Chapter 2 #2
If he were honest, this encounter soured him on marriage and the ton’s women, more than his abysmal courtship of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
* * *
Darcy felt uneasy in his carriage, the streets of London passing behind the window.
Dressed as unassumingly as possible for his station, he tried to convince himself he was better prepared than the last time.
He was going to pretend he suffered from persistent headaches, causing insomnia (in case he encountered the young apprentice again).
What he did not know was how to address Elizabeth, struggling to pass ‘Mrs Morley’ through his lips.
Maybe he shall call her ‘madam’, as he did the last time they spoke.
The sound of the bell interrupted the hum of activity within.
The apprentice stood next to the counter in his outerwear, holding Mr Brook’s bag.
With his index finger raised and his spectacles perched precariously low on his nose, Mr Brook read the names on the neatly stacked bottles high on the shelf.
“Good afternoon, Sir.” Jonathan addressed Darcy with a bow. “I trust you have fared better since your last visit!”
Darcy was glad he had his excuse prepared. “Thank you, but I must report the worsening of the situation.”
“Mr Brook, the gentleman here complains of insomnia…”
“Good afternoon, sir, my name is Brook. Let us discuss this in private.” The older man guided him through a set of doors into a well-appointed and comfortable looking room.
Upholstered chairs faced the desk. The wall supported glass-doored cabinets and drawers.
Darcy could see many Latin-titled books behind the glass and a lot of unfamiliar labels on many jars and containers.
He noticed the examination table in the corner of the room sitting opposite another door.
“I suffer from headaches, Mr Brook. They prevent me from getting a satisfactory amount of rest at night. I tried laudanum, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference in the long term.
” He felt uncomfortable, while not lying as such - after all, his nights were restless and his head ached often, he was in fact very well aware of the source of his ailment.
“Are you perhaps suffering from an undue amount of stress? Is everything in order with your, er…, business matters?”
Darcy shifted in his chair… He could not think of how to get out of this predicament. Should he just ask about Elizabeth? Should he take out his pocket watch and flee under the pretense of a forgotten appointment elsewhere? The discomfort was threatening to spill…
“Mr Brook, I came here for pain relief, not to discuss my private matters.” Well, that was very strictly not true!
“A restless mind leads to an ailing body…” Mr Brook remarked.
* * *
Elizabeth had to smile hearing this brief outburst from the adjoining still room.
She recognised Darcy’s discomfort outright, and if it were any other patient, she would have preferred Mr Brook leaving with Jonathan and dealing with the headache herself.
She was trying to avoid facing Mr Darcy, for she was not sure she could look him in the eye.
Yet this familiar display of haughtiness allowed her courage to come to the fore.
She grasped the doorknob and opened the door with determination.
“Good afternoon, Mr Darcy,” She bobbed a curtsy. “Mr Brook.” She inclined her head. Darcy noticed a mild disapproval on the face of Mr Brook, but then he turned his head towards Elizabeth as they stood up to greet her. The dazzling smile on her face almost made Darcy’s legs fail to bear his weight.
Mr Brook was frowning outright now as he glanced between them. “You have treated Mr Darcy before, Mrs Morley?”
Darcy suppressed his reaction, unable to speak, for his mouth felt full of sawdust.
“I am familiar with his case…” Elizabeth did not falter, her eyes sparkling…
Understanding dawned on the older man’s face, followed by a swift nod. “Well then, I shall defer to your expertise, madam. Mr Darcy, my apologies. You are in good hands.” And with that, he strode to the door, leaving them alone.
For a long moment they stood looking at each other. Neither knowing how nor where to start. Darcy broke the silence first.
“Mrs Morley,” he whispered. Not as a greeting or as an address but as a painful statement. “I am glad to see your wit has not been dulled by the passage of time.” His voice was warm; his lips curled in an almost smile.
“I am sorry to hear you are not feeling well, Mr Darcy. Would you like to tell me what troubles you?” She sat behind the desk, gesturing for him to sit down too.
Darcy was fidgeting with his signet ring, watching intently its journey around his finger.
Then it dawned on her. This was not a coincidence.
His face betrayed no shock when she entered.
He had expected her arrival. She moved backwards to rest on the back of her chair.
“What brought you here, sir?” Her voice barely above a whisper and a little unsteady.
He cleared his throat and looked into her face. “I must confess I am perfectly healthy; what brought me here was part curiosity and part worry about an acquaintance.”
Now, words eluded her. She felt the blush creeping onto her face, and a strange mixture of emotions were unravelling in her chest. “Are you worried about their health and wellbeing?” she mumbled.
“I came to see you.” he stopped himself calling her Elizabeth.
“I cannot imagine why, Mr Darcy.” She attempted to keep her voice light and even mustered a little chuckle, but her face was crimson red.
“It came to my attention that you are widowed, and also that you married a physician. I could not rest until I saw you were well.”
“As you see,” she looked around and smiled, “I am perfectly well. My home is comfortable, my work is meaningful, and I have friends and family who I love dearly.”
“I am glad to hear that.” He said, relieved, seeing her as spirited and fearless as he remembered her from all those years before. She remained strikingly handsome, her figure more enticing than ever.
“Are your parents in good health? And all your sisters?” He asked just to prolong this moment of being near her.
“My parents have departed this life, and my sisters…” Why was he asking all these questions? Was he congratulating himself on his escape? How much did he know about her life? “We all live the lives we created for ourselves.”
“I am sorry to hear about your parents,” he said solemnly and with genuine concern. He asked again: “What happened regarding your sisters?”
She sprang up, pacing the room… “Mr Darcy, I am quite confused with this line of questioning as you cared very little for my sisters’ wellbeing all those years ago. Please do not insult me by pretending you care now!” she laughed bitterly.
“I cannot imagine what you mean!” he said, incredulous.
“You exposed my sister to ridicule and heartbreak when you made Mr Bingley leave Netherfield. Do you not remember?” Elizabeth’s eyes shone with the blaze of anger. She was now resting on the edge of the desk.
“I remember… And I would like to think I saved your sister from marrying a very unsteady young man with a propensity to fall in love in every ballroom he ever stepped into.” He stood up, towering over her.
“It was not your decision to make!” His arrogance incensed her, no matter how much time had passed or how her sisters’ lives developed. His statements were condescending, as if his opinions were all that mattered.
Darcy chuckled, mirth mixed with indignation.
They stared into each other’s faces. Her eyes blazing with anger and pain, her chin held up in a fiery stance.
She was exquisite in her anger. A strong pang of desire took over.
His hand raised up to cup her cheek, pulling her gently towards him while lowering his head to connect their lips in what could only be called a frenzied kiss.
To his surprise, Elizabeth leaned into him, pressing the entire length of her body against him.
Her response was passionate and hungry, her arms circling around his body under his jacket, sinking her nails into the linen of his shirt.
His arm slid around her waist and down to give a gentle squeeze to the curve of her hip.
When she fumbled with his shirt, pulling it out of his breeches in a wild quest to feel his skin instead of the expensive material, he interrupted the kiss to look into her eyes.
“Do not dare to stop, Darcy!” she whispered, daggers in her voice and lust in her eyes.
That sight was his undoing. The carefully crafted mask of Mr Darcy dropped with the fall of his breeches and her apron.
He lifted her up and carried her to the small berth in the room’s corner.
They didn’t break their kiss while he gathered up her skirts and she rid him of his cravat in order to open the front of his shirt.
He slid his hands up her bare thighs, luxuriating in the softness of her skin.
Elizabeth’s head arched backwards, offering her neck and throat to his passionate ministrations.
Soft moans and a little giggle escaped her lips.
His need only grew more acute for them. Darcy muttered “Delicious enchantress” as any pretence of eloquence left him.
He craved to please her, to see her breathless and trembling, as he had in his dreams, and to claim her body, as she had claimed his life.
The way she reciprocated his every touch, every kiss, every look made him flustered.
A giddy little sound escaped his lips when her eyes and her hands invited him inside her.
He lifted one of her legs up and connected with her in a way that surpassed even the wildest of his fantasies.