Waking to Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Novella Read online

  Elizabeth nodded. “Last night.”

  “Why did you not tell me when we talked?”

  Elizabeth could hear the pain in her sister’s voice. How did she explain what she did not understand? She shrugged. “Do you love Mr. Bingley?”

  “I do.”

  “How do you know?” Elizabeth slipped her arm in Jane’s, and they continued walking as Mary joined them.

  “Do you know how you said you would miss this place?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Jane sighed. “I will miss it, too, but I would miss him more. With him — that is where my heart desires to be.”

  “That is lovely,” said Mary as she joined them.

  Jane smiled at her. “It is more than just that, too, but it is hard to explain.”

  The three sisters took a seat on a bench facing the path that led to Longbourn’s front door. Elizabeth lapsed into silence. She searched her heart again. How many times had she done so since waking in that cottage? So much of what she had thought to be correct had been proven false. How, even on a careful examination of her thoughts and feelings, was she to discern them correctly? It was enough to make her head hurt in truth. Had she longer to sit in contemplation, she no doubt would have worked herself into an impressive headache, but she was saved from this unpleasant fate by another equally unpleasant one — the arrival of three officers.

  “Why is he here?” Elizabeth whispered.

  “He?” asked Mary. “Which he?”

  “Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth whispered through clenched teeth. How strange it was to see him and feel loathing when only days ago, his presence had brought delight.

  Mary looked at her in concern. “I do not understand. I thought you liked him.”

  “The book you were reading last night,” began Elizabeth, trying to quickly explain her change in opinion in such a way that, if the officers reached them before she finished, it would not be obvious to them that one of them was the subject of her discussion. “There are many intrigues. Things appear one way, but in reality, they are another.”

  Mary nodded.

  “You were right when you said we could discover and discuss much about the human condition with a careful examination of the text.”

  Mary’s brows furrowed slightly. “Things are not as they appear?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “There is partial truth in what is told, but so much that lays hidden.” She dared not say any more as the officers were drawing close enough for one of them to have called out a greeting.

  “Is there danger?” Mary asked in a whisper.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I do not know.”

  “Ah, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary, such a beautiful sight to behold upon our arrival.”

  The words slipped like butter from Wickham’s smiling lips. He bowed properly as did his companions, each extending his delight in seeing the ladies.

  “Your kind mother said that her daughters would not be opposed to a call today,” said Captain Denny.

  “I was unable to extend my congratulations last night.” Wickham looked at Jane. “My joy to you and Mr. Bingley. He is a fortunate fellow.”

  Jane blushed, dipped her head, and accepted his wishes.

  Wickham turned next to Elizabeth. A hint of laughter sparkled in his eyes. “And joy to you as well?” There was a questioning tone to the statement.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wickham, ” she answered. “I am sure I will be quite happy.” She motioned toward the house. “My sisters and mother are in the sitting room. I am sure they are eager to have your attentions.” Each gentleman extended an arm to one of the ladies, and so, not wishing to be rude, Elizabeth found herself attached to Wickham.

  “Your leg is healing?” He asked.

  “It is. Mr. Sheppard is very good at his profession.”

  “I had heard it was not Mr. Sheppard who cared for your injury.”

  The statement was made as if it were a comment made about the weather, but the wink which accompanied it gave it a far less innocent tone. Elizabeth swallowed the retort that sprang up unbidden. She would see the man inside and then return to her room where she could be free of both him and her mother.

  “I had heard it was Mr. Darcy who came to your aid.”

  Another wink and a particular inflection in his tone as he spoke the word aid caused Elizabeth to draw a quick deep breath. “I was fortunate that he did. I am not sure I would have survived had he not been willing to do so.”

  “Most certainly,” Wickham replied in a very serious tone, though Elizabeth was certain there was a hint of mocking to his words. “I do hope he was gentle in his attentions to your injury?”

  “I am sure he was.” She dropped Wickham’s arm.

  Wickham snatched at her elbow, catching a small bit of the fabric of her jacket. “My apologies, Miss Elizabeth. I meant nothing untoward.”

  “Did you not?” She pulled her sleeve from his grasp and folded her arms.

  “Come, Miss Elizabeth, do you not find humor in your being attached to such a man? Did you not tell me what you thought of him? Can we not laugh a bit at fate?”

  “I may have spoken amiss.”

  “Truly? Has he convinced you of his worth then? I had not thought him capable of being able to speak so persuasively, but perhaps it was not his words that convinced you.” Wickham’s lips curled slightly in disgust.

  “Lizzy,” Jane called from the door.

  “I will be with you in a moment,” Elizabeth answered.

  “I cannot enter without you,” said Jane.

  Elizabeth was unsure if Jane was worried about how their mother would react to Elizabeth being left outside alone in her injured state or if she was worried to leave Elizabeth with Wickham. Elizabeth had shared much of what Darcy had told her about Wickham, holding back only the portion about Miss Darcy. “We must go in,” Elizabeth said to Wickham. Then, she turned and joined her sister at the door.

  “Are you well?” Jane whispered.

  Elizabeth nodded, although she did not feel particularly well.

  “Oh, Mr. Wickham!” Mrs. Bennet cried as he entered behind Jane and Elizabeth. “It is a pleasure to see you. I was so disappointed not to have your excellent company last night at the ball, but one must be understanding of duty to His Majesty.”

  “The pleasure is mine.” Wickham bowed over her hand as she tittered in delight.

  “Do come in and be seated.” She waved him away in a flustered but pleased fashion. “Lizzy,” she said, turning to her daughters, “you will join us. Your head can simply not hurt with such pleasant company. The good Lord knows you will have little of that once you are married.”

  “Mama,” said Jane.

  “Do not scold,” her mother replied. “You shall be happy with Mr. Bingley. He is so agreeable, but,” she sighed, “your sister has not chosen so well.”

  Jane took her mother by the arm and drew her further into the passage so that their words could not be heard by the occupants of the room. “Mr. Darcy is of greater consequence than Mr. Bingley. How can you say Lizzy has not chosen well?”

  “Oh, she will have pin money and fine carriages and servants, but she will miss the pleasantries of good conversation. Mr. Darcy is not so agreeable as Mr. Bingley.”

  “I find him agreeable,” said Elizabeth.

  Her mother raised her brows and looked at Elizabeth in disbelief.

  “I did not always,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I have come to know him better, and he is agreeable. Quite agreeable!” She added with some force as her mother shook her head.

  Mrs. Bennet gave a dismissive wave. “Believe what you will, but put your things away and join us.”

  Elizabeth did as requested. She put her things away and then after a few moments of quiet in her room, she entered the sitting room just as her mother was proposing the idea of the officers staying for dinner.

  “We cannot stay,” said Denny. “Colonel Forester expects us to dine with him.”

  Mrs. Bennet s
ighed heavily with disappointment while Elizabeth sighed in relief.

  “Such a pity,” her mother said dejectedly. “Gatherings are far more entertaining when there is a large crowd. But no matter, there will be other evenings. Colonel Forester will just have to be persuaded to forego your company for at least one of them.”

  Denny agreed, and the topic shifted, at Lydia’s request, to some bit of trivial news about the drills that were required of them. Elizabeth took a seat near Mary and Jane, a distance apart from their mother and other sisters. Mary opened her book and began reading, while Jane passed a piece of needlework to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was just beginning to relax, despite the constant chatter and exclamations of delight from her youngest sister, when Wickham decided to leave the talkative group and insert himself into her solitude.

  “We shall be leaving soon,” he said as he took a seat next to her.

  She smiled and nodded, wishing with all her might that he might go away at that moment.

  “I must apologize for my words earlier. They were indelicate.”

  Again, she nodded but said nothing. She did not wish to engage him in conversation if it could be helped.

  “It seems Darcy is always to have everything of value,” Wickham said softly. “I, on the other hand, must always be poor. I had hoped you and I might be friends or…” He did not complete the statement but drew out the last word meaningfully.

  “You have a great many friends, Mr. Wickham. I am certain you will only feel the removal of my presence for a few moments before another will replace me. A man of such easy manners as yourself must never be in want of friends.” Elizabeth would not comment on whether they be true friends or just companions of the moment and the means to an end, though she might think on that later. She smiled as brightly at him as she could while at the same time continuing to wish him gone.

  “I must admit that you seem far more pleased to be tied to Darcy than I would expect. It surprises me.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “It should not be surprising. Did you not say he could please where he wished?” She saw her mother cast a critical glance her direction, so she leaned closer to Wickham to make it appear as if they were indeed having a most cozy conversation. “He is not what I thought, nor is he exactly as you described.” She leaned back. “He improves on acquaintance and when one takes the time to understand him.”

  Wickham gave her an inquisitive look.

  “We spoke of you, the law, the church and of his father and his sister,” she smiled as Wickham’s look shifted from curiosity to one of unease. “I find I have come to know him and you quite well in the process.” She smiled again — in case her mother was watching and because to see Wickham squirm slightly in his chair was rather satisfying.

  ~*~*~

  Darcy stood just outside the sitting room at Longbourn waiting with Mr. Bingley to be announced. Why was she smiling at that man? And why was she sitting so confoundedly close to him? She laughed and leaned closer to the man. Feeling as if he had had the air knocked out of his lungs, Darcy took a step back. “I will return,” he whispered to Bingley. “I have forgotten something.” He took his hat and coat back from Mr. Hill and swiftly left the house.

  As Bingley was announced, Wickham’s face became solemn and slightly strained. Elizabeth looked from him to the door expectantly. Excitement caused her heart to flutter as she looked for the man she had been wishing to see since that morning. Wishing to see? She looked at Jane, whose face shone with pleasure at seeing Bingley. Was this the feeling of which Jane spoke in the garden when she was explaining how she knew she loved Mr. Bingley? She turned her eyes back to the empty doorway, and her heart, which had just that moment been light and joyous knowing that Darcy had arrived, sank.

  She rose to greet Bingley. “Is Mr. Darcy not with you?” she asked softly.

  “He will return. He forgot something.” He leaned a bit closer to her. “He rarely forgets things,” he whispered and tipped his head ever so slightly toward Mr. Wickham, who had relinquished his seat and was standing nervously next to Denny. “However,” Bingley continued, “he has probably not gone far. I expect he is merely walking off his jealousy in the garden.”

  “Jealousy?” Elizabeth whispered in surprise. She looked at Wickham and then Bingley. “Of Mr. Wickham?” She thought of how her conversation might have appeared – indeed how she had wished it to appear both to her mother and Wickham. “Oh, dear. That was for my mother, so she would not berate me for being impolite.” She pressed her hand firmly against her chest. Why did her heart feel as if it were about to shatter into thousands of pieces?

  “Go,” said Jane. “Tell him you love him,” she whispered as she gave Elizabeth a small push toward the door. “I will make your excuses to Mama.”

  Elizabeth hurried from the room. She could hear her mother’s shrill voice and then Jane’s quiet, soothing one. Mr. Hill opened the door for her.

  “He’s gone to the left of the house,” he said as she stood on the step looking about.

  She thanked him and wrapped her shawl more closely about her shoulders as she descended the steps. The garden to the left of the house was not visible to the sitting room, which, she suspected, was why he had gone there. He would be able to see when Wickham left without Wickham knowing he was there. She rounded the side of the house and nearly collided with him.

  Darcy had been pacing the short path near the entrance to the side garden cursing himself and Wickham under his breath. He reached out a hand to catch her as she stumbled. “You have no coat or hat.”

  “I was afraid you would leave, and I would not get to see you.”

  He searched her face. “You wished to see me?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I missed you,” she said softly.

  A smile graced his lips for a brief moment. “You looked happy.” He looked past her toward the house. His heart still ached at seeing her smiling at Wickham.

  “I assure you, I have not been happy all day until this moment.” She stepped closer to him as if drawn by some unseen force. “My mother has been unbearable — she still does not fully approve of you.” She smiled at how he drew his brows together in question at that statement. It was not arrogance for a man of his means to expect a mother to welcome him with open arms. Most mothers would, but her mother was not like most. “She claims you are too serious and do not smile enough,” she explained. His eyes grew wide in surprise, and she might have chuckled if she were not thinking of the other trying person she had encountered today. “And then Mr. Wickham called,” she blew out a breath and shook her head. “I could not allow my mother to see me being anything but pleasant, and so I smiled when I would have rather scowled, but, I believe, he understands now that my opinion of you has changed.”

  Relief swept through him, and his smile returned.

  “I should not have listened to him before and would not now, knowing you and him as I now do,” she added. She needed him to know that he had nothing to fear from Wickham. She tried to pull her wrap a bit more snuggly. The air was seeping through its thin layer, and she was beginning to feel chilled, but she would not return to the warmth of the house until he knew her heart.

  “You are shivering.” He rubbed her arms from shoulder to elbow in an attempt to warm her. “You should go in.” He did not wish her to leave him, but he could not selfishly keep her here when doing so might cause her harm.

  She shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “You will become ill.”

  There was something deliciously sweet in his chiding, concerned tone as it wrapped itself around her heart. How had she been so blind to what she wanted — to what she truly felt? “I will not sit in the house with that man when the man I wish with all my heart to be with stands in the garden thinking I care for another.” A tear slid down her cheek.

  “Come,” he said softly. He pulled her towards him, opened his coat, and wrapped her inside it.

  “I love you,” she said as she lay her head against his heart. “I think I h
ave for some time, but I did not know it until you did not arrive with Mr. Bingley.” She peeked up at him and smiled shyly. “The sitting room is crowded and noisy and yet, to me, it felt empty, and all I could hear was my heart’s cry for you.”

  He pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling the peace that he so prized returning and deepening, grasping his heart and mind as if it would never be shaken or removed so long as she was at his side. She loved him.

  They stood silently for several minutes, one clinging to the other — neither willing to part as the November sun steadily slid its way toward the horizon, and the breeze deepened its chill. Finally, when steps were heard moving along the drive and away from the house, Darcy spoke. “I believe the sitting room is no longer so crowded as it once was. We should go in.”

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth agreed and moved out of his embrace, feeling the cold of the air replacing his warmth.

  “However, before we go in, I must have your answer as to when we should marry. Bingley suggested three weeks, and then we could stay at Netherfield until after Twelfth Night.”

  “But what about Georgiana?”

  “Bingley pointed out that my cousin and her other guardian, Colonel Fitzwilliam, could see her well-protected even in Hertfordshire.” He wrapped her in his embrace again in an effort to protect her from the cold and stop her shivering. “We must get you indoors,” he said as he rubbed her back.

  “Three weeks,” she counted out the days on her fingers. “December 18?”

  “A week before Christmas.” He placed his right hand on her cheek, causing her to look up at him. “Will that be acceptable? Will you marry me in three weeks?”

  “Will you be gone all that time?”

  “Not unless you wish it and even then it may prove an impossible feat.” His thumb brushed along her cheek. To his delight, a smile spread across her face.

  “Then, Mr. Darcy, with a happy heart, I shall marry you in three weeks.”

  His left hand cupped her other cheek. “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said. And then, without allowing her to return the sentiment, he kissed her and the coolness of the late afternoon air, as well as the last vestiges of uncertainty regarding the feelings of one for the other, faded, leaving in its place a new dawning — an awakening to the life and love that lay before them.