzy has not rested since Mrs. Bingley’s labor began over a week ago.”

He gave her a succinct nod, acknowledging the sentiment, her words a ping to his conscience.

“The babies?”

“They are asleep, sir.”

“I thank you. Very well, I shall see them on the morrow.”

Entering his room, his valet, Parker, had laid out his night clothes. At the desk, Darcy pulled out paper and sharpened the pen, all the time thinking about the lady down the hall.

At Pemberley, the nursery was far from the master and mistress’s suite. At Netherfield Park, the twins were next to what would have been Mrs. Bingley’s room. Had that meant she intended to care for her children personally?

Oh, god! Had she even lived long enough to know that she gave birth to a son as well as a daughter? Had she seen them, touched them before she took her last breath?

His heart broke for Jane Bingley. Darcy’s mother lost her life while giving birth to Georgiana. According to the midwife, Lady Anne never set eyes on her daughter. To go through that much pain and not see the reward! A pitiful circumstance that ate away at him.

Instead of being in the birth chamber with his mother as Miss Bennet must have been with her sister, Darcy had stood sentinel with his father in Pemberley’s library, pacing or trying to read. They felt none of his mother’s agony during the birth, only the shattering of their lives with the news that Lady Anne did not survive, though the child lived.

That night, twelve-year-old Darcy begged God, with tears in his eyes, to take his sister and bring back his mother. Yet, it could not be.

Was that how Miss Bennet felt? Did the joy of holding her sister’s babies ease her loss at all?

Standing, he moved to the fireplace, seeking warmth.

Imbecile! He realized Miss Bennet had not asked only on behalf of the twins for the reason for his arrival. She had inquired whether she would play a part in the babies’ lives.

Throwing his head back, he cursed his stupidity. As soon as he wrote the notices to Bingley’s sisters, he would sleep to regain a sense of it all. Then, he would see the babies in the nursery and do whatever he needed to make amends with their aunt, for he knew that he would never be satisfied to have held Elizabeth Bennet only once in his life. Oh, no! He would do whatever it took for the right and privilege to hold her as often as she needed to be held…forever.