Windswept: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

Chapter 23

The library was a welcoming sight after the fright they had. Elizabeth was still disturbed by how quickly the clouds moved and the wind stirred.

She noticed the changes Mrs. Nicholls made while she had been outside. A screen was spread open and pressed against the empty fireplace, blocking any air that might come down the chimney. Two candles in the sconces framing the fireplace were lit. Pillows and blankets were placed around the room. All but one of the side tables and decorations were missing; there was not a doily, a vase, or a picture frame in sight. Instead, on a low table placed just inside the door was a selection of tea cups, a plate of warm bread and ham, a jar containing tea leaves, a pot of jam, and a bucket filled with scalding water. The housekeeper informed her that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had the same in the sitting room. “They are as comfortable as I can make them and as they can be. If you will excuse me, I will remain in the room with them, seeing to their needs,” was her parting comment.

Elizabeth chuckled to herself. She would not want to be Mrs. Nicholls for any amount of money.

“Was there a fire somewhere since you all entered the room like flames were snapping at your heels,” her mother snorted at her own humor.

Elizabeth quickly explained, “Mama, the wind is back.”

“Oh, good lord, no.” Francine Bennet muttered, her hands at her cheeks. “I do hope Longbourn remains standing. I have been there for more than half of my lifetime. What would I do if it was gone? What will we do if something happens to Mr. Bennet?”

Mr. Darcy repeated the report from his coachman who delivered Mr. Collins to the estate, much to her mother’s relief and the relief of others. Along with her mother and sisters, Mrs. Hammond, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were Netherfield Park’s female servants. Apparently, the male servants and any from the stables who dared to enter were sharing space in the cellar with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst or had gone to the dower house.

Cook kept the maids close to her, sitting next to the door as if she would escape at the first opportunity or block anyone from entering. Colonel Fitzwilliam was speaking with Jane. Kitty and Lydia were tormenting their mother with endless questions about their plans should Longbourn not survive, and Mary chatted with Mrs. Hammond. That left Mr. Darcy, who sat next to Elizabeth.

Leaning close to her, he said, “We need to talk.”

Not meaning to be coy, she asked, “What subject did you have in mind?”

“The kiss.”

Her breath caught. Both nervous and excited, and possibly a little scared at what he might say, she replied, “The first or the second, for if I remember correctly, there were two.”

His lips barely moved into a smile before he replied, “If you want to be specific, I would say it was the second one since the first was barely more than an accidental touch if you recall.”

The nerves along her spine quivered. “Oh, I recall it clearly, sir.”

“In detail?”

“Absolutely.” Her fingers picked at the fabric of her gown. Whatever did he mean by his series of questions? Was he hoping she would have forgotten the pleasure or that she would overlook his part in kissing her?

“As do I,” he reassured her. “My question is exactly what your expectations are because of that second one.”

She finally exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “Sir, whatever can you mean?” She was not coy. Rather, she needed to comprehend what he had in mind.

“Ah, yes, I understand your confusion. You see, I have never been one to incite expectations in a lady. My life’s goal to this point was to avoid the practice altogether. Yet, in truth, I cannot say that I had not given considerable consideration to doing that very thing with you prior to the windstorm.”

Elizabeth spun in her chair to look directly at him, stunned at his admission. “You did?”

“You are surprised, yet I wonder why that is so. Did you not hope? Can you tell me honestly that you did not consider me as a potential husband the night of the assembly when your mother made it obvious that she viewed both Bingley and me as bait for her matchmaking hook?”

She wanted to strike her palm against his mouth despite loathing physical violence. Why had he gone from charming to bitter with his last question? Was this his true nature? If so, then she was even blinder than she suspected earlier that day. Good grief! The question she should have asked was, ‘Who was Fitzwilliam Darcy?’ rather than ‘Who was Elizabeth Rose Bennet?’

“Are you being mean, sir? Is this an attempt to stir my ire until I reject any possibility of a possible attachment to you out of hand, relieving you of any responsibility after our kiss?”

“Mean? Why would you imply that of me? Do you not know me well enough to know that I was attempting to flirt? Something I apparently did poorly.” He ran his hand through his hair.

Good heavens! She wanted to laugh and comfort him at the same time. How adorably awkward of him.

“Elizabeth, my intentions are to offer for your hand in marriage. I want to protect you, not just through this storm, but for all the storms that happen during our lives, metaphorically and real. I esteem you highly enough to want you by my side for the rest of my lifetime.”

“Oh!” She was stunned. He wanted her. He really did. Joy filled her heart. “We shall need to work on your flirting skills, Mr. Darcy.”

“Fitzwilliam.”

His response confirmed he was in earnest, giving her peace. “Very well, Fitzwilliam. I suggest you practice regularly until winsome words flow from your lips. In case I frown after one of your attempts, you might want to soothe me with tender words of affection which will remove the sting, or another kiss.”

Darcy grinned. “Thank you for your suggestion. I shall strive to improve. In the meantime, do you have a response for me?”

“You have yet to ask a question to which I would respond.”

His smile turned his cool blue eyes into a shimmering pool of sapphire. For the hundredth time, Elizabeth almost sighed just looking at him.

Tilting his head toward hers, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Will you accept me as your husband, Elizabeth? Will you be my wife?”

They were so close that the shadow of whiskers from a morning without shaving and every individual eyelash were distinct.

Elizabeth questioned the desires of her heart. Did she love him? She thought so. The worries and concerns about her future before they were trapped at Netherfield Park haunted her enough for her to consider whether she could be happy tying herself to this man for the rest of her life. When added to Mrs. Hammond’s encouragement to Mary about cultivating qualities that already were her inclination, she was convinced that she and Mr. Darcy would get on fairly well.

Therefore, she replied, “I will if you will guarantee a third kiss and a fourth and more.”

“On my honor.”

He baskedin the knowledge that Elizabeth would be his wife. Could a man be happier? Everything about his decision felt right and just. He would be the best husband he could be, cherishing his wife with all his heart.

He loved her laugh. He loved her concern for others and how much she tried to bring joy to anyone she was with. He loved her!

Did she love him? Her kiss made it obvious that she felt something for him. If it were not yet love, then he would do everything within his knowledge and power to see that she saw the best of him and everything he had to offer. He would practice flirting until she considered him the most ridiculous man on the planet if it made her happy. He would love her with his heart, soul, mind, and strength. He vowed to himself to start immediately.

The morning slipped into afternoon,and the wind continued to blow rain and hail onto the side of the building. Even from their interior rooms, they could hear sounds of destruction. Darcy prayed they would remain safe in their haven.

For hours, he discussed plans and the current difficulties he faced with Elizabeth. She was a good listener, focusing not only on the words but his intent behind his utterances. Her observations and opinions were welcome.

Mrs. Bennet finally interrupted them.

“Of what subject are you and Mr. Darcy speaking, Lizzy?” her mother demanded. “Kitty and Lydia are both weary of bickering, and I am weary of listening to them. I insist on my share of the conversation.”

“Very well, Mama. Mr. Darcy said that his estate in Derbyshire was affected by the lack of rain this summer like we were in Hertfordshire. The dry weather harmed his crops, which impacted his income.”

The matron put her hand to her chest, “Poor Mr. Darcy. This must mean a shortfall of your ten thousand a year. How you must be suffering.”

Quick to reassure her in case she gave an unfavorable report to Mr. Bennet prior to his asking for their daughter’s hand in marriage, Darcy reassured her that he was solvent.

“Well, I had not thought you two were speaking of the economy. I was hoping you shared gossip from Town that might be far more interesting to me. Be that as it may, you can continue speaking without my interruption.” She placed the back of her hand to her brow. “I will sit here in silent suffering until I am finally able to return to Longbourn, where I will be equally, or if not more, ignored.”

Darcy stood, grateful to stretch his muscles. “I do have an idea should everyone agree. I know for a fact that Bingley has a copy of The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle tucked away behind his books on crops and seed selection. I would gladly read it aloud if this would please you?”

The three youngest Bennets immediately agreed. Mrs. Hammond said, “Please do.” Elizabeth nodded, her smile brighter than the sun, while Miss Bennet and Richard spoke quietly in the other corner, ignoring all other conversation.

“Very well. I shall begin.” He found the book, pulled his chair closer to the others and then moved Elizabeth’s to be next to his, turned to page one of the book, and began.

“Volume 1. Chapter 1. An account of Mr. Gamaliel Pickle—The Disposition of his Sister described—He yields to her Solicitations, and returns to the Country.

In a certain county of England, bounded on one side by the sea, and at the distance of one hundred miles from the metropolis, lived Gamaliel Pickle, esq.’ the father of that hero whose fortunes we propose to record…”

He read for the longest while, his Elizabeth supplying him with now tepid tea for the duration. His audience gasped when the story became sad and laughed when appropriate. When Elizabeth suggested a break, the Bennet girls became the characters from Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. Elizabeth was correct: Miss Mary did an excellent Beatrice to Miss Lydia’s Benedik. Even Cook laughed aloud, slapping her knee a few times.

All in all, the hours passed in pleasantness, though all of them were aware of the storm striking them from outside. Since there was no exterior light coming into the room, the passage of time was unmarked. It would be the same in the cellar for Bingley, Hurst, and the other men. Who knew whether it was night or day? What mattered was that they were all safe…so far.

When Elizabeth handed him the last roll on the plate filled with a thin slice of ham along with the last of the tea, he could not stop himself from asking.

“Can you picture in your mind a great banquet hall with tables laden with every sort of delicacies and wines, laughing family members and friends filling every corner? I never imagined it happening at Pemberley before, but I can now.”

She lightly touched his sleeve. “Fitzwilliam, as I am attempting to do, you are learning to look beyond the surface to see the good in people. I am deeply proud of you and of me, too, for trying.”

He almost lost himself in the depth of her gaze. “Let us not have a long engagement, I beg you.”

A corner of her mouth lifted. “Have I told you lately what an intelligent man I will be marrying? I guarantee you that should you address me by my first name where Mama could hear, we will be wed before you know it.”

Elizabeth delighted every inch of his soul. He simply could not wait to make her his bride.