Mr. Darcy's Promise (22 page)

He took both her hands in his and held them firmly. Her fingers stilled briefly, but then began to move again. He tried to speak as gently as he could. “I believe I told you once that I always want to know what you are thinking. Will you not tell me? Perhaps I can make it better.”

The only way Elizabeth could see how his knowing her thoughts would improve the situation was if he truly cared for her. Since she knew that was not possible, she only saw the folly in his logic. Even so, she could sense his sincerity and dared to glance up to his face at his kind eyes. His warm hands caressed hers rhythmically. Her aching heart calmed slightly at his touch. She reminded herself that this was nothing more than simple kindness. He simply saw her as a damsel in distress in whom he felt obligated to offer his services. She felt a flash of anger.

Before she could bite her tongue, she spoke those awful thoughts. “I am more than a damsel in distress that you feel you need to rescue or your honor will be damned!” She read several things in his face at once. First she saw surprise, then confusion, and then something that looked like pain.
Why did I have to open my mouth and say such an awful thing?
She broke down in fresh tears and tried to free her hands from his in order to wipe her eyes.

He reluctantly released her hands, but at the sight of her demoralized pose, could not help himself. He reached around her, putting one arm around her back and shoulders. The other he wrapped around her and lifted her chin and pulled it up towards his shoulder. He knew what he wanted to say but struggled to find the strength and courage to do so.
She may not be ready to hear my feelings for her.

Her words echoed in his mind once again. He wanted to say she was more than a damsel in distress, much, much more; she was his very reason for living. Instead all he could say was, “I used to worry about duty and honor, but a certain lady I met helped me see that one’s heart is all that matters. Your heart matters to me, Elizabeth. It is not out of duty that I am here.”

He held her closer and felt her tears stain his shirt where his waistcoat was unbuttoned. He felt courage in the fact that she didn’t pull away so he continued, “If rescuing you is my plight, then I will gladly do it.” He felt her hands against his chest through his shirt. It should have driven him wild, but his concern for her emotional wellbeing was far greater than the fulfilling of such fantasies. He kept holding her and she started to relax a little.

He took this as a good sign, so he continued, “I do not know what made you need rescuing, but it is my every wish to help. You are giving me the opportunity to show you who I really am.” She sniffled. “Take a deep breath, people around here love and ardently admire and appreciate you.” It was as close as he dared come to saying that he loved her. He did not want to push her or make her feel obligated in any way towards him. He kept his words coming. Although he was careful to speak in somewhat cryptic and guarded terms, he was opening up his heart to her. He listened as her
breathing slowed and she relaxed further into the embrace. He kept whispering his thoughts.

Moments passed that felt like hours, until he did not know how long he had been holding her. He had only hoped to hold her until her tears stopped, but that was a while ago and she was not putting up any more resistance. She seemed to have relaxed deeply into him. Her weight was fully on his chest now, and he had to adjust his posture a little to be more comfortable. When he did this one of her hands fell from his chest down onto his lap. Could she have fallen asleep?

“Elizabeth?” There was no answer. He looked down at her face which was covered with her lovely curls. Her eyes were closed and her breathing deep and regular. She was beautiful, and it was clear she was asleep in his arms. He carefully shifted so his back would lean against the bench and guided her head down to his lap. The late afternoon sun was just reaching the horizon and tall shadows were dancing in the maze. He looked down at her sleeping face and smoothed her perfect curls away towards her forehead and neck. He continued to caress her hair for some time. He let his hands and fingers run through them, even taking out the last of the pins which were not doing much good anyway. He realized he would pay dearly for succumbing to this fantasy, but she was asleep and he could not help himself.

The warmth of her face on his lap and his fingers in her hair became distracting, and so he tried to steer his thoughts into appropriate avenues. Like her laughter that he so longed to hear.
Her impertinent looks that drove him wild. He thought of those conversations he had had with her that only proved she was the only one he could have married. He remembered feeding the chickens together, and the way she was so at ease in those moments. They had candled the eggs last night and the chicks were growing nicely. He chuckled at the memory. The last time he had made sure to bring two candles. She had estimated that the eggs would hatch in about nine or ten days. Together, they had promised to candle them every other night to track the progress. His eyes began to be heavy as well, but only because he felt such peace at having her so close to him. Would she become cold soon? The sun was setting and he could no longer feel its warmth on their bodies. He did not wish to lose the moment, and so he waited. Soon the dusk was nearly dark, and still she did not move. Her breathing was deep and regular. He was getting chilled without his jacket. If he was cold, she must be too. He took off his waist coat and put it over her arms. He knew it wasn’t much, but it would help.

Elizabeth had been dreaming again. It was the same dream that she had had for many of the past weeks. She was on the swing under the cedar tree being pushed my William. She knew the scene felt familiar but she patiently waited it out knowing that soon his hands would reach around for her lower swollen abdomen. One minute she could feel him push her, the next she would see him pushing her. His face was bright and cheerful and it had a look of peace that was genuine. He looked older, more distinguished than the dream had shown him before. She felt him stop the swing and knew soon she would feel his arms wrapped around her body. She waited for that moment but instead she heard squeals of laughter off to the side. She let her eyes veer in that direction and saw two little boys playing. The oldest was near the water’s edge with a paper boat. The youngest, about two years old was following the oldest example. The oldest was getting irritated at the youngest and pushed him away. She called out to them, “William, no! No pushing!” The sound of her own voice woke her up.

“I did not mean to push,” Mr. Darcy said, feeling a sharp jolt of shame. “I was just readjusting myself. I am sorry,” Mr. Darcy said. Was she finally awake?

It took a moment to understand her surroundings. Mr. Darcy’s voice had come from above her and what little she could see she was horizontal. Her face was warm but everywhere else was quite cold. “Mr. Darcy? Where are we?” She tried to sit up and felt his hands assist her. Had she been sleeping in his lap? She looked up at his face. He was evaluating her face but even in the darkness his eyes were dark and penetrating.

“We are still in the maze, but I fear we should probably get back or we might have to spend the night in here.” He hesitantly joked. He didn’t quite know what her mood was now that she was awake.

Memories of him coming to her and seeing her crying flooded her. She recalled his sweet comforting words in her ears all over again. His very touch had been so soothing. The last thing she remembered thinking was:
He would not hold a servant like he is now. And he would not say such sweet things to a servant. And his heartbeat she felt in his chest would not be quickened like it was if he felt she was nothing more than a servant.
It had been a sweet moment but she never expected herself to fall asleep so quickly. It was as if all her stresses and fears had seemed to dissipate as his comforting words continued. He didn’t exactly say he loved her, but now she knew that he cared. She knew she was more than a servant to him.
Perhaps not quite a wife, but more than a servant.

A

t lunch the next day, all three Darcys received mail. Elizabeth eagerly opened two letters: one from Jane as well as her father. Mr. Darcy chuckled over one from Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana perused a letter from an acquaintance.

“I am instructed by Richard to ask you, Elizabeth, ‘what do you call a shoe made out of a banana?’”

“Hmmm, I do not know . . .” she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“A slipper!” Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I fear my deliverance of such jokes is not up to his standard. I also fear his jokes are getting worse, but I am happy to announce that he is planning to visit us here at Pemberley next Wednesday and plans on staying for a few weeks. Perhaps then I do not have to play the clown and deliver his jokes for him.” He saw Elizabeth’s face light up in pleasure, but Georgiana’s did not. “Did you hear me, Georgiana? I said Richard is coming to visit.”

Georgiana looked up from her letter.
“Oh, splendid.” She knew her tone did not match her words and saw the concern march across both their faces. She tried again. “I do so enjoy his company.”

Elizabeth frowned. Something in Georgiana’s letter must surely be distracting her. Wickham would not have the presumption to write her at Pemberley, would he? “Georgiana, what do you call a shoe made out of a banana?” she tested.

“I do not know.” She stood up and left her half-eaten luncheon as she exited the room.

Elizabeth wondered if she should talk with her further. Georgiana seemed to have done better for a little while, but was now back to the saddened tearful shell she had been a week ago. Elizabeth met William’s eyes with her own for a brief moment, and read deep concern in them. The more she thought about it, the more she knew
William needed to know about the threatening letter from Wickham. She did not want to breach the confidence that Georgiana had requested, but at the same time honesty with William seemed paramount.

*****

Mrs. Reynolds had three baskets of treats, candles, and bread ready when Elizabeth came to the kitchen. “Now, little Miss Madison is one of the dearest and most sincere girls you will ever meet. Her mother, Mrs. Mae Madison has been ill, and the little miss has had to take a great deal of responsibilities on her shoulders. She may be only twelve but she is very mature and responsible. This basket is for them. This one right here is for the Petersens. They have had to struggle with their farm because it is not draining properly, and their oldest son joined the navy, leaving them without the hands they need. The last basket is for the widow, Mrs. Smith. Her husband died six months ago, leaving her with two young boys and a darling little girl of three years. The boys have not yet been able to take on the farm’s responsibilities but the neighbors have been helping a great deal.”

Elizabeth tried to memorize what she just heard. “There is so much heartache,” she said. “I hope Georgiana’s and my visit will help.” She looked to Georgiana, who was gazing at the baskets, yet not really focusing on them. “Georgiana, is there anything else I should know about these three tenants before we visit them?”

“I do not think so. Mrs. Reynolds was quite thorough.” Georgiana had barely listened to what was said, but did not want to admit to it. She reached for two of the baskets and watched as Elizabeth took the other one. They were handed into the carriage together, the baskets crowded at their feet.

The service visits went smoothly, and at each house she noted ways she could offer assistance. The
Madisons needed wood in their wood pile before the winter set in. The Petersens had two windows that were broken and boarded up that she could ask Mr. Darcy to fix, and the Smith’s little girl had obviously grown out of her clothes. She offered invitations to all of the families to come to the festival and gave them their baskets. She was thanked profusely each time as well.

By the time they returned to Pemberley Mr. Darcy was waiting for them outside. He handed them out of the carriage and he tucked Elizabeth’s arm into his.
Just this once. I will hold her arm just this once.
He stopped her just before they went inside, “How did the visits with the tenants go, Elizabeth?”

She paused and looked thoughtful. “It was wonderful; well, sad, but wonderful. I feel like I am a better person for going, and ye
tI
was the one supposed to be helpin
g
the
m
. They were so kind and welcoming.” She then told him about the needs she noticed and asked what they could do about them.

“Of course we can help. These tenants ask so little but need so much. I am sure they all appreciated your visit.” He had seen Georgiana go in silently to the house but also noticed that her mood wasn’t any better. “And how did Georgiana do? Do you think it helped her?”

“For a while there last week I thought she was doing better, but she seems anxious and distracted again. I do not know if the visits helped. She conversed with them but it seemed to take effort on her part.” Elizabeth wondered if now was a good time to talk to him about Wickham’s letter to Georgiana. She had been thinking about it quite a bit and felt he should know about it. It was so threatening, and at the very least he should know some way to ease Georgiana’s anxiety. But first, she recalled, she would have to talk to Georgiana about her decision to tell Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth felt wholly comfortable now talking with Mr. Darcy. They had continued their walks and conversations, and now spent a great deal of time with each other. Although she was filling her time with learning her new duties as mistress of Pemberley, and she was sure he had plenty to do as master of Pemberley, he always made time to feed the chickens every day after lunch. She giggled, thinking about his falsetto chicken call and his funny face as he did it. He would tilt his chin up and half-smile when he did it, revealing his teeth in the same moment, making each time he did it quite entertaining. She could tell he was still uncomfortable around the chickens, but he did it anyway. In fact, he still always stepped back when they came rushing to his call. One such time he stepped into mud and his foot had slipped, almost causing him to fall. She
wondered why he kept feeding the chickens with her when he was not totally comfortable around them.
Perhaps it is a way to spend time with me
.
The thought made her blush.

“Why are you giggling?” His hand started to reach for her blushing cheek but he tucked it back behind him. Holding her arm was enough of a temptation and tried his convictions plenty.

“Oh, I am just distracted, I suppose.”

“No, I do not think so. I insist you tell me what you were thinking.”

“Or what, Mr. Darcy?” She arched her eyebrow challengingly at him.

“Oh, it is back to ‘Mr. Darcy’? I was getting rather used to ‘William.’ Well then, if you do not tell me why you were giggling then I shall . . . I shall . . . throw you in the mud!”

Her mouth popped open, half in astonishment, half in amusement. “You would not dare!”

He looked around and started pulling her towards the barn, “Yes, I do believe there was some mud in the coop . . . I am sure it would match your hair nicely,” In mock-outrage, she tugged back on her arm, but he held tight. He continued to pull, gently forcing her feet to move forward.

“I do not give up easily, you know,” Elizabeth warned him.

He continued to pull her, as he rather liked this teasing side of her. “Trust
me, I know just how decided your mind can be.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you calling me stubborn?” She was enjoying the lightness of the mood. In truth, she wasn’t resisting all that hard. They were making progress towards the barn and for a fleeting moment she wondered if he really would throw her in the mud.

“Oh, I would not dare call you stubborn but since you brought it up, I might remind you that it came out of your perfect little mouth, not mine.” Mr. Darcy unlatched the coop gate and continued to pull her into it. The chickens were out, and once they recognized them they started heading towards them, obviously expecting food.

“I shall not tell you what I was thinking because you are just being an overbearing demanding beast of a man!” she teased.

He smiled wickedly, “Then a beast I must be! Now, madam, this is your last chance, what made you giggle?” He took her shoulders in his hands firmly.

She knew he was jesting and was quite enjoying this game.
“Never!”

“Well then, you have made your bed and now you must lay in it! Pun intended!”

“Oh, good one! Richard would be proud of that little joke!”

He tried to look serious.
“Joke? Who said anything about a joke! I fully intend on throwing you in the mud. Last chance . . .”

She laughed. “You already gave me a last chance. I can see that you are not the beast you think you are.”

He laughed, tugging gently at her shoulders, but felt a very hard peck at the back of his calf. Startled, he lifted his foot, but then immediately slipped, pulling them both down into the mud and muck. He landed on his knees, but because he had used her to readjust his balance during the jump, she landed on her side. “Oh dear! I am so sorry! The rooster pecked at me and scared me.” Mortified, he reached for her shoulders again, this time in abject apology.

“You beast!”
She was still laughing, unhurt and not offended. Seeing he was only on his knees, she reached up and pushed him down onto his backside.

His hands released her only to catch his fall. The mud was at least three inches deep, and squelched as he balanced tenuously against his fingers. He reached back for a handful and raised it in front of him. “I am the beast? At least what I did was an accident. Now, madam, you leave me no choice but to live up to the title. I shall be the beast you say I am.”

Her eyes widened. He would not really— she flinched back, raising her arms up to protect herself. She yelled, “No! No! Somebody help! HELP!” But her cries were to no avail, for she soon found herself with a handful of mud on her face. She sputtered, gasping with laughter. He had actually rubbed the chicken mud on her skin! Shrieking, she leapt forward towards his hair with two handfuls of mud, and her body landed right on his chest.

He let out a groan at feeling her sudden weight, moving quickly to catch his breath but losing his balance all the same. He fell neatly on his back amidst all the mud, but quickly rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

“You villain! I insist that you release me!” she screamed, laughing at the same time.

Although in his most private moments, Mr. Darcy had had many fantasies about rolling around with Elizabeth, he had never once imagined that mud might come into play. It was, however, not entirely unpleasant. In truth, it was all rather exciting. He laughed as well.

“You will pay for your actions,” he said in the most dangerous voice he could muster. He was nearly ready to lean down and kiss her now, in spite of all his reservations, when he heard someone behind him.

“Unhand the lady!”

He looked behind them and saw Sparks, the farmhand. Sparks raised the pitchfork and held it menacingly. Darcy let out a laugh. “Sparks it is just I, Mr. Darcy. It appears my wife and I have fallen into the mud.” Sparks’ eyes got brighter and he lowered the pitchfork.

Elizabeth pushed William off and said, “Do not listen to him for one moment! That beast threw me in the mud! I insist we punish him! What say you Sparks? Should we feed him to the chickens?”

Mr. Sparks had quickly learned to love Mrs. Darcy. She was so devoted to the chickens and they had spent many of moments talking about the work he did. He respected Mr. Darcy, but truly loved Mrs. Darcy. He raised the pitchfork again and tried not to smile at the scene in front of him. Now that he knew the lady wasn’t in distress, he could see the humor in it. They both had so much mud on themselves that he hadn’t recognized either one until they spoke. “I believe that we must! Should I stab him first so they can get at his innards?” Sparks asked.

Mr. Darcy’s mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “Sparks? Is this where your loyalty lies? After all these years of serving me, three weeks with her is enough to change your mind altogether! I shall have to rethink that bonus I gave last Christmas! Better yet, I will tell your wife of your volatile heart and let you suffer her wrath! Mrs. Sparks will be loyal to me and she will insist on yours as well!” He started to get up but turned back to Elizabeth one last time. She was flat on her back in the mud, grinning. Her teeth gleamed white through the dirtiest face he had ever witnessed. He raised himself to one knee to stand and looked back at the grinning Sparks.

Elizabeth saw an opportunity and quickly rose to her feet. He was kneeling, looking away from her, still gazing at Sparks. She gave him one good push from the back and saw him fall face first into the mud. She quickly ran for the gate and closed it behind her. “Hurry Sparks, I call on every ounce of strength in your body to get me out of range from that beast!”

She laughed all the way back to the house. She had heard him call out something about “next time” but as the words were h
ard to hear, she chose to pay them little mind. As she neared the house, she realized that to walk into the house like this would be to invite the deep displeasure of Mrs. Reynolds. The reality of what just happened made her laugh again in spite of how improper it all was. She probably ruined her dress. She supposed she would have to answer to Serafina as well. She decided to enter through the servants’ quarters and get the help she needed there. She opened the door and called out, “Could I get some assistance?”