Day 3
The bones of the old house creaked and groaned in the wind as the moon peeked defiantly through the clouds to bathe the kitchen in a peaceful glow.
Yet, the serenity could do nothing for his thoughts.
Darcy’s mind was unsettled. As the master of Pemberley for the last five years, he was not used to this life.
He was frustrated with his current situation, and with Clarence for not telling him all he wished to know.
He had wandered through the house seeking to distance himself from the events of the evening but was trapped by the four walls and the lateness of the hour.
So, he fell back into old habits—procuring himself a cup of tea and a biscuit from the larder.
As the master of one of the greatest estates in England, and as the elder brother to a young girl, he often found himself alone at night drinking tea.
He now chuckled at the memory of his cook, Mrs. Rogers, when he asked her to teach him to steep tea.
I could not expect a servant to wake and brew me a cup every time my mind was unsettled.
And although the location and circumstances had changed, his mind was still troubled.
Dinner at Rosings had been grueling. The control and discipline he had learned at his father’s knee had served two purposes: to keep the grief of discovering his cousin’s unexpected death at bay and to not shout at Wickham to unhand his sister.
With Anne, he was puzzled at her overbearing behavior and wanted to shake his cousin, force her to come to her senses.
And I wish I could wrap my arms around Elizabeth and apologize for my ghastly proposal. Instead, I watch this surreal life play out around me as Lemuel Gulliver trying to convince Dr. Bates of my sanity.
He took a drink of chamomile, closing his eyes and praying his mind would rest, but to no avail.
Georgiana sitting mutely while Wickham harangued her on every topic imaginable—her playing, her gown, her style of hair.
My beautiful, sweet sister reduced to…to…
“The wife of a cad,” he said aloud while setting down his cup.
“What am I to do?” He closed his eyes. “How am I to fix this?”
The night sounds of the house were soothing and caused him to look about the kitchen. The crackle of the low fire in the grate, the hooting of an owl in Rosings’ woods, and the wind in the trees attempted to bring him peace, but his mind was troubled.
Then she was there in the doorway. A most unexpected but welcome figure.
Her rebuke and rejection from days before in another life, almost forgotten with her recent smiles and concern.
Yet, his heart was still guarded, afraid to be lulled into submission, only to be destroyed once again.
But no matter how hard he tried, thoughts of Elizabeth still filtered through his mind.
And there she was in her dressing gown, a sight he could not have dreamed to more perfection.
Their eyes locked, and he froze before hurriedly standing to greet her. “Forgive me. You seemed an apparition of my dreams.” The words were out before he could stop them, and he was grateful for the dim light of the candle so she could not see his embarrassment. “That did not sound as I meant it.”
“Oh,” was all she said before stepping into the kitchen. “I was reading and decided I needed a biscuit.”
He pushed the tin across the table. “I found these in the cupboard if you would care for one.”
“Oh, no.” Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head.
“Those are too dry for my taste.” She walked to a cupboard and reached behind a jar.
Tucked away was a small tin which she brought over and placed before him.
“Now these, Mr. Fitzroy,” she whispered as if imparting a great secret, “these are from heaven. Father indulges us and has Longbourn’s cook send them every other month.
Jane and I share them only with Cook here so she will keep our secret.
But”—she lifted the lid and held the box to him—“I will happily bring you into the fold.”
He hesitated, warring with his need to impart his own secret, but wisely chose the biscuit instead. After the first bite, he grinned. “Your cook does her mistress credit.”
“I will tell Mama in my next letter. She will be most gratified.” Elizabeth sat across from him and smiled before a flicker of concern crossed her face. “Has your head given you trouble? It is not quite two o’clock. Have you been unable to sleep?”
“No, I thank you. I have not attempted to as I have so much to concern myself with.”
Elizabeth smiled, a smile that he had seen her give Bingley, his cousin, and even Sir William Lucas in a former life, but never him. And now, he was the recipient of her kindness.
“Grandmother Bennet always said a burden shared is a burden halved. Will you allow me to remove some of your concerns? It often helps to discuss it with another.”
The bright moon peeked from behind a cloud again and bathed the kitchen in a soft glow. Her eyes were luminous, her delicate lips quirked into a smile, her brows raised in question.
She sat patiently until she lowered her gaze. “Forgive me. I have been too bold. You wish to be alone, and I am forcing myself upon you.” She made to leave. “I will say goodnight.”
“No. Wait. It is only that…” He concentrated, wavering between a response. This is Elizabeth. She is no stranger to me, although I am to her. I must show her I am not the man I once was. “I am mourning the death of my dearest friend and cousin.”
She stopped mid-step. “Oh. Please accept my deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you,” he said, unsure of what else to say.
She moved back to the chair, and he took another breath.
“I am a man who is not accustomed to sharing my thoughts with others. I do not display weakness for fear it will be exploited and used against those I love. I have also been taught,” he said, his finger tracing a pattern of wood grain on the table, “that with so many under my protection, I am to keep counsel with only myself until I take a wife. And until Mrs. Fitzroy comes into being, I am uncertain how to proceed.” He offered her a weak smile.
“It would seem to me,” Elizabeth said, “that one does not need a wife to find a union of minds.”
He held up his hand and shook his head. “I do not wish to trouble you. We, all of us, have difficulties in life—”
“Yes, but unlike others, you seem to be alone. Forgive my boldness, but I hope I do not presume too much to offer a hand of friendship?”
“You most assuredly do not,” he said softly.
“Then, will you not unburden yourself to me?”
He watched the flame flicker. Then, without thinking, he asked, “Has he much imposed upon you since your arrival in Hunsford? Do his attentions unsettle you?”
She bit her lip, considering him. “Mr. Wick—although his attentions are unwanted, I am not at liberty to offend him.” She weighed her words.
“My sister’s comfort is dependent on her husband’s living.
And he is dependent upon the condescension of those residing at Rosings Park.
My brother is not…always aware of giving offense.
Other patrons would have petitioned the Archbishop of Canterbury to dismiss him by now.
“However, Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh are forbearing of his…loquacious manners. My sister is grateful for their…patience. There is nowhere for them to go if he loses the living. Therefore, I maintain civility with…the newest inhabitant of the estate who seems to have influence over the household, and my sister maintains her home.”
He listened to her words and recalled the allegations and fervor she threw at him on Wickham’s behalf only days before in a different life after his rejected proposal.
Regardless, he was confident this Elizabeth had no tender regard for the man married to his sister.
“I understand your position. If you find that the attentions from Rosings become compromising—”
There was an intake of breath as she pulled her shoulders back. “I assure you, Mr. Fitzroy, his attentions are indeed unwelcome!”
He tried not to smile at her petulance. Oh, my Elizabeth. How I love you. “Of course, I did not want to overstep by offering my protection, in what small manner I can provide.”
“Oh.” Her eyes were wide, and a soft glow covered her cheeks. “Your protection?”
Quickly he realized his blunder and said, “You misunderstand me. I did not mean that I… I would never presume anything upon a lady…” He knew he was making a cake of himself but knew not how to make her know he did not mean he meant to offer her carte-blanche.
She seemed to take pity on him and said only, “I believe I understand you, sir.”
Relieved, he said, “Nor do I mean to insult Mr. Collins, but I imagine that I may be a more formidable deterrent than he.”
A sputter escaped before she caught herself. “I assure you, sir. That is an unspoken fact.” She stood to grab the teapot and pour them both a fresh cup before resuming her seat. “Won’t you tell me about your cousin?”
“My cousin?” Darcy’s ache at Richard’s death had numbed during their convivial banter, but the wound ripped open anew at her words.
“Richard was a man who brought joy to all he met. He was the second son of my uncle and had chosen to make his way in the military. After all he had prepared for, all the battles he had fought, to learn of his death was quite a blow.”
“May I ask how he met his end?”
He looked into her kind eyes. “In an accident. I am unaware of the particulars, but…” His voice threatened to catch, and he picked up his cup and took a swallow, allowing the warmth to soothe his throat. “Suffice to say, this is an injury from which I shall not soon recover.”
“You cared for him?”
“As a brother.” He sipped his tea and sighed, uncertain if he should persist. “And, I am also concerned for my sister,” he uttered.