Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World (17 page)

"I
cannot recall your exact words, but it was to the effect that you wished her
gone and wanted nothing further to do with her, and that she should trouble you
no more. You did not seem confused at the time. No doubt it is an effect of the
laudanum that you do not recall it."

"Damned
laudanum. Never let them give it to me again." Darcy gripped the doorframe
until his hand hurt. "What did Mrs. Darcy do?"

"I
am sure I could not say." Ferguson busied himself checking the gleam of
the leather, then switched to the second boot.

"Ferguson,
I am damned sure you can say, and that you have been eagerly anticipating the
opportunity to do so. Tell me now."

"As
you wish, sir. I believe she wept a little and asked if you meant it; then, on
your affirmation, she left. She did not return for several days, although she
instructed me to inform her as to your condition every few hours. She mostly
kept to her rooms, except when she was visiting tenants."

"Visiting
tenants? "

"Yes,
sir."

Damn
Ferguson and his attempts to manage him. Darcy went to his desk, hunting for
Elizabeth's letter, then remembered he had left it in her room. Damn the
letter, too. He needed to know exactly what it said.

Elizabeth
awoke to a sensation of movement and warmth. "What is it?" she
murmured, still half asleep.

"Shh,
Elizabeth. You fell asleep in the window seat, and I am taking you to your
bed." It sounded like Darcy's voice, but it could not be, for it was
gentle and calm. Perhaps it was a dream, with the warmth of his arms supporting
her and her head resting on his shoulder, but it was a sweet dream.

The
warmth disappeared, replaced by the coolness of the bed sheets. She opened her
eyes to see her husband, clad only in his nightshirt, leaning over her.
"Fitzwilliam? What brings you here?"

"Go
back to sleep. We can talk in the morning." He bent down to kiss her
lightly.

She
might be dreaming, but she did not want him to leave, not when he was being
kind to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer to kiss
him once more. He seemed willing to cooperate, his lips meeting hers slowly and
gently. The contact was such a comfort that her arms tightened around him, and
he responded by teasing her lips apart for the deep, disturbingly pleasant
kisses she remembered so well.

It
was several minutes before he disentangled himself, and by that time he was
breathing heavily. "Elizabeth, I am only human. You are half-asleep, and
know not what you do."

She
would not dream his withdrawal. Elizabeth shook her head to drive off the last
vestiges of sleep. "I assure you, sir, I am quite awake. Was there
something you wanted?"

His
mouth twisted and he took a moment before answering. "I came to apologize
to you, both for my anger and for something I apparently said while under the
influence of laudanum. It always makes me see things that are not there and confused
as to what is real. That is why I detest it so."

It
felt like an odd reversal of his illness; this time, she was the one lying in bed
while he sat on the edge beside her. "I am not certain of your meaning,
sir."

"Ferguson
tells me I sent you away. I assure you, had I been in my right mind, I would
never have done so."

"Oh."
She wondered whether he meant he would not have thought it or would have been
too polite to say it. "I hope my presence was not disturbing to you."

"Not
at all. Ferguson tells me you were a devoted nurse."

He
was not making it easy for her to follow her promise to keep her feelings about
him to herself. "I was worried about you."

He
brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Thank you."

Was
there tenderness in his eyes, or was she only seeing what she wished to see?
Shakily, she said, "I am glad you are well again, and home safely."

He
hesitated. "And you are with child?"

Her
lips turned up with amusement. "My answer to that has not changed since
the last time you asked me it."

"Sometimes
I am a slow learner." Slowly, as if he expected her to stop him, he placed
his hand on the swell of her waist.

Though
his fingers but rested there, the heat of his touch ran deep within her. Her
lips tingled. "There has not been much change as yet."

"Not
much, but perhaps a greater fullness." His consideration of her body was
oddly intimate. His eyes swung to meet hers, then, with a fluid motion, he bent
down to kiss her again. His lips lingered only briefly, then he sat up again.
"Sleep well, Elizabeth."

"Good
night," she whispered to his retreating back.

Lucy
had already reminded Elizabeth twice that morning to eat her breakfast, but her
efforts were in vain. This time Elizabeth's difficulties were not owing to
distress. Rather, it was memories of the previous night that distracted her.

Darcy's
behaviour mystified her. First quarrelsome and disinterested, then warm and
apparently no longer indifferent. But even then he had made no attempt to stay
with her, though he could not have thought she would object. The memory of his
kiss made her lips tingle.

As
difficult as she found it to ascertain her husband's thoughts, one thing seemed
clear. He was as confused as she, though by what she could not guess. Even if
part of him was angry with her, another part still maintained his attachment,
it seemed. The question was what she should do about it.

She
recalled the warmth of his arms around her. When they had first been wed, it
would have been an everyday occurrence. He had spent time with her then, tried
to engage her interest in her new home, offered her parts of his life to share.
It made her heartsick to think how little it had meant to her at the time, and
the importance it would hold for her now. If only she had put aside her
prejudices and allowed herself to see his good points sooner!

But
regret for the past would not help. What she needed to remember now was that
she had seen the old look in his eye again last night. If those feelings for
her still existed in him, surely there must be something could do to strengthen
them. Hiding in her room was not the answer.

"Lucy,
I believe I will have breakfast downstairs today."

"Yes,
madam." Lucy gave her a distrusting look, but picked up the tray and took
it away.

Elizabeth
searched through her jewellery box and found the necklace he had given her
shortly after their quarrel. She fastened it around her neck, the cold metal of
the pendant warming gradually against her skin. She would wear her blue dress,
the one Darcy had liked so much. In the mirror, she tried out a teasing smile.

Yes.
If it could be done, she would win his affections back.

For
at least the tenth time, Darcy tore his thoughts away from what it had felt
like to carry Elizabeth in his arms, her light summer nightgown failing to
disguise the fact that she wore nothing under it. His steward was saying
something, and again he had missed it completely.

"You
will see him, then?" Dunstan closed the account book and set it to one
side.

"Of
course." Darcy wondered what he had just agreed to.

Dunstan
opened the study door and showed in one of the tenant farmers.

"Mr.
Smithson, sir."

Smithson.
He tried to remember what he knew of the man, but could conjure only a vague
familiarity with the name.

The
farmer's hands had clearly been washed especially for this momentous occasion,
and a pretty girl perhaps a year or two younger than Georgiana accompanied him.
Her eyes widened when she saw Darcy. What was it about him, Darcy wondered,
that terrified women so? First Elizabeth, now this girl. Had he not done his
best to be a generous and reasonable landlord?

Darcy
motioned to the chairs opposite his desk. The girl perched on the edge of her
chair as if ready to flee at any moment. "What can I do for you?"

The
man's hands tightened on the brim of his hat. "Mr. Darcy, sir, we've
summat of a problem. Young Tom Morrison, well, he ought to marry my daughter
here, but he says he will not. Since he's one o' your labourers, sir, I hoped
maybe you could help me."

The
girl burst into tears.

Darcy
sighed inwardly. He hated these cases. There was never a good resolution. He
spoke directly to the girl. "Did he promise to marry you?"

She
half-whispered something.

"I
cannot hear you, child."

"Please,
sir, is Mrs. Darcy here?" she asked shakily.

What
in God's name did Elizabeth have to do with this? Darcy gave Dunstan a
questioning look. The steward leaned down and said in his ear,

"Mrs.
Darcy has been hearing cases while you were away, and earlier during your
illness. Perhaps the girl did not realize you were back."

Interesting.
And no one had seen fit to mention it to him. No doubt they thought Elizabeth
would have told him. As if she were likely to tell him anything! Though that
morning at breakfast, she had been quite animated, so perhaps she might have
told him had she the opportunity. "Does Mrs.

Darcy
know anything of this case?"

"Not
to my knowledge, sir." Dunstan stepped back.

Darcy
drummed his fingers on his desk. So the girl wanted Elizabeth sitting in
judgment rather than him. After all his years as master of Pemberley, this
young thing had the audacity to want Elizabeth instead. "Once again, did
the young man promise to marry you?"

The
girl, looking frankly terrified, opened her mouth as if to say something, but
no words came out. Her father pushed at her arm. "Tell Mr.

Darcy."

This
could go on for hours, and Darcy's patience had been eroded by his sleepless
night. "Dunstan, would you be so kind as to ask Mrs. Darcy to attend me
here?" Perhaps Elizabeth had some knowledge of the matter, and hopefully
she would be pleased to be consulted.

Dunstan
bowed and left the room. Darcy folded his hands on his desk, uncomfortable with
the questions he needed to ask, as well as his ignorance of what Elizabeth had
done in his absence. He supposed he could not blame her for saying nothing.
Their interactions since his return had been strained at best. But she had
kissed him as if she meant it.

He
cleared his throat. "How long have you known Tom Morrison?"

Though
he had addressed his question to the girl, her father again answered.
"Mayhap half a year, sir."

Darcy
was relieved to be interrupted by Elizabeth, who appeared in the doorway
wearing a warm smile and that damned blue dress he always wanted to tear off
her.

"You
asked for me, sir?"

He
rose to his feet. "Yes, Mrs. Darcy. We have a family here seeking redress,
and the young lady involved seems disappointed to be facing my judgment rather
than yours, so I thought to invite you to join us."

There
it was again, that damned fl ash of fear, as if she expected him to beat her.
At least she covered it quickly this time. "As you wish, Mr. Darcy."

He
indicated the girl with a tilt of his head. "Perhaps she will be more
inclined to answer your questions than mine. We are attempting to determine a
young man's intent toward her."

A
line appeared on Elizabeth's brow. She moved to sit by the girl's side.

"Sylvia,
is it not?" The girl nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

How
had Elizabeth known her name when he had not?

"Is
your baby brother well? And your mother?"

"Very
well, Mrs. Darcy." Sylvia's voice still shook.

"I
am glad to hear it. Now, Sylvia, although we are not really acquainted, you and
I, perhaps you can tell me what this is about."

Darcy
could not help but admire the gentle persuasion Elizabeth was bringing to bear.

"It
was Tom Morrison. He ... he ... " She leaned toward Elizabeth and said
something too quietly for Darcy to hear.

Elizabeth's
lips tightened. She whispered back to the girl, but was answered only with
tears. Darcy sat back, curious to see what she would make of the situation.

The
man spoke up. "He refuses to marry her, ma'am, and there is a babe coming,
so they must be wed."

Elizabeth's
eyes met Darcy's uncertainly. He said, "Well, Mrs. Darcy, we await your
judgment."

She
looked at him intently for a moment more, then turned back to Sylvia, handing
her a handkerchief. "Do you wish to marry him, Sylvia?"

The
girl shook her head vehemently.

Her
father raised a hand as if to cuff her, then apparently remembered where he
was. "You must marry him. No other man'll ever have you now."

The
colour drained from Sylvia's face, but Elizabeth appeared to ignore him
completely. "How old are you, child?"

"Almost
fifteen, ma'am."

"Did
you consent to what he did to you?"

There
was a long silence. "No, ma'am."

Her
father spoke to Darcy. "It makes no difference, Mr. Darcy. She must marry
him."

Darcy
crossed his arms over his chest. Now he was grateful for the whim that had
caused him to turn this case over to Elizabeth. He did not want to be the one
to force the girl into an unwanted marriage with a man of that sort.

Elizabeth's
cheeks were bright with colour. "You realize what it will mean if you do
not marry him?"

"I
don't care, ma'am. He's a brute. I'd as soon starve in the streets."

Elizabeth
folded her hands and turned to Darcy. "There seems to be no possibility of
making everyone happy in this case, but this is my suggestion.

I
will ask Mrs. Reynolds to find Sylvia a position in the household here.

Her
babe can stay with her own mother, or be fostered out. If Sylvia serves us well
until she is of age, and then finds a man she wishes to wed, I will give her a
dowry suitable to compensate for her past. Dunstan?"