Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 19
“And had they not been a suitable connection? Had they been hopeless, or of poor character? What then?”
“Then I would have done everything under my power to convince Squire Bennet that there was no need for you to marry Miss Elizabeth, that there was a maid along as chaperone the entire trip—and yes, I would have produced such a woman to attest to this. That solution is no longer possible, but if you do not wish to wed the lady, I will think of something.”
Darcy swallowed.
“What is it, Cousin? Do you not like her? You seemed most solicitous of her comfort earlier, and she seems a fine sort of person, and more than tolerably handsome.”
“She is remarkable. I like her a great deal, more, perhaps, than I ought.”
“But you do not seem happy. Is it the family? I confess I have known Bennet for only a few days, but he seems harmless enough. The mother, so I have been told, is subject to fits of nerves, and the younger sisters are perhaps a bit silly—”
Darcy threw his head back on the chair and let out a groan. “Do not remind me of silly sisters. If mine had acted with more propriety, I would not be in this awful mess. As for a matron with nerves, I would prefer a well-meaning and doting mother like that to an officious harridan like our Aunt Catherine. She is still after me to offer for our cousin Anne and will not hear my refusals.”
“Yes. Indeed! I see that. What, then, is your worry? Miss Elizabeth is pretty, charming, and as you say, remarkable. And you like her too. What stops you from beaming from ear to ear?”
Darcy glared at him. “I do not beam. I occasionally permit myself a small grin.”
Richard rolled his eyes.
“We have to marry; this I understand. I wish it, but I do not think she feels the same way. She likes me well enough, but she wants to marry for love. What lady does not?” Richard nodded, so he continued. “I understand that to mean she desires to love the man she weds, and if that man were me, she would be less apprehensive. She even proposed a scheme to feign death to avoid this union.” His sigh all but shook the walls.
Richard rose and poured another amount of port into his glass. “You do not think she cares for you.” It was a statement.
Darcy shook his head and let it fall forwards in his distress.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his cousin set down his glass and pull his chair very close to Will’s own.
“Talk to her honestly, Will. I cannot believe her entirely indifferent to you. Time has given me a great deal of experience discerning where attraction and affection lie, and the way she glances at you, and how her eyes follow you around the room, make me think her heart is more committed than you imagine.”
“I am afraid to ask. If I do and she states she will never love me, it would quite destroy me. Oh,” he slammed his glass onto the table with more force than he expected. “Listen to me, mooning about like a love-struck calf. I have known her for a week. How did she ever become so important to me? Richard, she shot a rabbit for me!”
“She what?”
By the time Darcy had finished the story of the tree and the rabbit, Richard was laughing and Darcy was feeling much more the thing.
Then Richard’s face grew serious again. “There is one more thing you should know, Will.” He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “We stayed two nights in Oswestry, as we have recounted. I did have some matters to discuss with the colonel in charge of the French prisoners on parole there, but there is something more. That second morning, very early, Mr Bennet and I took two fast horses up to Wrexham to speak to the Archdeacon there. It is only fifteen miles.”
A strange sensation rose from Darcy’s feet. This could only mean one thing.
“I have bought you a licence. It would be best for everybody if you were to marry before returning to England.”
Darcy sat perfectly still, quite unable to move for a moment. He had known what he must do. But the immediacy of it was a shock, nonetheless. That tingle in his feet, now shooting up into his spine—was it dread? Or excitement?
He was going to marry Elizabeth! As the idea settled itself onto him and made a nest for itself in his mind, the tingle resolved itself into one of qualified joy. He loved her, or near enough. If she proved to be half the woman she had shown on this strange journey they had just taken, she would suit him perfectly. Oh, there would be whispers in society about her lower status and lack of exalted relations, but he cared little for what the muttering matrons thought. She would stand up to them and prove herself every ounce worthy of the Darcy name. Anybody who could shimmy up a tree and shoot a darting rabbit was more than capable of facing society. She was that impressive a young lady. If he did not love her entirely now, it would not be long until his whole heart was committed.
Was Richard correct? Did she, indeed, hold some sort of real affection for him? He needed to talk to her, and soon, before the necessary events of the following day overtook them. Before her father informed her as to her destiny. And before they had to deal with the shadow of George Wickham, which even now cast a pall on his happiness.
He had to speak to her, and find out what he could possibly do to let her be as pleased as was he.
Somewhere in the house, a large standing clock chimed three o’clock in the morning, and Darcy was wide awake. He had gone straight to his usual room after that conversation with his cousin, and had sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep. The mattress was soft and did not poke him in strange places or cause him to itch, and the sheets were like butter, light and supple on his tired limbs. He hardly felt the pillow, for his eyes closed almost as soon as his head touched it.
But now he was awake, and irredeemably so. Perhaps he was accustomed to interrupted nights, or perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of the bed. It mattered not. His eyes were open and would not close. He rose and walked to the window, pulling the draperies open just enough to peer out into the darkness. This part of the house, the family’s wing, was in the more recent addition to the building, and rather than being in a line with the old Tudor structure, it stood perpendicular to it, forming two sides of an enclosure of the gardens behind the house. He had, therefore, a fine view of the back of the main part of the house, and of each window that looked out over that beautiful garden, backed as it was by the woods in the near distance, and the mountains behind.
It also gave him a fine view of one window that was not dark. A thin line of orange light cracked from between the curtains in one bedchamber. Somebody was awake. He counted the windows from the end and tried to recall what Richard had told him. Bingley… Mr Bennet… Jane… Hawarden was in the house as well, but he had his usual rooms in the far wing. It was not he, but one of the travellers. Now, who had which room?
Yes! He remembered now. Elizabeth was in the Rose Room. It had seemed so fitting at the time, for she brought images of that beautiful flower to mind. He envisioned her sitting on a delicate garden bench, surrounded by rose bushes, or lying on a white bed, her hair loose on the pillow behind her, rose petals strewn all about…
He chastised himself for such errant thoughts, but did not expunge it from his mind. In truth, he did not think he could.
Then he counted the rooms again.
The hallways of Coed-y-Glyn were empty and silent. The family not being in residence, there were no footmen waiting in niches or sconces lit for late-night revellers. There was nobody to see as Will crept in his stocking feet down the passage, across the portrait gallery, and down into the guest wing. There was nobody to hear the occasional creak of the wooden floor or the soft swish of the silk banyan he had borrowed from Richard. The lamp in his hand flickered, the flame a wisp in the black night, its aura swallowed by the darkness. But it was enough to light his way.
Had the household been awake and the common sounds of footsteps and murmured conversation been present, his scratch at the door would have disappeared into nothingness. Now, the sound all but echoed from the ancient ceilings. There was a sense of sudden stillness from the other side, the world holding its breath for that one instant, and then the shuffle of slippered feet on soft carpet.
The door cracked open. “Will.” She had not even glanced to see who it was, but just seemed to know. “You should not be here.”
“I know. But I need to talk to you. May I come in?”
Her face, half hidden by the wooden door, went immobile. Then her eyes blinked once and she dipped her chin. “Very well.”
He slid in and closed the door behind him, careful to make no noise.
“What if we are found out?”
He huffed out a short laugh. “It can hardly change our fate now. No—” he stopped as her face went hard and white. “I mis-spoke. We must wed regardless. Being found together will not change anything, and I would rather spend the time with you, talking, than being alone. Will you hear me?”
Another slow nod.
“I am not dreading this, Elizabeth. It is, perhaps, a decision I might have wished to make for myself, but I am not displeased with it. No, not displeased at all. We… we rub along well. Do you think you can be happy as my wife?”
He moved towards the bed with its rumpled sheets and blankets, and reached for her hand, urging her to sit beside him. Her eyes betrayed caution, not fear, and a great deal of uncertainty.
He felt the mattress move as she settled beside him, rather closer than he had hoped for. “I shall be content. I know full well the honour you do me. I shall do everything to be a good wife to you.” The trepidation in her regard, if anything, increased.
“No, content will not do! I want you to be happy, as happy as you can be with me. I shall never hurt you, you must know that. I will demand nothing of you, if you do not wish it.”
She seemed to understand his meaning, and the worry in her eyes eased. And Will’s heart clenched. It was true, then. She cared for him as a friend, but no more. Very well. He would take her friendship if that was all she could offer him. It was far preferable to not having her in his life at all.
He took a deep breath. “There is something more. Your father will tell you of it tomorrow, but I wished you to hear it from me.”
The anxious pinch reappeared between her delicate brows.
“Richard and your father made a second journey on their way here, up to Wrexham. There is an archdeacon there, and he was able to provide them with a common licence for us to marry. I do not know your father’s thoughts, but Richard suggests we would be best to wed soon at the village church before we leave here. Certainly, before we return to our homes. Our home. For Pemberley will be yours as well.”
A spark of curiosity lit her eyes and it kindled his own fire, the flame of deep love he held for his ancestral home. At her encouraging smile, he spoke with growing animation of his estate.
“You will love it, Elizabeth! The house is quite grand, but the grounds and the park, ah, those are its true beauty. There is a river that runs through the immediate park, swelled into a lake near the house, and wonderful gardens. There are paths through the woods, and a folly on a small hillock on the far side of the lake where my sister and I enjoy taking a picnic. At times, we wander there early in the morning or at dusk, just to spend time and watch the birds. Do you draw? I ought to have asked before now? It is a lovely site to set up an easel. Or, if you prefer, I can have a servant set up a spinet there in the warmer months, or a loom, or a sitting room with a library.
“You will have anything you desire. If I can afford it, it will be yours. My deepest desire is for you to be happy. Can you be happy? Will you try?”
Her eyes were wide and a bit damp. “You are a good man, Will Darcy. I am still growing accustomed to our circumstance. I have known you a week, and in a few days we will be married. But I will be happy. I am not made for melancholy.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and she cuddled into his side. He cherished the feel of her, warm and soft against him, the slight pressure of her arm against his chest, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. He only hoped she would learn to feel likewise about him.
They sat there for a while, resting against each other, comfortable with the silence. Then Elizabeth yawned, a subtle and gentle sound, but a yawn nonetheless. And her yawn engendered a yawn in Will, which he could not stifle.
“I am, perhaps, a little tired,” Elizabeth whispered. “I might lie down. It is strange, but I could not sleep without you. Will you lie down with me, just for a moment?”
Darcy’s eyes were suddenly leaden. “Yes. Just a moment.”
Without thinking, he lay down and pulled Elizabeth to him, and they fell asleep together on the top of the bed, and stayed there until the sun threaded its bright fingers through the chink in the curtains.
CHAPTER 17
The Lay of the Land
“What have you heard?”
Darcy eyed his cousin over the lip of his coffee cup. Many mornings he preferred tea, but today he needed the bitter jolt of strong coffee. He had woken with the sun and realised his predicament, half in shame and half in delight. Sleeping with Elizabeth in his arms felt so very right, he could hardly recall his life without her. She, too, seemed happy and at peace with her company, and as he stirred, she nestled up against him and let out a soft sound of contentment. He sent up a quick prayer that once they were married, she would allow him more than this chaste embrace through layers of clothing.
But now, he had to return to his own chambers, and soon. The household would be stirring, and although they would be wed very soon, it would not do to be caught in her room.
And only in his nightclothes.
Heaven forbid!
He ensured his banyan was securely tied, gave Elizabeth a gentle kiss on her cheek, which evoked another happy sigh, and cracked the bedroom door. The corridor was empty, and he returned to his own chamber without being seen. He hoped.
Nobody said a word or gave him assessing glances as he descended, fully dressed in his borrowed clothing, to the breakfast room some time later. Richard was already there with an empty cup at one side, a plate with a half-eaten pile of kedgeree on the other, and a detailed map of the region spread out on the table before him. Matthew Hawarden sat across from Richard, his eyes also on the map. The major nodded to Darcy and Darcy nodded back. Their accustomed greeting, friendly but not exactly voluble. They would both be better company after they had dealt with Wickham.
Richard glanced up as he took a sip from his cup. “What have I heard? From the village? Very little. I cannot imagine that my presence here is unknown, but neither have I been there myself. I did ask one of the more reliable grooms to stop by his usual pub and keep his ears open. I hope to hear from him today.”
Darcy gulped back his coffee and went to pour himself another cup. This time he added some bara brith to a plate, and a small helping of eggs. “And my arrival? What of Elizabeth?”
Richard’s shoulders rose and he pinched his lips. “As I said, no news yet. Mrs Lloyd has also heard nothing from her daughter who lives there, so I believe your presence is still unknown. Nevertheless, this cannot remain quiet for long. We must be ready.” He waved his hand over the map before him.
“Always the soldier, planning his tactics,” Darcy quipped. But he felt the blade of fear taunt him behind his teasing words.
Richard’s expression remained clouded. “If I were Wickham, where would I go? What would I do? I cannot think him foolish enough to try to storm this bastion. It would be better for us if he did. We are well armed, for it is a hunting lodge after all, and the servants here are all capable with weapons. And Hawarden here is a skilled soldier; my staff trust him. This place is as secure as a castle. But it is more likely Wickham will try something from the village. Now, where? What sort of place would he seek?”
“Better the question,” Darcy replied, “is what he plans to do. Will he be content to have me live in fear? I cannot imagine it, not after what he has done. We heard some men in the public in Llandrillo, as they were talking. If they are Wickham’s men, and I must think they are, he wants my head—quite literally—sent to him as proof of my demise. He wants Elizabeth as well, for what nefarious purposes I cannot bear to think.
“Promise me this, Richard.” He fixed his stare on his cousin and did not release it until the soldier met his gaze. “If matters become dire, Elizabeth’s life and welfare must take precedence over mine. Keep her safe. Please.”
Richard’s mouth opened and Darcy expected some teasing quip, but then he snapped it closed and gave a sharp nod instead. “Understood.”
The three men pored over the map for a time, looking for locations both within and around the village where their nemesis might lurk. The village—little more than a few houses, a tiny church, a mill, a blacksmith, and a tavern—did not have an inn worthy of the name. There might be a room to let above the tavern, if a man were to sweet-talk the proprietor with a suitable coin. They would have to inquire there. The smithy also provided a possible place he might seek accommodations. The mill, less so, since there was no loft that Richard knew of. But the storage sheds were a possibility.
“The village is small enough that he would be noticed at once,” Darcy commented, scanning the plan with the buildings all sketched as neat little squares. “The town?”
“Too far, I should think.” The closest market town, where the family did any necessary shopping and where Mrs Lloyd bought many of the supplies for the estate, was nearly five miles distant, too far to keep a close watch over the comings and goings at Coed-y-Glyn.
“What about the farms in the vicinity? Are there any around here who might give him shelter?”
Richard stroked his chin. “It is possible. We try to be good neighbours, and do not own any property other than the house and surrounding lands to hunt. None of the farmers are our tenants. Still, we are English, and therefore a natural enemy to some. I know of no particular rancour, but we are, quite frankly, foreigners here.”
