Windswept: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

Chapter 2

There was something about being in Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s presence that invigorated Fitzwilliam Darcy. Was it the liveliness inherent in her nature? With only himself and his sister, Georgiana, occupying their large estate, their drawing rooms were often silent. When they were in London, business kept him confined to his study where few visitors risked entering without invitation. His life, for the most part, was…dull. No, that could not be accurate since he enjoyed many things. One of his greatest pleasures was engaging in conversation with someone possessing a sharp mind. It was why he enjoyed his cousin’s company. And, if he was honest, Miss Elizabeth’s.

Before he opened the door to the bookstore, Richard stopped him.

“Say, Darcy, you old dog. Why did you not tell me of your interest in a lady? I would not have tormented you earlier about our aunt’s expectations that you marry Cousin Anne. Where she is sickly and lifeless, Miss Elizabeth is vibrant. Good choice, my good man.”

Darcy barely kept from sputtering. “Of what are you speaking? Miss Elizabeth is nothing to me. I was merely being neighborly.”

The arch of Richard’s brow indicated his disbelief. “Neighborly? Is that so? Then why did you ride right by a mother with a passel of children clinging to her apron strings who barely kept her daughter from blowing away in this wind? And why did you not stop and help the shopkeeper’s wife who was trying to close her shutters? Are they not your neighbors? Or is it only the Bennets whom you acknowledge?”

He grumbled, uncomfortable with Richard’s observations. In truth, he had not seen either the mother or the shopkeeper once his eyes were fixed on Elizabeth Bennet.

Richard was not yet finished. “Additionally, we bypassed the bookstore, our intended destination, once you spotted her. Do not try to tell me you have no interest, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

Inhaling sharply, Darcy stated in as convincing a tone as was possible, “I have not been introduced to either the mother with the children or the shopkeeper’s wife. The only one on the street with whom I am properly acquainted is Miss Elizabeth. This does not indicate romantic interest because I do not have those inclinations in the slightest toward her or anyone else in the community. You shall see.”

“Oh, I saw all right.” His cousin smirked. “Slim ankles and well-muscled…”

“Richard! Enough!”

“Surely even you, with your prim ways, must have noticed her…”

“I noticed,” Darcy admitted. “Nonetheless, they have no effect on me.”

Richard’s grin belied his words. “If you say so.”

“Had I not been a gentleman, I would have ignored the weight of the basket she was carrying and never would have offered to have the two of us escort her to Longbourn. However, I am a gentleman. Do remember that if you are able.” This time, the smirk was his, though that was not his overriding emotion. Movement over his cousin’s shoulder caught his attention.

Was that…? Darcy inhaled sharply. Blast and damnation!

George Wickham entered the inn across the street in the company of three militia officers. He wished he could be proud of him, acknowledge him for who he truly was. Instead, George slithered through society with little care, whether he left behind bleeding hearts after stealing the innocence of maidens or the last coin from a hungry man’s pockets. It was the first time Darcy had seen him since Ramsgate.To avert danger, he needed to make sure his cousin did not see him, too.

“Come, Richard. You can search the shelves for entertainment while I meditate on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman and a well-turned leg can bestow.”

With the arrival of Wickham, he would need to keep Richard busy, help Bingley learn to run an estate he probably should not have leased, manage his affairs, and avoid entanglement with Miss Elizabeth. When and why had his life become such a trial?

A gustof wind hit the side of Mrs. Hammond’s house, rattling the windows set in the bricks until the curtains on the inside floated parallel to the floor. When the chimney began to whistle, Elizabeth closed the door, deciding to remain inside until the air settled. She hurried to place the screen as close to the fire as possible. Mrs. Hammond still burned wood scraps instead of coal, as did others in the locale. She had a large woven carpet covering the stone floor and doilies under every surface that could easily catch fire from the shooting sparks.

“The chimney cap must be gone,” Mrs. Hammond moved to close the inside window shutters. “I shall have Hannah’s brother repair it once the winds calm. You know, I did not approve when Mr. Hammond installed these shutters inside the house as well as outside when we purchased this place despite living through hurricanes in the West Indies. Now, I am grateful.”

Elizabeth helped her with the latches, which were stiff from disuse. After many tries, the shutters were locked. Then she closed the damper in the fireplace. With one lone candle burning, shadows from their movement danced on the walls.

Thinking Mrs. Hammond was as safe as she could be, Elizabeth said, “I must depart now.” With more trepidation than before and concerned that if she did not leave at that moment, she would be unable to return to Longbourn, she grabbed her basket and started for the door. A fierce howling like a thousand pounding horse hooves racing toward them, a sound unlike anything Elizabeth had ever heard before, stopped her. At the same time, rain burst from the sky, pounding on the shale roof.

“Good lord.” Elizabeth’s hand went to her chest. “Does cannon fire sound like this? I do not believe I have ever heard anything as loud.”

Fists pounded against the door, or was it tree branches that had been blown against the house?

“Open up, we beg you.”

Reacting instinctively, Elizabeth threw the latch, allowing Mr. Darcy and his cousin to enter. They were soaked, their hats gone.

“We beg your pardon.” Mr. Darcy wiped the rain from his eyes as he spoke. “Is there someplace we may temporarily shelter our mounts?”

Mrs. Hammond said, “There is a lean-to in the back.”

“Stay here,” Mr. Darcy ordered his cousin. Within a heartbeat, he passed a parcel to Colonel Fitzwilliam and was out the door. Disobediently, his cousin set the package on the table and followed.

“Oh dear!” Mrs. Hammond scurried around the room while Elizabeth stayed in place. “Light more candles, dear. I shall gather towels and blankets for the gentlemen if you would lay them out on the table.”

Spurred into action, Elizabeth removed the food and drinks, placing them on a small shelf against the far wall. When Mrs. Hammond nimbly ascended the stairs to the upper floor, Elizabeth lit the tapers.

By the time the gentlemen returned, enough blankets had been stripped from the bedrooms to warm the whole militia, and enough candles had been lit so they could see each other properly.

Mr. Darcy and the colonel were drenched and shivering.

“Come, warm yourselves. Miss Lizzy and I shall retire to my private rooms where you can take advantage of the fire and the hot water in the kettle. I have a rack where you may hang your outer clothing and boots to dry. Pray let us know when you are comfortable.”

Mrs. Hammond’s words hit Elizabeth one after the other. For the duration of the downpour, she was stuck in a small cottage with Mrs. Hammond and two gentlemen; one she loathed, the other a complete stranger. Even though her circumstances were far from joyous, she had a lifetime of making do. She would be pleasant to Mr. Darcy, even if it killed her.

Fitzwilliam Darcycarefully removed his great coat, draping it on the peg by the door, being cautious not to shake the droplets waiting to form a puddle on the lady’s floor. His cravat was soaked, as was his hair. Without his valet, Parker, his jacket and boots would be impossible to remove. At least the buckskin of his trousers kept his legs mostly dry. He had used his fingers to comb through his curls, hoping they would not stand on end. Richard’s hair was cropped close enough to his head that he merely rubbed it with a towel.

“Well, Richard. Welcome back to jolly England.”

“You do mean damp and dreary England, do you not? I do understand that we need the rain. But this much at one time?”

“I cannot imagine Spain and Portugal having equally poor conditions.”

The colonel nodded. “Well, now that we have canvassed the weather like good British gentlemen should, perhaps my flask will warm our insides more than the tea the ladies will provide.”

Darcy grinned. “Like you officers, I have my flask. The question is, which do you prefer, Madeira in yours or French brandy in mine?”

With a camaraderie born from years of close friendship, each man drank from his own before Darcy let the ladies know they were presentable.

Miss Elizabeth followed the old woman into the room. She was lovely…Miss Elizabeth, not their hostess. He watched as her eyes shot from his to Richard’s and lingered there longer than made Darcy comfortable. She smiled at his cousin, a dimple appearing at her cheek, her eyes alight with pleasure. How like Miss Elizabeth to welcome a stranger.

“Mr. Darcy, pray allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Hammond. Mrs. Olivia Hammond, this is Mr. Darcy from Derbyshire.”

The young lady barely tilted her head toward Darcy before returning her full attention to Richard.

What was she about? Miss Elizabeth never greeted him with that level of warmth. In fact, had she ever truly welcomed him? At all? The rainfall must have washed his memory clean, for surely Miss Elizabeth wanted him, or did she? Most ladies would do anything for his wealth and the Darcy name. If so, why was she paying particular attention to his cousin?

Richard cleared his throat, reminding Darcy of the other lady in the room.

“My pleasure,” Darcy bowed. “As I mentioned, this is my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, recently returned from the front in southern Spain and Portugal. He is the second son of Lord and Lady Matlock.”

“We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Colonel.”

As he made a correct bow, Richard glanced over Mrs. Hammond before resting on Miss Elizabeth. Darcy was unsurprised by his cousin’s reaction. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove or from making a new acquaintance; Darcy did not know which. Her eyes, her most notable feature, were brilliant, even in the shadows. He simply could not look away.

Darcy’s heart threatened to stop when Miss Elizabeth returned Richard’s smile. Never in their short acquaintance had she smiled like that at him.

He barely kept from snarling.

“If you do not mind pulling two chairs closer, we might be seated to enjoy the heat while we learn more about you.” Mrs. Hammond studied them closely while Miss Elizabeth seemed slightly more circumspect.

Once they were settled, Mrs. Hammond barely looked at Darcy. To Richard, she said, “Sir, my late husband was a sea captain. I was fortunate enough to sail with him for many years. We were often in Spanish and Portuguese ports where we devoured the finest fruits and wine, and I purchased lovely linen and lace pieces, many of which I still have.”

He smiled. “While I was in Almeida, there was a woman whose tables were covered with exquisitely embroidered cloth. Had she given as much attention to the food she prepared as to the cloth she weaved, I would have married her on the spot despite her being older than my father. I arrived with Wellesley in 1808. Perhaps we were in close proximity at one time or another.”

“I do not believe so since my husband sailed his final journey almost forty-two years ago. None of you would have been born.”

“We would not.” Richard crossed his legs, sipping the tea Miss Elizabeth poured.

Darcy was surprised and inordinately pleased when he sampled his tea, which was to his exact taste—black with a hint of sugar.

Miss Elizabeth asked, “You were at Roli?a and Vimeiro then?”

Richard rubbed the small scar on his temple. “You know of those battles, Miss Elizabeth?”

She placed her teacup to the side. “How can I not when Napoleon’s aggression threatens England both militarily and economically? The cost of war is great, as you know, affecting every citizen, male or female. I wish for peace, Colonel Fitzwilliam, so that no one suffers the hardship of a nation being in conflict. Injustice stirs deep within me, as it does all thinking individuals, I suppose.”

“Tell me, do you believe that raising arms against another is the means to peace?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

“I cannot see that it has ever been truly successful in the past, nor do I suspect it will be in the future. However, as I utter those strong words, I readily admit that I am not a military strategist. I am a woman who frets for those who courageously put their futures on the line, so my small life in Hertfordshire remains unchallenged.”

Richard sat forward in his chair. “I thank you for your concern and your honesty. While I will not lie to you and say that war is good, I will confess that there were some parts that I will recall in the years to come that will bring a smile to my heart. For example, in a village where my regiment was stationed, a small boy with both front teeth missing had a massive dog he named after Lieutenant-General Wellesley. Except, the lad could not say Lieutenant or Wellesley. He called that dog General. Well, sure as can be, on the thirty-first of July of this year, the little fellow’s teeth were in, and he was able to say the words correctly when Lord Wellington officially achieved the very rank that lad called him for almost a year.”

The ladies laughed. Then, Miss Elizabeth said, “What a remarkably prophetic coincidence. Was it the boy or the dog who inspired such confidence?”

Richard looked pleased. “It was the boy since the dog was little more than a lunkhead. By the time we left the area, the lad firmly attached himself to General Wellesley. The dog was loyal to anyone who shared a scrap of rations. Had the French seen the mutt first, he would have been called général.”

Richard rarely spoke about his time on the continent, especially around ladies. When he shared details with him, Darcy was appalled at the terrors his cousin faced and awed by the bravery with which he faced them.

The wind blasted the side of the house, rattling the slate roofing. As attractive as he found Miss Elizabeth and enjoyed spending time in her company, the weather was worrisome. His host at Netherfield Park, Charles Bingley, was new to estate management. He might not know, as Mrs. Hammond did, to fasten the shutters, bank the fires, and gather foodstuffs in case the household was confined for a lengthy period. Darcy and Richard needed to return to Netherfield Park as soon as was safely possible. But first, he would see Miss Elizabeth home. Another powerful gust assured him that it was unwise to depart.