Chapter 7
When he took another drink instead of closing his eyes, Elizabeth asked, “What did you mean when you said that Mr. Bingley tried to forget Jane? Does he still think of her? My sister called on Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley in London only to have them end any chance at friendship. Are you saying they did this without consulting their brother?”
Mr. Darcy rubbed his face with his free hand after pulling the glove off with his teeth.
He groaned, this time apparently not from discomfort. “Tell me plainly, did your sister hold Bingley in affection?”
“You have to ask?” Elizabeth was incensed. “She did everything within propriety’s restraints to show him how much she valued him. Yet, he walked away, exposing Jane to the censure of the world for her disappointed hopes. My sister was, and still is, crushed.”
Mr. Darcy tipped the container to his lips and drank until there was no more. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tossed the flask aside. His voice was so quiet that she needed to lean closer to hear.
“For as much as you hated me after my insult to you, I fear you will loathe me even more when I tell you that I, along with Caroline Bingley, convinced Bingley that your sister was merely following the direction of your mother to attach herself to a wealthy man.”
Elizabeth yearned to pinch his ear lobe hard enough that he yelped. She would have, too, had he not already been so miserable.
“If I were not such a sympathetic soul, I would toss your head to the ground, hoping you would hit a rock hard enough to knock some sense into you. How could you not see Jane’s attachment? And how could you hurt Mr. Bingley like that? Shame on you, Mr. Darcy!”
“Yes, shame on me.” He hiccupped. “This is not my finest hour, Miss Elizabeth. Or Miss Bennet. Or would you mind if I just called you ‘Elizabeth’? It is how I always think of you.”
“Are you drunk?” She huffed.
“I think I must be,” he mumbled. “If that cloud looks like something other than a bunny getting ready to hop away, then I suspect I have had too much to drink. Blast, Richard! Somehow or someway, this must be his fault. But I will fix this just like I will fix Wickham. Wretched Wickham is what I call him in my mind. He is the most wretched person I know. Do you think I am wretched, Elizabeth?”
Glancing up at the sky, there was no white fluffy rabbit visible. Rolling her eyes at their current situation, she was unsurprised when Mr. Darcy’s eyes slid closed. Hopefully, the time would pass more quickly if he slept.
The colonel was wise to give him alcohol. Anything that would dull the pain when the men tried to move Mr. Darcy was worth having him incapacitated now. The trip back to Rosings Park would jolt and jar him terribly. If only Mr. Darcy could sleep through it, but she doubted it.
In the meantime, what was she to do about him?
She was so angry with his interference that she would gladly slap his jaw if he were not already so miserable.
And that was another thing: How could she be angry at a man who apologized with genuine remorse?
Ugh! He was a conundrum likely to send her to Bedlam if she spent any more time in his presence.
“Elizabeth, are you better now?” he asked softly but did not open his eyes. “You were in terrible pain when you left Netherfield Park.”
“From my fall?”
“Yes.”
“The headaches and dizziness lasted far longer than I wanted, but the nausea was only that day and the next. The pupil of my left eye stayed bigger than my right eye for weeks, it seemed, although I refused to look in a mirror. What lasted the longest was the confusion, the feeling that my brain was filled with London fog. Eventually, I recalled leaving Netherfield Park for a quick stroll around the lake. And I remembered you escorting me back. I wish I heard what you said to me while I was unconscious, Mr. Darcy, but I do not.”
He opened his eyes, his dark sapphire gaze directed at her and warmed her insides more than the sun. “Would you like to know what I remember most about that day?”
“What do you remember most about that day, sir?”
“Your eyelashes.”
He had to be well and truly inebriated to say such a thing. “Indeed?”
“Yes, ma’am. They lay against your cheeks, and they looked so long and thick that I wondered if you would have the strength to lift them after your injury. My fingers ached to touch them to see if they were indeed as weighty as they appeared. Proudly, I will tell you that I restrained myself.”
She laughed. “Oh, Mr. Darcy. Unlike me, I fear you will remember everything about this situation later, once the alcohol wears off, and you will think your tongue is unhinged.”
“I told you, or I think I told you, that I tried to forget you, Elizabeth. You are my Achilles’ heel, I fear.” He reached up to clasp her fingers in his. “I will never forget this day. I will always think upon it with pleasure.”
His eyes closed again. His breathing deepened. Within moments, the tension left his muscles until he relaxed completely against her.
To the emptiness surrounding them, she said, “I sincerely doubt that I will forget this day as well.”
Darcy ached from his elbow to his toes. His knee throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The rough ground underneath him pressed into his backside, causing further discomfort. Where was Richard? What was taking him so long?
He listened to hear any signs of his cousin approaching. Someone was humming a slow melody in minor notes. He smelled honeysuckle, his favorite spring flower. His mother? No!
Blinking, the lady’s face was angled away from him. Strong jaw. Pointed chin. Slender neck. Elizabeth.
Closing his eyes again so she would think he remained asleep, he marveled that she continued to hold him close. What did it mean? Was it Christian kindness? Or did it signify something more?
He needed to see her face. Shifting slightly, misery shot through him with the first flex of his muscles. Gasping from the pain, he held himself still, only to realize that the sun had shifted while he was asleep, adding to his agony. The warm rays shone directly upon his face.
How long had he been asleep? Good lord, had he snored?
“Sir, I can hear the approach of a cart. Can you hear the wheels?”
“Indeed. Evidence that my aunt does not maintain Rosings to the extent she claims.” Darcy grimaced. “First the bridge, now the cart. What will be next, I cannot imagine?”
“Let us make a game of it, Mr. Darcy. I guarantee that it will make the arrival of help seem faster. I guess that the next sign that Lady Catherine has been remiss is that the shelves in the closets of the parsonage will sag.”
“Shelves in the closet? Why would my aunt do such an odd thing? How are garments supposed to hang with shelves in the way?”
Miss Elizabeth laughed. “You shall have to ask your aunt. Now, it is your turn to guess.”
“Hmm…I know. There is a statue of Diana the Huntress in the largest fountain north of the main house. Diana is reaching behind her shoulder for an arrow from her quiver. She has a stag in her left hand. I guess that the antler will break whereupon the deer will fall into the fountain. She will be left standing without prey. Forevermore, visitors will be left to guess whether she hunted a rabbit, a fox, or something else.”
“You have given an excellent guess. My question is, where does the water currently spout from? Diana? The quiver? Or the deer?”
“The deer’s mouth.” He joined her laughter. “The water would shoot up and hit her outstretched hand, spraying everyone within reach.”
“How displeasing for your aunt. Well done, Mr. Darcy. It is my turn. I suggest that the next sign that Lady Catherine does not maintain her home to the standard she claims is that the bottom of the walking stick falls off when she bangs it sharply on the floor.”
“Never! I have seen her collection. She would claim it is a flaw in the stick rather than the unladylike demands she makes.”
“She makes demands of you? Oh, do not answer. That was too impertinent for me to ask. I beg your pardon,” she said.
Elizabeth’s face was as red as a ripe tomato.
“Do not be embarrassed, please. The simple answer to your question is ‘yes.’ For as long as I have known my aunt, she insists that everything she says, thinks, or does is the only correct way. For example, after my father died, my aunt insisted that it was my mother’s greatest desire to unite Pemberley and Rosings.
I would need to marry my cousin, Anne, which I will never do.
Although I have told my aunt and cousin repeatedly that I have no intention of offering for Anne, the first thing out of Lady Catherine’s mouth, when Richard and I arrived, was the date she could have her parson begin reading the banns.
” He shook his head, the fabric of her skirt rustling underneath his head.
It was such a pleasurable feeling, and he wanted to do it again.
“Then my question to you, Mr. Darcy, is if we were to play the same game about Pemberley, what would need to be repaired that you refuse to see?”
“Why, nothing.” He grinned. “I am teasing, of course. When a grand house is built from stone that is centuries old, there are constant repairs. The difference between me and my aunt is that I do not ignore them. If a structure like the bridge is in ill-repair, there are signs posted, and it is roped off.”
“That is good of you, sir.”
“Elizabeth…Miss Bennet, Pemberley is more than a house to me. The land and the buildings reflect my past, my ancestry. The picture gallery is filled with men and women who lived there and loved there. Children were born, and older ones died. In my almost eight and twenty years, I have a wealth of memories in almost every room.”
Elizabeth asked, “Which is your favorite room?”