Mr. Darcy's Promise (28 page)

The room fell silent for a long moment afterwards. Elizabeth felt herself torn between admiration and anger. Of course, it had been entirely good to risk life and limb for the sake of the child’s happiness and the life of the dog. But Darcy had nearly been trapped in the house!
Why does Darcy insist on making all these promises!

Richard glanced from Elizabeth to Georgiana with a slightly apologetic glance. “Perhaps I should not have told two ladies a story like that. I do apologize; I spoke only in praise of my cousin and in the excitement of the moment. But I pray you not to worry; I do not think Darcy was even singed by the experience.” He offered them a quick and warm smile. “Speaking of puppies, why did the puppy refuse to speak to his foot?”

Georgiana, relieved at the change for a lighter topic, smiled, “Do tell us, Richard!”

“Because it is not polite to talk back to your paw!”
Richard saw Georgiana laugh and Elizabeth give a half smile. “Ah, come now, Elizabeth. You must admit that it at least made you smile in spite of your distress.”

“You must excuse me. I am still concerned about the events of last night. Did anyone get hurt in the fire? Do you know which tenant’s house it was?” She felt ashamed that she had not thought to ask these questions earlier, and a faint blush stained her cheeks at remembering exactly why she had been so distracted.

“Georgiana would know their names, I believe. It is the lady who has two little boys and a girl of, I would say, three or four years old. I believe she was just recently widowed.”

Both women gasped.
“The Smiths? But we just saw them a few days ago! Is everyone well?” Elizabeth cried.

“Yes, Smith, that was the name! I do not know why I could not remember the name when it is one of the most common ones around. Everyone is fine, my dear ladies. The house is, however, in ruins. I doubt they will be able to salvage anything from it. But at least they have their dog!” He said the last part lightly in an attempt to lift their spirits.

Elizabeth’s grim expression did not lighten. “Oh dear, Georgiana, we have to do something! Did your mother keep any of William’s or your clothes from when you were younger?”

“Yes, everything!
I sometimes go through the things in the attic when I wish to remember her.”

Elizabeth rang for the servant with new purpose. At least in this she could be useful. When the servant entered she instructed her to fetch Mrs. Reynolds immediately. The rest of the morning was spent in the attic going through chests of clothes and old blankets with the housekeeper and Georgiana. In the midst of all the chaos, Elizabeth found herself much too busy to reflect on why Darcy hadn’t emerged from his study.

*****

Later that afternoon, Richard opened the door to Darcy’s study without knocking. He looked at the scene before him with a frown. Darcy had his boots off, while his waistcoat and cravat were thrown on the floor. A near-empty bottle of brandy lay on the desk, while his tray from luncheon remained untouched. Richard picked up a piece of dried, uneaten bread, frowning down at the curled cheese that lay
beside it. “What the deuces is going on with you all morning? I have never seen you hole yourself up in your study like this. And why could you not come eat luncheon with the rest of us?”

Darcy scowled at his cousin, a look that perhaps he would not have given had the brandy not been exercising a great deal of influence over him.

“My my, I have not seen that look on your face for some time.” Richard took a seat across from Darcy. “Is there a reason for your sour mood, or should I guess?”

Darcy knew this game. Richard was merciless when he set his mind to something. It was
an ability, he was sure, that was greatly prized by the militia, but not one that was appreciated at this moment. At least not now. Darcy pinched his lips shut.

“I see I must guess. Since I talked to Georgiana and know why she has been in such a mood as she has been, it must not be her that is the cause of your silence.”

That piqued Darcy’s interest and he sat up straight. “What did she say?”

“He speaks!” Richard was very good at this game.

“Richard, I do not wish to dance with you. Just tell me what has been bothering her.” No matter the news, Darcy thought, thinking about something besides Elizabeth and her letter from Wickham would help him a great deal.

“But the music has just begun! Take a twirl with me. There is little reason for Georgiana to be acting so. She adores your new wife, as we all do, and is at the place she most loves in the world. And yet she is deeply troubled.” Richard saw Darcy flinch when he mentioned Elizabeth. It was as he thought, then.

“Now, we both know that it is the tendency of the Darcys to keep their problems guarded close, which makes them— and others, I might add— suffer all the more. Like I said, Georgiana told me what has been bothering her; or at least I think she did. I cannot be sure she was being completely forthright, but I was sworn to secrecy. I would not mind revealing the fact that considering the circumstances, she is holding up quite well.”
I imagine that, in her place, running into Wickham at Longbourn and being addressed at the ball would have definitely rattled my composure. Yes, Georgiana is holding up quite well.

“Now you on the other hand,” Richard continued, ignoring Darcy’s pointed look, “have completely unraveled. You rarely drink and from the looks of your equilibrium, you started early this morning. Do you mind if I join you in your debauchery? It is very impolite not to offer his majesty’s Colonel something to drink when you are drinking yourself.” Darcy motioned to the cabinet with a vague hand.

After retrieving some claret, Colonel Fitzwilliam sat himself back down in the same space and continued, unruffled. “Which leads me to ask after your dear Elizabeth. How is she? Has she recovered from the fall into the river?” Richard knew, of course, that she was in very good health and was in fact walking up and down the stairs to the attic. But he wanted to see the expression on Darcy’s face when he spoke of it. Sure enough, his cousin flinched, taking another heady swallow of brandy before he looked away again.

Darcy felt the burn of the liquid but what was worse was the sting of the guilt. “I only saw her briefly this morning. I did not inquire after her health, but she seemed perfectly well.” He should have at least asked after
her own recovery. No matter who Elizabeth had been writing, it was no excuse for being uncivilized to his wife. His mind flashed back to the pain and confusion that had mingled in her face this morning. Her eyes had been so bright and hopeful when he first opened the door. He had wanted to take her in his arms and claim her as his and only his, but his heart had never been the inconstant one. He could claim her all he wanted but what he needed was Elizabeth to claim him back. He wanted her to want him and no one else, especially not Wickham!

“So I see this moping is about Elizabeth. Too bad! I thought you two had some real fireworks going on. What did you do this time?” Richard goaded him. Richard was still leading in this dance they were having, Darcy never could keep anything from him, and in spite of his silences, was opening up quite nicely.

Darcy whirled around, “Me? You thin
kI
did something?”

“I see, you think Elizabeth is at fault. Well, whatever you think she did wrong, I can assure you that she is quite devoted to you.”

Darcy’s mind heard the words and yet his heart flat out refused them. As much as he wished to believe otherwise, Elizabeth was secretly corresponding with Wickham. “I do not know what you are talking about. Elizabeth and I are fine,” he said, attempting to sound convincing while feeling the deceit in his words.

“Come now,” Richard chided. “You will not just stand there with your back to me and flat out lie, would you? You and I feel the same way about deceit of any form.” There had always been something odd about his cousin’s marriage, but this was a new kind of trouble. Was Darcy now uncertain about Elizabeth’s attachment to him? It was clear to Richard that Elizabeth’s feelings for Darcy ran deep and true. He had carefully observed them together, and it was clear that Elizabeth had secured his heart. They spent nearly every waking moment together, quietly laughing or in lively conversation. She had even persuaded him to leave the house to feed the chickens. Richard had finally heard the tale of their encounter in the mud. Each of them had tried to be the one to tell it to him the way they each remembered it, and each attempted to condemn the other teasingly, laughing all the while. Their relationship was one that seemed strong and full of fresh vigor.

Darcy turned to look at Richard, “I just need some time to work out a few things. Have you seen her today?” A line was etched deep into his forehead.

Richard held up his hands. “Darcy, I must burden you with some advice. You must not disregard it. Yes, even though I am a bachelor.” He looked at Darcy directly. “Speak with her. She will gladly assuage your fears, I assure you. Your Mrs. Darcy is not a woman to trifle with a man.” His gaze shifted to the empty bottle of brandy. “And do show yourself at dinner. Perhaps you should refrain from any more brandy until afterwards.” He finished his claret with a flourish. The dance was over.
At least for now. He rose and left the room.

Darcy glanced over at the cabinet with a rueful look. Richard was right about one thing, at least–– he put down the drink. He took out the letter once again and poured over it. What did he mean by
“You may be with Darcy now but eventually I will come claim what should have been mine all along”?
He had to admit it sounded somewhat threatening rather than endearing. And how exactly did he expect to claim her? Where they planning something like running off together? Elizabeth would be a fool to leave a home like Pemberley, which was one thing he was sure of her adoration for
.
She may not love me but she loves Pemberley!

Was it intended as a threat? He had seen Wickham’s darker side before
.
He took a deep breath. All this mental hashing and rehashing of the letter was going to drive him mad! He put it away for the fifth time in the last few hours. His mind was weary. He had attempted to sleep last night but was restless, and when the dawn broke he simply got out of bed. It was useless to lie there when there was so much work to do. But as much as he wanted to free his mind, he could not stop thinking again and again of the letter.

Out of frustration he spread his arms out on the desk and rested his head on his forearms. He started counting to himself. It was a habit that he picked up to handle uncomfortable social situations. He would find himself counting the people, the hats, the canes, and the pictures on the wall, anything to distract him from feeling the awkwardness of the situation. He had found it soothing, and that was something he desperately needed right now. With his eyes closed, he mentally traced over all that was resting on his desk. The estate books . . . there were several of those, at least four. His quill and inkwell, several letters he needed to answer . . . five, six, seven . . . the miniature of his father and mother, the paper weight . . . fourteen, fifteen . . . he moved to the drawers and counted their contents . . . twenty-one, twenty-two . . . Slowly his heart slowed and his mind and body relaxed so much that he fell into a deep sleep.

He dreamed of Elizabeth’s laughter and of the chickens. First he dreamed of memories of time already spent with them. Then the dream warped into new and detailed discussions about them. They spoke of everything from their colors and sizes, to what they preferred to eat. She would instruct him and talk metaphorically about them, repeating things she already said, and adding other important pieces of the puzzle. For some reason in his dream he understood what she was saying when she spoke in riddles. He seemed to understand when she discussed their needs or their safety, but knew what she really meant by stating such facts. He finally understood a part of her that had confused him for so long. Then things started getting confusing again and it was like she started speaking another language. He could feel himself waking from the dream and the understanding of the riddles slipping as well.
No! I need to know why those chickens are so important to her!
He opened his eyes. All the understanding was slipping away just like it was some unimportant dream! His eyes opened and he quickly grabbed a paper and pen and started writing down what he remembered her saying in the dream.

The chickens had something to do about Elizabeth. He wrote that down. Nature’s timetable was an important piece, but what part did it play? He wrote that down. He closed his eyes trying to focus on the dream. It was slipping away much too fast. The chicks had to get their feathers or . . . or what? What did getting their feathers represent? He let out a groan. He was never going to figure this out. But he wrote how getting the feathers meant something important. He had a flash of the dream come to him of her speaking of the winter storms and he knew that was important too, so he wrote that down. He stared at the paper. It was gibberish. It was a list of facts about chickens but no real interpretation came to him. It frustrated him because moments ago in his dream he understood why they were so important to her! He had listened as she spoke and he had understood! He put the pen down.
What in God’s name would a farm animal represent to Elizabeth?

*****

Elizabeth was pleased to see Mr. Darcy at the table for dinner, but she quickly realized that he was still not himself. Although he had dressed for dinner, his eyes were slightly bloodshot, and it seemed that he was not carrying himself with his usual attention. His eyes, moreover, did not smile back at her when they met hers. In fact, he seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.