Mr. Darcy's Comfort Read online

  “Oh, how sad,” Elizabeth murmured.

  He shook his head. “Not entirely. That promise saved me from bothering to put forth effort in learning to flirt and converse with ladies. I had no need to win a wife, for I already had one waiting for me. However, Anne knew that I did not love her as a man loves a wife.”

  “You did not love her?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.

  “No, no, I loved her, deeply, just as I had my mother and my father and as I do my cousin Richard and my sister, but not as a man loves his wife.”

  They had come to a lovely little green area, and she saw him look at his cousin and nod toward a large rock to their left. Richard replied with a nod of his own and led Mary in the opposite direction.

  “I have experienced the heart-wrenching agony of losing my parents and now my Anne,” he continued as they approached the rock. “However, when my mother died, I witnessed the agony of a man who has lost his very reason for living. While my love for Anne was deep, it was not the sort that joined soul to soul or begged me to wish for children who resembled her. I longed to care for her, of course, and knew that we would have children and in so doing, would delight Lady Catherine, but…” his voice trailed off. “It is hard to explain, but it is different.”

  “I saw Mr. Goodwin after his wife and daughter died. I believe I understand somewhat,” Elizabeth said as she took a seat on the rock. Mr. Goodwin had sat staring at Mrs. Goodwin’s portrait for days before deciding that he could not remain at Netherfield and had moved to town, to a rented house that had never been Mrs. Goodwin’s home.

  Darcy smiled as he sat down. “I knew you would, or at least, I thought you might.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “You knew exactly what I needed when I was sick and at Netherfield. The brandy helped.”

  “I am glad.”

  “I will miss Anne for as long as I live.” He had turned to look in the direction Mary and Richard had gone. “But my heart is not shattered as my father’s was.” He looked at her quickly. “That does not sound heartless does it?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No.”

  He looked out at the prospect. “I made her a promise.”

  He glanced in her direction again. “I was given her journal. She did not love me any more greatly than I loved her. She had put off announcing our engagement for years and had hoped that I would find someone who would capture my heart just as she wished to find someone for herself.” He watched as he spun his ring. “It was just this spring when she agreed that come the new year, we would finally marry. However, she would have released me from our arrangement even after we had announced it if I had found someone. I did not know that until Richard told me, and then I read it in her journal.” He drew in a deep breath and released it. “That is why I promised her that in honour of her, I would pursue my heart and only marry for the deepest of affection.”

  Elizabeth did not know how to respond to such a tale. It was so intimate a story that every response seemed trite in her mind.

  Darcy remained looking at his hands and spinning his ring. “I should like to call on you,” he said with a quick and uneasy glance at her, “if you would allow it. I know my behaviour has not been what it should be, but I would like the opportunity to prove to you that I am not unworthy of you. Would you grant me permission to call on you?”

  Elizbeth’s eyes grew wide, and her lips parted. Mr. Darcy wished to court her? He had declared he would only pursue his heart, and then he had asked her if he could pursue her?

  “You cannot,” she replied. “You are in mourning.”

  “We could meet as friends for now, and once the period of mourning for my cousin has passed, I could speak to your father if you wish, and if you do not, I will return to town and not press my suit any further.”

  There was a note of desperation in his voice. She shook her head. “It is the grief speaking.”

  “No, I assure you it is not.”

  Again, she shook her head. She had no desire to be a substitute for the lady who had been lost. “We can be friends,” she replied, “but I fear we cannot be anything more. You do not think it is the grief, but I am not convinced. You found me only tolerable when we first met, and we have done little else besides argue in the entirety of our acquaintance until your Anne died. I have provided comfort, nothing more.” Her heart broke as she witnessed the pain in his eyes before he turned his face away from her.

  “You are wrong,” he said softly. “I loved you before Richard arrived. However, I will agree to meet as friends and nothing more until I can prove to you that you are wrong.” He stood and offered her his hand.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered as she placed her hand in his. How her heart longed for him to prove her wrong. However, grief was a tricky fellow, and she had no desire to be an instrument in grief’s deception.

  “No more than I am,” he replied. “Now that I have told you of my Anne, I think we should walk here again tomorrow, so that you can tell me about your friend.”

  She studied his face. “I am only agreeing because I promised I would tell you about Celia.”

  He nodded and smiled. “As long as you are agreeing, I do not care your reason.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” she chided.

  He shook his head. “You are wrong.”

  “I am not,” she retorted. “And it is very wrong of you to make me argue with you over such a thing. It is not proper at all that I should speak so disagreeably to one who is in mourning.”

  He smiled. “Then, do not disagree.”

  “Oh,” she cried in exasperation, “you are a very determined and annoying fellow!”

  “I have made a promise,” he replied, “and when I make a promise, my will to see it fulfilled is implacable.”

  “As implacable as your temper?” she questioned, her mouth dropping open at the self-satisfied smile he turned on her.

  “More,” he replied.

  Chapter 8

  As luck would have it, the following day was dotted with intermittent sputterings of rain, and a walk to Oakham Mount was not possible. Elizabeth rose from her chair in the sitting room and paced to the window for the fourth time in the last half hour.

  “Go walk in the garden,” her mother chided. “I will not confine you to the house when all you are going to do is cause my nerves to flutter each time you pace across the room. I do not know why you are so eager to have callers. It is not as if any are calling to see you.”

  Mary peeked up from her book and smiled quickly at Elizabeth.

  “I should have thought you could have snared Mr. Wickham,” said Mrs. Bennet, “if you had been more pleasant. He seemed to have taken to you quite nicely, and he seems to have promise. I should imagine he will not remain a lieutenant for long.”

  “She shall not have him,” said Lydia, “for I shall. I do so admire a man in a red coat.”

  Elizabeth sighed and returned to her chair. She was not entirely certain that Lydia should be so eager to snare a man like Mr. Wickham, but to protest would only deepen Lydia’s determination. Therefore, she only said, “A uniform is very becoming, but I do not think I would make a good wife for a soldier. All that moving about!” She shook her head. “It is not for me. I prefer to settle into a neighbourhood and surround myself with friends.”

  “I should very much enjoy meeting new friends everywhere!” Lydia cried.

  Elizabeth shook her head at Lydia’s stubbornness and tried to turn her focus back to the needlework she had been doing. However, creating rosettes was not so satisfying as watching to see if Mr. Darcy would keep his promise and call on her even though they could not walk to Oakham Mount. And more frustrating than keeping her stitches neat and the thread from knotting was the thought that she very much wanted him to keep his promise because she longed to see him. She blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Do go take a turn of the garden,” her mother snapped.

  “Come,” Jane whispered. “We will see if anyone calls.”


  “Do not go far, Jane. I would not have Mr. Bingley kept waiting,” her mother chided as she saw Jane rise to leave with Elizabeth. “Do not damage your sister’s chances, Elizabeth.”

  “I would not dream of doing so, Mama. We will keep a close eye on the drive.”

  “See that you do,” Mrs. Bennet replied.

  “Your attendance to your daughter’s marital prospects does you great credit,” Mr. Collins said.

  “I have five. I must be vigilant.” Mrs. Bennet turned a cunning smile on the man. “We may expect a happy announcement for Jane at any time, but she has four sisters, Mr. Collins, and you are in need of a wife. Mary, why do you not read to us from the Psalms. It will help us pass the time so agreeably, and Mr. Collins can expound upon them if he wishes.”

  “I do not wish to read,” Mary replied.

  “You are reading now,” her mother retorted.

  “But not the Psalms, and I do not wish to read aloud or hear Mr. Collins expound on anything.”

  Mrs. Bennet huffed. “When did you become so incorrigible?”

  “About the time Mama began pushing her in front of Mr. Collins,” Jane whispered as she closed the door to the sitting room behind them.

  Elizabeth laughed softly. “Mary has her eye on someone else entirely,” she whispered as she took Jane’s arm to go up and get their outerwear.

  “Does she indeed?” Jane asked curiously.

  “I am allowed to tell you and only you. No one else is allowed to know.” They climbed the stairs slowly, heads bent together. How she would miss these moments of sharing secrets when Jane married and moved from Longbourn. Her heart pinched at the thought of losing one so dear. She knew that Jane would not be lost forever, but she would be so removed, and her attentions would naturally shift to her husband and children.

  “I will not tell a soul,” Jane assured her.

  “She has been corresponding with Mr. Lucas. Maria sends and delivers the letters.”

  Jane gasped. “Our Mary?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Shocking, is it not?”

  “It most certainly is!” Jane agreed.

  They had reached their room, and each sought her coat and bonnet.

  “Why did Mary tell you such a secret?”

  Elizabeth applied herself to her fastenings. “We were just talking on our walk yesterday.”

  Jane stilled Elizabeth’s hands. “I will not believe that! Mary would not share such a secret without reason.”

  Elizabeth blew out a breath and pulled her hands away from Jane. It was nearly impossible to keep a secret from Jane unless one simply did not say anything. “Mary asked if I liked Mr. Darcy, and I said I did.”

  Jane squealed softly and wrapped Elizabeth in her embrace. “Oh, I knew you would make a good match. We shall be always in each other’s company if you marry him, for Mr. Bingley is his dearest friend.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You really are as bad as Mama,” she chided. “And I am not marrying him.” She wanted to add he has made no offer, but she could not say that without lying.

  “But you might. Mary said he and the colonel walked with you yesterday. I do believe he likes you.”

  “Yes, so I have heard, repeatedly.” She raised a brow and gave Jane a stern look before opening the door.

  “If you were not so stubborn, Lizzy, you would listen to me and attempt to draw him along.”

  Again, Elizabeth shook her head. There was no need to draw him along, but there was also no need to share that information with Jane.

  “You would do so well together,” Jane whispered as they descended the stairs, “I know you would.” She stopped halfway down as a maid went scurrying past, followed by Mr. Hill running in the opposite direction and then calling for a footman.

  Elizabeth dropped Jane’s arm and raced down the stairs and in the direction in which Mr. Hill had gone. She stopped at the door to her father’s study, her hand on her mouth, her eyes wide, and a sob catching in her chest. Her father sat in his chair, his head leaned back and his face white as any piece of linen she had seen drying on a bright summer day. A footman pushed past her.

  “Is he…” she tried to form the word dead, but her mouth would not cooperate.

  “He is breathing, but barely,” Mr. Hill replied. He placed his ear against her father’s chest. “There is a low beating.”

  “I will send someone for the apothecary,” Elizabeth offered.

  Mr. Hill nodded as he and the footman began attempting to move Mr. Bennet from his chair.

  Elizabeth turned and rushed toward the door, tears blurring her eyes. He could not die. He just could not. How would she live without him now, and then, Jane when she married? She would be alone. Completely alone.

  “Mrs. Hill,” she called, turning in a confused circle in the entry way. “Mrs. Hill, we need Mr. Jones. With all haste.” She shook her head and covered her face with her hands, turning back toward the stairs and bumping into someone who wrapped his arms around her. Someone who smelled a lot like cedar and cinnamon just as Mr. Darcy did.

  “What has happened?” Darcy asked.

  It was him. Comfort warmed her heart even as the tears spilled down her cheek. “Papa…is…ill,” she managed to get out. Where was Jane? “I need…to tell…Jane.”

  “She knows,” Darcy replied. “She is here with us.”

  “And Mama…we must…” She could not say the rest. Her mother would be beside herself with fright and anguish. How could she be the one to tell her mother something like this? She could not.

  “Is there somewhere we can sit?” Darcy asked as he held her. “You need to sit and recover before you tell anyone anything.”

  “This way, sir.” Mrs. Hill led them to the small drawing room that was just beyond Mr. Bennet’s study. Elizabeth allowed Darcy to guide her, and Bingley and Jane followed close behind.

  “Mama will worry,” Elizabeth muttered. “There is so much commotion; she will worry.”

  Darcy tucked her into a chair and knelt before her. “Allow me to look in on your father and see what is being done, and then I will send your mother to you here.” He pressed his handkerchief into her hand and waited until he had received a nod of her head in agreement. Then, he disappeared to see what needed to be done.

  ~*~*~

  Darcy found Mrs. Bennet outside her husband’s room with Kitty at her side and Lydia pacing the hall. Mary, he had met on the stairs and sent to Elizabeth.

  “Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are in the drawing room by the study waiting for me to return with news of their father.” He kept his voice low and calm. “You might be more comfortable there with them. I promise if you are needed, I will come and get you myself.”

  Mrs. Bennet blinked at him, her eyes not focusing completely. Then, she shook her head. “No, I will not leave him. Oh, what is to be come of us?”

  “Become of you? Whatever do you mean?” Mr. Collins had made his way up the stairs and down the hall to where they stood outside Mr. Bennet’s door.

  Darcy rolled his eyes at Collins’s inability to catch the woman’s meaning. “The estate is entailed,” he whispered.

  “Yes, I know,” Collins replied. “But I do not see why that is of such great concern.”

  “We will be tossed into the hedgerows,” Mrs. Bennet wailed.

  “Who would do that?” Collins asked in surprise. “It is not in Mr. Bennet’s will that you be thrown out of your house, is it?”

  Darcy wondered at the look of utter confusion mixed with indignation that Collins wore. Did he not realize that the woman feared he would throw them out? Even as Darcy was thinking it and searching for a way to divert the conversation, Mrs. Bennet removed all doubt with a cry of…

  “You! You only came to snatch my home from me and my daughters.”

  Collins stepped back two paces. “Me?” He pointed to himself and looked from Mrs. Bennet and Kitty to Darcy and back. “Me?” he repeated.

  “Oh, it is too much!” Mrs. Bennet buried her head on Kitty’
s shoulder and wailed.

  “I would never do such a thing!” Collins continued. “I am not my father.”

  Kitty wrapped her arms around her mother as Lydia took up the fight, and Darcy longed to enter Mr. Bennet’s room so that he might learn of the man’s condition and report it to Miss Elizabeth. However, he was loath to leave what appeared to be brewing into an unpleasant situation.

  “Are you not going to take possession of Longbourn if Papa is…“ Lydia clamped her teeth together and pulled herself straight, obviously struggling to contain her emotions. “Unable to continue being its master,” she concluded.

  “I must but…”

  “Then we shall have no place to live,” Lydia interrupted.

  Collins’s brows drew together, and he seemed to shrink before Darcy’s eyes transforming from the self-assured gentleman he attempted to portray into a softer, gentler parson. He shook his head. “You are mistaken. There shall be rooms here for you for as long as you need them. There is no need for you to leave your home until you marry.” He sighed. “My father was a hard man and even cruel. I am not unfamiliar with his fits of anger and his irrational disposition. However, I am not he.” He shook his head again. “Come, Mrs. Bennet. You will only do yourself harm if you remain here in your condition. You must find somewhere to rest while you wait. You cannot care for Mr. Bennet as he needs if you yourself are ill.”

  Darcy watched in amazement as Kitty smiled, offered her thanks, and allowed Collins to help her take her mother to her room. He had not thought the man capable of being so rational. He waited until the hall was clear before rapping softly on the door to the master’s bedroom and waiting for it to be opened.