A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation)

  Suddenly she could not stand to see Lydia flaunting her happiness. “You will have to change your wedding finery for black now. Our father is dead.”

  The silence this comment produced was complete. Even Lydia sounded subdued when she finally broke it and said, “I did not know.”

  “Now you do. It would have been appreciated if you had told us about the wedding in advance. It would have saved much grief.”

  Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to tell you! I wanted to invite my aunt and uncle, but Mr. Darcy said no, that the wedding must take place immediately.” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I should not have said that! I promised faithfully not to mention him.”

  Cold pierced her heart. Elizabeth could not bear it. She excused herself shakily and ran back to her room. They would think her grief was for her father, and it was best to leave it so. She needed to be alone to consider what she had just learned.

  Mr. Darcy would never have voluntarily involved himself with Wickham, of that much she was certain. If he was there, it was for another reason. He must have made the match, made Wickham marry Lydia. There was no other explanation. It must have cost him a fortune.

  She had not even dared to think of asking him for so much. She could not understand why he would go to so much extra trouble, mortification, and expense. Did he want her even deeper in his debt?

  In the end, it did not matter why. She decided to allow herself one last night among her family. She would bid them farewell the next day and go to Mr. Darcy.

  She did not have the chance to put her plan into action. The next morning her uncle came out of his study accompanied by none other than Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth took an involuntary step back as Mr. Gardiner introduced him to his wife. “And I believe you are already acquainted with my niece, Elizabeth.”

  Her stomach knotted, wondering what Mr. Darcy had told her uncle about her. She could not have said a word to save her life.

  “I have that honour. But I must beg your pardon; I have business elsewhere that cannot wait.”

  Did he expect her to leave with him? Well, he had done his part, and more. Now it was her turn. She squared her shoulders and offered to see him out. He accepted with a silent bow. Once they were safely out of hearing, she said to him, “When shall I expect to see you again, sir?” She was near enough to see the pulse throbbing in his throat. His scent raised goosebumps on her arms. What would it be like to be engulfed in that smell of spice and new leather?

  Something flickered in his eyes, then died, making him look old beyond his years. “I doubt we will meet again, Miss Bennet. You owe me nothing.”

  “But…”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Please, no more. You have already told me I am proud, disagreeable, and selfish, and that is enough. I did not think I could sink any further in your esteem, but apparently I was incorrect. You also think me such a rake as to dishonour a gentleman’s daughter. If you believe I am the sort of man who would so humiliate any woman, much less one I have loved, by taking advantage of her misfortune, you do not know me at all. I will not inflict myself on you in any way.”

  His words seemed to hang in the air between them as he gave her a long look, then turned to depart. Elizabeth felt the truth of them like a knife. He was, once again, right. It was like reading his letter once again, discovering the new ways she had misjudged him. Why did she always think the worst of this man? Despite his proud carriage, she had seen the wounded look in his eye. What had she done?

  The sound of the front door closing roused her from her thoughts, and she hurried down the hallway and out into the street. He was still there, about to step into his carriage, a deep frown marring his visage. When she touched his arm to gain his attention, he stiffened. “Yes?” he said brusquely.

  “You are quite right. I do not know you at all, sir, only my own foolish prejudices. I wish I had known the gentleman you truly are, and not allowed myself to be swayed by misconceptions.”

  He nodded jerkily, as if her words hurt him.

  “I thank you for all you have done. I will never forget it, and I will remember you always in my prayers. It can never be repaid.”

  His look softened slightly. “I do not deserve such praise. If you wish to repay me, I have only one small request.”

  “Sir?”

  “Though it pained me to see it, I admired your willingness to sacrifice yourself for the sake of your family. It must have taken great strength to offer yourself to a man for whom you had no respect, the last man in the world whose company you desired.” He paused to take a deep breath.

  “Mr. Darcy, that was based on a mistaken understanding. By that time, your letter had given me to understand that you were indeed a man I could respect, or else I could never have trusted you that far.” It was oddly important to her that he understand that.

  “But not a man you could trust to do the right thing. My point remains the same. What I would ask is your word that you will never turn to someone else in such an extreme. Should you require assistance, please inform me, and no one else.”

  “You have already done so much, and I have done nothing to deserve it.”

  His eyes seemed black as the night sky. “Promise me you will tell me if you need help. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life wondering if you are safe.”

  Her mouth was dry as ashes. “I could not possibly….”

  “You owe me this much, Miss Bennet.”

  She swallowed, her breath tight in her chest. “Very well. You have my word.”

  He tipped his head with a sardonic air, as if mocking himself. “My thanks, Miss Bennet.” With that, he swung himself up into the carriage and closed the door panel.

  The coachman clicked his tongue at the horses. As the carriage wheels started to roll, Elizabeth called after him. “God bless you, sir.” Then she returned to her room and cried.

  If such a thing were possible, Elizabeth’s encounter with Mr. Darcy threw her into even lower spirits. The mourning dresses she donned each morning seemed to symbolize more than just the loss of her father. With Lydia’s marriage, her own situation was no longer as dire, but she could not help thinking of a certain dark-eyed gentleman and cringing at the remembrance of the things she had said to him through their acquaintance. How heartily she repented every saucy speech, and especially her harsh words! She could hardly bear to think of how far his opinion of her must have fallen. Even her return to Longbourn could not free her mind of him.

  Longbourn was not the same, either. Even though she rested her head under its roof each night, she could not feel it was her home. Mr. Collins’ frequent pointed reminders that her family’s presence was tolerated only at the behest of the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh made certain of that, most especially when he referred to Mr. Darcy as Lady Catherine’s future son-in-law. It was almost amusing to realize that Mr. Collins had no idea his demeaning words would strike home so deeply.

  But as spring gave way to summer, and then to autumn, Elizabeth’s natural spirits began to rise once more. Her future remained uncertain, but she learned once more to take pleasure in the scent of flowers and fresh air on her long rambles through the countryside. It was on her return home from such a walk that she discovered two most unexpected callers in the sitting room with Charlotte and Jane.

  At first all she could see was Mr. Darcy. Her feet were rooted to the floor as she felt the heat of mortification rise in her cheeks. It was not until Mr. Bingley spoke that she recognized his presence at Jane’s side. She barely managed to stammer out a greeting and to enquire after each of their families.

  Both gentlemen responded with warm civility, but Elizabeth’s embarrassment was such that she could hardly register their conversation. Why had Mr. Darcy come to Longbourn? Was he simply checking whether Mr. Collins had kept his word to shelter the Bennet family, or could it be that he had another motive? Whenever she dared glance in his direction, she found his gaze firmly fixed on her.

  There was no opport
unity for private conversation until the gentlemen were leaving. The ladies walked with them outside, Mr. Bingley engaging Jane and Charlotte in lively discussion. The pressure of silence made Elizabeth even more aware of Darcy’s scent of fresh leather, and her pulses fluttered in response.

  Darcy cleared his throat. “You seemed surprised to see me today.”

  She gave him a startled glance. “Very much so. I had not known you planned to return to Hertfordshire.”

  “It was a recent decision.” He tugged at his gloves, as if they did not fit properly. “I have thought about what you said, about not knowing me. I came to offer to begin our acquaintance anew, if it is agreeable to you.”

  It was so unexpected that it took her breath away. The realization that he did not, in fact, think ill of her made an unconscious smile curve her lips. “It would be most agreeable, sir.”

  His eyes darkened. “It is not unpleasant, then, to see me again?”

  Her smile bloomed to cover her face, and she felt that the whole world must smile with her. “I am glad and proud to see you again, Mr. Darcy.”

  He began to smile as well, and Elizabeth was struck by how handsome it made him appear.

  She offered him her hand, and felt an odd shock go through her as he took it in his own. He seemed dumbfounded at first, but then recovered himself to bow over her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. As he pressed his lips against her hand more firmly than propriety would dictate, a novel heat began to move through Elizabeth. If only she could freeze the moment in time! She knew she would relive it again and again in her memory.

  Her fingers tingling, she said, “I hope we will meet again soon.”

  Darcy released her hand with obvious reluctance, then mounted his horse and took the reins in his hand as he looked down at her. “You may depend upon it, Miss Bennet.”

  He spurred the horse and trotted down the drive. When he turned at the last moment and their eyes met, Elizabeth felt a new warmth deep inside her. Still feeling his kiss on her hand, and walked back into Longbourn with a dreamy smile.

  Part II

  In the two days since Mr. Darcy’s arrival in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth thought of little else but him. The exquisite sensation of his lips against her hand and the smoldering look in his dark eyes fought with the older remembrance of offering herself to him - and being refused. She had never wanted him to accept that offer, but still, it was remarkable to think that he might still care for her despite it. She could not understand it, but if care for her he did, she was not about to question her good fortune.

  She had hoped the gentlemen might call again that day, though she knew such an event was unlikely, given the speculation that could arise from such pronounced attentions. She was disappointed to find herself to be correct. Her mother had forbidden Jane to leave the house in case Mr. Bingley saw fit to call, and Elizabeth felt obliged to keep her sister company during her imprisonment. The afternoon seemed to last forever, with only the questionable distraction of her mother’s constant discourse on the meaning of Mr. Bingley’s return.

  Finally Elizabeth’s restlessness could no longer be contained. She slipped out of the house, through the garden and onto the lane. She paused when she reached the old stone bridge across the river, resting her hands on the side as she gazed down into the slowly moving water. It reflected the earliest of the sunset with mottled gold and red, colours that broke up as the current swirled past the bridge abutments. On a whim, she crossed the bridge and scrambled down the rocky path to the water’s edge. She removed one glove and idly leaned down to dip her fingers in the cool water. It slid between her fingertips, and she imagined it running all the way to the sea. With a smile at her own whimsy, she set off down the riverbank path through the tall grass.

  She had not gone far before reaching an area of deep mud too wide for her to cross. She considered climbing up the bank to go around it, but decided it was not worth the effort. Instead she perched on a large rock beside the river. She removed her gloves and laid them beside her, then allowed her fingers to trail in the water once again. It was a soothing sensation.

  The silence, broken only by occasional birdsong, was interrupted by the sound of hoof beats approaching at a trot, then coming to a halt. Elizabeth glanced toward the bridge and froze. A familiar figure sat on horseback, gazing down into the water just as she had done a few minutes earlier. Elizabeth willed herself invisible, even as she stole the rare opportunity to look her fill on Mr. Darcy, admiring the straightness of his back and his elegant hands casually holding the reins. Then her eyes drifted back to his face, only to discover he was now looking straight at her.

  Belatedly he removed his hat and bowed from the saddle, his eyes never leaving her. Elizabeth, blushing, nodded in return, deciding that scrambling to her feet on the uneven ground would hardly appear graceful or ladylike. She felt suddenly burning hot, despite the breeze along the river.

  He seemed to hesitate, then crossed the bridge, dismounted and tied his horse to a sapling. Elizabeth’s heart beat faster as he made his way carefully down the bank.

  Soon he stood before her. “May I have the honour of joining you, Miss Bennet?”

  He had never before asked if she desired his company. When they had met on walks in Kent, he had seemed to take it for granted that she would. Elizabeth wondered if the change had been deliberate. Had her criticisms at Hunsford been enough to initiate a alteration of this sort?

  “You are quite welcome, sir. There is more than enough river to share.” Belatedly she remembered her gloves lying discarded by her side. Without looking at him, she took her hand from the water and dried it with her handkerchief, then slipped on the offending articles. She wondered if he was shocked, and why she cared so much.

  “Please do not allow me to interfere with your pleasure in the day,” he said formally.

  Feeling most uncomfortable, she said, “It is nothing.”

  “Cool water on a warm day can be refreshing.”

  What did he want from her? Acknowledgement of her inappropriate behaviour? If that was the case, she would not satisfy him. “Indeed it is. I like to imagine that the water travelling to the sea, and that somehow it would remember my touch as it goes from river to river. Perhaps some day this water will reach lands I have never even imagined.”

  “Fortunate water.” Mr. Darcy set his hat on the stone, then seemed to take a sudden interest in the local flora.

  Elizabeth watched from the corner of her eyes as he picked up several twigs, leaves, and odd bits of bark. It seemed somehow out of character for him, but she said nothing as he sat down on the bank and began to combine his finds in different ways, clearly deep in thought. Finally he chose a large leaf and pierced it twice with a twig, then inserted the twig in a piece of bark. He bound the construction with several long strands of grass. Elizabeth smiled as she recognized the rough shape of a boat, with the leaf serving as a sail.

  She said archly, “I had not realized you were an expert in maritime construction.”

  He gave an embarrassed smile. “You should not say that until we see if it is sea-worthy. It has been many years since my cousin and I constructed our own fleets on the lake at Pemberley. The boat that stayed afloat longest was the winner.” He examined his creation with a slight frown, then plucked a violet and placed it on the bark. Then he leaned forward and set it on the water in a quiet eddy.

  “Did the Pemberley Navy also carry flowers?”

  “Never. They were crewed only by our imaginations.” He paused. “That was long before either of us recognized the importance of beauty as well as strength.”

  Elizabeth felt oddly flustered. “Was this cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam?” she said, in an attempt to bring the conversation back to some sort of normalcy.

  He glanced at her. “Yes, it was.”

  She felt her cheeks grow hot. “I hope he is well, and your family at Rosings as well.”

  “Quite well. I hope the Collinses are well?”

  “Indeed so.”
Suddenly the moment seemed surreal. This was the man she had offered herself to, whom she had expected to share her bed, who knew her darkest secret, and they could do no better at a conversation that stilted formalities. She clapped her hand over her mouth to smother a laugh.

  “Something amuses you, Miss Bennet?”

  She could not possibly tell him what she had been thinking. “It is nothing, sir, merely a passing thought.” She still felt the laughter bubbling up inside of her, and knew it must show in her eyes. She tried to force a solemn look onto her face.

  He gave her a long, serious look. “Humour is best when shared.”

  She shook her head vigourously, biting down hard on her lip to avoid a fit of giggles.