Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (4 page)

Likely? That he would propose to Miss Elizabeth Bennet? No, that did not seem likely at all. And that she would refuse him? That was even less likely. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was preposterous!

‘From your expression, I can tell the events were most unlikely,’ said the physician with a smile. ‘I think we have traced the origins of your strange experience. If you have any further difficulties, do not hesitate to speak to me, but I think you may rest assured that baked cheese was at the bottom of it!’

‘You relieve my mind,’ said Mr Darcy.

The physician bowed.

With a light heart, Mr Darcy escorted him to the door. How bright the day seemed, now that he did not fear he was going mad! And how cheerful everything seemed, now that he knew he had not humiliated himself by proposing to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and been rejected by her!

The footman opened the door.

To Mr Darcy’s surprise, a horse-drawn cart was just rolling to a halt at the foot of the stone steps, and in the back of it was –

‘Bingley!’ exclaimed Mr Darcy, rushing down the steps to see to his friend, for Mr Bingley lay there unconscious.

‘What has happened?’ demanded Mr Darcy.

Mr Bingley’s coachman, who was riding in the cart next to Mr Bingley, limped out and said, ‘There was an accident. We were just turning a bend some five miles north of here when another carriage came around the corner, being driven at a riotous pace by a young swell. He was in the middle of the road and I could not avoid a collision. His carriage ran into a field and he was thrown clear, but my master was not so fortunate. Our carriage overturned and he was trapped inside. I freed him as soon as I could, with the help of this labourer’ – here he glanced towards the driver of the cart – ‘and brought him back here.’

‘We must get him inside at once,’ said Mr Darcy.

The physician was luckily on hand to oversee the removal and, with the help of the footmen, Mr Bingley was carried upstairs and put in a guest room.

Lady Catherine gave orders to everyone throughout the procedure in a domineering manner, but luckily she was a woman of sense as well as arrogance and her instructions were clear and useful.

‘How is he?’ asked Mr Darcy anxiously, when the physician had finished examining him.

The physician looked grave.

‘I will not conceal from you the seriousness of his injuries. Both arms are broken and you must send for the surgeon to set them. He has also suffered a nasty blow to the head.’

‘But he will recover?’ asked Mr Darcy anxiously.

The physician said quietly, ‘I am afraid I cannot give you any assurances. With the best care, then I hope he will recover, but I can make no promises.’

Mr Darcy felt all the horror of the circumstances, but he rallied himself and gave orders for the surgeon to be sent for.

‘You will stay until he arrives?’ asked Mr Darcy.

‘I can be of little use but, if you wish it, I will stay.’

‘I do wish it,’ said Mr Darcy firmly.

‘Very well.’

‘Mr Bingley must have everything he needs to make him well. You are to spare no expense. The servants are at your disposal. Send them anywhere, for anything you need.’

‘Thank you,’ said the physician with a bow.

It was a weary wait, but at last the surgeon arrived and set Mr Bingley’s bones.

He, too, was grave, and said that he did not know if Mr Bingley would ever recover.

Mr Darcy was persuaded to go down to the dining-room for luncheon, but his mind was not on his aunt’s conversation, it was on his friend whose fate hung in the balance between life and death.

That afternoon, Mr Collins arrived.

‘I have come to offer my condolences,’ he said to Lady Catherine. ‘It must not be convenient for you to offer shelter to a stranger, but, like the Good Samaritan, you have taken him in and will have your reward in heaven.’

Mrs Collins and Miss Elizabeth Bennet were more practical, offering their assistance to sit with Mr Bingley. It was arranged they should take turns in watching over him, so that he would see a familiar face if he recovered consciousness.

Lady Catherine was horrified that Miss Elizabeth Bennet should even think of sitting with Mr Bingley, since she was an unmarried woman. But Mrs Collins’s assistance was gratefully accepted.

Whilst Mrs Collins went upstairs, Mr Collins and Miss Elizabeth Bennet took luncheon with Lady Catherine, Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh.

Mr Darcy longed to speak to Elizabeth alone and his chance came when Lady Catherine retired to write some letters and Miss Anne de Bourgh occupied herself with the pianoforte at the far end of the drawing-room.

Elizabeth herself opened the conversation.

‘Please tell me, Mr Darcy, how is Mr Bingley? Do not spare my feelings, I pray, for I must know.’

‘Very well.’ He gave her an exact account. She turned pale but said bravely, ‘I see.’

‘Miss Bennet . . .’ he began. He found it hard to continue, but he knew he must go on. ‘Miss Bennet . . . Last autumn, my friend, Mr Bingley, became very fond of your sister. He was on his way to tell her how he felt when he had his accident.’

She looked startled and said, ‘You surprise me, Mr Darcy. You surprise me very much indeed. I think I have done you an injustice, for I thought you were against the union. And yet from the way you are talking about it now you seem to be in favour of the match.’

‘You have done me no injustice. You are too generous in spirit to be unjust,’ he said with a smile softening his mouth and touching his eyes with warmth. But then he became more serious. ‘It is true, I was against the match to begin with, but I did not know how far their feelings had gone. When you told me of your sister’s feelings —’

‘
I
told you?’ asked Elizabeth with a frown. ‘I do not remember saying anything about it.’

‘Not in so many words, perhaps,’ Mr Darcy hastily corrected himself, reminding himself it had been a dream - but a useful dream nonetheless, since it had revealed to him the feelings of others which had previously been hidden from him. ‘But from little things you said, and from your expressions and gestures, I came to realise I had been wrong. I questioned Mr Bingley and I discovered the extent of his feelings, and then I attempted to undo the wrong I had done him – and your sister – by telling him I thought his feelings might be returned. It was enough to make him change his plans and travel to Longbourn immediately. Unfortunately, on the way, he had his accident and now I fear for him. If I had not told him — ’ His anguish broke out of him, but he mastered it and continued in a calmer voice. ‘If I had not told him, he would not be lying upstairs now. I was trying to help but my interference cost him dear.’

‘It is not interference to speak the truth,’ she said compassionately.

‘You are very generous,’ he said with a rush of warm feelings and heartfelt gratitude.

‘I am sorry it has turned out badly, but you are not to blame,’ she said.

Her eyes were luminous with sympathy.

‘I feel it,’ he said, with another rush of anguish.

‘No,’ she said gently. ‘You are not. You must not blame yourself. Nor must you give up hope. Though the situation is grave he may yet recover.’

‘Yes, you are right.’

He felt his admiration for her growing as he looked into her beautiful face and saw the strength that lay there, as well as beauty. She had a fund of common sense which enabled her to meet the challenges of life without faltering and she had a sense of conviction which supported her in her times of trial.

She was so many things and all of them good. Perhaps his dream of the night before had been a fulfilment of his deep-seated wishes, for at that moment he wanted to sink to one knee and propose to her. He wanted her to accept his hand and he wanted to kiss her and marry her and carry her off to Pemberley, where her strength and humour and beauty could brighten his ancestral home, and provide him with laughing children whose intelligence shone out of their bright eyes.

But now was not the time or the place.

And yet, when Mr Bingley was out of danger . . .

If
Mr Bingley was out of danger.

He saw the same fear on Elizabeth’s face. Despite her strength and courage he saw her doubts. She knew what was at stake. Mr Bingley’s health – his very life – hung in the balance.

Mr Darcy could see that, despite Elizabeth’s brave words, she feared the worst, not only for Mr Bingley’s sake, but for her sister’s sake.

‘I am sorry you have to bear this burden,’ he said, with heartfelt honesty.

‘And I you,’ she said.

There was a sense of harmony between them, as though the life-threatening circumstances in which they found themselves had made them both aware that life was short and not to be squandered on misunderstandings or unnecessary ill will.

But they could do nothing about it.

And so Mr Darcy did the one thing he could do at that moment. He rang the bell and ordered refreshments. He saw to it that Elizabeth ate and drank, for he did not want her growing faint through lack of care or attention. She was overwhelmingly important to him and he finally acknowledged it to himself.

It was a long and weary day. There was no change in Mr Bingley’s condition. At last the Collinses left, with Miss Bennet. Mr Darcy was sorry to see her go because he knew he would miss her good sense and her courage, but at the same time he was glad to see her go because he did not want her overtiring herself.

A hired nurse had been sent for after the accident and she now sat with Mr Bingley.

Mr Bingley had not regained consciousness and Mr Darcy was exhausted by feelings of worry and guilt when at last he went to bed.

If only I had not told Bingley about Miss Bennet
, he thought,
Bingley would not have been heading north and he would not have had his accident. He would have been heading south instead
.

He knew it was not his fault. There was no way he could have foreseen what was going to happen. As the clock chimed midnight, he remembered the way he had wished, the night before, that St Valentine’s Day might never arrive unless Elizabeth Bennet loved him. How fervently he repeated that wish, for if February 13
th
repeated then he could save his friend from such a terrible fate. But he did not believe in wishes, and it was with a heavy heart that he blew out the candle and climbed into bed.

Mr Darcy slept badly. At last he rose and dressed, even though it was only five o’clock in the morning, and went along to the guest bedroom to see if there was any change in Mr Bingley’s condition.

He was angry to see that the footman had left his place outside the door. Lady Catherine, at Mr Darcy’s request, had given strict instructions that one of the footmen was to be on duty all night, in case the nurse should need anything. But no one was in sight.

Mr Darcy controlled his anger and carefully turned the door handle so as not to make any sound. He pushed the door gently and it gave only the slightest creak as it opened.

To Mr Darcy’s surprise, the room was lit by moonlight instead of candlelight. The curtains were pulled back and the pale silver light illuminated the room. It fell on the empty fireplace, in which no fire burned. It crossed the empty chair on which the nurse should be sitting and it lay delicate fingers upon the bed. There was no mound to show that someone lay beneath the covers and Mr Darcy felt a lump rise in his throat as he thought,
Bingley is dead
.

But if Mr Bingley had really been dead, then why had no one told him, since he had left instructions that he was to be informed of any change in his friend’s condition? And why was the room empty? The body should still be in the bed and the nurse should be in attendance. The fire should be lit and there should be some sign of occupation – bottles of medicines on the sideboard, a jug of water on the table, all the paraphernalia of the sickroom.

But there was nothing.

Mr Darcy lit the candles himself and examined the room more closely. The bed had not been slept in. The fire had not recently been lit. The room had not been inhabited for some time.

It has happened again
, he thought, with hope and puzzlement mixing in his breast.

He went out on to the landing, where he saw one of the maids already at work, dusting the staircase. She looked shocked to see him up so early.

‘Tell me, what day is it?’ she asked.

‘Monday, Sir,’ she said in surprise.

Monday. Then it was February 13
th
again.

‘Thank God,’ he said, sitting down on one of the chairs that lined the landing and putting his head in his hands.

He did not know if it was baked cheese or a fever or some other cause, nor did he care. All he cared about was that, somehow, the day had miraculously reset itself, and he had a chance to live it over again. He was not responsible for sending his friend to an accident – and possibly to his death. Bingley was alive and well.

I must tell Elizabeth
, he thought.

But then he realised that he could never tell her, since she would not know it had ever happened. And that was the way it must be. He would not distress her for anything by telling her about it. She would never know how close she came to losing her future brother-in-law. For Mr Darcy was determined to reunite his friend with Miss Jane Bennet. But this time he would choose another way to do it. One which would not have such disastrous consequences.

Although it was still very early, Mr Darcy knew he would not sleep if he went back to bed and so he ordered his valet to bring him some breakfast in his room and then he set out for London. Once he arrived in London, he went to the house the Bingleys had rented and there he found Mr Bingley, just about to set out for Kent.

‘Darcy! This is a surprise. I did not expect to see you in town,’ said Mr Bingley.

Mr Darcy rejoiced to see his friend looking so fit and well.

‘I had some business to attend to so I thought I would come early and call in on Georgiana,’ said Mr Darcy.

‘Your sister grows more accomplished every day,’ said Mr Bingley appreciatively. ‘I have here a painting which she asked me to deliver to Lady Catherine but I see I will not need to do so now.’

‘No. I can take it down to Kent,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘Bingley, there is something I need to tell you . . . ’

He spoke of Miss Jane Bennet and said he had been wrong to think her indifferent.

‘But how do you know?’ asked Mr Bingley, delight mixing with surprise.

‘I am not at liberty to say, but I am sure I am right,’ said Mr Darcy.

Mr Bingley needed no more. He confessed that he was in love with Miss Bennet and ordered his carriage.

Less than half an hour later, he set out for Longbourn with a smile on his face.

Feeling satisfied that he had done his duty by his friend, Mr Darcy went to Darcy House, where he found his sister playing the pianoforte. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was also Georgiana’s joint guardian with Mr Darcy, was listening to her performance appreciatively.

‘Well done,’ he said, when she had finished.

‘Yes, well done indeed,’ said Mr Darcy.

‘Fitzwilliam!’ exclaimed Georgiana in delight, jumping up from the piano stool and running over to greet him. ‘I did not know you were coming to town today.’

She was a tall and graceful young lady of sixteen summers. In her white muslin gown she looked elegant and refined. Her dark hair was swept up in a bun and it revealed her classical features. Mr Darcy was very proud of her.

‘I thought I would surprise you,’ he said with a warm smile.

‘I am very glad you did. I have just finished a painting for Aunt Catherine.’

She showed it to him and he admired the brush strokes and the clarity of the colours. He knew that water painting was difficult, for any mistake could easily result in a muddying of the colours. But Georgiana’s clear blue on the sky, expertly mixed green on the lawns and accurate rendering of the perspective had created a painting he could honestly admire.

‘You are becoming quite an artist,’ he said.

She glowed under his praise.

Mrs Annesley, her companion, who was sitting quietly at the side of the room, sewing, suggested she show her most recent sampler to her brother.

Georgiana fetched it and Mr Darcy admired the stitches and told her, with perfect truth, that she was becoming a very accomplished young woman.

They talked until her dancing master arrived, and then Georgiana went through into the ballroom with him whilst Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam went through into the library where they could talk undisturbed.

After they had discussed the war, Mr Darcy said, ‘I would like to ask a favour.’

‘Oh?’ asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

‘I would like you to use your influence to obtain a commission for George Wickham in the army.’

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him in astonishment.

‘Darcy! Have you taken leave of your senses? Why would you help Wickham, after everything he has done to you?’

Mr Darcy hesitated, but he could not explain it to his cousin without telling him about the bizarre things which kept happening.

He could not reveal that Elizabeth disliked him because she thought he had been unfair to George Wickham, and he could not say that his actions were now due to his wish to win her good will. Once Wickham had a secure living, then Elizabeth would no longer feel sorry for him and she would no longer resent Mr Darcy.

Or so he hoped.

And so he said instead, ‘He seems to have changed his ways. He has joined the militia and I hear that he is paying attention to a respectable heiress named Miss King. I would like to see him well settled as then he will be less likely to slip back into his old ways. And I am sure you will agree with me that none of us want him to do that.’

‘Very well,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘As it happens, I know of something that will suit him. It is available at once, in Northumberland.’

‘I would have liked something farther away. In fact, I would have liked somewhere abroad for him. But Northumberland will do,’ said Mr Darcy with satisfaction.

‘If you are serious, we can go and tell him about it,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘I saw him in London only yesterday and I know where he is staying.’

‘Let us do it at once,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘Before I change my mind.’

As he strode round to Wickham’s favourite inn with Colonel Fitzwilliam, he hoped that his gesture would relieve Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s animosity towards him on Wickham’s account. Once she learnt what he had done, she would not be able to accuse him of having blighted Wickham’s life.

Wickham was playing billiards in his shirt sleeves when they found him. He had a large glass of brandy at his elbow, despite the fact it was early in the morning, and he had a woman of low morals hanging on his arm.

And Elizabeth cares about a man like this!
thought Mr Darcy in disgust.

But, of course, Elizabeth did not know what Wickham was really like. She had only ever seen him in drawing-rooms, or in respectable places such as the Meryton circulating library, and Wickham was very good at hiding his true nature when he wanted to. He had hidden it from Mr Darcy’s father very successfully. He was also good at charming people, so Elizabeth could not be blamed.

Wickham did not look up until he had taken his shot. The brightly coloured balls clattered around the table before dropping into the pockets at the side and everyone around the table cheered. Money changed hands and Wickham put on his coat. Then he noticed the two newcomers.

‘Darcy! This is a surprise,’ he said. He gestured towards the billiard table. ‘Care for a game?’

‘No.’

‘Afraid you cannot beat me?’ asked Wickham with an irritating smirk.

The onlookers laughed.

Mr Darcy controlled his temper with difficulty.

‘I have not come here to quarrel with you, Wickham. If you care to join me in the private parlour you will hear something to your advantage.’

Mr Wickham looked alert. He picked up his drink and said, ‘Lead on.’

The three men went into the private parlour, where they would not be disturbed, and Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam told him what they were prepared to do for him.

Mr Wickham finished his brandy and said, ‘It is a tempting offer. But why are you doing this for me? I know you hate me, both of you.’

‘With reason,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

‘We are doing it because you seem to be making an effort to mend your ways,’ said Mr Darcy, who refused to be provoked. ‘You have found yourself a profession and you are paying court to a respectable young woman. This is your chance to change your life, and I want to help you.’

‘Ah, yes. Miss King,’ said Mr Wickham, naming the object of his attentions. ‘Tell me, Darcy, why are the rich women always ugly?’

‘That is no way to speak of your future wife,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam sharply. ‘Assuming your intentions are honourable,’ he added scathingly.

‘You are right,’ said Mr Wickham, and a curious expression crossed his face. ‘That is no way to speak of my future wife. I take it back. The future Mrs Wickham is beautiful, witty and charming.’ He turned towards the door and shouted, ‘Landlord!’

The landlord came hurrying in, wiping his hands on his apron.

‘Yes, gentlemen, what can I do for you?’ he asked ingratiatingly.

‘A bottle of your best brandy. We are celebrating,’ said Mr Wickham.

‘Thank you, but we will not be joining you,’ said Mr Darcy, as the landlord bowed himself out of the room.

‘I did not think you would, but there are other men here who will celebrate my good fortune with me,’ said Wickham.

‘No doubt,’ said Mr Darcy.

‘Are you not forgetting something?’ asked Mr Wickham.

Mr Darcy knew that Wickham wanted money and he was tempted to make a contemptuous reply. But he thought of Elizabeth and fought down his anger. He was not doing this for Wickham, he was doing it for Elizabeth.

As he thought of her sparkling eyes and the way a delicious smile played about her lips when she teased him; as he thought of her light step and her arch conversation and the way she held her head a little to on side when she was thoughtful; as he remembered her slender white arms and the smoothness of her skin, he could not help smiling.

Although she would never know it, he had taken her words to heart. He no longer stood in the way of her sister and Mr Bingley. And he was about to make George Wickham amends for depriving him of the living.

Perhaps, if Elizabeth heard of it, she would look more kindly on him.

At least, that was what he hoped.

He took a banknote out of his wallet and laid it on the table.

‘That should cover your celebration,’ he said.

Wickham took it and handed it to the innkeeper.

‘The best of everything!’ said Wickham to the innkeeper.

Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam then left Wickham to his celebration,

‘Thank Jove that is over,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he and Darcy left the tavern. ‘Every time I see Wickham I want to knock him down.’

‘You need never see him again. He has no more call on us,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘We have done our duty by him.’

And, to himself, he added,
And now Elizabeth cannot blame me for ruining his prospects
.