9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Blimey
D arcy was incensed. Of all the sneaky, underhanded things to do! How dare she make up such falsehoods about him! To pretend she had dreamt of him, of a future together, of their children…It was unseemly.
Of course, he had dreamt of her. Or he dreamt of a woman, and lately she had taken on Elizabeth Bennet’s features. But he was not so silly to believe they were dreams of the future. Nor was he foolish enough to tell anyone of them! He paced the lawn furiously, his fists clenched at his side. He should return to the house, but he did not wish to deal with Miss Bingley and her incessant fawning at the moment. One troublesome woman was enough.
He had been walking the garden after Bingley took his nephew indoors. Darcy wished to check on Miss Elizabeth and ensure she was well. She had looked dreadfully pale before her sister dragged her away. He thought the ladies might appreciate an escort if they intended to remain outdoors. Or, if Miss Jane Bennet were fatigued and wished to return to the house, he could keep Miss Elizabeth company. His intentions had been kind. And he had been repaid in the worst way.
He had heard their voices from a distance and approached with the intention of announcing his presence, but then he had heard his name. Sheer curiosity had halted him in his tracks, wondering what Miss Elizabeth would say about him.
“…you and I were sitting on a terrace watching our husbands play with our children.”
Darcy’s ears perked up at that. That sounded like a pleasant dream.
As the ladies continued speaking, Darcy was only more confused. They did not sound as if it had been a normal dream. Miss Bennet was speaking as if what Elizabeth dreamt would actually come to pass. Odd. Why would they speak so? Was Miss Elizabeth attempting to lay claim to him? Perhaps he had not been as circumspect in his admiration as he had thought.
“I know it is strange, Jane, but I simply knew. It is him. I am certain of it.”
Darcy had heard enough. Miss Elizabeth had clearly decided he would be her future husband and was enlisting her sister’s help in capturing him. Well, he would not have it! He would not be caught by some simple country girl from an insignificant estate, no matter how fine her eyes or pleasing her figure. He was insulted by the very notion.
Elizabeth woke in a sweat. “It was only a dream, Elizabeth. Breathe. It was just a dream.”
The dream had seemed so real—so vivid. In it, smoke was everywhere and her throat burned from breathing it in. She was terribly frightened. Where is Jane? She quickly scanned her eyes over the room, searching for flames or a glow under the door. She breathed deeply, but there was no smell of fire. Still, she slipped out of bed and crept to the door that separated her room from Jane’s. She pressed the door open and looked into her sister’s darkened bedchamber. The fireplace had died down to a few embers and she could barely make out a form on the bed she knew was Jane.
It had been an odd evening all around. Jane had joined them for dinner, which made Mr. Bingley very happy and Miss Bingley very annoyed. Elizabeth was pleased to see Jane and Mr. Bingley getting along so well and thought to make inroads of her own with Mr. Darcy. She tried to speak to him, believing she must have misjudged him and that surely there was an amiable man beneath his crusty exterior.
But he was not receptive to her overtures. In fact, he was bordering on hostile all evening, making snide remarks or ignoring her altogether. She had never hoped so fervently her visions were wrong as she did that night. Mr. Darcy should not be the man in her dreams. He was too haughty, too cold, too…Darcy! Even as she told herself she must be mistaken, something in her screamed that it was he. He was the man who would play with her children so happily, who would touch her so tenderly, who would patiently teach her to ride a horse, and speak to her with such joy in his voice that it would take her breath away. He was the man who would find comfort in her arms and passion in her touch. It was him. They were all him.
She sighed in frustration. He would be mercurial the evening she agreed to Jane’s request to stay a few more days, vexing man! Jane was still fatigued from her illness, and she was getting to know Mr. Bingley so well without the interference of her family and half the town in attendance. Could they not stay another day or two? Elizabeth had agreed, hoping to get to know Mr. Darcy better as well. And then had come the disastrous dinner where he had gone from occasionally seeking her company to being openly rude. And now she was dreaming of the house burning down around her ears! A perfect night , she thought dryly.
The following morning, Elizabeth took a deep breath before entering the breakfast room. Mr. Darcy stood when she came in but did not look at her. He mumbled something that passed as a greeting and returned to his meal without so much as glancing in her direction. Elizabeth quashed a feeling of disappointment.
As she filled her plate, she decided she would not let Mr. Darcy behave so without recourse. He may choose to ignore her, but it did not mean she had to ignore him.
She sat directly across from him and said sunnily, “The cook here makes the most delicious buns, don’t you think?”
He looked up from his letter and stared at her, not saying a word. She pulled the bun apart and inhaled deeply as steam wafted toward her, then slathered it with butter.
“Nothing says good morning quite like a fresh bun with butter.” She smiled brightly at him; he glowered and returned to his letter. “Do you have plans with Mr. Bingley today?”
She saw his fingers clench the letter before he lowered it. “I do.”
“Shall you tour the west fields? I have heard the tenant farms there have fallen into disrepair since the Morgans moved away.”
He looked at her in annoyed bewilderment. Elizabeth carried blithely on.
“The Morgans had lived at Netherfield for three generations, but the last Mr. Morgan had three daughters who all married and moved away. When his wife died two years ago, he decided to give up the lease and moved in with his youngest daughter. She is settled near Stoke.”
Darcy looked at her with a blank expression. Elizabeth knew she was irritating him and fought the grin that tried to escape. “The Morgans’ farm was one of the largest at Netherfield and took up more than half the west side of the property. I understand no one has taken over the lease since. Naturally, the land has not been as well tended as it ought.”
“Naturally.”
He speaks! “Have you and Mr. Bingley seen it yet?”
Darcy folded his letter and set it carefully beside his plate. “We have toured the entire property, yes.”
She was satisfied with having forced him to converse with her and turned her attention to her meal for a time while he returned to his letter. When she had finished her eggs, she said, “How long do you intend to be in Hertfordshire, sir?”
Darcy sighed and set down his letter. Again. “My plans are not fixed, but I must be in Town for the Festive Season.”
She was satisfied with his answer and slathered jam on a bun.
“Though perhaps I will have a dream that shall change my plans.”
Elizabeth’s head shot up as her bun fell out of her hand and rolled onto the table. She felt the color drain out of her face when she met Mr. Darcy’s hard expression. His eyes were cold and unyielding, and his mouth had none of the soft edges she had come to expect. He simply stared at her, his gaze boring into hers.
“Mr. Darcy,” she started.
“Excuse me.” He abruptly stood and left the room, leaving Elizabeth shaking and pale in his wake.
“This is a disaster!” she whispered to herself as she stomped through the woods. She had left the breakfast room as soon as her knees felt strong enough to hold her. “I knew it could not be so easy!”
She whacked an innocent bush with the stick she held. What could he have meant by that statement? His dreams would influence his plans . She huffed. She knew what it implied of course. He had heard her speaking with Jane. Likely it was yesterday in the garden, as that was when she first spoke of him and when they were most likely to be overheard. She vaguely recalled hearing steps on the gravel path but had been so engrossed in her conversation with Jane that she had paid them no mind. Then there was the more damning evidence of Mr. Darcy turning so cold toward her that evening. He must have heard them! Oh, what did he think of her? Did he think she was fit for Bedlam? Or that she was a witch or an abomination? Or worse, a ridiculous liar out to catch a rich husband.
She sank onto a stump and rested her head in her hands. Regardless of how he thought of her specifically, she had clearly lost his respect, and she did not think she had had a great measure of it before this incident. There was likely no going back now.
Suddenly, last night’s dream made sense. The fire represented everything she had hoped for her future. The sandstone house, the strolls by the lake, the sweet little boy with the bright smile, the girl with the solemn eyes. She would never know them now. It had all gone up in smoke.
She avoided Mr. Darcy for the remainder of the day, though she need not have bothered. He rode out on his horse shortly after breakfast and did not return until it was time to dress for dinner. Elizabeth knew this because Miss Bingley would not stop lamenting his absence. Why did he not join them for tea? Why did he not wish to stroll through the garden with them? Elizabeth was glad for it. She was not ready to face him after this morning’s confrontation. She had tried to tell herself she was mistaken—that perhaps he had meant something else with his strange statement. But it was no use. What else could he possibly have meant? It was a very odd thing to say, and coupled with his angry expression and his recent behavior towards her, she was confident her initial assessment had been correct. He hated her. He did not trust her. He likely thought she was insane or a liar or both.
There was no way forward from that.