Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (2 page)

Chapter 1

“Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one.”

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
German writer and statesman

Thursday, April 9, 1812: Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Elizabeth Bennet stifled a groan as she opened her eyes to the early morning light filtering through the window at the Hunsford Parsonage. Her head hurt! The pain was like something pounding on her forehead from the inside, and the light itself seemed to pierce her eyes painfully. She felt feverish and light-headed, and her throat hurt when she tried to swallow.

During her twenty years, Elizabeth had rarely been sick, and her few illnesses had been minor. Thus, she had simply indulged her active nature and ignored such trifling ailments; she refused to let them alter or diminish her normal routine. So it was not unexpected that she would drag herself out of bed and begin to dress as she would have for any other day.

Dressing took more time than usual because her head hurt so dreadfully, but eventually she completed the task and left her room. It was a measure of her discomfiture that she held tightly to the rail as she descended the stairs, but between her determination and her illness, she refused to give in to her suffering. Though she was not hungry — unusual in itself — she did have a raging thirst and desperately wanted a cool drink. When she finally negotiated the stairs, she was pleased to find the breakfast room deserted except for Charlotte.

But, if Elizabeth was successful in deceiving herself, Charlotte was under no similar inhibition, and her smile vanished with her first glimpse of her friend. She instantly hastened to assist Elizabeth to the table, and a quick touch to Elizabeth’s forehead confirmed her suspicions as she looked at her friend in concern.

“You are quite ill, Eliza. You are as pale as a ghost, and you are much too warm. Why did you not ring for me? You should have stayed in bed and asked us to send for the apothecary.”

“Nonsense, Charlotte, you know I do not get sick. This is a trifling disorder; I just need something cool to drink.”

“I shall order lemonade brought up from the cellar immediately.” Charlotte swiftly left the room, well aware it would do no good to argue the point with her friend because of Elizabeth’s occasional bouts of stubbornness. She wrote a quick note to her husband informing him of his cousin’s illness and sent it to Rosings, where he waited upon his patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Darcy sat silently at the breakfast table, doing his best to ignore the discordant conversation of his Aunt Catherine as she advised her parson in the details of the sermon he should deliver on Sunday. Though he held Collins in rather low esteem, he still felt a degree of sympathy for the hapless man who listened in subservient attention to his patroness as she delivered her opinions in great detail. Darcy disliked seeing any living being, even an inconsequential creature like Collins, debased in the manner her ladyship delighted to characterize as “frankness.” He had been the subject of her discourses on more than one occasion, especially regarding her delusion that he and her daughter, Anne, would one day wed.

It was nonsense, of course, and both he and Anne were of one mind on the matter. Anne’s frailty and persistent illnesses made such a marriage impossible, even had they been so inclined, which was not the case. He had endured those harangues in his usual manner, keeping silent and waiting for the ordeal to end rather than stalking out of the room in cold contempt, reminding himself sternly that Lady Catherine was his mother’s sister. He knew the two had been very close, despite having such different temperaments, and he studiously endeavoured to avoid such a direct and potentially disastrous confrontation with his aunt.

He envied his cousin Fitzwilliam’s more cavalier attitude towards Aunt Catherine. While he accompanied Darcy on these yearly visits to Rosings when he was able, his reasons were due more to his affection for his cousin than to his attachment to his aunt. He was unrepentant in the way he took every opportunity to leave the table early and avoid these monologues, and he had done exactly that this morning, silently rising and departing the breakfast parlour ten minutes earlier while his aunt’s attention was diverted. Darcy always marvelled at how stealthily Fitzwilliam could move when he so endeavoured. Somehow, his chair did not scrape as he rose, and his hard-heeled boots made no sound on the wooden floors. It was always astonishing to watch him simply fade away, and Darcy wished he could do likewise.

However, not even his aunt could affect his composure this morning as he sipped his coffee. He felt a vast sense of contentment and a complete absence of the anxieties that had plagued him since he arrived and discovered the presence of Elizabeth Bennet. Neither his lack of sleep nor the strain of wrestling with unresolved dilemmas could bother him any longer. Despite pacing the floor until well into morning, it was done, matters were decided, and he could move ahead with the rest of his life in a manner that would solidify his future happiness.

Of course, he still had to manage his actual proposal, but he knew that the most difficult part — making up his own mind — was complete, and he anticipated few problems this afternoon. She certainly would be expecting his addresses before he departed Rosings, and this afternoon’s invitation to tea would clearly be the most likely occasion to seek a few moments alone with her. A quick suggestion of a stroll through the garden, a few moments alone in a secluded alcove, and it would be done.

But not completely done — there would be other problems to be confronted.

Foremost would be the impact on his family. He was well aware that his decision to marry a completely unknown young lady with no connections and no fortune would upset or possibly even anger a number of his relatives. Even greater was Aunt Catherine’s outright delusion regarding Anne and he. At some time before his mother’s untimely death, the two sisters had thought it a good idea to match their offspring in marriage, a joining that would have combined Rosings with the Darcy estate of Pemberley. Or, at least, that was what her ladyship had so often intimated, and he did his best to ignore those repeated insinuations that he, somehow and without being consulted, had become engaged to Anne.

The fact, which he had often tactfully stated, that nothing of the kind had ever been considered by either him or Anne was simply ignored. He now wished he chosen confrontation rather than avoidance, and he would have to pay the price for that reluctance once he announced his engagement. Given her usual lack of restraint in expressing her desires, she would undoubtedly be quite effusive in her objections, but Darcy’s mind was made up. The fact that his decision owed more to his heart than to his head did not change his determination, and he and Miss Elizabeth Bennet
would
marry.

Such a match might also upset her brother and his uncle, Lord Matlock, who had expressed an opinion similar to what Darcy knew his parents would have offered: that Darcy should select a wife who would enhance either the Darcy family name or fortune — preferably both. Neither of these objectives would be met by a connection to the unknown Bennet family, whose small estate in Hertfordshire was quite modest in size and income and, in any event, was entailed away to the nearest male relative. That the male relative in question was the foolish and deferential Mr. Collins, his aunt’s parson and his future wife’s cousin, was yet another unlikely coincidence in this whole unlikely tale.

It might even upset Richard, who had certainly been attentive to Miss Bennet since that first introduction. Darcy had the uncomfortable feeling that Richard’s attentions might have been even more marked if he had not been the third Matlock son and thus wholly dependent on his allowance from his father to supplement his meagre Army income. He had often jested to Darcy that he needed to pay at least some attention to money when he married, and thus his gallantries to Elizabeth had not been marked by the kind of intensity that would have indicated a true desire for a permanent connection. Still, Darcy had not enjoyed how easily Richard could converse and laugh with the young lady, who often left him tongue-tied.

Darcy’s thoughts were so consuming that he did not notice the arrival of a message until the housemaid spoke, having waited for a break in Lady Catherine’s lecture.

“A message for Mr. Collins from the Parsonage, your ladyship,” the maid said. Darcy, his concentration broken, frowned in displeasure at the way his aunt snatched the folded paper from the extended platter. She quickly tore open and read the message, then dismissively handed it to Mr. Collins.

“It appears your cousin has contracted some trifling illness,” she said. “I do hope this will not prevent her from coming to tea. It will likely be her last chance to see Darcy and Fitzwilliam before they depart.”

Darcy, however, noticed the expression on Mr. Collins’s face. Clearly, he was more concerned than his aunt, and he looked anxiously from his note as he said, “I beg leave to be excused, your ladyship. My wife says Miss Elizabeth is quite ill and has a fever. She may well need the attention of an apothecary and asks my return to assist in the matter.”

Darcy knew Mrs. Collins was perfectly capable of handling such matters without the aid of her husband, but that man desired to be included in such matters because he fancied himself as the master of his household. However, he was alarmed to hear of Miss Bennet’s illness, and he also knew Mrs. Collins was too level-headed to mention an apothecary without sufficient reason. An illness might be an impediment to his plans, but more worrisome was his fear for Elizabeth, for he was well aware that disease was responsible for far too many early deaths in their society.

Lady Catherine evidently had exhausted the subject of Sunday’s sermon, and she dismissed the parson with a flick of her hand. Mr. Collins bowed repeatedly as he backed toward the door.

Meanwhile, Darcy finally took a page from his cousin Fitzwilliam’s book and silently retired from the table and left the room while his aunt was dismissing her parson. So silent was his withdrawal that Lady Catherine noticed nothing and only felt confusion at suddenly finding him gone.

As he hurried to the Parsonage, he was anxious to see Miss Bennet himself and make his own judgement of the severity of her illness. He even wondered whether he might find an opportunity for a few minutes alone with her to make his addresses since it seemed unlikely she would come to tea that afternoon.

“Miss Bennet, please,” Darcy said as a maid opened the door. He was not even conscious of the strange look she gave him since he had been careful on his previous visits to ask for either Mrs. Collins or simply ‘the ladies’ in order to give no marked distinction to Miss Bennet. Now, with this simple statement born of his worry, he was completely unaware of how much of his inner feelings he revealed to the unknown servant.

He was equally unmindful as the maid opened the door and said, “Mr. Darcy to see Miss Bennet,” nor did he notice the glances this announcement occasioned from Mr. Collins and his wife. They sat at a table with a clearly unwell Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy felt something tighten in his chest at his first sight of Elizabeth. It was always that way recently and had been since soon after he met her in Hertfordshire. It had taken considerable effort over the months to keep that sheer physical impact concealed, but his worry today was such that he did not even try. A single glance confirmed that Elizabeth’s illness was more than a trifling affliction; she was quite pale, and her skin had the slight glistening appearance common to fever.

Elizabeth, for her part, hardly noticed Darcy’s arrival, being engaged in an intense conversation with Mrs. Collins, who sat close and held Elizabeth’s hand, clearly urging something on her friend with which she did not agree.

“Eliza, please, you need to return to your bed,” Mrs. Collins said. “You are ill, very ill, and you should rest until we can send for the apothecary.”

Elizabeth shook her head, though the room seemed to spin wildly about when she did so. “I am fine, Charlotte. I just need more of this lemonade. Besides, you know I am never unwell.”

“Everyone gets sick sometimes. No matter how hardy you consider your constitution or how many miles you walk, sooner or later you will have to deal with illnesses like we mere mortals, and that time is now come. You cannot deny how dreadful you feel, and you definitely have a fever. It is not too bad, at least at this time, but you do not want to make it worse by overtaxing yourself.”

This comment about Elizabeth’s hardiness reminded Darcy of the previous autumn when she walked three miles in the rain to Netherfield to look after her sister. She arrived bright-cheeked, windblown, and with muddy petticoats, and Miss Bingley’s comments had been caustic. He, however, thought she showed commendable affection for her sister and did not look at all unattractive, no matter what Caroline Bingley thought. He even went so far as to comment that her fine eyes were not diminished but rather were brightened by the exercise.

But he was worried now. The bright spots on her pale cheeks clearly indicated fever, and he knew she needed the attention of a good apothecary or surgeon. He knew better than to depend on anyone his aunt might recommend after years of seeing one useless physician after another parade through his cousin Anne’s chambers without a single clue as to what ailed her.

“I shall send for the apothecary immediately, Cousin,” Mr. Collins said, assuming a self-important air as he turned and left the room.

After her husband departed, Charlotte directed her attention to Darcy, and her mind was shrewd as she evaluated him. It was clear he looked on Eliza with worried eyes, and even this taciturn, reserved man could not hide his concern. Added to that was the way he had asked specifically for Eliza when he normally asked to see her or all of the ladies…

Sudden assurance filled her, and she asked, “Did you wish to speak with Eliza, Mr. Darcy?”

“I did wish to speak with her on a…a matter of some privacy,” he said. He spoke somewhat absently, still staring at Elizabeth, who looked out the window rather blankly as she sipped her drink. “But she is clearly ill, and it is rather worrisome. Also of some concern is the apothecary your husband is summoning. I think it might be better to send for my physician from London. In my opinion, he is beyond comparison with his colleagues in proficiency.”

Charlotte shrugged uncomfortably, for she regarded Mr. Simmons as a fool masquerading as an idiot, and Darcy instantly divined the reason for her reticence.

“I see; he is not, in fact, up to the mark, but you do not want to contradict your husband. Very well, I understand fully. Please summon a servant; I need to send an express to Dr. Douglas.”

“Oh, no, sir. If a physician is needed, Mr. Collins will want to send for Lady Catherine’s physician, Dr. Palmer. He is also in London and could possibly be here tomorrow.”

“Dr. Douglas can be here before evening,” Darcy said, moving to a writing desk and quickly penning a note. “Now, if you would call a servant?”

“But Dr. Palmer…” Charlotte’s protest was weak, overwhelmed by Darcy’s decisive intensity.

“…is a fool, a circumstance of which I am well aware, having seen him attend Miss de Bourgh. He is the reason so many of the wealthy die of trifling ailments they ought to survive. Dr. Douglas will treat Elizabeth according to less obsolete methods. He will certainly not engage in any antiquated nonsense such as bleeding a sick patient, which will do nothing to help them but only weaken them further.”

Darcy was completely unaware of how utterly he was revealing hitherto successfully concealed emotions to a perceptive lady, especially since she had previously wondered whether he might be in love with her friend. But, there being nothing she could do at the moment to confirm her supposition, she did as Darcy asked while he waited with apparent impatience and worry. When the maid arrived, Darcy immediately spoke before Charlotte had a chance to utter a word.

“Please send for an express rider immediately,” he said, handing the servant the note and some coins from his purse. “This will pay the fee. The rider is to deliver this to my physician as soon as may be. The matter is urgent, do you understand? Urgent!”

The maid’s nod of understanding was instinctive, and Darcy nodded in satisfaction. “Please inform me when the rider arrives and has been dispatched.”

So forceful and commanding were these orders that the young woman unthinkingly obeyed, instantly fleeing the room — note and coins in hand — without even a glance at her mistress.

Charlotte looked at Darcy in bemusement, all her suspicions and hope confirmed in one brilliant moment.
So this is what love looks like!
she thought gleefully.
Eliza is fortunate to have attracted a man of such significance — who clearly feels so deeply for her!

She deliberately rejected any thoughts of being the recipient of such emotions. She had made her choice with full awareness when she accepted Mr. Collins, and she would not repent of it. She long ago put any such regrets firmly into the little compartment in her mind she kept for such unwelcome thoughts and locked it firmly. At the moment, there were matters of real importance to be taken in aid of her friend, who continued to sip her lemonade and show no awareness of the activity around her.

Sometimes Eliza can be just a bit oblivious,
she thought fondly.
At such times, she needs a friend, a good friend, to look after her interests…

Accordingly, she stood up. “I shall give you a few moments with Eliza while I speak to the cook regarding something light for her. If I cannot get her to return to her bed, I hope to at least get some sustenance into her.” With a curtsey, she departed, leaving Darcy alone with Elizabeth.

Despite not showing any visible awareness, Elizabeth had watched most of these transactions with detached bemusement. Everything about her had a dreamlike quality, a curtain of unreality that submerged her usual antipathy toward the tall, handsome man who stared at her so intently. Thus, Darcy was surprised to hear Elizabeth speak in what appeared to be a lucid manner.

“Did you have something of which you wished to speak, Mr. Darcy?”

“Ummm, that is…” Darcy was suddenly at a loss for words after his previously decisive orders. Elizabeth only waited quietly, and he finally gained control of himself.