part0006

The night passed in an exhausting chain of restless spells and fitful slumber and, as soon as daylight seeped in through the curtains, Darcy abandoned the pointless quest for sleep. He cast a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was very early. Normally, he would not rise for at least another hour, but Weston would just have to bear the inconvenience, this once.

The man was uncommonly silent as he shaved him and helped him dress, which suited Darcy very well indeed, this morning more than ever. Once Weston left him, Darcy pondered the wisdom of reading – or was it hiding? – in his chambers for a while, exceedingly reluctant to risk a repetition of the encounter in the library.

Yet it did not take him long to dismiss the thought, and not just because he found its cowardice repugnant. Nay, a different notion had occurred to him the previous night – another one of many. He came to see he had been selfish. He had allowed himself to show far too much interest, had singled her out in such a blatant fashion, more than he had ever singled anybody out, and since he had decided at whatever personal cost that he could not continue down that path, it would be a gross unkindness to mislead her as to his intentions.

If, over the course of their acquaintance, he had given rise to a hope he could not fulfil, his behaviour during their last day together must have material weight to crush it. He could not allow her to quit the place harbouring hopes that would come to naught, and that would not be achieved by simply hiding in his chambers.

But the library was deserted. As soon as he had ascertained as much, Darcy pulled himself a chair. He had not chosen a book yet, but thoughts of doing so were far from him as he sat, elbow on the armrest and chin in hand, staring absentmindedly at the small sofa to his right – unoccupied this time .

‘It matters not what she is doing at this moment,’ he admonished with an angry huff, and propelled himself out of his seat to go in search of the volume on Oriental explorations, the very one he did not get to read the other day.

It was just as well for, less than a quarter of an hour later, the door opened and Darcy could hear footsteps advancing into the room. He tensed, waiting for the Bingley verbosity – either male or female – to reassure him that it was not her . It did not come, and his spine stiffened as he acknowledged it was time to do his duty by her, just as he always did his duty, by everyone else.

He stood to greet her with a bow and ignored the way his heart lurched yet again when her brows rose in slight surprise at the encounter, and a fleeting smile curled her lips before she bid him good morning. He returned the greeting and civilly waited, feigning interest in something very absorbing just outside the second window, while she chose a book then sat, in exactly the same spot where she had fallen asleep the previous morning.

His glance skimmed over a phrase or two but soon, vexingly soon, it slid involuntarily to the right where, just beyond the top corner of his book, a flash of white muslin was brightening the dark oak floorboards. White muslin and underneath, a pointed tip, a hint of satin. Small feet encased in satin slippers…

He scowled at the small print that gave a detailed description of a five-tiered pagoda, and turned the page with a determined rustle, in the vain hope that it would distract him from the sound of tranquil breaths, softly in, softly out.

Moments later, her own pages rustled, and the small sofa gave a muted creak as she shifted in her seat. He would not glance in her direction. By God, he would not! Not that he needed to. He knew without looking that her beautiful hair would shine with the warmest hues of amber in the sunlight, that her brow would be slightly creased in concentration, and that every once in a while she would bite the corner of her lip as she read, in a fashion he could not but find uncommonly endearing .

He held back what would have been a long sigh and turned it into a cough. This would not do! It would not do at all. He shifted in his own comfortable chair – not that it felt comfortable at the moment. Nothing would. He wondered if there was a book in Bingley’s library about the strange set of men who could sit for hours on the sharp ends of hundreds of nails.

Steady to his purpose, he never looked up from his book. Yet, if his life depended on it, he could not have quoted a single line from the pages he pretended to peruse with great absorption. He could only hope that he remembered to turn the pages at convincing points in time, as he sat there for what felt like an age, painfully aware of nothing but her presence.

Suddenly, the sound of a book being closed and placed on a table drew his attention and Darcy finally allowed himself to raise his eyes. Aye, she left her book on the small table by the sofa and now stood to leave.

The clock on the mantelpiece claimed she had only sat with him for less than a half-hour, yet he could not believe it. His penance on the bed of nails seemed to have lasted for a vast deal longer. No matter. The most excruciating half-hour, then, that he could think of. He should be glad it was about to come to an end, the library once more a sanctuary rather than a blasted place of torment.

His frustration faded as, without warning, the notion of sanctuary brought to mind a picture of exquisite perfection. The library at Pemberley, with sunlight streaming in through the great south-facing windows and lighting autumn fires in Elizabeth’s auburn hair, as she would sit and read across the room from him. Elizabeth’s smile – she had long ceased to be Miss Bennet to him, or even Miss Elizabeth – as she would raise her eyes from her book and cast him a look of shared understanding… companionship… and love.

Visions of a blissful life wreaked havoc through him, and Darcy stood to bow as she passed by with a slight nod. He was glad, he reminded himself. Glad to have the library to himself again, and not have to force every fibre of his being to play the charade of ignoring her presence. It was for the best, he repeated, dismissing the acute sense of loss he felt as she glided softly past him for the ramblings of an ungovernable fool .

Darcy saw her shake her head and, having been exposed to the joys of Mrs Bennet’s society only two days earlier, he could easily conjecture the tenor of her thoughts as she dismissed the footman with a “Thank you” and a gracious smile before opening her note.

‘Ten thousand a year, my dear, and very likely more,’ rang in his memory, bringing a shudder of disgust, which he could not fully suppress.

With such thoughts on his mind, he would have missed her faint gasp, had she not been so close. She was facing away from him, so Darcy could not see her countenance, but did not miss her reaching for the back of the nearest chair for support as she whispered:

Unable to support herself, she sank onto the seat and unwittingly Darcy followed, bending on his knee at her side for a moment, until he suddenly became aware of his posture, so strikingly evocative of a proposal. He hastily stood, with every intention of removing himself to the other end of the room. Yet she was looking so miserably ill that he found it impossible to leave her, or to refrain from saying in a tone of gentleness and commiseration:

In wretched suspense, Darcy could only say something indistinctly of his concern and observe her in compassionate silence as he sought to fathom the cause of her distress. Some dreadful news, she said. Could this signify that something had befallen a loved one? Darcy drew a sharp breath. He could not claim a full understanding of Elizabeth’s family, but in his opinion there was but one person left at Longbourn whose safety, or rather lack thereof, could affect her so.

“No!” Elizabeth cried with great energy. “No, he is not.” Neither could utter the dreadful word, and at length she spoke again. “My sister Mary writes that he was taken ill, some time before breakfast. My father did not join the family for the morning repast, but this alarmed no one, as he has chosen to forgo it many times before, when he was caught up in some book or another. Hill, our housekeeper, sent a maid with some tea shortly after breakfast. That was when they found him collapsed on the floor.”

“And what has been done, what has been attempted to revive him?” Darcy asked, in the tone of one accustomed to taking charge of the situation, any situation, and for once Elizabeth did not find this offensive, but strangely comforting.

“I scarcely know. Mr Jones, the apothecary, was sent for. He has already seen my father, but as yet cannot offer an opinion regarding his condition,” Elizabeth wretchedly replied. “My sister Mary writes to hasten my return. They are all in turmoil.”

“Would you allow me to order the carriage for you? If you wish, I can make your excuses to Bingley and the rest of the party, so that you could leave without delay. Bingley or I could also inform your sister of the unfortunate turn of events, but I imagine you would prefer to do so yourself.”

“I believe I can safely speak for my friend,” Darcy continued, “when I say that your sister would be more than welcome to extend her stay at Netherfield. You are the best judge of what should be done for her, of course, but she could be told only when her recovery is truly underway. Neither of us would wish to have it hindered by anxiety over Mr Bennet’s condition. Moreover, she would probably be better attended at Netherfield, so that all the efforts at Longbourn could be spared for your father.”

“I thank you for your consideration, Sir, but Jane would prefer to be with her family at a time like this. I believe she is sufficiently recovered to hear the truth. I would not have it withheld from me, if our circumstances were reversed.”

“No. Of course not. As I said, you are the best judge of your sister’s condition. There is but one question I need to ask before you leave,” he added. “It may seem a presumptuous interference, but I hope you will not take offence and accept my offer in the spirit it is given.” He paused briefly and met her eyes. In response to her silent invitation, Darcy resumed, “Miss Bennet, would you allow me to summon my physician from town to attend your father?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, betraying her surprise at the suggestion. This from the man who, a short while ago, had arrogantly and disdainfully dismissed the society of Meryton in general and herself in particular as beneath his notice? That he would condescend to offer his superior assistance to a family he clearly thought so ill of was nothing short of incredible. But nay, she wronged him now. There was nothing condescending or presumptuous in his offer. On the contrary, he had shown himself mindful of her wishes and almost… considerate.

“No obligation is implied and none should be perceived,” Darcy interjected kindly, but with the determination of one used to carry his point. Only too aware of the pain of losing a beloved father, he could not allow it to happen to her of all people, if he could prevent it. Still, he could not tell her that. “Should I have it in my power to offer assistance to my fellow man, I could not in good conscience withhold it,” he said instead. “’Tis the least that anyone with a shred of compassion might be expected to do.”

“But I did not expect it of you, ” Elizabeth replied without thinking. She saw him start, and blushed in severe mortification at her ill-judged comment. “I beg you would excuse my unfortunate remark,” she quietly apologised. “Particularly today, in view of your kind efforts on behalf of my family, I am indeed most—”

“Pray, let us waste no more time over this,” she heard him reply, this time with something of his habitual coldness. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features as he added, “I am honoured to be of service to you, Miss Bennet, but I should not wish, by doing so, to forfeit the privilege of hearing your true opinions, unadulterated by expressions of gratitude. Now, if you will excuse me, I must speak to Bingley and send an express to Dr Halstone,” he finished with a bow, his countenance rigid, and would have left the library but for Elizabeth’s urgent request:

“Mr Darcy, I cannot allow you to leave without hearing my sincere apology. ‘Tis not prompted by gratitude, Sir, but by justice.” She bit her lip, and Darcy’s mien softened at the sight. “As I have just demonstrated,” she resumed after a brief pause, “there is great merit in thinking before speaking, and perhaps I should be mindful of this, as well as of the old adage claiming that every attempt to correct a faux pas will only serve to make it worse. Nevertheless, I cannot let you go without speaking my mind. I was surprised by your kind offer and no, I was not expecting it, for a variety of reasons. It was also unexpected for me to note that I could think of only one other person of my acquaintance who would have been as thorough and considerate in his offer of assistance. I thank you for your generous concern, and I beg you would overlook my comment. It was unfortunate, and not intended as it sounded. I only wished to say I should have known there is more to everyone than meets the eye, and first impressions can often be misleading.”

Her gaze drifted upwards to encounter his as she concluded, and this time it was not the mesmerising sparkle of fine eyes that sent Darcy’s thoughts into a whirl. First impressions? Misleading? Whatever could she mean? And then it struck him. The assembly, of course! To his mortification, Darcy remembered his ill-humour on the occasion, and that he had not presented his best face to the world that evening. He had snubbed her relations, her mother at least, if memory served, and—

Words failed him, and rightly so. What apology was he to offer for such gratuitous insolence? He could only hope that his actions might speak louder than his inconsiderate words, and that she would eventually find it in her heart to forgive him. Perhaps she already had. Did she not acknowledge just now that first impressions might have been misleading, and thanked him for his consideration?

And then he registered the rest. She also said she could think of just one other who would have come to her aid in the same fashion. An unreasonable but disturbingly intense wave of jealousy swept over him at the recollection. Who? Who was the man?

With an effort, he silenced the unruly clamour. It mattered not. This was the stark truth, and he must learn to accept it. Whether or not she held another man in her esteem was her concern, not his, and should not affect him.

His countenance closed, Darcy bowed and abruptly took his leave, thus impressing Elizabeth with the belief that the old adage spoke the truth: attempting to correct a faux pas only made matters worse – before she dismissed thoughts of everything but her father’s safety.