Fitzwilliam Darcy, Manservant
After Charles Bingley loses a ridiculous bet, he and Darcy end up becoming menservants at Longbourn (Darcy, of course, is none too pleased with the arrangement). How will the two couples come together if the gentlemen are disguised as lowly attendants?
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plot of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
Chapter 1:
Fitzwilliam Darcy threw a match into the fireplace of Longbourn’s parlor, and straightened up as the logs began to blaze. Sighing a little, he put the sooty fire poker back into its place, and wondered once again how on earth he, the Master of Pemberley, had allowed himself to be degraded to a manservant in a county gentleman’s home.
Friendship. That had been the beginning of his troubles. Namely, friendship for Charles Bingley. His best friend, unfortunately, had engaged in another one of his impetuous escapades about two months prior, and as usual, Darcy had been forced to come to his rescue.
Bingley had made the mistake of playing cards with Lord Brion, an elderly inhabitant of London who had two great talents: winning card games and proposing ridiculous wagers on them. Brion still laughed about the time that he had conned a young earl into accepting one of his bets; the gentleman of two and twenty had been forced to become a sailor in the West Indies for a year to fulfill his part of the bargain. In Charles Bingley’s case, the sentence for losing the game was a bit more lenient: he was expected to serve, incognito, as a manservant for a period of ten weeks.
With his usual optimism, Bingley took the loss and his punishment as a good joke. Not so Darcy, to whom he confided the scheme to the next morning.
“Have you gone clean out of your senses?” Darcy had demanded of his cheerful friend. “Do you have the slightest idea of how this ludicrous stunt could damage your reputation?!”
Bingley felt a little less brash by the time his oldest friend finished with him, but there was no backing out. Darcy even took it upon himself to visit Lord Brion and attempted to cajole him to accept a cash settlement instead of the silly escapade as payment. The peer, who respected Darcy for his sense and his perpetual refusals to be a party in one of his card games, refused to settle, however.
“No, I will not. He agreed to the wager fair and square. Relax, man, every young fool who I sent off for a few adventures has always come back alive.”
Unfortunately, Charles Bingley came within a hair’s breadth of breaking Lord Brion’s streak.
He had set off the week after the infamous card game. Following his friend’s advice, he sought out a county which he had never visited before, and where he had no connections. Changing into some second-hand servant’s clothes which he purchased for a few shillings, Charles Bingley hired himself out to Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, in Hertfordshire.
Soon afterwards, Darcy began receiving letters from him. The first few described the family of the manor and the county in which Bingley now found himself, and waxed poetic about the beauty and manners of the eldest Miss Bennet. But Darcy became alarmed when his normally jovial letters became extremely short, as if his friend had hardly any time to write them, and began to uncharacteristically complain of weariness and mentioned how little he had appreciated the amount of physical labor and long hours required of a manservant. Darcy immediately fired off a response, telling Bingley to forget the dratted bet and come back to Town if he felt his health indifferent.
A while passed before a returning epistle. At last, leafing through his correspondence one afternoon, Darcy came upon a letter from Bingley. It was scarcely necessary to read the first two lines to discover that it had been written during a moment of delirium. His friend’s writing had always been filled with blots, but this time it was scarcely legible. It ran:
Darcy-
Old chap…remember when in Cambridge…oh, Jane Bennet is an angel…I am so cold…such a musical voice,…the cooking pots are heavy to lift…what a beautiful Grecian profile! Brion, you look as if you had a good hand…that is strange, my own hand is shaking…
Darcy bolted out of his chair, only taking the time to tuck a piece of paper with Longbourn’s address upon it into his coat. Despite the hour, he ordered two of his best horses saddled up and, thanking God that he happened to be in London, where the most esteemed physicians were ensconced, he quickly sought out Martin Wright, an old friend of his and Bingley’s who had built quite a reputation for himself as a doctor and surgeon. The two jumped upon the horses, and lit out full speed ahead for Hertfordshire.
They made it to Longbourn in record time, despite a rainstorm which soaked them to the bone for the last miles. After asking for directions a few times, they came upon the relatively small manor. When their knocking went unanswered, they forced a side door and went in. They would soon discover that the entire family had gone off to an assembly, and that the servants had been given the evening off and thus had abandoned the house for their own amusements. In all the bustle and excitement, the newest manservant had not been missed.
After going through a few rooms, the pair located Bingley. He lay in a cramped, musty attic room which Darcy would have shuddered to let one of his hounds sleep in, but which apparently served as his friend’s bedroom. And indeed, he was unconscious and shaking violently with fever.
Wright bent over and examined him, and then quietly remarked to Darcy,
“We got here just in time.”
Thereupon, he commenced pouring the most effective medicines down Bingley’s throat and covering him with blankets. When nothing further could be done, they sat back for an agonizing wait.
Chapter 2:
Thankfully, it was not for very long. Either because of the medicines or the presence of his friends, within an hour, copious sweat appeared upon Bingley’s brow, signaling that the fever had broken. Darcy wiped his sleeping friend’s face and neck with a handkerchief while Wright completed another examination. When he had done, he stepped away from the bedside with an air of relief.
“He will live, Darce.”
“Praise the Lord,” the young man replied heavily and reverently.
Wright nodded, and ran his hand through his hair.
“But unfortunately, Darcy, I will not be able to oversee his recovery. I have some pressing cases in London which I must get back to. Can you watch over him?”
“Of course. I can manage my business by post. When can I move him back to town?”
“Back to town? Darcy, I do not want him out of that cot for two weeks at least, understood? His fever broke relatively quickly after the draughts, but he appears to have been ill and overworked for a while. After the first fortnight, he should spend another week confined to this room. And he should not do any travelling whatsoever for over a month.”
“As you say, Wright,” Darcy sighed.
“I expect that he will not wake for quite some time. Do not be alarmed, for he needs the rest. When he rouses, give him two tablespoons of this tonic every morning and evening,” the doctor continued, placing a bottle on the tiny writing table in the corner. “And write an express to me should his condition worsen.”
“Very well. Oh, and Wright, take my horse back to my house in town, will you? I will not have much use out of it here, considering I will be confined indoors with Bingley for most of the time. And I doubt that Mr. Bennet’s groom can recognize a thoroughbred horse when he sees one, let alone care for it.”
Martin Wright nodded, shook the wealthy gentleman’s hand, gathered his bag and coat and prepared to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when he looked back at Darcy.
“Gracious, man, I should have told you this earlier, but I was too concerned with Bingley to notice. Get out of those damp clothes, unless you want to follow our friend’s example. The exercise of riding back to London will keep me warm, but you sitting here in this drafty room in those wet garments is a recipe for disaster.”
Darcy looked down and remembered the rainstorm which had soaked the physician and him as they rode.
“Thank you, Wright. I will see to it. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Darce.”
When the doctor had departed, Darcy searched Bingley’s tiny chamber. Thankfully, his friend had had enough foresight to bring an extra change of clothes. However, they were secondhand garments, made for a manservant, not a gentleman. While they were clean and pressed, they had some minor stains here and there. Darcy grimaced. For a moment he considered taking the risk of becoming ill and remaining in the clothes, albeit wet, which were suited to his station. But in a moment his reason returned; Bingley had to be able to depend upon him, and he would be of no use if he also took sick.
Thus, muttering indignantly under his breath, he laid aside his own clothes, and forced his frame into Bingley’s dry ones. They were a bit too small for his tall stature, but they would have to do. Before casting his ruined garments into the corner, he went the pockets of his vest and retrieved a few pounds which he had placed there, as well as two wedding bands. He gently fingered the pieces of jewelry before thrusting them into his pocket. They had been his parents’ wedding rings, and since their deaths he had made a habit of always carrying them with him, as mementos. It was his dearest wish to one day wear one on his finger, and to place the other on his bride’s. But even though he was eight and twenty and had seen a multitude of fine, sophisticated, wealthy ladies, he had yet to feel attraction or love towards a young woman.
Finishing, he went to sit by the still-slumbering Bingley. While thus occupied, he heard the sound of a carriage. Apparently his friend’s employers had returned at last. Before Darcy could make up his mind about whether to go down and begin explaining the situation right then and there or wait till morning, he heard the sound of multiple bedroom doors slamming. Clearly, the Bennets were exhausted by their revelry and had gone straight to bed.
So Darcy sat there, and watched through the tiny window as night waned into morning.
Chapter 3:
When the sun peeked over the horizon, it found Darcy dosing in his chair. But not for long, however. Soon he was rudely awakened by the squeaky door being flung open with a bang and a gruff voice bellowing out:
“Get up, slug-a-bed! Do you think that your chores will do themselves?”
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy demanded, alert in an instant.
Mr. Hill glared into the room, noticing that it had an extra occupant.
“And just who might you be? When I hired Charles I told him explicitly that he was not to receive visits from friend inside Longbourn.”
“I do happen to be Charles’s friend,” Darcy returned scornfully, rising to his feet. “And Charles happens to be extremely ill at the moment. I suppose that you are Mr. Hill, Mr. Bennet’s steward. As such, I think it is your or your wife’s responsibility to know when a servant becomes delirious with fever.”
“My only responsibility is to make sure that work gets done around here. If you want to pamper your friend through his cold under this roof and eat, you will do his work. Get downstairs and help the maids peel the potatoes for dinner.”
Having never been spoken to in such a fashion, even as a young boy, Hill’s words rendered Darcy furious.
“I certainly will not. I am a gentleman of means, and it is my duty to oversee the planting and harvesting of potatoes, not to peel them.”
Mr. Hill scrutinized Darcy and his attire for the smallest second before laughing hysterically.
“You a gentleman of means?! Of course, those garments reek of nobility. Shall I have the carriage take you to Bedlam, good sir?” Then, settling down a bit and disregarding Darcy’s scowl, he continued in a harder tone. “I am not fond of servants who, when they manage to speak a bit better than average, begin to have high-flown delusions about themselves. Now, you can either do as I say or I will have you and your lazy friend over there thrown out of the house at once.”
Darcy was about to lose his temper altogether when an accidental glance at Bingley’s pale and thin face made him reconsider. If Charles were denied shelter or forced to travel in his condition, he would not survive. His refusal to peel a few potatoes could cost his best friend’s life. Thus, he grinded his teeth, and drawing the covers over Bingley, followed Mr. Hill out of the room.
“I knew you would come around.” Hill grunted. “Let that be the last time you cross me or Mrs. Hill, understood? Now, what is your name?”
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy,” the proprietor of that name said loftly, for once hoping that someone would recognize it and the prestige and annual income it implied.
“Fitzwilliam? What sort of name is that supposed to be? We don’t have time for such monikers around here. From now on, you’ll be just plain ‘William’”.
Before Darcy could protest this latest degradation, he was unceremoniously pushed into the kitchen with the briefest of introductions to Mrs. Hill and the maids, and handed a potato and knife.
Chapter 4:
After one of the most humiliating half-hours of his life, during which he succeeded in peeling four potatoes and nicking his hand twice, Darcy was handed a tea-tray.
“The young ladies have ordered it. They are in the parlor, which is the second door to the right.” Mrs. Hill explained.
Nothing but the thought of an old friend expiring during a carriage ride could have saved the tray from being flung on the nearest table. As it was, Darcy made his way to the parlor, earnestly praying that none of the Bennets had ever laid eyes on the Master of Pemberley before.
He need not have worried. The moment he opened the door he could tell by their garb and manners that none of the five girls belonged to the ton. A blond-haired young woman of about three and twenty was sitting on the windowsill, embroidering. Besides her, a slightly younger woman with chestnut curls was absorbed in a book. A third sister sat by the pianoforte and played off-key scales. The two who appeared the youngest were seated at a table, playing some sort of card game. One of these exclaimed as he came nearer,
“Why, since when do we have a new manservant?”
At this remark, all eyes in the room were drawn to him, but Darcy said nothing. He simply advanced, placed the tray on the table next to the cards, and was about to step away when another question arrested him.
“What is your name?” the eldest woman in the room asked.
Darcy dared not take any chances by stating his full name. He sullenly answered,
“In the kitchen they call me William.”
“William, would you happen to know what has happened to Charles?” the lady continued, a tad anxiously.
“He is ill upstairs, madam,” Darcy replied, correctly presuming that this was the famous Jane Bennet.
“Oh, the poor man!” she exclaimed softly, and getting up, left the room. Darcy bowed slightly to the remaining sisters and was just about to follow her when the girl who he would later find out was Miss Lydia laughed.
“You are the handsomest manservant I ever saw. You are even more handsome than Charles, isn’t he, Kitty?”
Miss Kitty nodded and giggled.
“I suppose the scullery maid will break her heart over him in no time!” she replied.
“Kitty, Lydia!” the chestnut haired girl reprimanded her sisters sharply. “That is enough!”
The admonition did not awaken a spark of concern in the younger girls. Instead, they laughed once more as Lydia said,
“I suppose you are right, Lizzy. The scullery maid will not be pretty enough for him. Perhaps he would prefer you. William, do you not think that my sister Elizabeth the prettiest creature you ever beheld?”
“I beg you to excuse me,” Darcy said through gritted teeth as he bowed. Afterwards, he quickly exited the room.
Shutting the door behind him, he stopped for a moment in the hall to reign in his temper. He had never been exposed to such shamelessness in all this born days, and being teased about being the consort of a scullery maid had insulted every fiber of his being. As to Miss Lydia’s question about Miss Elizabeth!
“Miss Elizabeth!” He muttered to himself, his anger superseding his reason and making him ornery to the point of claiming an opinion which he did not really hold. “Miss Elizabeth is tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me!”
With that, he stalked away from the front hall. In his fury, he did not notice that the parlor door had opened, and that Elizabeth Bennet had been standing in the threshold when he made his ill-fated pronouncement on her beauty. Nor did he see the temporary indignant flush on her cheeks or the amused smile which soon washed it away.
Chapter 5:
Before anyone else could demand that he perform any more menial tasks, Darcy escaped upstairs to see how Bingley was faring. He was shocked to see that the door of the attic chamber was ajar, and even more stunned at the sight within.
Jane Bennet was kneeling at the bedside of his friend, who had regained consciousness, holding a cup of soup to his lips. Bingley was drinking eagerly, and Darcy noticed that his eyes were twinkling with joy at having such a pretty nursemaid. But his foul humor made him angry at finding a young lady within his friend’s apartment. His mind immediately jumped to the ways Bingley, or even he, could be imposed upon if it ever came to light that the two of them were actually gentlemen. Thus, he sternly addressed Miss Bennet,
“Thank you, madam, but I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of nursing Charles.”
Jane Bennet and Bingley looked up at the sound of his voice, and Darcy noticed that his friend’s eyes widened, first in shock and then in mirth, at his raiment.
“I am sure you are, William,” Miss Jane replied kindly and calmly, apparently disregarding the austere tone. “But you have other responsibilities downstairs, and I truly enjoy nursing so loyal a servant.”
“Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I can hardly see how Charles can be considered a loyal servant if he has worked at Longbourn for less than a month.”
“It may interest you,” another, much less amiable, voice said from the door, “to know that fidelity is not measured by time alone. It may also be calculated by considering the amount of devotion and good cheer with which an attendant performs their tasks, and the amount of respect that they show to the master’s family.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes flashed archly when she uttered the last. “And Charles has been everything a servant should be,” she concluded.
Darcy, despite his poor temper, could not help marveling at the intelligence and wit she had shown in her response. He knew that her answer was meant to be a reprimand to him, but somehow she had managed to infuse enough sweetness in his tone that he felt challenged for his views, rather than upbraided for his words.
He knew he had lost the impromptu verbal duel, and thus he bowed slightly and replied,
“I am glad that you think Charles a good servant, madam.”
Miss Elizabeth turned away with a slight air of triumph before approaching the bed.
“How are you, Charles? I am sorry that we were not informed of your illness sooner. It was unpardonable for us not to notice your absence. I hope that you did not suffer long alone?”
“Not at all, Miss Lizzy. I am much better.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she replied, with a gentle smile. Darcy noticed it, and wondered how long it had been since he had seen such a genuine smile, without any hint of flirtation, adorning a young woman’s face.
She quickly touched Bingley’s shoulder comfortingly, and then gazed around the room
“And where will your nursemaid sleep?” she inquired, a bit mockingly, glancing in Darcy’s direction. “If we allow him to lie on the floor his bearing will be even stiffer tomorrow than it is today, if that be possible.”
Bingley laughed weakly at the joke. Darcy flushed, with indignation or embarrassment, he did not know. And yet, after years of simpering women praising his ‘noble’ carriage, there was something positively refreshing in Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s sharp remark.
“If I remember correctly, Miss Lizzy, there is a folded up cot in that closet yonder. My friend can use that.”
The second eldest Miss Bennet walked over to the said closet and opened its door to investigate.
“I suppose he can try to, if we tell Hill to send up a new blanket,” she conceded.
“And we will also tell Mrs. Hill not to trouble you today. Just take good care of Charles, William,” Jane Bennet put in with her sweet voice.
Casting another smile at Charles, and raising her eyebrows rather testily at him, Elizabeth followed her sister out of the attic room.
Chapter 6:
The door had scarcely closed behind them before Bingley looked over at his oldest friend and said,
“Darcy, would you mind telling me...how in the world did you get here, and what are you doing in those clothes?”
In a harsh, displeased tone, his friend condescended to say,
“I am not sure if you recall it, but you sent me a letter a few days ago which blatantly revealed the fact that you were not in your right mind when you wrote it. I and Martin Wright set off for here, and managed to save your life. According to Wright you are to be bound to that bed, if so that thing you are lying on can be called, for two weeks at least.”
“And your clothes?”
“Humph! I put yours on to avoid catching cold, and was promptly dragged off to the kitchen to peel potatoes as a result.”
Bingley, weak as he was, burst into a fit of laughter at this piece of information.
“They…think…you…are…a…servant?” he managed to gasp out between bone-shaking mirth.
“Yes, they do, but it will not be for long, I promise you that,” Darcy snapped. “I am writing a letter to my townhouse in London right this minute and ordering them to send me some fresh clothes and a carriage. Wright says that I cannot move you from Longbourn, but you are certainly not going to keep recovering in this room, that I can tell you. As soon as my things and servants arrive we are going to tell the Bennets all, and see that you are attended to properly.”
“Darcy, no! Pray do not do that!”
“Give me one good reason why I should not!”
“Darcy, I have already been a servant at Longbourn for nearly four weeks! Six more and I will fulfill my obligation and be able to hold my head up in London once more. If you give me out I must start over. And I confess, if Jane Bennet knows that I am a gentleman she will adhere to propriety, and…”
“And not pamper you anymore,” Darcy cut in. He turned to the window as he contemplated his friend’s words. Darcy understood an English gentleman’s code of honor perfectly, and knew that a lost wager, no matter how foolish, had to be paid. If Bingley were exposed early, he would have find another position and begin again; and in his weakened state, who knew what the consequences would be the next time around? Besides, from what he had heard of Mrs. Bennet from the maids in the kitchen, she would be only too happy to claim that Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth had been compromised by their visit to Bingley’s room and to force both gentlemen into a marriage. The wisest thing to do would be to allow Bingley to stay in the attic, playing the ill servant, while he took over his tasks in the rest of the house. Darcy grimaced. Could he, a man who abhorred all deceit and disguise, truly work as a manservant for over six weeks? Again, a glance at his friend’s face convinced him as to the necessity of this particular action, and with a long, deep sigh, Darcy turned around.
“Very well, Bingley. Under the condition that you stay in your room, follow all of Wright’s orders, and in no way encourage Miss Bennet’s attentions, I will not say a thing.”
“Thank you, Darce! You have my unending gratitude. When do you return to London?”
“”Whenever you do,” Darcy muttered, reaching for the tonic left behind by the physician. Bingley’s eyes widened in shock as he understood his friend’s meaning, but this time, he said nothing.
Chapter 7:
After a night of tossing and turning on particularly uncomfortable bedding, Darcy rose before dawn the next day. Seeing that Bingley was still asleep, he crept down to the kitchen for a bit to eat and for a little respite from the horrid attic room. Relieved that none of the other servants were up and about yet, he rummaged through the pantry, found the remains of a cold roast and a loaf of bread, and took it to the table. He would have to break his habit of being constantly waited on; for three fortnights, he would be doing everything for himself, and for others.
The sight of the sun peeking over the horizon soothed his tired soul. The sunrise was almost as lovely as the ones he often saw in Derbyshire. He stared at it, thinking about a variety of things, for about half an hour, before he heard footsteps on the stairs.
The door to the kitchen opened. He turned, expecting to see no one more consequential than the cook or the scullery maid. Instead, a young gentlewoman with beautiful chestnut curls nearly waltzed into the room. Out of longstanding habit, Darcy immediately stood. She noticed him, and stopped short.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he remarked politely.
“Is Charles alright?” she inquired sharply.
“Yes, he is perfectly well.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, of course, madam.”
“If you have not been up all night then what are you doing here at this hour? I mean besides raiding the pantry.”
Darcy glanced down somewhat guiltily at his breakfast.
“I am used to rising early. If I have eaten what was not meant for the servants, I will pay for it.”
Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively.
“You are not the first, and certainly not the last, servant who will privately help themselves to the better cuts of meat. Unlike my mother, I do not insist that good leftover tidbits should be given to the pigs while the human beings downstairs continue to consume their usual rations as a way of keeping them in their place. Even,” she gave him a look that faintly resembled a glare, “if they could use a bit of humble pie for dessert.”
That said, she quickly crossed over to a plate of baked goods and wrapped a muffin in her handkerchief.
“If I may ask, what are you doing down at this hour, madam? I was not aware that it was the custom of young ladies to rise so early of a morning.”
“You will soon learn that I always go out for a walk in the mornings, William,” she retorted.
Darcy silently berated his foolishness in coming down so early. As the only servant up and about, he had just styled himself the maiden’s escort around Longbourn’s park. He would have to trail after her for half-an-hour as she meandered about at a snail’s pace. If she were anything like Miss Bingley, he would be holding a parasol over her head the entire time to protect her from the morning sun’s fierce rays.
But there was no help for it. At least it was Miss Elizabeth, and not Miss Lydia, who needed his services. Thus, as the gentlewoman approached the side door, he crossed the room and began to follow her.
She whirled around.
“And just where might you be going?”
“To escort you, of course, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth gave him an incredulous look before bursting into a laugh which mixed both indignation and levity.
“Escort me! What in the world can you mean by it?”
“Where I come from, young ladies do not wander out of doors without the company of a servant,” Darcy replied, taken aback.
“And may I ask what use a servant is to a walking young lady?” Elizabeth said sweetly, feigned ignorance permeating every inch of her beautiful face.
Darcy stared at her. In what sort of a world was this girl living? Would he actually have to explain the common rules of propriety to her?
“They protect the young lady, lend aid when necessary, and witness all her encounters with those she might meet on the road, thus preserving her reputation.”
“Indeed! What peculiar creatures you have become accustomed to, William. I wonder if you perhaps served a Lord or Duke and his charming daughters in your last position? You will find this very shocking, but here in Longbourn I go out for my walk alone. I always have. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. Why, whenever a fearsome squirrel is in the road, it becomes so petrified at my mere approach that it scurries up the nearest tree to escape. And what sort of aid could you render me? I have two feet to move about, and am quite proficient at jumping over stiles on my own. As for witnessing my encounters, I have yet to meet a young lady who was compromised because she stopped to gossip with a singing sparrow.”
With that, she turned and crossed the threshold, shutting the door in his face, leaving Darcy to realize that for the first time in his eight and twenty years, an eligible female had refused his company. Moving to one of the kitchen windows, he saw her distancing herself from the house not by slowly strolling, but by running as fleetly as a deer. Nor was she heading for the shrubbery, but for the uncultivated woods and fields which lay in a different direction altogether.
He sat down to consider the extraordinary past minutes. He had never met such an unpretentious woman. But it, unaccountably, pained him that she should be so terse with him. From what he had seen of her behavior in Bingley’s room, it was quite clear that Miss Elizabeth was not of a brusque nature to all. It was as if she were offended with him. But why?
Despite his ire at being presumed a servant, he had not been ungentlemanly or defiant to her. Except…for that comment he had muttered to himself in the hall yesterday about her not being handsome. But what of that? She was behind closed doors at that juncture, was she not? She could not have heard…unless she had softly opened the door in order to follow her elder sister to Bingley’s sickroom. Darcy shuddered. That would explain everything! How could he have let his resentment air itself so freely?
Furious with himself, he jerked himself off the chair, picked up a plate of food, and went upstairs to see to Bingley.
Chapter 8:
After feeding his friend breakfast, Darcy returned downstairs just in time to see an elderly gentleman exiting the study.
“Hello, there!” Mr. Bennet exclaimed. “So you are the temporary manservant?”
“Yes, sir,” Darcy replied through gritted teeth, remembering how many times he had been on the opposite end of a similar discussion.
“Gracious, you manservants seem to get taller every day. Your replacement will probably have to stoop to make it through the parlor without bumping his head.”
“Indeed, sir,” Darcy said shortly.
“Anyhow, go to the kitchen and tell the cook to ignore my wife’s menu for today. I am in no humor for meatloaf. We will have partridge, instead.”
“Very well,” Darcy replied, despite his puzzlement. Why did the master of Longbourn not show Mrs. Bennet the courtesy of going to her directly and asking her to alter the menu? Was it his habit to slyly change the dinner offerings behind the mistress’s back?
Mr. Bennet was just about to dismiss him when his second eldest daughter entered through the front doors, her bonnet in hand.
“How was your walk to day, my dear?” he asked affectionately.
“Wonderful, Papa, despite the mud!” she exclaimed. Darcy immediately noted that her petticoat was at least six inches deep in the aforementioned brown substance, and her curls were more disarrayed then they ought to be. And yet, her lovely eyes sparkled alluringly, having been brightened by the exercise.
“Let William take your bonnet and jacket and come into my library. I have a wonderful book which I have finished reading, Lizzy, and I wish to give it to you.”
Darcy advanced towards her to take the items. For the first time, the idea occurred to him that every act of servitude would not be unpleasant.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for the bonnet. To his surprise, Miss Elizabeth hastily stepped away from him.
“Why, William, you are all politeness,” she said in a tone which bore just a hint of sarcasm. She abruptly turned and put away her own bonnet and took off the jacket by herself, before joining Mr. Bennet in the library and shutting the door.
Chapter 9:
Bingley recuperated nicely, perhaps because of all the visits Jane Bennet paid him during the first fortnight. Too many times Darcy noticed her within the attic room, reading to his friend, slipping him the best tidbits from the kitchen, and on one particular occasion, bringing in a bouquet of flowers. By the end of those two weeks Bingley was far gone in love; Darcy even perceived that his affection for Miss Bennet was beyond whatever he had previously witnessed in him. He only prayed that Bingley would retain his capability of forgetting his loves quickly.
On his part, Darcy had never been driven so hard in his life. The Bennets could barely afford a manservant, and they saw to it that he worked for his wages. He was forced to stand in the parlor for many a morning visit, while Mrs. Bennet ordered him to hand her this or that so that her callers could not possibly miss the fact that Longbourn was employing a manservant. He was told to weed the vegetable garden on an almost daily basis. And every time he saw Miss Lydia or Miss Kitty, he was asked whether the scullery maid suited his fancy.
On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth refused every act of service from him. She allowed the maids and Mrs. Hill to meet her needs, but when he was the only available servant she never issued an order. For instance, when she was stitching a sampler and wished to partake of tea, rather than asking William to fetch it she would lay down her work, go to the kitchen herself and order it personally before returning to the sitting room with a bit of haughtiness in her air.
Darcy, in time, became convinced that she had heard his foolish remark. He berated himself for it constantly, because Miss Elizabeth was one of the few people in the household whom he truly respected. During the tiresome morning visits when he catered to Mrs. Bennet’s numerous whims, he had an opportunity to inspect her daughter’s interaction with her friends and neighbors. She was always lively and witty. He was soon slyly positioning himself to better hear her conversations. She immediately proved her powers of observation by turning to him suddenly on one of these occasions and inquiring in quite a loud voice, as if to embarrass him,
“Did not you think, William, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”
Peculiarly glad that she finally decided to pay him some mind, no matter in how unusual a manner, he bowed and dared to reply,
“With great energy;—but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic."
Miss Elizabeth seemed taken aback at his audacious reply, but she proved her uncommon, latent amiability by not flying into a rage. Instead, she replied,
“You are severe on us!” before going to open the pianoforte. She quickly commenced playing before her mother could unleash her own indignation upon the liberty-taking servant. As her fingers wandered over the keys, Elizabeth could not but recall and marvel at his unusual reply. William was unlike every other servant she had ever encountered. Certainly, he had stepped out of his proper place when he offered a rebuttal, but then again, she had purposely baited him. And she could not but esteem him for offering some sort of resistance, instead of letting his employers walk all over him as if he were a doormat.
Chapter 10:
Finally, one fine morning the fourteen days expired, and Bingley was allowed to descend from his hovel. Leaning on Darcy’s arm for support, he slowly made his way downstairs. In the process, Jane Bennet noticed them.
“Why Charles! Are you certain that you should be up and about already?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet, I feel well enough for it.”
Miss Jane did not appear overly convinced, for she followed the duo down to the kitchen, and watched Darcy seat Bingley at the table.
“Well, there you are at last!” Mrs. Hill exclaimed as she noticed the long-missing manservant entering. “How about you start doing something useful once again? Here- dice these turnips.”
“Mrs. Hill,” Jane Bennet said kindly, “Charles is still recuperating. I do think that he should conserve his strength as much as possible. Charles, I would prefer it if you would be so kind as to write down tomorrow’s menu for Mrs. Hill. You can write, is that correct?”
“Yes, Miss Jane,” Bingley replied, his eyes beaming with mirth.
Darcy brought over a piece of paper and an inkstand, and withdrew himself to a corner of the kitchen to help with the necessary chores. Jane Bennet began dictating a list of food items, including baked potatoes, fish, and other dishes. After a minute, she walked around to peer over Bingley’s shoulder to ensure that he was keeping up.
“Why Charles!” she suddenly exclaimed, staring at the paper. “Forgive me! I did not realize that you were so weak still! You can barely write!”
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley replied, astonished, “is there something wrong with my penmanship?”
“You are blotting half your words, Charles. Your hand must not be steady enough for so fine a task yet.”
“Believe me, Miss Bennet,” Darcy unexpectedly put in, “that is nothing to be concerned over. Charles blots his writing even on his best days.” He could not help casting a smug glance in his friend’s direction. He had often talked himself tired trying to impress upon Bingley the importance of writing properly as a gentleman, but it had all come to naught.
“I see,” Jane Bennet replied, pity in her voice. How could she have been so thoughtless? Charles had certainly never had access to the sort of masters that she and her sisters had been so fortunate to learn from. “Would you like me to teach you how to write more clearly?”
Bingley blushed furiously. For once, he was embarrassed. A young lady who had never even had a governess could write better than he, a Cambridge educated man! But he could not deny himself the pleasure of Jane’s company and tutorship.
“I would be honored, Miss Bennet,” he murmured, ignoring Darcy’s shoulders, which were vigorously shaking in the corner.
Jane seated herself but a few inches from Charles, and said,
“First of all, make sure that you do not pick up so much excess ink.” The servant dutifully tapped the pen against the sides of the inkwell before bringing it to the paper. “Now finish writing that line…very good…oh, pick up the pen, quickly. Yes, like that, Charles. It does not do to dawdle when finishing a word. Such a pause only gives the ink more time to flow from the pen and make a blot. Now try it again.”
Bingley wrote another few words, and then looked up anxiously for approval. Jane Bennet nodded, quite pleased.
“That is much better, Charles! You improve uncommonly quickly.”
“Only because I have such an accomplished instructor.”
Darcy glared at Bingley as Miss Bennet blushed slightly and protested that she knew no more than the average young lady. How could his friend forget himself thus? Flirting so openly!
He knew he had to get separate the couple before Miss Jane realized that Charles’ comments were more than just plain compliments. Thankfully, Miss Kitty appeared at the door and accomplished the segregation for him.
“Jane, come quickly! Some officers from town have come to call on us. Including the special one we met yesterday. You should have seen Lizzy smiling when she saw him approaching the house!”
“I am afraid we will have to continue this later, Charles,” Miss Bennet said as she stood and hurried to the door. “Mrs. Hill, please do not ask him to do any difficult or straining tasks!”
Mrs. Hill obeyed her young mistress so far as the recuperating manservant was concerned, but that did not preclude her from saying to Darcy,
“Go and dust the upper shelves of Mr. Bennet’s library! The maids are having a difficult time reaching them.”
Chapter 11:
Strains of laughter and chatter floated to Darcy’s ears as he worked. The party in the parlor was certainly a merry one. As he took down the volumes and wiped the hard covers with a damp rag, he could not help wondering about the officer that, according to Miss Kitty, had captured Miss Elizabeth’s fancy. What sort of man would interest a well-read, witty woman like Elizabeth Bennet? Was he handsome and blithesome, just like herself? He could easily imagine Miss Elizabeth bantering with a young, dashing officer dressed in bright red.
He abruptly paused in his work. Why did that last image- Elizabeth- Miss Elizabeth- speaking animatedly to another man- make him so…so…angry? Frustrated? Worried?
“I am beginning to lose my senses!” Darcy muttered as he forced himself to take down another book and cleanse it from the white particles of dust. “This charade is starting to cause me to feel unreasonable, unfounded emotions, that is all!”
In a bid to forget the entire matter, he returned to his task with a vengeance. But after a few minutes, he was again halted by the sound of Elizabeth’s – Miss Elizabeth’s- voice coming in through the open window.
“I did not suspect that an English gentleman could possibly descend to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!” she cried with feeling.
“Indeed, there are few who, holding that status, would, but the man of whom I speak certainly has no scruples, Miss Bennet. And thus, I am robbed of all that ought to be mine, and am working to find myself a new place, new situation, in life,” replied her companion. “But I must own that since meeting you and your sisters on the road yesterday, I have come to believe that fortune, for once, is favoring me!”
Elizabeth made some reply, but Darcy, for once, did not attend to her words. The most dreadful chill and shiver had crept down his spine when he overheard the voice which replied to her outburst. He set down the tome and softly slipped up to the window, taking care not to be noticed, and peered out. Instantly, his eyes beheld the nightmarish vision: George Wickham was standing under an oak with Elizabeth Bennet, and was lifting her hand to his lips!
His first instinct was to jump through the open window, charge at the couple, separate them forcefully, and then challenge Wickham with the duel that had long been coming to him.
But he could not, would not, give that cad the pleasure of seeing the Master of Pemberley, a man he had long hated, dressed as a manservant. Not unless it was completely and utterly unavoidable!
Steeling his nerves, he leaned against the windowpane and through narrowed eyes, earnestly inspected every move that Wickham made. Thankfully, the two of them ambled about in plain view, talking and laughing. Even that was exceedingly difficult to watch. Elizabeth, who had never given him a single sweet smile, was now bestowing one on Wickham every thirty seconds.
Finally, finally, it came to an end. Wickham’s name was called by other officers who were taking their leave, and with one final bow, he finally left Elizabeth alone. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief, but his aggravation was such that he could barely finish dusting the books without rubbing holes in their covers. This done, he hurried outside to breathe and to think.
Chapter 12:
It took Darcy an hour of pacing in the solitude of Longbourn’s back garden to still his temper. By the time he felt himself equal to return to the house, it was dark, and he inattentively went about his duties. The consideration that Wickham was a few miles away, enjoying genteel company and a fine supper while he was locking up another man’s house almost drove him to fury once more.
As one of his last chores, he stopped by Mr. Bennet’s library to ensure that all the candles where put out. To his surprise, two of them on the mantle were still burning, and a fire was lit in the fireplace. He moved to blow out the candles when a feminine voice said disapprovingly from the darkness,
“Do you mean to leave me completely in the dark?”
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I did not see you.” Darcy said, as he eyes adjusted to the dim light and he made out a form sitting on the window seat.
The young woman, however, was not going to let him off very easily.
“Do you not think the room dark enough at present to hide my tolerable countenance, William?” she continued, a bit more teasingly. “Do not worry; you shall not be forced to look upon it. You may go to bed, but leave the candles be.”
An onrush of relief seized him. At last the matter had come to the surface, and he could address it.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to apologize for that remark which you doubtlessly overheard me make. My behavior was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence. I can only excuse myself by admitting that I was in a foul humor that day, being pressed into service when my sole objective of coming here was to nurse Charles.”
A long silence succeeded. Darcy wondered if she would answer at all, or if he had somehow managed to offend her even more with his words.
Finally, he heard a sigh, and when she spoke, he could detect a smile in her voice.
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! Your excuse, I must own, is quite a legitimate one. And I doubt that a gentleman could phrase the apology as well as you have.” She paused, and then continued in a more serious and concerned voice, “I must express my regrets to you, I am afraid. I did not know how your employment at Longbourn came about. Mr. Hill, I presume, was the one at fault. He and Mrs. Hill do tend to keep the household running smoothly, but often overlook the feelings of their subordinates to achieve it. You have my permission to cease filling in for Charles, if such is your desire.”
Darcy leaned against the mantelpiece. He was overwhelmed by her kindness and understanding; not many women of his acquaintance, wealthy, well-connected, and accomplished they were, would accept the regrets of a servant so gracefully. He also considered her offer. A week ago, he would have grasped at any offer which would have relieved him of peeling potatoes and catering to the impossible Bennet family.
If he now excused himself from the imposed duties, he would have no alternative but the leave Longbourn, for Bingley was up and about, and no longer required a nurse. Darcy tried to tell himself that he was loath to take Miss Elizabeth’s offer because he wished to keep an eye on his friend, in order to be certain that he did not exert himself too much after the serious illness, but his traitorous heart whispered that it was Elizabeth Bennet whom he did not wish to leave. He struggled, in vain, for a moment, but soon heard himself saying,
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, but I have become accustomed to serving at Longbourn. Besides, I am afraid that Charles, while somewhat recovered, has not fully regained his strength, and as his friend I wish to be of service to him in his time of need.”
Elizabeth paused for a moment, and then replied in so sincere and sweet a tone that it almost took Darcy’s breath away.
“Charles is quite fortunate, then, to have such a loyal friend as you. And thank you, William. Not because I am so dependent a female as to be unable to do without a strong manservant waiting on my every need for the next few weeks, but because you’re selfless answer had rekindled some of my faith in humanity, which was rather dampened today afternoon.” Here the lady paused, but it was quite clear that she was burning to speak to someone of what had outraged her so. “I suppose you know why, William? Do not be elusive; I am well aware that servants have ears and lips and do converse downstairs.”
Darcy suddenly grasped the mantle as if to prevent himself from dashing out to Meryton that very instant to call Wickham out. Enough was enough. This time, his tale would not go uncontested!
“I heard,” he replied slowly. “that a young man has come to town. He claims, Miss Elizabeth, that he has entered into the militia because a living which was willed to him was unfairly given to another. It is an interesting and provocative story, to be sure, even it if was given unsolicited to a group of very new acquaintances. Indeed, it must have been quite a misfortune, for unknown young man claims that he is penniless as a result, even though it occurred five years ago. I was under the impression that a man with some education, given that span of time, could have recuperated at least part of the loss, had he put his mind to hard work and quiet, respectable living.”
As he spoke, Darcy strained his eyes, trying to make out Miss Elizabeth’s countenance and expression in the darkness, but it was hopeless. He had never so desired to study anyone’s face as much as he did that moment, but the dim light was not charitable to him. The gentleman was forced to bear with a prolonged, perfectly still silence after his speech. Waiting for a verbal response was agony. He half-expected to be ordered out of the room.
After several extremely long minutes, Elizabeth sighed.
“William, I must congratulate you. You are an intelligent man indeed,” she said seriously, with a faint echo of deference in her tone. “I must admit that I completely disregarded the indelicacy of Mr. Wickham putting himself forward and giving such communications to strangers. It is true that he could have exaggerated the circumstances surrounding the living, considering the fact that he did not name the gentleman in question and that no one hereabouts knows him or his character. Thank you, William, for opening my eyes. I shall be cautious of this Mr. Wickham and his stories, and will endeavor to make my neighbors the same.”
Darcy was delighted. “If I may say so, that sounds like a wise decision to me, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am glad to have your approbation.”
Darcy smiled, hoping that the candlelight would disguise his look of heartfelt delight at her teasing. Elizabeth broke the temporary lull.
“Since you have taken the liberty to question my discernment of character, I hope that you will allow me a rather impertinent question?”
“By all means, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Is William really your name?”
Darcy started, stunned. Had she somehow found him out? The disgrace of it all!
“Why do you ask that, madam?” he questioned cautiously.
Miss Bennet appeared to shrug.
“It has come to my notice that you often take a second too long to respond whenever someone says your name. Furthermore, you would positively start whenever anyone called you ‘William’ at the beginning of your stay here at Longbourn.”
Relieved, Darcy chuckled.
“I believe it is my turn to praise your intellect, Miss Elizabeth. You are correct. ‘William’ is not exactly my name. My Christian name is ‘Fitzwilliam’. However, it was deemed to be too grand a name for a servant, so when I began my duties my superior insisted upon shortening my name to ‘William’”.
“Fitzwilliam is quite a noble name for a servant, I must admit, but you are entitled to be called by your Christian name. If you have no objection, I shall call you by it.” Elizabeth said.
Desperately trying to ignore the thrill which ran down his spine, Darcy nodded and attempted to speak casually.
“I would like that very much, Miss Elizabeth. Thank you.”
“And speaking of names,” Miss Bennet continued, rising from the window seat for the first time during their talk, coming towards him and the fireplace and gazing into the flames, “why do you call me ‘Miss Elizabeth’?”
“Is that not your name, madam?”
“Yes, it is, and I have no objection to being addressed so. However, I find it peculiar, considering that every other servant in the house takes the liberty of calling me ‘Miss Lizzy’.”
“I have noticed that,” Darcy said, rather uncomfortably.
“What is it? Speak freely, Fitzwilliam.”
“Somehow, I cannot seem to…associate…you with the name of Lizzy, madam. Perhaps the other servants, who have known you since you were a child, can. ‘Lizzy’ always conjures up a picture of a mischievous little girl in my mind. But ‘Elizabeth’ implies a sophisticated, witty young lady.”
Elizabeth turned and gazed into his perceptive eyes, blushing at his answer. Both their hearts began to beat faster during the spellbound moment, and it was only with difficulty that the young lady was able to turn away. Forcing herself to speak lightly, she said,
“It is flattering that you hold me in such high regard, Fitzwilliam. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed, as she retreated towards and disappeared through the library door.
He put out the candles, trying to control the galloping of his heart.
Chapter 13:
Life was very pleasant for Darcy after the nighttime tête–à–tête in the library. Miss Elizabeth Bennet and he were on the best of terms and often spoke in passing. Convinced of his sensible nature, she developed a habit of catching his eye whenever a curious subject was being discussed. He, in return, would send a small smile her way.
But at nights, Darcy attempted to fight a losing battle. For hours, he would toss and turn upon his uncomfortable cot and remind himself that he ought not to admire Elizabeth Bennet. At first he tried to remind himself about the unsuitability of a marriage between an unknown country gentleman’s daughter and the Master of Pemberley. It was a method which met its failure very quickly. What right had he to hold himself superior to her, considering that he was embroiled in a pathetic acting scheme under her father’s roof? Soon he was forced to admit that if it had not been for this, he would have begged her to accept his hand in marriage. But as it was, that could never be. She would not marry a servant, and there was no way that he could present himself as an honorable gentleman even if he did doff his disguise. It was hopeless. Each day he fell deeper and deeper in love with her, and yet she was always destined to be out of reach.
One evening, the Bennets attended an assembly. Darcy paced around the entrance hall while the other servants laughed and talked in the kitchen. The house felt so empty without Elizabeth within its walls. Would Pemberley and all his other estates have the same desolate aura when he returned to them, alone, without her by his side? Would he be able to bear it?
Well past midnight, he heard the welcome sound of the returning carriage. Opening Longbourn’s front door, Darcy stood aside Lydia and Kitty skipped into the hall, chattering as usual. Miss Mary and Miss Jane followed them in a more subdued manner, accompanied by their parents. Elizabeth came last, a slight look of displeasure clouding her beautiful countenance. She nodded at him as she crossed the threshold, but said nothing.
“Gracious, Lizzy, how long are you going to pout over our little joke?” Lydia demanded, turning around to look at her sister. “I do not understand why you are so upset about those gloves. After all, Papa bought you a far better new pair from London several weeks ago. We only spilled coffee over the old pair.”
“First of all, Lydia, and Kitty,” Elizabeth replied sharply, “just because one has two pairs of gloves does not mean that they should waste a pair. And second, you both behaved in a disgraceful manner, grabbing the coffee pot from the officer’s table and forced them to chase you all over the room for it, bumping into half of Meryton in the process.”
Lydia sighed, rolled her eyes, and marched upstairs. As the rest of the family followed suit, Elizabeth turned to Darcy and held out the ruined pair of gloves.
“Fitzwilliam, be so good as to dispose of these for me. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth.”
When she had gone, Darcy fingered the precious items, which still bore a hint of his love’s perfume. They indeed browned in spots with coffee, but he could not bring himself to take them to the kitchen and put them in the stove. Instead, he rolled them up and slipped them into his pocket.
Chapter 14:
The next day brought excitement to Longbourn with the arrival of a Mr. Collins. Bingley, always abreast of the downstairs gossip, gleefully informed his best friend that the visitor was employed by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The information caused Darcy to tense, but after a quick mental inventory of Rosing’s portrait gallery, he relaxed, remembering that his own face was not among those represented. Thus, he went to serve dinner with his usual equanimity.
It took not fifteen minutes of observation as he helped the family to meat and side dishes to conclude that soon Bingley would be none too pleased with the new houseguest. Mr. Collins had barely sat down to dinner before he announced his intention of marrying soon, and henceforth directed an endless stream of smiles and remarks towards Jane Bennet. Apparently her seniority sealed her destiny as the chosen partner of his fate.
At long last, Mr. Bennet’s sly questions managed to temporarily turn Mr. Collins’ mind back to Kent. Then Darcy and those at table were favored with a long narrative of how he composed flattering remarks intended for Lady Catherine and Anne de Bourgh and how he carefully practiced delivering them for at least two days in the privacy of his study before ever attempting to voice them in the presence of his esteemed patroness and her daughter.
In the course of his monologue, Darcy noticed that Elizabeth’s shoulders were beginning to shake. She reached for her napkin and hid her mouth behind it. Then she unwittingly caught his eye, and he, against his will, felt the corners of his own mouth begin to rise. That was unusual, for under other circumstances he would be positively mortified that his own aunt indulged in listening to such scripted flattery.
They struggled in silence for several minutes as Collins went on and on. When he finished, at length, Elizabeth cast her eyes down upon the tablecloth. In a voice laced with restraint, she said,
“Fitzwilliam, I wish to speak to you.”
With that, she rose and hurriedly led him from the room. Darcy suspected that it was a ruse, and he was justified in thinking so. Elizabeth practically ran out the front door and into a side garden, with him following close behind. As soon as they had reached it, she collapsed on a stone bench and began laughing. Darcy was only too grateful to join in, just as heartily.
They laughed for several prolonged minutes, only ceasing when their abdominal muscles could take no more. Elizabeth wiped away her tears and said,
“I do not recall the last time I was privileged to hear such entertaining conversation! Well, Fitzwilliam, what do you think of our most sensible guest?”
“Unfortunately, we must credit him with some cleverness, madam. It is quite clear that he comprehends how to keep himself in his patroness’s favor, and is acting accordingly. I agree, however, that his lack of dignity and transparency in the matter is most off-putting.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh must be a simpleton to allow him to run on in such a manner.”
“Or she is so fond of adulation that she will take it in any form,” Darcy muttered.
“Quite,” Elizabeth replied, smiling at him with her lips and eyes. Then she abruptly changed the subject.
“Fitzwilliam, cut some of those roses and make a bouquet for my father’s study. At once. If Mrs. Hill or any of the other servants question you, tell them that it is a particular wish of mine that you be kept busy in that manner. In any case, do not come back into the dining room or the drawing room tonight. If I should catch your eye again nothing will prevent me from the most unladylike display of mirth at Mr. Collins’ conversation!”
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Charles is sufficiently recovered, I believe, to serve at the table and in the drawing room, correct?”
“I do not think that it will do him any harm.”
“Good,” Elizabeth replied, rising. “You will find the flower clippers in the little shed at the edge of the garden. And do not worry- if Mr. Collins makes any other interesting statements tonight, I will be sure to relay them to you at the earliest opportunity. I do not wish to deprive you of his wit, or myself of the pleasure of mocking his expressions!”
Darcy only answered her with a laugh, already hoping that Mr. Collins would make himself ridiculous many times during the course of the evening. She rose and left to rejoin her family. As she continually swallowed her hilarity, she had no idea that as a certain man cut each rose in the moonlight, he envisioned how it would look pinned up in her hair.
Chapter 15:
After a very amusing and covert visit with Miss Elizabeth Bennet the following morning, during which that lady reenacted Mr. Collins’ mannerisms and words to perfection, Darcy was sitting in the kitchen when Bingley came back in with a basket of vegetables he had been told to fetch from the vegetable garden. He put the food on the counter and dropped into a chair with a relieved air.
“Thank goodness,” he breathed.
“Was that walk in the garden too much for you?” his friend asked, looking sharply at him.
Bingley waved his hand, dismissing his concerns.
“For the last time, Darcy, I am perfectly well. I merely overheard a conversation between Mr. Collins and Mrs. Bennet as they walked on a path neighboring to mine, and it has lifted the world off my shoulders. Mr. Collins asked Mrs. Bennet if she would have no objection to him paying attentions to Jane.”
“What did she say?” Darcy asked, interested against his will.
“I was stunned. She suggested that Jane was not overly suitable to be a clergyman’s wife. I suppose that Mrs. Bennet sees that her eldest daughter, with all her beauty and accomplishments, is worthy of a better match and better man.”
“Fortunately for you,” Darcy replied with a wry smile.
“Yes, indeed. Then she suggested that Elizabeth was second to Jane, both in order of birth and of beauty.”
Darcy jumped up, clenched his fists, and went to stare out of the window to hide his agitation. It had always been blatantly obvious that Elizabeth was her mother’s least dear child, but it was horrifying that she would scruple to think such a man worthy of her!
“What did Collins say to that?” Darcy asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
“He acquiesced without hesitation. It looks like Miss Lizzy will be his new favorite Miss Bennet.”
Thereupon, Bingley poured himself and drank a draught of water, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was grinding his teeth and breathing heavily at the window.
Elizabeth! Mr. Collins would be courting his Elizabeth. But she would not encourage him- or would she? He knew that she was not so shallow a woman as to see Mr. Collins a worthy partner in life. But would she accept him for the security of her family’s future? After all, it was an eligible offer where fortune was concerned. Darcy knew the depth of Elizabeth’s love for her sisters; would she sacrifice her own happiness in order to secure theirs? Furthermore, Mr. Collins appeared to be the only suitor who the Bennet sisters had, and with their tiny dowries, he would probably hold that title for quite some time, if not forever. Oh, if only Bingley had not entered into that ridiculous bet! Then his friend could have wed Miss Jane, and he, Darcy, would be free to try to win Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy paced back and forth at the window. Was there any way that he and Bingley could reveal themselves and their fortunes and compete with Mr. Collins as gentlemen? Alas, no sensible idea on that score presented itself to him. Mr. Bennet, and Jane and Elizabeth, for that matter, would probably not take kindly to a couple of cheats who had misrepresented themselves for weeks, one of which had not even the good sense to steer clear of dangerous card games.
Darcy smiled bitterly to himself at the irony of it all. A few months ago, he would have though it a degradation to propose matrimony to a woman of Elizabeth’s rank. And now, after his prolonged servitude, he would only be too eager to claim her for his own. The uncanny experience had taught him how little high birth and fortune counted in times of want and necessity; all that truly mattered was how good a heart and humor a particular human being possessed. And he knew that Elizabeth had a heart of gold. As for humor, he lived in the sunshine of her teasing manner.
With a final glance up to Heaven and prayer that Mr. Collins’ proposals would not fine favor with Elizabeth, he went back to his chores.
Chapter 16:
It seemed that his supplications to Providence were being heard. Mr. Collins did indeed begin to pay marked attentions to Elizabeth, but that lady ensconced herself in her room far more than was her wont, clearly avoiding him. Darcy began to breathe easier, but knew that she would not be able to hide in her apartment for long; her love of the outdoors would surely call her forth sooner than later.
One morning a few days later, Darcy looked up from his task of peeling the potatoes to find Elizabeth Bennet standing in the kitchen, attired in her elder sister’s riding dress.
“Fitzwilliam, you can ride, is that correct?” she asked him in that musical voice of hers.
“Yes, madam.”
“I am going to be visiting our tenants in Jane’s stead, and I was wondering if you would be so good as to accompany me.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy replied, trying not to smile too broadly as he stood.
She smiled in response, unaware of how that simple action made his heart dance in his chest.
“I asked the grooms to saddle up two horses, Fitzwilliam. Meet me by the stables in ten minutes.”
After she left, Darcy sprang into action, helping assemble the gift baskets for the tenants, and carrying them out to a mule which would bear them. He would have Elizabeth to himself for an entire day, and he could barely fathom his luck! He felt like a schoolboy, rather than the unpleasable Master of Pemberley.
After the longest ten minutes of his life, he saw her finally walking to the stables. When she reached him and the horses, she looked around, as if to ensure that they were alone, and drew near to him.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said quietly, “let us ride rather slowly today, and take the least difficult paths. I am afraid that I am not very proficient as a horsewoman.”
“In that case, there is no need for us to engage in that sort of exercise. With your permission, I will hitch one of the wagons and drive you.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“No. While I do not excel at riding, it is a form of transportation which does offer certain benefits, because of its uniqueness. Everyone can ride in a wagon, but not everyone can manage a horse. Mr. Collins, for instance,” here she turned her sparkling and arch eyes at him, “cannot ride at all.”
Darcy smiled down at her, and blessed her cleverness. Of course. She worked it out so that Mr. Collins could not insist upon accompanying her.
“As you say, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, rather gaily, “that is a benefit, indeed!” From the look in her eyes, it was quite clear that she was pleased that he understood her so readily.
“Be so kind as to help be mount, Fitzwilliam,” she said, putting her hands on the saddle and daintily lifting her foot, thus signaling him to cup his hands and allow her to step in them as a makeshift step.
But Darcy could not help himself. Instead of following her silent command, he seized her gently around the waist, lifted her in the air, to her surprise, and tenderly placed her upon the saddle.
“Thank you,” she replied, rather flustered, casting her eyes down modestly.
Darcy tied the burdened mule to the back of his own horse, mounted, and they set out. Using her confession about her inexperience as an excuse, he rode alongside her instead of behind her as custom dictated. After a few miles, during which the gentleman constantly scoured the path checking for any obstacles which could spook his beloved’s horse, they came to the first of the tenant cottages. Darcy dismounted first, then was granted a moment of pure joy as Elizabeth allowed him to lift her down off her horse. Untying one of the baskets from the mule, he handed it to her and watched as she gaily ran towards the tenant children. He watched her speak to their mother, hug and kiss the baby, and play a bit with the older children after giving them their present. Suddenly, Darcy found himself imagining how Elizabeth would look while engaging in the same activities with his tenants, the majestic peaks of Derbyshire in the background. It brought a lump to his throat, knowing that it would never be. He would leave at the end of the month, and live in her memory only as a faithful servant. That Bingley and his wagers!
Chapter 17:
They spent the entire day in a like manner. After they had visited every tenant upon Lougbourn’s lands, Elizabeth took her horse’s bridle with a sigh and turned back in the direction of the main house. It was only late afternoon, and she had expected the errand to relieve her of Mr. Collin’s company for the entire day.
“Fitzwilliam, what is that? Have we forgotten someone?” she asked hopefully, noticing that one basket still hung at the side of the mule.
“No, Miss Elizabeth, we have not.”
“Then?”
“I took the liberty of making an extra basket, in case you returned too late to have the pleasure of dining with your family and visiting cousin,” Darcy replied seriously, looking straight ahead but unable to conquer a twinkle in his eye.
Elizabeth laughed gratefully. It felt so wonderful to have her needs anticipated, to feel so protected, even if the person fulfilling these roles was a servant. Her father, dear as he was, had never managed to make her feel so sheltered and cherished. She reflected with some sadness that a manservant had made provisions to protect her from an unwanted suitor, while her own father sent her off to walk into Meryton with that same gentleman so that he might have his library to himself.
“That was truly thoughtful of you, Fitzwilliam. By and by, I have just discovered that I am so famished that I cannot wait to partake of dinner in the house. Let us stop and eat here.”
With a smile, Darcy untied the picnic basket from the mule, tied up all three mounts on a nearby bush where they could graze, and found a pleasant, flat place on top of the grassy slope. From that position, it was possible to see grassy meadows stretching out for as far as the eye could reach. The air was cool and pleasant, and there were only a few clouds in the beautiful blue sky.
He spread out a blanket upon the ground, and Elizabeth sat down on it. She untied her bonnet put it aside, and then to his surprise, undid the bun which usually held her chestnut curls. She let her tresses fall around her shoulders freely, not imagining that the sight of her thus took her manservant’s breath away.
“I can never be very formal at a picnic,” she remarked when she saw him gazing at her. “Please do not stand there in the background staring at me, Fitzwilliam. Sit down and join me. You must be as hungry as I, if not more so.”
Darcy could not have refused her invitation even if he had wanted to. He came forward and sat at the opposite end of the blanket, and accepted a finger sandwich from the plate which she held out to him.
“I am afraid that you have me at a disadvantage,” Elizabeth remarked, trying to dispel the awkward silence which descended on them as they sat and nibbled thus. “You know quite a bit about me, Fitzwilliam, but I know nothing of you. Have you any family?”
Darcy, who felt himself on rather dangerous territory, quietly replied, “I have a sister, madam.”
“What is her name?”
“Georgiana.” He was entranced, watching the wind toy with her curls.
“May I ask if she is your senior or junior?”
“She is more than ten years my junior, Miss Elizabeth.”
They continued in the same vein for a while, Darcy favoring his beautiful and interested companion with recollections of Georgiana’s youthful exploits, while carefully choosing his words so that they would not reveal that the girl of whom they spoke was at present probably dressed in silk and playing a pianoforte in a grand London townhouse. At last, they paused in their conversation and Elizabeth looked around the grassy rolling hills.
“In the spring, all that is grass now will be covered in wildflowers,” she said. “It is one of my favorite sights in Hertfordshire.”
“I wish that I could be able to see it,” the manservant replied.
“You will, when spring comes,” Elizabeth said as she smiled at him.
To her surprise, he shook his head.
“Charles and I,” he began, slowly, hesitantly, “are planning to give notice to Mr. Hill on Friday that we are leaving at the end of this month.”
Elizabeth Bennet sat stunned, staring at her companion. After a prolonged moment, she forced herself to speak calmly as she replied,
“May I ask why? Is there anything not to your liking at Longbourn?”
“No, it is just that we have other responsibilities, and positions, elsewhere. After all, I simply took this job in order to help Charles during his illness and recovery.”
“Oh, yes, I have forgotten about that,” Elizabeth replied distractedly, looking down at her hands. “It has only been what…six weeks? But I confess that I have begun to think of you as a fixture at Longbourn.”
Darcy’s heart leapt in his chest. Did she mean that she had simply gotten used to him, or that she liked his presence? Luckily, she unwittingly answered his burning question.
“I will miss you a great deal, Fitzwilliam,” she said in a heartfelt tone.
Suddenly, she turned her head, for unaccountably, tears had sprung into her eyes. Confused by them, Miss Bennet regained her feet and said in a peculiar, hurried tone,
“Fitzwilliam, it is becoming rather late. We had better go back.”
Thereupon, she helped him put away the remnants of their feast and fold up the blanket. She allowed him to lift her upon her mount as before, and they set off for Longbourn. Far too soon for Darcy’s liking, they reached it, and even as Elizabeth was thanking him for his assistance, he heard Mr. Collins shouting from the parlor window,
“My fair cousin! How we have sorrowed and pined over your too long absence today…”
Later that night, Elizabeth Bennet sat at her window, unable to sleep. The announcement that Fitzwilliam and Charles would be leaving had hit her like a bolt of lightning. The house would be so empty, so desolate without them…particularly without Fitzwilliam. But why on earth was she carrying on so?
All through her childhood and youth, servants had come and gone at Longbourn. Most of them were inhabitants of her father’s home far longer that Fitzwilliam had been. Usually, she had not given it more than a second thought, simply accepting the fact that a new servant was now meeting her wants and needs. But now, thinking that she would see him no more, her heart unbearably ached.
She supposed it was because he was a friend. No, he was a dear friend. And yet, that did not solve her dilemma, for had not Mattie Tornson been a dear friend too? But she had not despaired when Mattie’s family moved to America. Then how was it that she was now despondent because a servant was leaving?
Her conscience whispered the answer. Elizabeth shook her head. No, it was impossible! She was a gentleman’s daughter, and Fitzwilliam was a manservant! An intelligent, kind manservant, but still a servant. She fought valiantly, but by the time dawn broke she was forced to admit the truth to herself.
She loved him.
Chapter 18:
Darcy noticed a great change in Elizabeth’s behavior the very next day. Gone were her smiles, her laughter, and her familiarity with him. Instead of asking him how his day was when they happened to occupy the same room for an instant, she cast down her eyes and merely nodded at the tea tray he brought in. When Mr. Collins uttered something outrageous, she looked at Jane rather than at him.
At first, Darcy tried to attribute her newfound reserve to either embarrassment or aggravation at Mr. Collins’s continual pursuit. But that gentleman proposed, apparently with less tact than ever, was refused, and shortly thereafter removed himself from the village, but not before securing Charlotte Lucas’s hand in marriage. Throughout all this, Elizabeth never confided in him, not even when he contrived to pass her in the hall nearly every hour.
With pain, he realized that she must have remembered her station, and his. And how could he blame her for it? A few months ago, if he had seen his own sister engaging with a servant as familiarly as he had with Elizabeth, he would have summoned her to his study and given her a firm talking-to.
Still, the ten weeks of servitude were coming to an end much faster than he liked. Even with his heartache at Elizabeth’s new behavior, he still relished being under the same roof with her. He still loved hearing her voice, even if it was not directed at him. At the idea of never seeing her again, pure sorrow stabbed his heart.
Little did he know that Elizabeth’s carefully schooled features concealed a similar torment. Once she had realized her love for him, she forced herself to set about her duty – that is, forgetting him. A woman of her position could not stoop so low as to encourage a manservant, especially one who probably had no regard for her himself, but was merely trying to be a good domestic. If she did look at tea trays rather than at him, it was because she knew that every time she caught his glance her heart would betray her anew. Every night in her room, she would cry herself to sleep. The man of her dreams was but a few floors above her, but he would never call her his wife. That title would probably fall to the world’s luckiest scullery maid instead.
Chapter 19:
Darcy hoped against hope that at least upon their departure, some friendly word might fall from her lips; but again, he was disappointed. Their last day at Longbourn dawned grey and dreary. He and Charles gathered up their meager belongings, said their farewells to the staff, were paid their wages by Mr. Hill, and slowly made their way to the drawing room to bid farewell to the family.
As soon as they entered, Darcy noted that Elizabeth was not in attendance. Jane Bennet was, however, and she came forward and thanked them both in touching tones and wished them well. Bingley looked as if were on the point of tears at her address, but managed to control his feelings by sheer force of will and reciprocated her thanks softly. The rest of the family had little to say, and both men simply bowed in their general direction and took their leave directly.
When they were about to cross the threshold of Longbourn for the last time, Elizabeth Bennet entered it. She had taken a long walk to avoid the farewells, but had underestimated the time that they would dawdle before beginning their journey. She almost started at seeing them, but quickly composed herself and spoke in a completely disengaged tone to both simultaneously.
“I see you are leaving. I shall not detain you. Thank you for your service.”
With that, and only that, she went upstairs. Even though it cost her dearly, she did not look back.
Darcy watched her form disappear up the stairs. With an abrupt gesture, he signaled for Bingley to proceed him out of the house, and followed with a heavy heart.
As they walked away from the edifice which contained the women they loved, Bingley muttered under his breath.
“You were right, Darcy. I should never have played in that card game, and I should never have come here. Now I will never be happy again.”
Darcy had never agreed with him more.
Chapter 20:
Darcy sat in his London townhouse, arrayed once more as a gentleman, holding a drink of a brandy which could only be afforded by someone of means. It had been nearly a month since he and Bingley had returned to Town, and yet both were even more acutely miserable than ever.
Fitzwilliam Darcy had never loved balls, but now they were exquisite torture. Every woman who danced in them seemed but a pale shadow of womanhood when compared to Elizabeth. The wittiest lines in the theater seemed foolish compared to remarks which he remembered falling from Elizabeth’s lips. The world was a dreary place without her to brighten it, that much was certain.
In his newfound awareness of what went on in a kitchen of a house, he knew that his own servants were wondering about where he had been and about the changes in his behavior. He called upon them less than ever, not only because they themselves were painful reminders of the life he had led for ten blessed weeks, but because he also remembered how troublesome it was to get constant summons from a drawing room or study. He lit his own candles, much to the disbelief of those who were used to waiting on him hand and foot. Instead of calling his valet into his room before dawn, he selected his own waistcoat and tied his own necktie. Once, on a particularly chilly Saturday evening, he had been sitting by a dark fireplace when it occurred to him that he should like a blaze. He did not even think of ringing for the servants, who were all occupied with preparing the house for a day of relative respite on Sunday; he got up, went into the garden, and opened the door to a little hut where he knew that tools were stored. Finding the axe and a few pieces of wood which had yet to be split, he took both to a boulder and commenced chopping wood. Had he paid attention to the kitchen windows, he would have seen twelve servants with their noses pressed against the glass, their mouths hanging wide open. As it was, he simply envisioned himself back at Longbourn, fancying that he was chopping wood for the kitchen stove, as Elizabeth took a stroll but a few yards from him.
He knew that duty was calling him back to Pemberley. He knew, in a matter of days, that he would go. But he wished with all his heart that he could go to Longbourn instead.
Chapter 21:
One month later...
Elizabeth followed her uncle and aunt, dutifully trying to seem interested in the grand house and its history. In truth, she heard nothing of what Mrs. Reynolds was saying about the size of Pemberley’s rooms, or about the price of the furniture. In her abstraction she had also missed the introduction of the tour, and did not realize that the mansion she was wandering in belonged to a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Even if she had, she would never have assumed that he and her Fitzwilliam were one and the same.
She was thinking of her dearest manservant. Many weeks had passed, and she still thought about him each and every day. She vacillated between pining for what could never be, being angry at herself for letting her heart stray so, and feeling guilty for shunning him during the last days of his employment. When her aunt and uncle proposed a trip she accepted the offer eagerly, hoping to leave Longbourn and all the memories of Fitzwilliam it held behind. On that regard, the trip was a horrid failure. His was the first face her mind’s eye saw in the morning at various inns, and the last one she pictured before drifting off to sleep at night.
“Look at that beautiful vase, Lizzy,” her aunt’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Is not the workmanship superb?”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth answered with a forced smile.
Mrs. Reynolds moved closer to the admired piece and began to explain from whence it had come, when a sloshy step was heard upon the stairs. They all turned, surprised, towards the landing. Before their eyes rose a drenched man, one who had taken off his coat and gone swimming in the lake which dwelt just outside the house.
Mrs. Reynolds and Elizabeth cried out in unison.
“Good gracious! What are you doing here?” the younger lady exclaimed.
The gentleman absolutely started. He next began to stutter, trying to form the words “Miss Elizabeth”, but he could not. He wondered whether he was sane, whether he was even awake – in any case, his own tongue did not obey him.
Elizabeth collected herself first. Trying to hide the rosy blush which had rose to her cheeks, she stepped forward and said.
“I did not expect to see you here. What are the chances that a servant I know would be employed at Pemberley?” Her eyes swept over his disheveled form. “I take it you have been cleaning out the lake? I did notice quite a lot of vegetation on its banks when we drove past.”
In a very uneven voice, Darcy said,
“I was not…cleaning out the lake. I was merely taking a swim…,” he trailed off.
“In that case, you must be fortunate in your choice of employer. Not many servants would be able to go for a swim on Tuesday afternoon.”
Darcy was awkwardly concocting another reply when Mrs. Reynolds, who had of course noticed his discomfort, thought that she knew the cause of it. Trying to come to his aid, she gently touched Elizabeth’s elbow and said,
“Madam, I am afraid that you have confused this gentleman with someone else. He is no servant; this is Mr. Darcy, the proprietor of Pemberley.”
Miss Bennet turned and regarded her as one would look upon a madwoman.
Mrs. Reynolds did not quail under the peculiar gaze. She swept her hand in the direction of the wall, indicating a large, fine portrait which hung there.
Elizabeth gawked. She looked at the portrait, the drenched, embarrassed man standing in front of her, and then at the portrait again. When she looked back at him anew, Darcy, to his horror, saw an expression of disgust and anger cross her face.
He wanted to say something, but before he could think of the proper thing to say, Elizabeth spoke. In a voice as taunt as a successful fishing line, she said with clenched teeth,
“I see. Thank you for the correction, Mrs. Reynolds. Uncle Gardiner, I have suddenly developed a headache. Would you be so good as to take me back to the Inn at once?”
Without waiting for the portly man to give her an answer, the young lady stormed straight past Darcy, down the stairs, and out the front door of Pemberley.
He could not bear it. She was walking away, furious at him! What must be passing through her mind! He could not let her go, especially thinking such ill of him! Forgetting his housekeeper, the other visitors, and even his own appearance, he ran after her as fast has his legs could carry him.
Chapter 22:
“Miss Elizabeth!” he called out in a hoarse voice as soon as he reached the courtyard. She was about fifteen feet in front of him, but showed no signs of slowing. “Miss Elizabeth, please! I need to speak with you.”
Provoked, Elizabeth suddenly whirled around.
“The only thing you need is some basic decency,” she snapped. “So is this a new fashion among the rich and mighty? To pretend to be servants, lie to an entire household, and allow gentlewomen to risk their reputations by going out with you alone? Well, I congratulate you on your fun; now leave me alone!”
She resumed her furious walk. Darcy noticed that she was dashing straight for a hired coach which was stationed in front of the house; he had very little time. Following at her heels, he quickly said,
“Miss Elizabeth, I understand how odd this might seem, and I understand that you are rightfully angry with me, but I need you to understand that I never enjoyed leading you astray.”
She did not respond, but he seemed to detect a slight deceleration in her steps. This filled him with hope, and he added,
“On my first morning at Longbourn, I informed Mr. Hill of my true position in society, but as I was dressed in servant’s clothes, my own being unfit to wear as a result of travelling through the rain, he did not believe me. I never came to your father’s house with any design but that of nursing Charles back to health – he is indeed a good friend of mine, the son of a tradesman, but wealthy enough now to be looking for an estate of his own. He lost a wager on a card game, and to pay off his debt had to serve as a manservant for ten weeks. He begged me not to reveal the true state of affairs, and out of concern for his health I agreed to help him. Can you ever forgive me?”
Elizabeth stopped. She was close to the coach – Darcy waited with baited breath to see if she would get into it. If she did, his heart would never recover.
He saw her shoulders, which had been tense ever since Mrs. Reynolds pointed out the portrait, relax. Next, she slowly turned around. Meeting his eyes, she replied,
“You are either the best liar in England or the best man I have ever known.”
“I assure you that the first is not true – whether the second, only you can know that, Miss Elizabeth.”
“If you truly are a gentleman, and played the part of a lowly servant for six weeks to safeguard the life of your friend, than you certainly have no rivals in goodness amongst my acquaintance.” She sighed. “Forgive me. I should not have rushed to judgment so.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Before he could say anything else, a concerned voice called across the courtyard,
“Lizzy?”
Turning around, Darcy and Miss Bennet beheld Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner walking towards them.
“Lizzy, is everything alright?” Mrs. Gardiner asked as soon as she neared her blushing niece.
“Yes, it is. Mr. Darcy was just handsomely forgiving me for rushing to judgement as I did.”
Aunt Gardiner smiled.
“It is kind of you not to take offense, Mr. Darcy. It was quite uncharacteristic of my niece to confuse you with someone of her acquaintance, let alone with a servant she apparently once knew.”
“As I was telling the lady, there is nothing to apologize for,” the Master of Pemberley said, greatly relieved that he would not have to explain the entire matter to Elizabeth’s friends. “Now that we have all settled that, could I possibly convince you to come into the house for some refreshments?”
“No, that is not necessary,” Uncle Gardiner said. “And we have to be going. Some of my wife’s friends have invited us to dinner this evening, and we will be late if we do not leave straightaway.”
Elizabeth saw disappointment in Mr. Darcy’s face, but he merely bowed and replied,
“Of course.” Struck with a thought, he suddenly asked, “You are staying in Lambton, at the Inn, then?”
“Yes, we are,” Mr. Gardiner replied.
Gallantly, Darcy opened the carriage door and helped Elizabeth and her aunt ascend. Mr. Gardiner followed suit.
As they drove away, Elizabeth’s mind was in a perfect muddle. Had she been dreaming? Her Fitzwilliam was a gentleman! And yet, what good would it do? What were the chances that she would ever meet him again? And even if she did, now he was the social superior. It was in every way hopeless!
Chapter 23:
As she had been unable to fall asleep until nearly dawn due to the thoughts which rampaged through her head, Elizabeth woke when the sun was already high in the sky the next day. On her bedside table was a note from her aunt; her relations had gone into town to buy gifts for their children, and would return to have luncheon with her. Although she loved them both dearly, Elizabeth was not sorry to have the morning to herself. Pretending that she had any presence of mind was hard to do when Fitzwilliam’s face was freshly imprinted in her thoughts.
She dressed and tried to peck at the tray which the maid brought in. Fitzwilliam was five miles away, and she was destined to leave Lambton in one day! Her heart ached unbearably, thinking of what could never be. Leaning back in her comfortable chair, she closed her eyes and began to daydream of all the conversations and moments they had had together.
There was a knock on the door. Thinking that it was the maid, she called out,
“Enter!” without opening her tired eyes. When she heard the door hinges creak open, she instructed the girl, “You may take the tray.”
“Very good, milady,” a masculine voice replied.
Elizabeth opened her eyes with a start. In front of her stood Fitzwilliam. Her heart skipped about five beats when she saw him and nearly plunged her into a deep swoon; for the first time, he stood before her dressed not in servant’s garb, nor in a drenched shirt, but as a properly attired gentleman. Yesterday she had discovered that he was the best man of her acquaintance; today she found that he was also the handsomest, by far.
“Fitzwilliam,” she gasped out. Before she could correct herself and address him as ‘Mr. Darcy’, the man smiled and said,
“I hope you forgive me the intrusion. I did not expect to find you alone.”
“It is quite alright,” Elizabeth answered, blushing. “Do sit down.”
Darcy obeyed.
“I hope that your relations did not ask too many distressing questions after you left yesterday?”
“No, not at all. They are firmly under the impression that it was a case of mistaken identity, nothing more. They think that you ran after me to assure me that you were not offended.” She offered him a crooked smile. “If you are worried about your reputation, Mr. Darcy, I assure you that you are quite safe from us.”
“Nothing could be further from my mind. I was wondering, however – if your relations are not scandalized by our former association, perhaps they could be persuaded to accept an invitation to dinner at Pemberley this evening.”
Elizabeth stared, colored and was silent.
“Why are you putting yourself to all this inconvenience?” she inquired at length.
“I beg your pardon?” the gentleman asked.
“Why are you doing all this? You are a gentleman, far above any social circles which we move in. You have asked for, and received pardon, for masquerading as a servant. You do not need to apologize further. You can forget that you ever heard the word ‘Longbourn’. Furthermore, I acted very cruelly towards you when I all but ignored you during your last weeks under my father’s roof. Why then, do you offer us an invitation to dinner at your estate?”
“For the very simple reason that I have missed you. Profoundly.” Darcy took in her shocked look. “Despite the fact that I was not fully forthcoming with you, I felt that the friendship we formed was pure and true. I have never conversed with such ease with anyone before. I understand why you withdrew your friendship during those last weeks…we had become too familiar, and you probably realized that it was unbecoming. However, I have thought of you every day since I departed Longbourn. As much as I wished that we could renew our acquaintance under more truthful premises, I had far too much respect for you to risk your reputation by returning to the neighborhood as a gentleman. But now, when Providence has thrust you in my path, I would never forgive myself if I did not speak openly. If you give me any hope that one day you might feel similarly, I am certain that we can somehow overcome the difficulties involved. For I ardently admire and love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
Instantly, her face flamed. Her head swam. She thought that she must be dreaming!
“I want you for my wife. Is there any chance that one day you might accept my hand in marriage?”
In a haze, Elizabeth thought of all the things she ought to consider. She knew that she ought to be worried about what her father would say, what all of Meryton would say, if and when she brought this man to Hertfordshire as her fiancé. And yet, she found that she did not care. In the least. This was a chance that she never thought that God would give her, and she would not be so foolish as to squander it.
Meeting his eyes, therefore, she said the words she had long wished to utter.
“I love you too, Fitzwilliam Darcy. And if you were to make the offer, I would accept your hand in marriage today!”
He reached over and interwove his fingers with hers.
“Of course I offer it! Will you marry me?” he asked without delay, his voice trembling with emotion.
“Yes, my dearest Fitzwilliam!”
Hearts ready to burst, they stood and flung their arms around one another. Darcy sought, found, and commandeered her lips with his own. After they completed the kiss, he held her close to his heart for a long while.
Fitzwilliam Darcy threw a match into the fireplace of Longbourn’s parlor, and straightened up as the logs began to blaze. Sighing a little, he put the sooty fire poker back into its place, and wondered once again how on earth he, the Master of Pemberley, had allowed himself to be degraded to a manservant in a county gentleman’s home.
Friendship. That had been the beginning of his troubles. Namely, friendship for Charles Bingley. His best friend, unfortunately, had engaged in another one of his impetuous escapades about two months prior, and as usual, Darcy had been forced to come to his rescue.
Bingley had made the mistake of playing cards with Lord Brion, an elderly inhabitant of London who had two great talents: winning card games and proposing ridiculous wagers on them. Brion still laughed about the time that he had conned a young earl into accepting one of his bets; the gentleman of two and twenty had been forced to become a sailor in the West Indies for a year to fulfill his part of the bargain. In Charles Bingley’s case, the sentence for losing the game was a bit more lenient: he was expected to serve, incognito, as a manservant for a period of ten weeks.
With his usual optimism, Bingley took the loss and his punishment as a good joke. Not so Darcy, to whom he confided the scheme to the next morning.
“Have you gone clean out of your senses?” Darcy had demanded of his cheerful friend. “Do you have the slightest idea of how this ludicrous stunt could damage your reputation?!”
Bingley felt a little less brash by the time his oldest friend finished with him, but there was no backing out. Darcy even took it upon himself to visit Lord Brion and attempted to cajole him to accept a cash settlement instead of the silly escapade as payment. The peer, who respected Darcy for his sense and his perpetual refusals to be a party in one of his card games, refused to settle, however.
“No, I will not. He agreed to the wager fair and square. Relax, man, every young fool who I sent off for a few adventures has always come back alive.”
Unfortunately, Charles Bingley came within a hair’s breadth of breaking Lord Brion’s streak.
He had set off the week after the infamous card game. Following his friend’s advice, he sought out a county which he had never visited before, and where he had no connections. Changing into some second-hand servant’s clothes which he purchased for a few shillings, Charles Bingley hired himself out to Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, in Hertfordshire.
Soon afterwards, Darcy began receiving letters from him. The first few described the family of the manor and the county in which Bingley now found himself, and waxed poetic about the beauty and manners of the eldest Miss Bennet. But Darcy became alarmed when his normally jovial letters became extremely short, as if his friend had hardly any time to write them, and began to uncharacteristically complain of weariness and mentioned how little he had appreciated the amount of physical labor and long hours required of a manservant. Darcy immediately fired off a response, telling Bingley to forget the dratted bet and come back to Town if he felt his health indifferent.
A while passed before a returning epistle. At last, leafing through his correspondence one afternoon, Darcy came upon a letter from Bingley. It was scarcely necessary to read the first two lines to discover that it had been written during a moment of delirium. His friend’s writing had always been filled with blots, but this time it was scarcely legible. It ran:
Darcy-
Old chap…remember when in Cambridge…oh, Jane Bennet is an angel…I am so cold…such a musical voice,…the cooking pots are heavy to lift…what a beautiful Grecian profile! Brion, you look as if you had a good hand…that is strange, my own hand is shaking…
Darcy bolted out of his chair, only taking the time to tuck a piece of paper with Longbourn’s address upon it into his coat. Despite the hour, he ordered two of his best horses saddled up and, thanking God that he happened to be in London, where the most esteemed physicians were ensconced, he quickly sought out Martin Wright, an old friend of his and Bingley’s who had built quite a reputation for himself as a doctor and surgeon. The two jumped upon the horses, and lit out full speed ahead for Hertfordshire.
They made it to Longbourn in record time, despite a rainstorm which soaked them to the bone for the last miles. After asking for directions a few times, they came upon the relatively small manor. When their knocking went unanswered, they forced a side door and went in. They would soon discover that the entire family had gone off to an assembly, and that the servants had been given the evening off and thus had abandoned the house for their own amusements. In all the bustle and excitement, the newest manservant had not been missed.
After going through a few rooms, the pair located Bingley. He lay in a cramped, musty attic room which Darcy would have shuddered to let one of his hounds sleep in, but which apparently served as his friend’s bedroom. And indeed, he was unconscious and shaking violently with fever.
Wright bent over and examined him, and then quietly remarked to Darcy,
“We got here just in time.”
Thereupon, he commenced pouring the most effective medicines down Bingley’s throat and covering him with blankets. When nothing further could be done, they sat back for an agonizing wait.
Chapter 2:
Thankfully, it was not for very long. Either because of the medicines or the presence of his friends, within an hour, copious sweat appeared upon Bingley’s brow, signaling that the fever had broken. Darcy wiped his sleeping friend’s face and neck with a handkerchief while Wright completed another examination. When he had done, he stepped away from the bedside with an air of relief.
“He will live, Darce.”
“Praise the Lord,” the young man replied heavily and reverently.
Wright nodded, and ran his hand through his hair.
“But unfortunately, Darcy, I will not be able to oversee his recovery. I have some pressing cases in London which I must get back to. Can you watch over him?”
“Of course. I can manage my business by post. When can I move him back to town?”
“Back to town? Darcy, I do not want him out of that cot for two weeks at least, understood? His fever broke relatively quickly after the draughts, but he appears to have been ill and overworked for a while. After the first fortnight, he should spend another week confined to this room. And he should not do any travelling whatsoever for over a month.”
“As you say, Wright,” Darcy sighed.
“I expect that he will not wake for quite some time. Do not be alarmed, for he needs the rest. When he rouses, give him two tablespoons of this tonic every morning and evening,” the doctor continued, placing a bottle on the tiny writing table in the corner. “And write an express to me should his condition worsen.”
“Very well. Oh, and Wright, take my horse back to my house in town, will you? I will not have much use out of it here, considering I will be confined indoors with Bingley for most of the time. And I doubt that Mr. Bennet’s groom can recognize a thoroughbred horse when he sees one, let alone care for it.”
Martin Wright nodded, shook the wealthy gentleman’s hand, gathered his bag and coat and prepared to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when he looked back at Darcy.
“Gracious, man, I should have told you this earlier, but I was too concerned with Bingley to notice. Get out of those damp clothes, unless you want to follow our friend’s example. The exercise of riding back to London will keep me warm, but you sitting here in this drafty room in those wet garments is a recipe for disaster.”
Darcy looked down and remembered the rainstorm which had soaked the physician and him as they rode.
“Thank you, Wright. I will see to it. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Darce.”
When the doctor had departed, Darcy searched Bingley’s tiny chamber. Thankfully, his friend had had enough foresight to bring an extra change of clothes. However, they were secondhand garments, made for a manservant, not a gentleman. While they were clean and pressed, they had some minor stains here and there. Darcy grimaced. For a moment he considered taking the risk of becoming ill and remaining in the clothes, albeit wet, which were suited to his station. But in a moment his reason returned; Bingley had to be able to depend upon him, and he would be of no use if he also took sick.
Thus, muttering indignantly under his breath, he laid aside his own clothes, and forced his frame into Bingley’s dry ones. They were a bit too small for his tall stature, but they would have to do. Before casting his ruined garments into the corner, he went the pockets of his vest and retrieved a few pounds which he had placed there, as well as two wedding bands. He gently fingered the pieces of jewelry before thrusting them into his pocket. They had been his parents’ wedding rings, and since their deaths he had made a habit of always carrying them with him, as mementos. It was his dearest wish to one day wear one on his finger, and to place the other on his bride’s. But even though he was eight and twenty and had seen a multitude of fine, sophisticated, wealthy ladies, he had yet to feel attraction or love towards a young woman.
Finishing, he went to sit by the still-slumbering Bingley. While thus occupied, he heard the sound of a carriage. Apparently his friend’s employers had returned at last. Before Darcy could make up his mind about whether to go down and begin explaining the situation right then and there or wait till morning, he heard the sound of multiple bedroom doors slamming. Clearly, the Bennets were exhausted by their revelry and had gone straight to bed.
So Darcy sat there, and watched through the tiny window as night waned into morning.
Chapter 3:
When the sun peeked over the horizon, it found Darcy dosing in his chair. But not for long, however. Soon he was rudely awakened by the squeaky door being flung open with a bang and a gruff voice bellowing out:
“Get up, slug-a-bed! Do you think that your chores will do themselves?”
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy demanded, alert in an instant.
Mr. Hill glared into the room, noticing that it had an extra occupant.
“And just who might you be? When I hired Charles I told him explicitly that he was not to receive visits from friend inside Longbourn.”
“I do happen to be Charles’s friend,” Darcy returned scornfully, rising to his feet. “And Charles happens to be extremely ill at the moment. I suppose that you are Mr. Hill, Mr. Bennet’s steward. As such, I think it is your or your wife’s responsibility to know when a servant becomes delirious with fever.”
“My only responsibility is to make sure that work gets done around here. If you want to pamper your friend through his cold under this roof and eat, you will do his work. Get downstairs and help the maids peel the potatoes for dinner.”
Having never been spoken to in such a fashion, even as a young boy, Hill’s words rendered Darcy furious.
“I certainly will not. I am a gentleman of means, and it is my duty to oversee the planting and harvesting of potatoes, not to peel them.”
Mr. Hill scrutinized Darcy and his attire for the smallest second before laughing hysterically.
“You a gentleman of means?! Of course, those garments reek of nobility. Shall I have the carriage take you to Bedlam, good sir?” Then, settling down a bit and disregarding Darcy’s scowl, he continued in a harder tone. “I am not fond of servants who, when they manage to speak a bit better than average, begin to have high-flown delusions about themselves. Now, you can either do as I say or I will have you and your lazy friend over there thrown out of the house at once.”
Darcy was about to lose his temper altogether when an accidental glance at Bingley’s pale and thin face made him reconsider. If Charles were denied shelter or forced to travel in his condition, he would not survive. His refusal to peel a few potatoes could cost his best friend’s life. Thus, he grinded his teeth, and drawing the covers over Bingley, followed Mr. Hill out of the room.
“I knew you would come around.” Hill grunted. “Let that be the last time you cross me or Mrs. Hill, understood? Now, what is your name?”
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy,” the proprietor of that name said loftly, for once hoping that someone would recognize it and the prestige and annual income it implied.
“Fitzwilliam? What sort of name is that supposed to be? We don’t have time for such monikers around here. From now on, you’ll be just plain ‘William’”.
Before Darcy could protest this latest degradation, he was unceremoniously pushed into the kitchen with the briefest of introductions to Mrs. Hill and the maids, and handed a potato and knife.
Chapter 4:
After one of the most humiliating half-hours of his life, during which he succeeded in peeling four potatoes and nicking his hand twice, Darcy was handed a tea-tray.
“The young ladies have ordered it. They are in the parlor, which is the second door to the right.” Mrs. Hill explained.
Nothing but the thought of an old friend expiring during a carriage ride could have saved the tray from being flung on the nearest table. As it was, Darcy made his way to the parlor, earnestly praying that none of the Bennets had ever laid eyes on the Master of Pemberley before.
He need not have worried. The moment he opened the door he could tell by their garb and manners that none of the five girls belonged to the ton. A blond-haired young woman of about three and twenty was sitting on the windowsill, embroidering. Besides her, a slightly younger woman with chestnut curls was absorbed in a book. A third sister sat by the pianoforte and played off-key scales. The two who appeared the youngest were seated at a table, playing some sort of card game. One of these exclaimed as he came nearer,
“Why, since when do we have a new manservant?”
At this remark, all eyes in the room were drawn to him, but Darcy said nothing. He simply advanced, placed the tray on the table next to the cards, and was about to step away when another question arrested him.
“What is your name?” the eldest woman in the room asked.
Darcy dared not take any chances by stating his full name. He sullenly answered,
“In the kitchen they call me William.”
“William, would you happen to know what has happened to Charles?” the lady continued, a tad anxiously.
“He is ill upstairs, madam,” Darcy replied, correctly presuming that this was the famous Jane Bennet.
“Oh, the poor man!” she exclaimed softly, and getting up, left the room. Darcy bowed slightly to the remaining sisters and was just about to follow her when the girl who he would later find out was Miss Lydia laughed.
“You are the handsomest manservant I ever saw. You are even more handsome than Charles, isn’t he, Kitty?”
Miss Kitty nodded and giggled.
“I suppose the scullery maid will break her heart over him in no time!” she replied.
“Kitty, Lydia!” the chestnut haired girl reprimanded her sisters sharply. “That is enough!”
The admonition did not awaken a spark of concern in the younger girls. Instead, they laughed once more as Lydia said,
“I suppose you are right, Lizzy. The scullery maid will not be pretty enough for him. Perhaps he would prefer you. William, do you not think that my sister Elizabeth the prettiest creature you ever beheld?”
“I beg you to excuse me,” Darcy said through gritted teeth as he bowed. Afterwards, he quickly exited the room.
Shutting the door behind him, he stopped for a moment in the hall to reign in his temper. He had never been exposed to such shamelessness in all this born days, and being teased about being the consort of a scullery maid had insulted every fiber of his being. As to Miss Lydia’s question about Miss Elizabeth!
“Miss Elizabeth!” He muttered to himself, his anger superseding his reason and making him ornery to the point of claiming an opinion which he did not really hold. “Miss Elizabeth is tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me!”
With that, he stalked away from the front hall. In his fury, he did not notice that the parlor door had opened, and that Elizabeth Bennet had been standing in the threshold when he made his ill-fated pronouncement on her beauty. Nor did he see the temporary indignant flush on her cheeks or the amused smile which soon washed it away.
Chapter 5:
Before anyone else could demand that he perform any more menial tasks, Darcy escaped upstairs to see how Bingley was faring. He was shocked to see that the door of the attic chamber was ajar, and even more stunned at the sight within.
Jane Bennet was kneeling at the bedside of his friend, who had regained consciousness, holding a cup of soup to his lips. Bingley was drinking eagerly, and Darcy noticed that his eyes were twinkling with joy at having such a pretty nursemaid. But his foul humor made him angry at finding a young lady within his friend’s apartment. His mind immediately jumped to the ways Bingley, or even he, could be imposed upon if it ever came to light that the two of them were actually gentlemen. Thus, he sternly addressed Miss Bennet,
“Thank you, madam, but I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of nursing Charles.”
Jane Bennet and Bingley looked up at the sound of his voice, and Darcy noticed that his friend’s eyes widened, first in shock and then in mirth, at his raiment.
“I am sure you are, William,” Miss Jane replied kindly and calmly, apparently disregarding the austere tone. “But you have other responsibilities downstairs, and I truly enjoy nursing so loyal a servant.”
“Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I can hardly see how Charles can be considered a loyal servant if he has worked at Longbourn for less than a month.”
“It may interest you,” another, much less amiable, voice said from the door, “to know that fidelity is not measured by time alone. It may also be calculated by considering the amount of devotion and good cheer with which an attendant performs their tasks, and the amount of respect that they show to the master’s family.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes flashed archly when she uttered the last. “And Charles has been everything a servant should be,” she concluded.
Darcy, despite his poor temper, could not help marveling at the intelligence and wit she had shown in her response. He knew that her answer was meant to be a reprimand to him, but somehow she had managed to infuse enough sweetness in his tone that he felt challenged for his views, rather than upbraided for his words.
He knew he had lost the impromptu verbal duel, and thus he bowed slightly and replied,
“I am glad that you think Charles a good servant, madam.”
Miss Elizabeth turned away with a slight air of triumph before approaching the bed.
“How are you, Charles? I am sorry that we were not informed of your illness sooner. It was unpardonable for us not to notice your absence. I hope that you did not suffer long alone?”
“Not at all, Miss Lizzy. I am much better.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she replied, with a gentle smile. Darcy noticed it, and wondered how long it had been since he had seen such a genuine smile, without any hint of flirtation, adorning a young woman’s face.
She quickly touched Bingley’s shoulder comfortingly, and then gazed around the room
“And where will your nursemaid sleep?” she inquired, a bit mockingly, glancing in Darcy’s direction. “If we allow him to lie on the floor his bearing will be even stiffer tomorrow than it is today, if that be possible.”
Bingley laughed weakly at the joke. Darcy flushed, with indignation or embarrassment, he did not know. And yet, after years of simpering women praising his ‘noble’ carriage, there was something positively refreshing in Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s sharp remark.
“If I remember correctly, Miss Lizzy, there is a folded up cot in that closet yonder. My friend can use that.”
The second eldest Miss Bennet walked over to the said closet and opened its door to investigate.
“I suppose he can try to, if we tell Hill to send up a new blanket,” she conceded.
“And we will also tell Mrs. Hill not to trouble you today. Just take good care of Charles, William,” Jane Bennet put in with her sweet voice.
Casting another smile at Charles, and raising her eyebrows rather testily at him, Elizabeth followed her sister out of the attic room.
Chapter 6:
The door had scarcely closed behind them before Bingley looked over at his oldest friend and said,
“Darcy, would you mind telling me...how in the world did you get here, and what are you doing in those clothes?”
In a harsh, displeased tone, his friend condescended to say,
“I am not sure if you recall it, but you sent me a letter a few days ago which blatantly revealed the fact that you were not in your right mind when you wrote it. I and Martin Wright set off for here, and managed to save your life. According to Wright you are to be bound to that bed, if so that thing you are lying on can be called, for two weeks at least.”
“And your clothes?”
“Humph! I put yours on to avoid catching cold, and was promptly dragged off to the kitchen to peel potatoes as a result.”
Bingley, weak as he was, burst into a fit of laughter at this piece of information.
“They…think…you…are…a…servant?” he managed to gasp out between bone-shaking mirth.
“Yes, they do, but it will not be for long, I promise you that,” Darcy snapped. “I am writing a letter to my townhouse in London right this minute and ordering them to send me some fresh clothes and a carriage. Wright says that I cannot move you from Longbourn, but you are certainly not going to keep recovering in this room, that I can tell you. As soon as my things and servants arrive we are going to tell the Bennets all, and see that you are attended to properly.”
“Darcy, no! Pray do not do that!”
“Give me one good reason why I should not!”
“Darcy, I have already been a servant at Longbourn for nearly four weeks! Six more and I will fulfill my obligation and be able to hold my head up in London once more. If you give me out I must start over. And I confess, if Jane Bennet knows that I am a gentleman she will adhere to propriety, and…”
“And not pamper you anymore,” Darcy cut in. He turned to the window as he contemplated his friend’s words. Darcy understood an English gentleman’s code of honor perfectly, and knew that a lost wager, no matter how foolish, had to be paid. If Bingley were exposed early, he would have find another position and begin again; and in his weakened state, who knew what the consequences would be the next time around? Besides, from what he had heard of Mrs. Bennet from the maids in the kitchen, she would be only too happy to claim that Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth had been compromised by their visit to Bingley’s room and to force both gentlemen into a marriage. The wisest thing to do would be to allow Bingley to stay in the attic, playing the ill servant, while he took over his tasks in the rest of the house. Darcy grimaced. Could he, a man who abhorred all deceit and disguise, truly work as a manservant for over six weeks? Again, a glance at his friend’s face convinced him as to the necessity of this particular action, and with a long, deep sigh, Darcy turned around.
“Very well, Bingley. Under the condition that you stay in your room, follow all of Wright’s orders, and in no way encourage Miss Bennet’s attentions, I will not say a thing.”
“Thank you, Darce! You have my unending gratitude. When do you return to London?”
“”Whenever you do,” Darcy muttered, reaching for the tonic left behind by the physician. Bingley’s eyes widened in shock as he understood his friend’s meaning, but this time, he said nothing.
Chapter 7:
After a night of tossing and turning on particularly uncomfortable bedding, Darcy rose before dawn the next day. Seeing that Bingley was still asleep, he crept down to the kitchen for a bit to eat and for a little respite from the horrid attic room. Relieved that none of the other servants were up and about yet, he rummaged through the pantry, found the remains of a cold roast and a loaf of bread, and took it to the table. He would have to break his habit of being constantly waited on; for three fortnights, he would be doing everything for himself, and for others.
The sight of the sun peeking over the horizon soothed his tired soul. The sunrise was almost as lovely as the ones he often saw in Derbyshire. He stared at it, thinking about a variety of things, for about half an hour, before he heard footsteps on the stairs.
The door to the kitchen opened. He turned, expecting to see no one more consequential than the cook or the scullery maid. Instead, a young gentlewoman with beautiful chestnut curls nearly waltzed into the room. Out of longstanding habit, Darcy immediately stood. She noticed him, and stopped short.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he remarked politely.
“Is Charles alright?” she inquired sharply.
“Yes, he is perfectly well.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, of course, madam.”
“If you have not been up all night then what are you doing here at this hour? I mean besides raiding the pantry.”
Darcy glanced down somewhat guiltily at his breakfast.
“I am used to rising early. If I have eaten what was not meant for the servants, I will pay for it.”
Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively.
“You are not the first, and certainly not the last, servant who will privately help themselves to the better cuts of meat. Unlike my mother, I do not insist that good leftover tidbits should be given to the pigs while the human beings downstairs continue to consume their usual rations as a way of keeping them in their place. Even,” she gave him a look that faintly resembled a glare, “if they could use a bit of humble pie for dessert.”
That said, she quickly crossed over to a plate of baked goods and wrapped a muffin in her handkerchief.
“If I may ask, what are you doing down at this hour, madam? I was not aware that it was the custom of young ladies to rise so early of a morning.”
“You will soon learn that I always go out for a walk in the mornings, William,” she retorted.
Darcy silently berated his foolishness in coming down so early. As the only servant up and about, he had just styled himself the maiden’s escort around Longbourn’s park. He would have to trail after her for half-an-hour as she meandered about at a snail’s pace. If she were anything like Miss Bingley, he would be holding a parasol over her head the entire time to protect her from the morning sun’s fierce rays.
But there was no help for it. At least it was Miss Elizabeth, and not Miss Lydia, who needed his services. Thus, as the gentlewoman approached the side door, he crossed the room and began to follow her.
She whirled around.
“And just where might you be going?”
“To escort you, of course, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth gave him an incredulous look before bursting into a laugh which mixed both indignation and levity.
“Escort me! What in the world can you mean by it?”
“Where I come from, young ladies do not wander out of doors without the company of a servant,” Darcy replied, taken aback.
“And may I ask what use a servant is to a walking young lady?” Elizabeth said sweetly, feigned ignorance permeating every inch of her beautiful face.
Darcy stared at her. In what sort of a world was this girl living? Would he actually have to explain the common rules of propriety to her?
“They protect the young lady, lend aid when necessary, and witness all her encounters with those she might meet on the road, thus preserving her reputation.”
“Indeed! What peculiar creatures you have become accustomed to, William. I wonder if you perhaps served a Lord or Duke and his charming daughters in your last position? You will find this very shocking, but here in Longbourn I go out for my walk alone. I always have. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. Why, whenever a fearsome squirrel is in the road, it becomes so petrified at my mere approach that it scurries up the nearest tree to escape. And what sort of aid could you render me? I have two feet to move about, and am quite proficient at jumping over stiles on my own. As for witnessing my encounters, I have yet to meet a young lady who was compromised because she stopped to gossip with a singing sparrow.”
With that, she turned and crossed the threshold, shutting the door in his face, leaving Darcy to realize that for the first time in his eight and twenty years, an eligible female had refused his company. Moving to one of the kitchen windows, he saw her distancing herself from the house not by slowly strolling, but by running as fleetly as a deer. Nor was she heading for the shrubbery, but for the uncultivated woods and fields which lay in a different direction altogether.
He sat down to consider the extraordinary past minutes. He had never met such an unpretentious woman. But it, unaccountably, pained him that she should be so terse with him. From what he had seen of her behavior in Bingley’s room, it was quite clear that Miss Elizabeth was not of a brusque nature to all. It was as if she were offended with him. But why?
Despite his ire at being presumed a servant, he had not been ungentlemanly or defiant to her. Except…for that comment he had muttered to himself in the hall yesterday about her not being handsome. But what of that? She was behind closed doors at that juncture, was she not? She could not have heard…unless she had softly opened the door in order to follow her elder sister to Bingley’s sickroom. Darcy shuddered. That would explain everything! How could he have let his resentment air itself so freely?
Furious with himself, he jerked himself off the chair, picked up a plate of food, and went upstairs to see to Bingley.
Chapter 8:
After feeding his friend breakfast, Darcy returned downstairs just in time to see an elderly gentleman exiting the study.
“Hello, there!” Mr. Bennet exclaimed. “So you are the temporary manservant?”
“Yes, sir,” Darcy replied through gritted teeth, remembering how many times he had been on the opposite end of a similar discussion.
“Gracious, you manservants seem to get taller every day. Your replacement will probably have to stoop to make it through the parlor without bumping his head.”
“Indeed, sir,” Darcy said shortly.
“Anyhow, go to the kitchen and tell the cook to ignore my wife’s menu for today. I am in no humor for meatloaf. We will have partridge, instead.”
“Very well,” Darcy replied, despite his puzzlement. Why did the master of Longbourn not show Mrs. Bennet the courtesy of going to her directly and asking her to alter the menu? Was it his habit to slyly change the dinner offerings behind the mistress’s back?
Mr. Bennet was just about to dismiss him when his second eldest daughter entered through the front doors, her bonnet in hand.
“How was your walk to day, my dear?” he asked affectionately.
“Wonderful, Papa, despite the mud!” she exclaimed. Darcy immediately noted that her petticoat was at least six inches deep in the aforementioned brown substance, and her curls were more disarrayed then they ought to be. And yet, her lovely eyes sparkled alluringly, having been brightened by the exercise.
“Let William take your bonnet and jacket and come into my library. I have a wonderful book which I have finished reading, Lizzy, and I wish to give it to you.”
Darcy advanced towards her to take the items. For the first time, the idea occurred to him that every act of servitude would not be unpleasant.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for the bonnet. To his surprise, Miss Elizabeth hastily stepped away from him.
“Why, William, you are all politeness,” she said in a tone which bore just a hint of sarcasm. She abruptly turned and put away her own bonnet and took off the jacket by herself, before joining Mr. Bennet in the library and shutting the door.
Chapter 9:
Bingley recuperated nicely, perhaps because of all the visits Jane Bennet paid him during the first fortnight. Too many times Darcy noticed her within the attic room, reading to his friend, slipping him the best tidbits from the kitchen, and on one particular occasion, bringing in a bouquet of flowers. By the end of those two weeks Bingley was far gone in love; Darcy even perceived that his affection for Miss Bennet was beyond whatever he had previously witnessed in him. He only prayed that Bingley would retain his capability of forgetting his loves quickly.
On his part, Darcy had never been driven so hard in his life. The Bennets could barely afford a manservant, and they saw to it that he worked for his wages. He was forced to stand in the parlor for many a morning visit, while Mrs. Bennet ordered him to hand her this or that so that her callers could not possibly miss the fact that Longbourn was employing a manservant. He was told to weed the vegetable garden on an almost daily basis. And every time he saw Miss Lydia or Miss Kitty, he was asked whether the scullery maid suited his fancy.
On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth refused every act of service from him. She allowed the maids and Mrs. Hill to meet her needs, but when he was the only available servant she never issued an order. For instance, when she was stitching a sampler and wished to partake of tea, rather than asking William to fetch it she would lay down her work, go to the kitchen herself and order it personally before returning to the sitting room with a bit of haughtiness in her air.
Darcy, in time, became convinced that she had heard his foolish remark. He berated himself for it constantly, because Miss Elizabeth was one of the few people in the household whom he truly respected. During the tiresome morning visits when he catered to Mrs. Bennet’s numerous whims, he had an opportunity to inspect her daughter’s interaction with her friends and neighbors. She was always lively and witty. He was soon slyly positioning himself to better hear her conversations. She immediately proved her powers of observation by turning to him suddenly on one of these occasions and inquiring in quite a loud voice, as if to embarrass him,
“Did not you think, William, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”
Peculiarly glad that she finally decided to pay him some mind, no matter in how unusual a manner, he bowed and dared to reply,
“With great energy;—but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic."
Miss Elizabeth seemed taken aback at his audacious reply, but she proved her uncommon, latent amiability by not flying into a rage. Instead, she replied,
“You are severe on us!” before going to open the pianoforte. She quickly commenced playing before her mother could unleash her own indignation upon the liberty-taking servant. As her fingers wandered over the keys, Elizabeth could not but recall and marvel at his unusual reply. William was unlike every other servant she had ever encountered. Certainly, he had stepped out of his proper place when he offered a rebuttal, but then again, she had purposely baited him. And she could not but esteem him for offering some sort of resistance, instead of letting his employers walk all over him as if he were a doormat.
Chapter 10:
Finally, one fine morning the fourteen days expired, and Bingley was allowed to descend from his hovel. Leaning on Darcy’s arm for support, he slowly made his way downstairs. In the process, Jane Bennet noticed them.
“Why Charles! Are you certain that you should be up and about already?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet, I feel well enough for it.”
Miss Jane did not appear overly convinced, for she followed the duo down to the kitchen, and watched Darcy seat Bingley at the table.
“Well, there you are at last!” Mrs. Hill exclaimed as she noticed the long-missing manservant entering. “How about you start doing something useful once again? Here- dice these turnips.”
“Mrs. Hill,” Jane Bennet said kindly, “Charles is still recuperating. I do think that he should conserve his strength as much as possible. Charles, I would prefer it if you would be so kind as to write down tomorrow’s menu for Mrs. Hill. You can write, is that correct?”
“Yes, Miss Jane,” Bingley replied, his eyes beaming with mirth.
Darcy brought over a piece of paper and an inkstand, and withdrew himself to a corner of the kitchen to help with the necessary chores. Jane Bennet began dictating a list of food items, including baked potatoes, fish, and other dishes. After a minute, she walked around to peer over Bingley’s shoulder to ensure that he was keeping up.
“Why Charles!” she suddenly exclaimed, staring at the paper. “Forgive me! I did not realize that you were so weak still! You can barely write!”
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley replied, astonished, “is there something wrong with my penmanship?”
“You are blotting half your words, Charles. Your hand must not be steady enough for so fine a task yet.”
“Believe me, Miss Bennet,” Darcy unexpectedly put in, “that is nothing to be concerned over. Charles blots his writing even on his best days.” He could not help casting a smug glance in his friend’s direction. He had often talked himself tired trying to impress upon Bingley the importance of writing properly as a gentleman, but it had all come to naught.
“I see,” Jane Bennet replied, pity in her voice. How could she have been so thoughtless? Charles had certainly never had access to the sort of masters that she and her sisters had been so fortunate to learn from. “Would you like me to teach you how to write more clearly?”
Bingley blushed furiously. For once, he was embarrassed. A young lady who had never even had a governess could write better than he, a Cambridge educated man! But he could not deny himself the pleasure of Jane’s company and tutorship.
“I would be honored, Miss Bennet,” he murmured, ignoring Darcy’s shoulders, which were vigorously shaking in the corner.
Jane seated herself but a few inches from Charles, and said,
“First of all, make sure that you do not pick up so much excess ink.” The servant dutifully tapped the pen against the sides of the inkwell before bringing it to the paper. “Now finish writing that line…very good…oh, pick up the pen, quickly. Yes, like that, Charles. It does not do to dawdle when finishing a word. Such a pause only gives the ink more time to flow from the pen and make a blot. Now try it again.”
Bingley wrote another few words, and then looked up anxiously for approval. Jane Bennet nodded, quite pleased.
“That is much better, Charles! You improve uncommonly quickly.”
“Only because I have such an accomplished instructor.”
Darcy glared at Bingley as Miss Bennet blushed slightly and protested that she knew no more than the average young lady. How could his friend forget himself thus? Flirting so openly!
He knew he had to get separate the couple before Miss Jane realized that Charles’ comments were more than just plain compliments. Thankfully, Miss Kitty appeared at the door and accomplished the segregation for him.
“Jane, come quickly! Some officers from town have come to call on us. Including the special one we met yesterday. You should have seen Lizzy smiling when she saw him approaching the house!”
“I am afraid we will have to continue this later, Charles,” Miss Bennet said as she stood and hurried to the door. “Mrs. Hill, please do not ask him to do any difficult or straining tasks!”
Mrs. Hill obeyed her young mistress so far as the recuperating manservant was concerned, but that did not preclude her from saying to Darcy,
“Go and dust the upper shelves of Mr. Bennet’s library! The maids are having a difficult time reaching them.”
Chapter 11:
Strains of laughter and chatter floated to Darcy’s ears as he worked. The party in the parlor was certainly a merry one. As he took down the volumes and wiped the hard covers with a damp rag, he could not help wondering about the officer that, according to Miss Kitty, had captured Miss Elizabeth’s fancy. What sort of man would interest a well-read, witty woman like Elizabeth Bennet? Was he handsome and blithesome, just like herself? He could easily imagine Miss Elizabeth bantering with a young, dashing officer dressed in bright red.
He abruptly paused in his work. Why did that last image- Elizabeth- Miss Elizabeth- speaking animatedly to another man- make him so…so…angry? Frustrated? Worried?
“I am beginning to lose my senses!” Darcy muttered as he forced himself to take down another book and cleanse it from the white particles of dust. “This charade is starting to cause me to feel unreasonable, unfounded emotions, that is all!”
In a bid to forget the entire matter, he returned to his task with a vengeance. But after a few minutes, he was again halted by the sound of Elizabeth’s – Miss Elizabeth’s- voice coming in through the open window.
“I did not suspect that an English gentleman could possibly descend to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!” she cried with feeling.
“Indeed, there are few who, holding that status, would, but the man of whom I speak certainly has no scruples, Miss Bennet. And thus, I am robbed of all that ought to be mine, and am working to find myself a new place, new situation, in life,” replied her companion. “But I must own that since meeting you and your sisters on the road yesterday, I have come to believe that fortune, for once, is favoring me!”
Elizabeth made some reply, but Darcy, for once, did not attend to her words. The most dreadful chill and shiver had crept down his spine when he overheard the voice which replied to her outburst. He set down the tome and softly slipped up to the window, taking care not to be noticed, and peered out. Instantly, his eyes beheld the nightmarish vision: George Wickham was standing under an oak with Elizabeth Bennet, and was lifting her hand to his lips!
His first instinct was to jump through the open window, charge at the couple, separate them forcefully, and then challenge Wickham with the duel that had long been coming to him.
But he could not, would not, give that cad the pleasure of seeing the Master of Pemberley, a man he had long hated, dressed as a manservant. Not unless it was completely and utterly unavoidable!
Steeling his nerves, he leaned against the windowpane and through narrowed eyes, earnestly inspected every move that Wickham made. Thankfully, the two of them ambled about in plain view, talking and laughing. Even that was exceedingly difficult to watch. Elizabeth, who had never given him a single sweet smile, was now bestowing one on Wickham every thirty seconds.
Finally, finally, it came to an end. Wickham’s name was called by other officers who were taking their leave, and with one final bow, he finally left Elizabeth alone. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief, but his aggravation was such that he could barely finish dusting the books without rubbing holes in their covers. This done, he hurried outside to breathe and to think.
Chapter 12:
It took Darcy an hour of pacing in the solitude of Longbourn’s back garden to still his temper. By the time he felt himself equal to return to the house, it was dark, and he inattentively went about his duties. The consideration that Wickham was a few miles away, enjoying genteel company and a fine supper while he was locking up another man’s house almost drove him to fury once more.
As one of his last chores, he stopped by Mr. Bennet’s library to ensure that all the candles where put out. To his surprise, two of them on the mantle were still burning, and a fire was lit in the fireplace. He moved to blow out the candles when a feminine voice said disapprovingly from the darkness,
“Do you mean to leave me completely in the dark?”
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I did not see you.” Darcy said, as he eyes adjusted to the dim light and he made out a form sitting on the window seat.
The young woman, however, was not going to let him off very easily.
“Do you not think the room dark enough at present to hide my tolerable countenance, William?” she continued, a bit more teasingly. “Do not worry; you shall not be forced to look upon it. You may go to bed, but leave the candles be.”
An onrush of relief seized him. At last the matter had come to the surface, and he could address it.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to apologize for that remark which you doubtlessly overheard me make. My behavior was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence. I can only excuse myself by admitting that I was in a foul humor that day, being pressed into service when my sole objective of coming here was to nurse Charles.”
A long silence succeeded. Darcy wondered if she would answer at all, or if he had somehow managed to offend her even more with his words.
Finally, he heard a sigh, and when she spoke, he could detect a smile in her voice.
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! Your excuse, I must own, is quite a legitimate one. And I doubt that a gentleman could phrase the apology as well as you have.” She paused, and then continued in a more serious and concerned voice, “I must express my regrets to you, I am afraid. I did not know how your employment at Longbourn came about. Mr. Hill, I presume, was the one at fault. He and Mrs. Hill do tend to keep the household running smoothly, but often overlook the feelings of their subordinates to achieve it. You have my permission to cease filling in for Charles, if such is your desire.”
Darcy leaned against the mantelpiece. He was overwhelmed by her kindness and understanding; not many women of his acquaintance, wealthy, well-connected, and accomplished they were, would accept the regrets of a servant so gracefully. He also considered her offer. A week ago, he would have grasped at any offer which would have relieved him of peeling potatoes and catering to the impossible Bennet family.
If he now excused himself from the imposed duties, he would have no alternative but the leave Longbourn, for Bingley was up and about, and no longer required a nurse. Darcy tried to tell himself that he was loath to take Miss Elizabeth’s offer because he wished to keep an eye on his friend, in order to be certain that he did not exert himself too much after the serious illness, but his traitorous heart whispered that it was Elizabeth Bennet whom he did not wish to leave. He struggled, in vain, for a moment, but soon heard himself saying,
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, but I have become accustomed to serving at Longbourn. Besides, I am afraid that Charles, while somewhat recovered, has not fully regained his strength, and as his friend I wish to be of service to him in his time of need.”
Elizabeth paused for a moment, and then replied in so sincere and sweet a tone that it almost took Darcy’s breath away.
“Charles is quite fortunate, then, to have such a loyal friend as you. And thank you, William. Not because I am so dependent a female as to be unable to do without a strong manservant waiting on my every need for the next few weeks, but because you’re selfless answer had rekindled some of my faith in humanity, which was rather dampened today afternoon.” Here the lady paused, but it was quite clear that she was burning to speak to someone of what had outraged her so. “I suppose you know why, William? Do not be elusive; I am well aware that servants have ears and lips and do converse downstairs.”
Darcy suddenly grasped the mantle as if to prevent himself from dashing out to Meryton that very instant to call Wickham out. Enough was enough. This time, his tale would not go uncontested!
“I heard,” he replied slowly. “that a young man has come to town. He claims, Miss Elizabeth, that he has entered into the militia because a living which was willed to him was unfairly given to another. It is an interesting and provocative story, to be sure, even it if was given unsolicited to a group of very new acquaintances. Indeed, it must have been quite a misfortune, for unknown young man claims that he is penniless as a result, even though it occurred five years ago. I was under the impression that a man with some education, given that span of time, could have recuperated at least part of the loss, had he put his mind to hard work and quiet, respectable living.”
As he spoke, Darcy strained his eyes, trying to make out Miss Elizabeth’s countenance and expression in the darkness, but it was hopeless. He had never so desired to study anyone’s face as much as he did that moment, but the dim light was not charitable to him. The gentleman was forced to bear with a prolonged, perfectly still silence after his speech. Waiting for a verbal response was agony. He half-expected to be ordered out of the room.
After several extremely long minutes, Elizabeth sighed.
“William, I must congratulate you. You are an intelligent man indeed,” she said seriously, with a faint echo of deference in her tone. “I must admit that I completely disregarded the indelicacy of Mr. Wickham putting himself forward and giving such communications to strangers. It is true that he could have exaggerated the circumstances surrounding the living, considering the fact that he did not name the gentleman in question and that no one hereabouts knows him or his character. Thank you, William, for opening my eyes. I shall be cautious of this Mr. Wickham and his stories, and will endeavor to make my neighbors the same.”
Darcy was delighted. “If I may say so, that sounds like a wise decision to me, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am glad to have your approbation.”
Darcy smiled, hoping that the candlelight would disguise his look of heartfelt delight at her teasing. Elizabeth broke the temporary lull.
“Since you have taken the liberty to question my discernment of character, I hope that you will allow me a rather impertinent question?”
“By all means, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Is William really your name?”
Darcy started, stunned. Had she somehow found him out? The disgrace of it all!
“Why do you ask that, madam?” he questioned cautiously.
Miss Bennet appeared to shrug.
“It has come to my notice that you often take a second too long to respond whenever someone says your name. Furthermore, you would positively start whenever anyone called you ‘William’ at the beginning of your stay here at Longbourn.”
Relieved, Darcy chuckled.
“I believe it is my turn to praise your intellect, Miss Elizabeth. You are correct. ‘William’ is not exactly my name. My Christian name is ‘Fitzwilliam’. However, it was deemed to be too grand a name for a servant, so when I began my duties my superior insisted upon shortening my name to ‘William’”.
“Fitzwilliam is quite a noble name for a servant, I must admit, but you are entitled to be called by your Christian name. If you have no objection, I shall call you by it.” Elizabeth said.
Desperately trying to ignore the thrill which ran down his spine, Darcy nodded and attempted to speak casually.
“I would like that very much, Miss Elizabeth. Thank you.”
“And speaking of names,” Miss Bennet continued, rising from the window seat for the first time during their talk, coming towards him and the fireplace and gazing into the flames, “why do you call me ‘Miss Elizabeth’?”
“Is that not your name, madam?”
“Yes, it is, and I have no objection to being addressed so. However, I find it peculiar, considering that every other servant in the house takes the liberty of calling me ‘Miss Lizzy’.”
“I have noticed that,” Darcy said, rather uncomfortably.
“What is it? Speak freely, Fitzwilliam.”
“Somehow, I cannot seem to…associate…you with the name of Lizzy, madam. Perhaps the other servants, who have known you since you were a child, can. ‘Lizzy’ always conjures up a picture of a mischievous little girl in my mind. But ‘Elizabeth’ implies a sophisticated, witty young lady.”
Elizabeth turned and gazed into his perceptive eyes, blushing at his answer. Both their hearts began to beat faster during the spellbound moment, and it was only with difficulty that the young lady was able to turn away. Forcing herself to speak lightly, she said,
“It is flattering that you hold me in such high regard, Fitzwilliam. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed, as she retreated towards and disappeared through the library door.
He put out the candles, trying to control the galloping of his heart.
Chapter 13:
Life was very pleasant for Darcy after the nighttime tête–à–tête in the library. Miss Elizabeth Bennet and he were on the best of terms and often spoke in passing. Convinced of his sensible nature, she developed a habit of catching his eye whenever a curious subject was being discussed. He, in return, would send a small smile her way.
But at nights, Darcy attempted to fight a losing battle. For hours, he would toss and turn upon his uncomfortable cot and remind himself that he ought not to admire Elizabeth Bennet. At first he tried to remind himself about the unsuitability of a marriage between an unknown country gentleman’s daughter and the Master of Pemberley. It was a method which met its failure very quickly. What right had he to hold himself superior to her, considering that he was embroiled in a pathetic acting scheme under her father’s roof? Soon he was forced to admit that if it had not been for this, he would have begged her to accept his hand in marriage. But as it was, that could never be. She would not marry a servant, and there was no way that he could present himself as an honorable gentleman even if he did doff his disguise. It was hopeless. Each day he fell deeper and deeper in love with her, and yet she was always destined to be out of reach.
One evening, the Bennets attended an assembly. Darcy paced around the entrance hall while the other servants laughed and talked in the kitchen. The house felt so empty without Elizabeth within its walls. Would Pemberley and all his other estates have the same desolate aura when he returned to them, alone, without her by his side? Would he be able to bear it?
Well past midnight, he heard the welcome sound of the returning carriage. Opening Longbourn’s front door, Darcy stood aside Lydia and Kitty skipped into the hall, chattering as usual. Miss Mary and Miss Jane followed them in a more subdued manner, accompanied by their parents. Elizabeth came last, a slight look of displeasure clouding her beautiful countenance. She nodded at him as she crossed the threshold, but said nothing.
“Gracious, Lizzy, how long are you going to pout over our little joke?” Lydia demanded, turning around to look at her sister. “I do not understand why you are so upset about those gloves. After all, Papa bought you a far better new pair from London several weeks ago. We only spilled coffee over the old pair.”
“First of all, Lydia, and Kitty,” Elizabeth replied sharply, “just because one has two pairs of gloves does not mean that they should waste a pair. And second, you both behaved in a disgraceful manner, grabbing the coffee pot from the officer’s table and forced them to chase you all over the room for it, bumping into half of Meryton in the process.”
Lydia sighed, rolled her eyes, and marched upstairs. As the rest of the family followed suit, Elizabeth turned to Darcy and held out the ruined pair of gloves.
“Fitzwilliam, be so good as to dispose of these for me. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth.”
When she had gone, Darcy fingered the precious items, which still bore a hint of his love’s perfume. They indeed browned in spots with coffee, but he could not bring himself to take them to the kitchen and put them in the stove. Instead, he rolled them up and slipped them into his pocket.
Chapter 14:
The next day brought excitement to Longbourn with the arrival of a Mr. Collins. Bingley, always abreast of the downstairs gossip, gleefully informed his best friend that the visitor was employed by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The information caused Darcy to tense, but after a quick mental inventory of Rosing’s portrait gallery, he relaxed, remembering that his own face was not among those represented. Thus, he went to serve dinner with his usual equanimity.
It took not fifteen minutes of observation as he helped the family to meat and side dishes to conclude that soon Bingley would be none too pleased with the new houseguest. Mr. Collins had barely sat down to dinner before he announced his intention of marrying soon, and henceforth directed an endless stream of smiles and remarks towards Jane Bennet. Apparently her seniority sealed her destiny as the chosen partner of his fate.
At long last, Mr. Bennet’s sly questions managed to temporarily turn Mr. Collins’ mind back to Kent. Then Darcy and those at table were favored with a long narrative of how he composed flattering remarks intended for Lady Catherine and Anne de Bourgh and how he carefully practiced delivering them for at least two days in the privacy of his study before ever attempting to voice them in the presence of his esteemed patroness and her daughter.
In the course of his monologue, Darcy noticed that Elizabeth’s shoulders were beginning to shake. She reached for her napkin and hid her mouth behind it. Then she unwittingly caught his eye, and he, against his will, felt the corners of his own mouth begin to rise. That was unusual, for under other circumstances he would be positively mortified that his own aunt indulged in listening to such scripted flattery.
They struggled in silence for several minutes as Collins went on and on. When he finished, at length, Elizabeth cast her eyes down upon the tablecloth. In a voice laced with restraint, she said,
“Fitzwilliam, I wish to speak to you.”
With that, she rose and hurriedly led him from the room. Darcy suspected that it was a ruse, and he was justified in thinking so. Elizabeth practically ran out the front door and into a side garden, with him following close behind. As soon as they had reached it, she collapsed on a stone bench and began laughing. Darcy was only too grateful to join in, just as heartily.
They laughed for several prolonged minutes, only ceasing when their abdominal muscles could take no more. Elizabeth wiped away her tears and said,
“I do not recall the last time I was privileged to hear such entertaining conversation! Well, Fitzwilliam, what do you think of our most sensible guest?”
“Unfortunately, we must credit him with some cleverness, madam. It is quite clear that he comprehends how to keep himself in his patroness’s favor, and is acting accordingly. I agree, however, that his lack of dignity and transparency in the matter is most off-putting.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh must be a simpleton to allow him to run on in such a manner.”
“Or she is so fond of adulation that she will take it in any form,” Darcy muttered.
“Quite,” Elizabeth replied, smiling at him with her lips and eyes. Then she abruptly changed the subject.
“Fitzwilliam, cut some of those roses and make a bouquet for my father’s study. At once. If Mrs. Hill or any of the other servants question you, tell them that it is a particular wish of mine that you be kept busy in that manner. In any case, do not come back into the dining room or the drawing room tonight. If I should catch your eye again nothing will prevent me from the most unladylike display of mirth at Mr. Collins’ conversation!”
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Charles is sufficiently recovered, I believe, to serve at the table and in the drawing room, correct?”
“I do not think that it will do him any harm.”
“Good,” Elizabeth replied, rising. “You will find the flower clippers in the little shed at the edge of the garden. And do not worry- if Mr. Collins makes any other interesting statements tonight, I will be sure to relay them to you at the earliest opportunity. I do not wish to deprive you of his wit, or myself of the pleasure of mocking his expressions!”
Darcy only answered her with a laugh, already hoping that Mr. Collins would make himself ridiculous many times during the course of the evening. She rose and left to rejoin her family. As she continually swallowed her hilarity, she had no idea that as a certain man cut each rose in the moonlight, he envisioned how it would look pinned up in her hair.
Chapter 15:
After a very amusing and covert visit with Miss Elizabeth Bennet the following morning, during which that lady reenacted Mr. Collins’ mannerisms and words to perfection, Darcy was sitting in the kitchen when Bingley came back in with a basket of vegetables he had been told to fetch from the vegetable garden. He put the food on the counter and dropped into a chair with a relieved air.
“Thank goodness,” he breathed.
“Was that walk in the garden too much for you?” his friend asked, looking sharply at him.
Bingley waved his hand, dismissing his concerns.
“For the last time, Darcy, I am perfectly well. I merely overheard a conversation between Mr. Collins and Mrs. Bennet as they walked on a path neighboring to mine, and it has lifted the world off my shoulders. Mr. Collins asked Mrs. Bennet if she would have no objection to him paying attentions to Jane.”
“What did she say?” Darcy asked, interested against his will.
“I was stunned. She suggested that Jane was not overly suitable to be a clergyman’s wife. I suppose that Mrs. Bennet sees that her eldest daughter, with all her beauty and accomplishments, is worthy of a better match and better man.”
“Fortunately for you,” Darcy replied with a wry smile.
“Yes, indeed. Then she suggested that Elizabeth was second to Jane, both in order of birth and of beauty.”
Darcy jumped up, clenched his fists, and went to stare out of the window to hide his agitation. It had always been blatantly obvious that Elizabeth was her mother’s least dear child, but it was horrifying that she would scruple to think such a man worthy of her!
“What did Collins say to that?” Darcy asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
“He acquiesced without hesitation. It looks like Miss Lizzy will be his new favorite Miss Bennet.”
Thereupon, Bingley poured himself and drank a draught of water, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was grinding his teeth and breathing heavily at the window.
Elizabeth! Mr. Collins would be courting his Elizabeth. But she would not encourage him- or would she? He knew that she was not so shallow a woman as to see Mr. Collins a worthy partner in life. But would she accept him for the security of her family’s future? After all, it was an eligible offer where fortune was concerned. Darcy knew the depth of Elizabeth’s love for her sisters; would she sacrifice her own happiness in order to secure theirs? Furthermore, Mr. Collins appeared to be the only suitor who the Bennet sisters had, and with their tiny dowries, he would probably hold that title for quite some time, if not forever. Oh, if only Bingley had not entered into that ridiculous bet! Then his friend could have wed Miss Jane, and he, Darcy, would be free to try to win Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy paced back and forth at the window. Was there any way that he and Bingley could reveal themselves and their fortunes and compete with Mr. Collins as gentlemen? Alas, no sensible idea on that score presented itself to him. Mr. Bennet, and Jane and Elizabeth, for that matter, would probably not take kindly to a couple of cheats who had misrepresented themselves for weeks, one of which had not even the good sense to steer clear of dangerous card games.
Darcy smiled bitterly to himself at the irony of it all. A few months ago, he would have though it a degradation to propose matrimony to a woman of Elizabeth’s rank. And now, after his prolonged servitude, he would only be too eager to claim her for his own. The uncanny experience had taught him how little high birth and fortune counted in times of want and necessity; all that truly mattered was how good a heart and humor a particular human being possessed. And he knew that Elizabeth had a heart of gold. As for humor, he lived in the sunshine of her teasing manner.
With a final glance up to Heaven and prayer that Mr. Collins’ proposals would not fine favor with Elizabeth, he went back to his chores.
Chapter 16:
It seemed that his supplications to Providence were being heard. Mr. Collins did indeed begin to pay marked attentions to Elizabeth, but that lady ensconced herself in her room far more than was her wont, clearly avoiding him. Darcy began to breathe easier, but knew that she would not be able to hide in her apartment for long; her love of the outdoors would surely call her forth sooner than later.
One morning a few days later, Darcy looked up from his task of peeling the potatoes to find Elizabeth Bennet standing in the kitchen, attired in her elder sister’s riding dress.
“Fitzwilliam, you can ride, is that correct?” she asked him in that musical voice of hers.
“Yes, madam.”
“I am going to be visiting our tenants in Jane’s stead, and I was wondering if you would be so good as to accompany me.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy replied, trying not to smile too broadly as he stood.
She smiled in response, unaware of how that simple action made his heart dance in his chest.
“I asked the grooms to saddle up two horses, Fitzwilliam. Meet me by the stables in ten minutes.”
After she left, Darcy sprang into action, helping assemble the gift baskets for the tenants, and carrying them out to a mule which would bear them. He would have Elizabeth to himself for an entire day, and he could barely fathom his luck! He felt like a schoolboy, rather than the unpleasable Master of Pemberley.
After the longest ten minutes of his life, he saw her finally walking to the stables. When she reached him and the horses, she looked around, as if to ensure that they were alone, and drew near to him.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said quietly, “let us ride rather slowly today, and take the least difficult paths. I am afraid that I am not very proficient as a horsewoman.”
“In that case, there is no need for us to engage in that sort of exercise. With your permission, I will hitch one of the wagons and drive you.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“No. While I do not excel at riding, it is a form of transportation which does offer certain benefits, because of its uniqueness. Everyone can ride in a wagon, but not everyone can manage a horse. Mr. Collins, for instance,” here she turned her sparkling and arch eyes at him, “cannot ride at all.”
Darcy smiled down at her, and blessed her cleverness. Of course. She worked it out so that Mr. Collins could not insist upon accompanying her.
“As you say, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, rather gaily, “that is a benefit, indeed!” From the look in her eyes, it was quite clear that she was pleased that he understood her so readily.
“Be so kind as to help be mount, Fitzwilliam,” she said, putting her hands on the saddle and daintily lifting her foot, thus signaling him to cup his hands and allow her to step in them as a makeshift step.
But Darcy could not help himself. Instead of following her silent command, he seized her gently around the waist, lifted her in the air, to her surprise, and tenderly placed her upon the saddle.
“Thank you,” she replied, rather flustered, casting her eyes down modestly.
Darcy tied the burdened mule to the back of his own horse, mounted, and they set out. Using her confession about her inexperience as an excuse, he rode alongside her instead of behind her as custom dictated. After a few miles, during which the gentleman constantly scoured the path checking for any obstacles which could spook his beloved’s horse, they came to the first of the tenant cottages. Darcy dismounted first, then was granted a moment of pure joy as Elizabeth allowed him to lift her down off her horse. Untying one of the baskets from the mule, he handed it to her and watched as she gaily ran towards the tenant children. He watched her speak to their mother, hug and kiss the baby, and play a bit with the older children after giving them their present. Suddenly, Darcy found himself imagining how Elizabeth would look while engaging in the same activities with his tenants, the majestic peaks of Derbyshire in the background. It brought a lump to his throat, knowing that it would never be. He would leave at the end of the month, and live in her memory only as a faithful servant. That Bingley and his wagers!
Chapter 17:
They spent the entire day in a like manner. After they had visited every tenant upon Lougbourn’s lands, Elizabeth took her horse’s bridle with a sigh and turned back in the direction of the main house. It was only late afternoon, and she had expected the errand to relieve her of Mr. Collin’s company for the entire day.
“Fitzwilliam, what is that? Have we forgotten someone?” she asked hopefully, noticing that one basket still hung at the side of the mule.
“No, Miss Elizabeth, we have not.”
“Then?”
“I took the liberty of making an extra basket, in case you returned too late to have the pleasure of dining with your family and visiting cousin,” Darcy replied seriously, looking straight ahead but unable to conquer a twinkle in his eye.
Elizabeth laughed gratefully. It felt so wonderful to have her needs anticipated, to feel so protected, even if the person fulfilling these roles was a servant. Her father, dear as he was, had never managed to make her feel so sheltered and cherished. She reflected with some sadness that a manservant had made provisions to protect her from an unwanted suitor, while her own father sent her off to walk into Meryton with that same gentleman so that he might have his library to himself.
“That was truly thoughtful of you, Fitzwilliam. By and by, I have just discovered that I am so famished that I cannot wait to partake of dinner in the house. Let us stop and eat here.”
With a smile, Darcy untied the picnic basket from the mule, tied up all three mounts on a nearby bush where they could graze, and found a pleasant, flat place on top of the grassy slope. From that position, it was possible to see grassy meadows stretching out for as far as the eye could reach. The air was cool and pleasant, and there were only a few clouds in the beautiful blue sky.
He spread out a blanket upon the ground, and Elizabeth sat down on it. She untied her bonnet put it aside, and then to his surprise, undid the bun which usually held her chestnut curls. She let her tresses fall around her shoulders freely, not imagining that the sight of her thus took her manservant’s breath away.
“I can never be very formal at a picnic,” she remarked when she saw him gazing at her. “Please do not stand there in the background staring at me, Fitzwilliam. Sit down and join me. You must be as hungry as I, if not more so.”
Darcy could not have refused her invitation even if he had wanted to. He came forward and sat at the opposite end of the blanket, and accepted a finger sandwich from the plate which she held out to him.
“I am afraid that you have me at a disadvantage,” Elizabeth remarked, trying to dispel the awkward silence which descended on them as they sat and nibbled thus. “You know quite a bit about me, Fitzwilliam, but I know nothing of you. Have you any family?”
Darcy, who felt himself on rather dangerous territory, quietly replied, “I have a sister, madam.”
“What is her name?”
“Georgiana.” He was entranced, watching the wind toy with her curls.
“May I ask if she is your senior or junior?”
“She is more than ten years my junior, Miss Elizabeth.”
They continued in the same vein for a while, Darcy favoring his beautiful and interested companion with recollections of Georgiana’s youthful exploits, while carefully choosing his words so that they would not reveal that the girl of whom they spoke was at present probably dressed in silk and playing a pianoforte in a grand London townhouse. At last, they paused in their conversation and Elizabeth looked around the grassy rolling hills.
“In the spring, all that is grass now will be covered in wildflowers,” she said. “It is one of my favorite sights in Hertfordshire.”
“I wish that I could be able to see it,” the manservant replied.
“You will, when spring comes,” Elizabeth said as she smiled at him.
To her surprise, he shook his head.
“Charles and I,” he began, slowly, hesitantly, “are planning to give notice to Mr. Hill on Friday that we are leaving at the end of this month.”
Elizabeth Bennet sat stunned, staring at her companion. After a prolonged moment, she forced herself to speak calmly as she replied,
“May I ask why? Is there anything not to your liking at Longbourn?”
“No, it is just that we have other responsibilities, and positions, elsewhere. After all, I simply took this job in order to help Charles during his illness and recovery.”
“Oh, yes, I have forgotten about that,” Elizabeth replied distractedly, looking down at her hands. “It has only been what…six weeks? But I confess that I have begun to think of you as a fixture at Longbourn.”
Darcy’s heart leapt in his chest. Did she mean that she had simply gotten used to him, or that she liked his presence? Luckily, she unwittingly answered his burning question.
“I will miss you a great deal, Fitzwilliam,” she said in a heartfelt tone.
Suddenly, she turned her head, for unaccountably, tears had sprung into her eyes. Confused by them, Miss Bennet regained her feet and said in a peculiar, hurried tone,
“Fitzwilliam, it is becoming rather late. We had better go back.”
Thereupon, she helped him put away the remnants of their feast and fold up the blanket. She allowed him to lift her upon her mount as before, and they set off for Longbourn. Far too soon for Darcy’s liking, they reached it, and even as Elizabeth was thanking him for his assistance, he heard Mr. Collins shouting from the parlor window,
“My fair cousin! How we have sorrowed and pined over your too long absence today…”
Later that night, Elizabeth Bennet sat at her window, unable to sleep. The announcement that Fitzwilliam and Charles would be leaving had hit her like a bolt of lightning. The house would be so empty, so desolate without them…particularly without Fitzwilliam. But why on earth was she carrying on so?
All through her childhood and youth, servants had come and gone at Longbourn. Most of them were inhabitants of her father’s home far longer that Fitzwilliam had been. Usually, she had not given it more than a second thought, simply accepting the fact that a new servant was now meeting her wants and needs. But now, thinking that she would see him no more, her heart unbearably ached.
She supposed it was because he was a friend. No, he was a dear friend. And yet, that did not solve her dilemma, for had not Mattie Tornson been a dear friend too? But she had not despaired when Mattie’s family moved to America. Then how was it that she was now despondent because a servant was leaving?
Her conscience whispered the answer. Elizabeth shook her head. No, it was impossible! She was a gentleman’s daughter, and Fitzwilliam was a manservant! An intelligent, kind manservant, but still a servant. She fought valiantly, but by the time dawn broke she was forced to admit the truth to herself.
She loved him.
Chapter 18:
Darcy noticed a great change in Elizabeth’s behavior the very next day. Gone were her smiles, her laughter, and her familiarity with him. Instead of asking him how his day was when they happened to occupy the same room for an instant, she cast down her eyes and merely nodded at the tea tray he brought in. When Mr. Collins uttered something outrageous, she looked at Jane rather than at him.
At first, Darcy tried to attribute her newfound reserve to either embarrassment or aggravation at Mr. Collins’s continual pursuit. But that gentleman proposed, apparently with less tact than ever, was refused, and shortly thereafter removed himself from the village, but not before securing Charlotte Lucas’s hand in marriage. Throughout all this, Elizabeth never confided in him, not even when he contrived to pass her in the hall nearly every hour.
With pain, he realized that she must have remembered her station, and his. And how could he blame her for it? A few months ago, if he had seen his own sister engaging with a servant as familiarly as he had with Elizabeth, he would have summoned her to his study and given her a firm talking-to.
Still, the ten weeks of servitude were coming to an end much faster than he liked. Even with his heartache at Elizabeth’s new behavior, he still relished being under the same roof with her. He still loved hearing her voice, even if it was not directed at him. At the idea of never seeing her again, pure sorrow stabbed his heart.
Little did he know that Elizabeth’s carefully schooled features concealed a similar torment. Once she had realized her love for him, she forced herself to set about her duty – that is, forgetting him. A woman of her position could not stoop so low as to encourage a manservant, especially one who probably had no regard for her himself, but was merely trying to be a good domestic. If she did look at tea trays rather than at him, it was because she knew that every time she caught his glance her heart would betray her anew. Every night in her room, she would cry herself to sleep. The man of her dreams was but a few floors above her, but he would never call her his wife. That title would probably fall to the world’s luckiest scullery maid instead.
Chapter 19:
Darcy hoped against hope that at least upon their departure, some friendly word might fall from her lips; but again, he was disappointed. Their last day at Longbourn dawned grey and dreary. He and Charles gathered up their meager belongings, said their farewells to the staff, were paid their wages by Mr. Hill, and slowly made their way to the drawing room to bid farewell to the family.
As soon as they entered, Darcy noted that Elizabeth was not in attendance. Jane Bennet was, however, and she came forward and thanked them both in touching tones and wished them well. Bingley looked as if were on the point of tears at her address, but managed to control his feelings by sheer force of will and reciprocated her thanks softly. The rest of the family had little to say, and both men simply bowed in their general direction and took their leave directly.
When they were about to cross the threshold of Longbourn for the last time, Elizabeth Bennet entered it. She had taken a long walk to avoid the farewells, but had underestimated the time that they would dawdle before beginning their journey. She almost started at seeing them, but quickly composed herself and spoke in a completely disengaged tone to both simultaneously.
“I see you are leaving. I shall not detain you. Thank you for your service.”
With that, and only that, she went upstairs. Even though it cost her dearly, she did not look back.
Darcy watched her form disappear up the stairs. With an abrupt gesture, he signaled for Bingley to proceed him out of the house, and followed with a heavy heart.
As they walked away from the edifice which contained the women they loved, Bingley muttered under his breath.
“You were right, Darcy. I should never have played in that card game, and I should never have come here. Now I will never be happy again.”
Darcy had never agreed with him more.
Chapter 20:
Darcy sat in his London townhouse, arrayed once more as a gentleman, holding a drink of a brandy which could only be afforded by someone of means. It had been nearly a month since he and Bingley had returned to Town, and yet both were even more acutely miserable than ever.
Fitzwilliam Darcy had never loved balls, but now they were exquisite torture. Every woman who danced in them seemed but a pale shadow of womanhood when compared to Elizabeth. The wittiest lines in the theater seemed foolish compared to remarks which he remembered falling from Elizabeth’s lips. The world was a dreary place without her to brighten it, that much was certain.
In his newfound awareness of what went on in a kitchen of a house, he knew that his own servants were wondering about where he had been and about the changes in his behavior. He called upon them less than ever, not only because they themselves were painful reminders of the life he had led for ten blessed weeks, but because he also remembered how troublesome it was to get constant summons from a drawing room or study. He lit his own candles, much to the disbelief of those who were used to waiting on him hand and foot. Instead of calling his valet into his room before dawn, he selected his own waistcoat and tied his own necktie. Once, on a particularly chilly Saturday evening, he had been sitting by a dark fireplace when it occurred to him that he should like a blaze. He did not even think of ringing for the servants, who were all occupied with preparing the house for a day of relative respite on Sunday; he got up, went into the garden, and opened the door to a little hut where he knew that tools were stored. Finding the axe and a few pieces of wood which had yet to be split, he took both to a boulder and commenced chopping wood. Had he paid attention to the kitchen windows, he would have seen twelve servants with their noses pressed against the glass, their mouths hanging wide open. As it was, he simply envisioned himself back at Longbourn, fancying that he was chopping wood for the kitchen stove, as Elizabeth took a stroll but a few yards from him.
He knew that duty was calling him back to Pemberley. He knew, in a matter of days, that he would go. But he wished with all his heart that he could go to Longbourn instead.
Chapter 21:
One month later...
Elizabeth followed her uncle and aunt, dutifully trying to seem interested in the grand house and its history. In truth, she heard nothing of what Mrs. Reynolds was saying about the size of Pemberley’s rooms, or about the price of the furniture. In her abstraction she had also missed the introduction of the tour, and did not realize that the mansion she was wandering in belonged to a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Even if she had, she would never have assumed that he and her Fitzwilliam were one and the same.
She was thinking of her dearest manservant. Many weeks had passed, and she still thought about him each and every day. She vacillated between pining for what could never be, being angry at herself for letting her heart stray so, and feeling guilty for shunning him during the last days of his employment. When her aunt and uncle proposed a trip she accepted the offer eagerly, hoping to leave Longbourn and all the memories of Fitzwilliam it held behind. On that regard, the trip was a horrid failure. His was the first face her mind’s eye saw in the morning at various inns, and the last one she pictured before drifting off to sleep at night.
“Look at that beautiful vase, Lizzy,” her aunt’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Is not the workmanship superb?”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth answered with a forced smile.
Mrs. Reynolds moved closer to the admired piece and began to explain from whence it had come, when a sloshy step was heard upon the stairs. They all turned, surprised, towards the landing. Before their eyes rose a drenched man, one who had taken off his coat and gone swimming in the lake which dwelt just outside the house.
Mrs. Reynolds and Elizabeth cried out in unison.
“Good gracious! What are you doing here?” the younger lady exclaimed.
The gentleman absolutely started. He next began to stutter, trying to form the words “Miss Elizabeth”, but he could not. He wondered whether he was sane, whether he was even awake – in any case, his own tongue did not obey him.
Elizabeth collected herself first. Trying to hide the rosy blush which had rose to her cheeks, she stepped forward and said.
“I did not expect to see you here. What are the chances that a servant I know would be employed at Pemberley?” Her eyes swept over his disheveled form. “I take it you have been cleaning out the lake? I did notice quite a lot of vegetation on its banks when we drove past.”
In a very uneven voice, Darcy said,
“I was not…cleaning out the lake. I was merely taking a swim…,” he trailed off.
“In that case, you must be fortunate in your choice of employer. Not many servants would be able to go for a swim on Tuesday afternoon.”
Darcy was awkwardly concocting another reply when Mrs. Reynolds, who had of course noticed his discomfort, thought that she knew the cause of it. Trying to come to his aid, she gently touched Elizabeth’s elbow and said,
“Madam, I am afraid that you have confused this gentleman with someone else. He is no servant; this is Mr. Darcy, the proprietor of Pemberley.”
Miss Bennet turned and regarded her as one would look upon a madwoman.
Mrs. Reynolds did not quail under the peculiar gaze. She swept her hand in the direction of the wall, indicating a large, fine portrait which hung there.
Elizabeth gawked. She looked at the portrait, the drenched, embarrassed man standing in front of her, and then at the portrait again. When she looked back at him anew, Darcy, to his horror, saw an expression of disgust and anger cross her face.
He wanted to say something, but before he could think of the proper thing to say, Elizabeth spoke. In a voice as taunt as a successful fishing line, she said with clenched teeth,
“I see. Thank you for the correction, Mrs. Reynolds. Uncle Gardiner, I have suddenly developed a headache. Would you be so good as to take me back to the Inn at once?”
Without waiting for the portly man to give her an answer, the young lady stormed straight past Darcy, down the stairs, and out the front door of Pemberley.
He could not bear it. She was walking away, furious at him! What must be passing through her mind! He could not let her go, especially thinking such ill of him! Forgetting his housekeeper, the other visitors, and even his own appearance, he ran after her as fast has his legs could carry him.
Chapter 22:
“Miss Elizabeth!” he called out in a hoarse voice as soon as he reached the courtyard. She was about fifteen feet in front of him, but showed no signs of slowing. “Miss Elizabeth, please! I need to speak with you.”
Provoked, Elizabeth suddenly whirled around.
“The only thing you need is some basic decency,” she snapped. “So is this a new fashion among the rich and mighty? To pretend to be servants, lie to an entire household, and allow gentlewomen to risk their reputations by going out with you alone? Well, I congratulate you on your fun; now leave me alone!”
She resumed her furious walk. Darcy noticed that she was dashing straight for a hired coach which was stationed in front of the house; he had very little time. Following at her heels, he quickly said,
“Miss Elizabeth, I understand how odd this might seem, and I understand that you are rightfully angry with me, but I need you to understand that I never enjoyed leading you astray.”
She did not respond, but he seemed to detect a slight deceleration in her steps. This filled him with hope, and he added,
“On my first morning at Longbourn, I informed Mr. Hill of my true position in society, but as I was dressed in servant’s clothes, my own being unfit to wear as a result of travelling through the rain, he did not believe me. I never came to your father’s house with any design but that of nursing Charles back to health – he is indeed a good friend of mine, the son of a tradesman, but wealthy enough now to be looking for an estate of his own. He lost a wager on a card game, and to pay off his debt had to serve as a manservant for ten weeks. He begged me not to reveal the true state of affairs, and out of concern for his health I agreed to help him. Can you ever forgive me?”
Elizabeth stopped. She was close to the coach – Darcy waited with baited breath to see if she would get into it. If she did, his heart would never recover.
He saw her shoulders, which had been tense ever since Mrs. Reynolds pointed out the portrait, relax. Next, she slowly turned around. Meeting his eyes, she replied,
“You are either the best liar in England or the best man I have ever known.”
“I assure you that the first is not true – whether the second, only you can know that, Miss Elizabeth.”
“If you truly are a gentleman, and played the part of a lowly servant for six weeks to safeguard the life of your friend, than you certainly have no rivals in goodness amongst my acquaintance.” She sighed. “Forgive me. I should not have rushed to judgment so.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Before he could say anything else, a concerned voice called across the courtyard,
“Lizzy?”
Turning around, Darcy and Miss Bennet beheld Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner walking towards them.
“Lizzy, is everything alright?” Mrs. Gardiner asked as soon as she neared her blushing niece.
“Yes, it is. Mr. Darcy was just handsomely forgiving me for rushing to judgement as I did.”
Aunt Gardiner smiled.
“It is kind of you not to take offense, Mr. Darcy. It was quite uncharacteristic of my niece to confuse you with someone of her acquaintance, let alone with a servant she apparently once knew.”
“As I was telling the lady, there is nothing to apologize for,” the Master of Pemberley said, greatly relieved that he would not have to explain the entire matter to Elizabeth’s friends. “Now that we have all settled that, could I possibly convince you to come into the house for some refreshments?”
“No, that is not necessary,” Uncle Gardiner said. “And we have to be going. Some of my wife’s friends have invited us to dinner this evening, and we will be late if we do not leave straightaway.”
Elizabeth saw disappointment in Mr. Darcy’s face, but he merely bowed and replied,
“Of course.” Struck with a thought, he suddenly asked, “You are staying in Lambton, at the Inn, then?”
“Yes, we are,” Mr. Gardiner replied.
Gallantly, Darcy opened the carriage door and helped Elizabeth and her aunt ascend. Mr. Gardiner followed suit.
As they drove away, Elizabeth’s mind was in a perfect muddle. Had she been dreaming? Her Fitzwilliam was a gentleman! And yet, what good would it do? What were the chances that she would ever meet him again? And even if she did, now he was the social superior. It was in every way hopeless!
Chapter 23:
As she had been unable to fall asleep until nearly dawn due to the thoughts which rampaged through her head, Elizabeth woke when the sun was already high in the sky the next day. On her bedside table was a note from her aunt; her relations had gone into town to buy gifts for their children, and would return to have luncheon with her. Although she loved them both dearly, Elizabeth was not sorry to have the morning to herself. Pretending that she had any presence of mind was hard to do when Fitzwilliam’s face was freshly imprinted in her thoughts.
She dressed and tried to peck at the tray which the maid brought in. Fitzwilliam was five miles away, and she was destined to leave Lambton in one day! Her heart ached unbearably, thinking of what could never be. Leaning back in her comfortable chair, she closed her eyes and began to daydream of all the conversations and moments they had had together.
There was a knock on the door. Thinking that it was the maid, she called out,
“Enter!” without opening her tired eyes. When she heard the door hinges creak open, she instructed the girl, “You may take the tray.”
“Very good, milady,” a masculine voice replied.
Elizabeth opened her eyes with a start. In front of her stood Fitzwilliam. Her heart skipped about five beats when she saw him and nearly plunged her into a deep swoon; for the first time, he stood before her dressed not in servant’s garb, nor in a drenched shirt, but as a properly attired gentleman. Yesterday she had discovered that he was the best man of her acquaintance; today she found that he was also the handsomest, by far.
“Fitzwilliam,” she gasped out. Before she could correct herself and address him as ‘Mr. Darcy’, the man smiled and said,
“I hope you forgive me the intrusion. I did not expect to find you alone.”
“It is quite alright,” Elizabeth answered, blushing. “Do sit down.”
Darcy obeyed.
“I hope that your relations did not ask too many distressing questions after you left yesterday?”
“No, not at all. They are firmly under the impression that it was a case of mistaken identity, nothing more. They think that you ran after me to assure me that you were not offended.” She offered him a crooked smile. “If you are worried about your reputation, Mr. Darcy, I assure you that you are quite safe from us.”
“Nothing could be further from my mind. I was wondering, however – if your relations are not scandalized by our former association, perhaps they could be persuaded to accept an invitation to dinner at Pemberley this evening.”
Elizabeth stared, colored and was silent.
“Why are you putting yourself to all this inconvenience?” she inquired at length.
“I beg your pardon?” the gentleman asked.
“Why are you doing all this? You are a gentleman, far above any social circles which we move in. You have asked for, and received pardon, for masquerading as a servant. You do not need to apologize further. You can forget that you ever heard the word ‘Longbourn’. Furthermore, I acted very cruelly towards you when I all but ignored you during your last weeks under my father’s roof. Why then, do you offer us an invitation to dinner at your estate?”
“For the very simple reason that I have missed you. Profoundly.” Darcy took in her shocked look. “Despite the fact that I was not fully forthcoming with you, I felt that the friendship we formed was pure and true. I have never conversed with such ease with anyone before. I understand why you withdrew your friendship during those last weeks…we had become too familiar, and you probably realized that it was unbecoming. However, I have thought of you every day since I departed Longbourn. As much as I wished that we could renew our acquaintance under more truthful premises, I had far too much respect for you to risk your reputation by returning to the neighborhood as a gentleman. But now, when Providence has thrust you in my path, I would never forgive myself if I did not speak openly. If you give me any hope that one day you might feel similarly, I am certain that we can somehow overcome the difficulties involved. For I ardently admire and love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
Instantly, her face flamed. Her head swam. She thought that she must be dreaming!
“I want you for my wife. Is there any chance that one day you might accept my hand in marriage?”
In a haze, Elizabeth thought of all the things she ought to consider. She knew that she ought to be worried about what her father would say, what all of Meryton would say, if and when she brought this man to Hertfordshire as her fiancé. And yet, she found that she did not care. In the least. This was a chance that she never thought that God would give her, and she would not be so foolish as to squander it.
Meeting his eyes, therefore, she said the words she had long wished to utter.
“I love you too, Fitzwilliam Darcy. And if you were to make the offer, I would accept your hand in marriage today!”
He reached over and interwove his fingers with hers.
“Of course I offer it! Will you marry me?” he asked without delay, his voice trembling with emotion.
“Yes, my dearest Fitzwilliam!”
Hearts ready to burst, they stood and flung their arms around one another. Darcy sought, found, and commandeered her lips with his own. After they completed the kiss, he held her close to his heart for a long while.