Chapter 7
Night Visitor
The next time she saw Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was not prepared. (Despite telling herself she would be.)
But then again, she had not expected to wake up with a fright and find him sitting on the chair beside her bed!
“Goodness gracious!”
Elizabeth clutched at the covers tightly and stared at Mr. Darcy. He appeared the same as before. Handsome. Well-coiffed. Dressed in his great coat and fawn pants, with a white silk cravat around his neck.
“I apologize, Miss Bennet, for scaring you,” Mr. Darcy said, almost regretfully. “I could not help myself.”
A flash of annoyance speared through Elizabeth.
Of all the ghosts that could have haunted her, it was the man she detested the most! Her fear disappeared at the heels of her anger.
“What do you want, Mr. Darcy?” she asked coldly.
He paled. And then cleared his throat.
“It is not what I want. It is what I… find myself in,” he said. His gaze fixed on her in the dun darkness. “Am I dead, Miss Bennet? Is that why…” He fell silent and stared at his hands resting on the arms of the chair.
A pang of sorrow touched Elizabeth’s heart. She bit her lip. No matter her personal dislike of the man, she would not have wished death upon him.
“I believe so. But I do not know…” she said after a moment.
A sudden lump formed in her throat.
She could not imagine a world without Jane in it. Or her beloved father. She wondered about Mr. Darcy’s sister, and the cousin he had been with when the carriage overturned.
“News of your… demise… has not reached Rosings. I am sorry,” she whispered.
A tear rolled down her face, startling her. Mr. Darcy looked startled too. Then he smiled sadly.
“It was not your fault.”
Elizabeth shook her head and sat up, carefully drawing the covers up with her, so she could rest against the headboard.
“Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, sent news to Rosings,” she said. “The services of a physician from town has been engaged and Lord Matlock has you ensconced somewhere in the Kent countryside. They are hopeful you will heal.”
She paused.
“...at least, that was what was conveyed.”
“Then why am I here?” Mr. Darcy asked her.
They were silent for a moment.
“I must be close to death if nothing else,” he added, and then sighed, looking towards the window. “Perhaps Lord Matlock does not want news of my death getting out. Though, I cannot imagine why.”
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy shift on the chair. There was a certain restlessness in his form. It was strange to have him in her room while she was in her bedclothes under the covers. A deep blush erupted over her cheeks.
“How are you sitting on that chair?” Elizabeth asked abruptly.
Mr. Darcy looked at her in surprise. Then he looked at his hands on the chair arms. Almost as if he had not thought of that at all.
“I… am not certain.”
Elizabeth sat forward, careful to cling to the covers. “That day in that copse… when I ran into you…” Her face heated some more. “Did you…”
She cleared her throat.
“Did you… feel something when I…?”
Mr. Darcy looked just as embarrassed as her. He stared at her covers.
“You mean the day you…?” He appeared to be blushing, but Elizabeth could not be certain. “Uh… I did not.”
Elizabeth looked down at her covers. “Well, right then.”
She could feel the flush spreading right down to her toes. She clutched at the covers more tightly. Mr. Darcy cleared his throat.
“I can walk through doors, in case you were wondering.”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise. And curiosity. Then she tipped her head to one side.
“That must be strange.”
He smiled, still embarrassed. “Yes.”
“And you truly cannot see…” She could feel her face heating again. “...anyone else but me?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head.
“Only you.”
A frisson of something unknowable passed through Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy’s gaze locked on her, and held. Then he looked away.
“I can hardly imagine what that must be like,” she said, softly.
To be the only one in a land of empty houses and empty streets. To not hear a single voice. And the only person one could see was… Miss Bingley?
Elizabeth shuddered immediately.
Of course, she was not Miss Bingley! But she reckoned it must be something like so for Mr. Darcy. After all, he found her barely tolerable.
“I apologize for inconveniencing you and breaking propriety, Miss Bennet…”
Her attention was drawn back to Mr. Darcy.
“...but I do not know how to stop this.”
Their gazes locked on each other once more. This time he had a distinct look of despondency about him. She could feel it too. Elizabeth bit her lip.
“Can you not go anywhere at all?” she asked.
He was silent for a moment. And then he shook his head.
“I tried walking out of Hunsford one time. But the next thing I remember was standing beside you in that copse of chestnuts.”
Elizabeth hugged the covers closer to herself.
They were silent for a moment longer.
Each lost in their own thoughts.
“Why do you think you are here?” Her voice was a hush in the silence.
“I do not know.”
He looked to the windows again. A deep sorrow was etched on his face.
“...maybe all this is just a dream and I will wake up tomorrow.”
Elizabeth could feel her eyes prickling. But she did not want to think about death and dying any longer. She tried to shake it off.
“Well, Mr. Darcy, I hope you are right.”
She tried to strike some cheerfulness, but was certain she was failing. He looked her way.
“…but if you are not, might you find a better time to haunt me?”
Mr. Darcy looked embarrassed again.
“I will try my best, Miss Bennet.”