Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (8 page)

Elizabeth rose to another fine February day. She could not bear to be inside on such a beautiful morning and so she went out for her usual early walk. There was an open grove which edged the side of the park, with a sheltered path, and this was her favourite place. It was February 13
th
, almost halfway through the month, and the snowdrops were raising their nodding little white heads above the cold earth to say that spring was just around the corner. She gave a skip of pleasure and, holding her bonnet on to her head with one hand lest the ribbons should come loose, and picking up the hem of her skirt with the other, she ran down the grove in happiness. She came to a stop at last and breathed in deeply, enjoying the solitude which had allowed her to behave in such exhilarating, if unladylike, fashion.

She was just catching her breath when she saw Mr Darcy walking towards her. She was very surprised, for he did not usually walk in the park at this time of day. He usually exercised his horse in the morning.

She was even more surprised when he headed directly towards her, for she had the feeling he had come there on purpose to find her.

‘Miss Bennet,’ he said, making her a bow.

‘Mr Darcy,’ she said, dropping a curtsey.

‘Would you do me the favour of reading this letter?’ he said.

He gave her a letter.

She took it, puzzled, and turned it over in her hand.

‘I do not understand,’ she said with a frown. ‘This is a letter to my sister.’

‘Written by you, yesterday,’ he said.

‘But I did not write to my sister yesterday,’ she protested.

He hesitated as if to gather his thoughts and then he said, ‘Miss Bennet, I have something to tell you which will sound strange – nay, unbelievable. But if you have read the letter I think you will understand. Will you do it for me as a courtesy?’

She was surprised and curious and said, ‘I suppose, as you ask it of me in such a way, I must.’

‘I will wait for you yonder,’ he said.

He nodded towards a large horse chestnut tree some way from the path and then, with a bow, he left her.

She was puzzled. The whole thing was very strange. Nevertheless, she opened the letter and began to read. As her eyes scanned the first paragraph she was even more puzzled. It was her handwriting and yet she did not remember writing the letter. She wondered if she could have written it weeks ago and then forgotten about it. She glanced at the date. February 13
th
.

But that is today
, she thought.

There was a time beneath the date. 12 noon.

But the church clock had just struck nine.

She began to read the letter carefully and what she read made her eyebrows shoot up in dark crescents against her smooth white skin.

‘This cannot be,’ she said in bewilderment, for the letter contained an account of Mr Darcy’s proposal. ‘Mr Darcy
proposed
to me? This is some kind of joke, some clever forgery.’

But there were references to childhood jokes that only she and Jane knew about. The letter had definitely been written by her.

She read on.

‘Mr Darcy taught me to drive a phaeton?’ she said aloud, voicing her disbelief.

She finished the letter and then read it again, for it contained much to think about, even if it was all strange.

She glanced towards him.

How had he come by the letter? What did he know about this strange business? Was there anything he could say that might make sense of it? She had to know.

She began to walk towards him.

As soon as he saw her move, he walked towards her and before long she was standing before him, looking searchingly up into his face.

‘I do not understand,’ she said.

A wind had sprung up and she shivered.

‘Let us go into the rotunda,’ he said. ‘We will be out of the wind there.’

She nodded her agreement.

The rotunda was an ornamental building, rather like a small Greek temple. It had a domed roof and it was circular. There was a small door on the curving south face and inside there was a stone seat running around the circular wall. Leaded windows allowed in light whilst shutting out the elements.

Mr Darcy removed his cloak and set it down on the stone seat, folding it over to make a cushion.

Elizabeth sat down.

It was warm in the rotunda. The glass had intensified the weak rays of the sun and, with Mr Darcy’s cloak to protect her from the cold stone, Elizabeth stopped shivering.

‘What does it mean?’ she asked.

‘I am not sure how much you know. May I ask what was in the letter?’

She began to speak, but then handed the letter to him, too embarrassed to say the words.

‘Is that a true picture of what happened?’ she asked.

‘Yes. It is.’

And then he told her everything. She listened with absorption as he told her all about his first proposal and what he had learnt from it. She heard him telling her how he had tried to correct his faults by bringing Jane and Mr Bingley together, and helping George Wickham. She paid attention as he told her of the disasters corrected by his wish that time would stop moving on. And she listened most carefully of all as he told her of his efforts to win her love.

She scarcely knew what to make of it all. It was all very strange, and yet there was something in his voice that convinced her it was true.

‘I thought I was condemned to live my life with no connection between today and tomorrow, until by chance the letter moved with me,’ he said.

‘But why?’ said Elizabeth. ‘Why my letter and nothing else?’

She saw him flush slightly and then he said, ‘I believe it is because the letter was close to me. Anything touching me seems to move with me.’

She thought she understood.

‘So, because you had put my letter in your coat pocket, it was touching you?’ she asked.

‘I . . . Yes,’ he said. ‘It was in my pocket.’

‘Then if I write an account of everything that happens at the end of each day, I will be able to know about it?’ she asked.

‘I believe so. Yes.’

‘But what a terrible fate, even so,’ she said. ‘Is there no way you can make time move normally again?’

‘There is a way, yes, but I would rather not talk about it just yet.’

‘Can I not help with it?’ she asked.

‘I believe not. But now you know my feelings for you,’ he said. ‘Might I ask, are they wholly unwelcome?’

She felt suddenly embarrassed and looked at the floor, for she found that his feelings were not unwelcome. The letter she had written the day before had made her feelings clear. She had evidently enjoyed her day very much, because she had spent it with him. She had learnt a great deal about him and she found that she wanted to know more.

‘No,’ she said, in answer to his question.

She glanced up at him and caught sight of his look of relief out of the corner of her eye. It softened his face and smoothed the lines on his forehead.

‘In that case, might I introduce you to my sister?’ he asked. ‘We could drive to London and spend the day with her. I would invite Mrs Collins too, of course, for the sake of propriety.’

‘I would like to meet Miss Darcy very much,’ said Elizabeth.

He nodded.

‘Disguise is useless between us now,’ he said. ‘And so I will admit that I wanted Mr Bingley to marry Georgiana when she was old enough. But I do not want it any more. I have seen that people must make up their own minds when it comes to love. You taught me that, Miss Bennet.’

‘A useful lesson, I think?’ she asked, looking at him questioningly.

‘Yes, it is.’ He stood up and she stood, too. He put on his cloak. ‘If we go to the parsonage now, will we find Mrs Collins at home?’

‘Yes, she will be seeing to her poultry.’

He offered her his arm and they set out to the parsonage together.

They reached London at two o’clock in the afternoon. As the carriage pulled up in front of Darcy House, Elizabeth took in its grandeur with feelings very close to regret. It would be something to be the mistress of such an impressive town house, and to be able to invite her family to dinners and balls in its magnificent rooms.

To be sure, being its mistress would involve marrying its master, but that future did not seem as repugnant as it once had. Indeed, Mr Darcy had so far managed to overcome her bad opinion of him that she found she no longer disliked him.

The footman opened the door and let down the step. Mr Darcy climbed out of the carriage and then handed Elizabeth and Mrs Collins out.

They crossed the pavement and went up the stone steps that led to the porticoed entrance. The front door was painted in shiny black paint and had a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. The brass door knob shone as brightly as the knocker, which rang with a pleasant bell-like note when Mr Darcy lifted it and let it fall.

The door was opened by a stately butler, whose eyebrows rose a fraction when he saw Mr Darcy, but then he bowed and said, ‘Welcome back, Sir.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Darcy.

They went in.

News of the guests had travelled quickly via the footmen and before a few more minutes had passed, the housekeeper appeared in the hall and invited the ladies to follow her to a withdrawing room where they could refresh themselves after their journey.

Charlotte gave Elizabeth a speaking look as the door of the withdrawing-room closed on them and they removed their bonnets.

Elizabeth knew exactly what Charlotte meant. After his attentions it was useless to pretend he was not in love with her and so she said, ‘Very well, I admit it. Mr Darcy is in love with me.’

‘I knew it must be so,’ said Charlotte. ‘I saw signs of his regard for you in Hertfordshire, but once his attentions continued at Rosings, then I was sure. Are you really set against him, Lizzy?’

‘No. I must confess I am not,’ said Elizabeth. ‘My feelings have undergone a great change in the last few days, ever since I had a headache and could not go with you to Rosings.’

Charlotte looked at her in surprise.

‘When did you have a headache? I do not remember you staying at home.’

Elizabeth quickly realised that, if Mr Darcy was to be believed, the day of her headache had not existed for anyone but him – although, through his conversation, it existed for her after a fashion, as he had told her all about it.

But for everyone else, it had never been.

‘Ah. I meant, when I thought I would not be able to go with you,’ she corrected herself. ‘But in the end my headache cleared and so I did not mention it.’

Charlotte was satisfied.

‘What changed things for you then?’ she asked.

Elizabeth was silent. What could she say? She could not say, ‘Mr Darcy’s proposal changed things – both his proposals.’ So she said instead, ‘I have often met him in the park in the mornings and we have walked together, coming to know each other better as a result. There were some misunderstandings between us that we have overcome and I find him good company.’ She added mischievously, ‘And as you have already remarked, he is a very handsome man.’

Charlotte looked around the withdrawing-room appreciatively, and said, ‘Not to mention a very rich one.’

‘None of this would mean anything without love,’ said Elizabeth.

‘No. But it would be a very desirable addition to love,’ said Charlotte practically.

‘Yes, it would,’ admitted Elizabeth.

The two ladies finished tidying their hair and arranging their long, slender skirts. Elizabeth fluffed out the puffed sleeves of her gown and tidied the lace around the neckline, then she settled her shawl in the crook of her arm and declared herself ready to continue.

‘I wonder what Miss Darcy will be like,’ said Charlotte. ‘I am eager to see if she is really as haughty as Mr Wickham declared her to be.’

‘I think it is a mistake to believe everything Mr Wickham says,’ remarked Elizabeth.

‘Oh?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Let us just say, that I have found him out in some untruths, and it would not surprise me to find that Miss Darcy is utterly charming.’

‘We will soon know,’ said Charlotte.

The two ladies went out into the hall and were shown into the drawing-room. It was a beautiful room of elegant proportions with a high ceiling and tall windows, framed by dramatic curtains. There was a gold paper on the walls and looking glasses ran down one side of it, reflecting the light from the windows, so that the whole room was light and airy.

Georgiana Darcy was sitting with her companion on one of the sofas.

Mr Darcy was standing by the white marble fireplace but as soon as the door opened he strode forward to welcome them into the room. His eyes smiled as his gaze fell on Elizabeth. She smiled in return, for there was something infectious in his good humour and she could not help being flattered by his obvious admiration.

Then he stood aside and performed the introductions.

Georgiana was tall and on a larger scale than Elizabeth, and although she was only just sixteen her appearance was womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother but there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were unassuming and gentle. She wore a simple white muslin gown which suited her quiet demeanour, for nothing about her demanded attention. Far from being the very proud young lady Mr Wickham had declared her to be, she instead looked embarrassed.

She had the kind of awkwardness which showed she was only just starting to act as her brother’s hostess, for although her reception of Elizabeth and Mrs Collins was very civil, she was clearly not comfortable.

Elizabeth realised at once that she was shy. To put her at her ease, Elizabeth spoke some friendly words to her and she was rewarded by seeing Georgiana relax.

What a trial it must be for her
, thought Elizabeth kindly.

As a member of the Darcy family, Georgiana’s behaviour would be scrutinised more than most and she would be expected, by society, to uphold the highest standards. Such expectations must place a burden on her, and therefore increase her awkwardness until she became used to her role as hostess.

Elizabeth was glad to see that Mr Darcy, however, was looking at his sister encouragingly. Such evidence of brotherly affection did him good in Elizabeth’s eyes, for she loved her own sister dearly and so she could understand his feelings.

From the grateful glance Georgiana gave her brother it was obvious she trusted him, and this was further evidence of their family affection, which Elizabeth admired.

Far from the unfeeling man she had once thought Mr Darcy, he was capable of affection.

Georgiana stood awkwardly for a moment, once she had welcomed her guests, but with a little prompting from her brother she invited her guests to sit down and then offered them tea.

‘How was your journey?’ she asked hesitantly.

Elizabeth helped her with this unadventurous topic of conversation by giving details of their journey, with a humorous anecdote about a procession of cows crossing the road just before they entered London. Georgiana smiled, and Elizabeth was rewarded for her small pains by a grateful look from Mr Darcy.

Miss Darcy ventured some other remark on the weather, which Elizabeth greeted with far more consideration than it deserved, for she knew what it had cost Georgiana to make it. She spoke of the weather in Kent, compared it to the weather in London and asked Georgiana how it compared to the weather in Derbyshire. Georgiana, glad of a question she could answer and thereby keep her part of the conversation going through her shyness, replied that she had not been to Pemberley for some weeks but that it had been very cold there, with snow on the ground.

At that point the servants entered with cold meat, preserves and cakes as well as all the paraphernalia for tea. Georgiana’s companion murmured gentle advice as Georgiana made sure her guests were supplied with something to eat.

Then Georgiana began to carefully pour out the tea.

‘Will you be going to Ramsgate again this summer?’ asked Charlotte, as Georgiana handed her a delicate china cup filled with tea.

Elizabeth was pleased with Charlotte for introducing the topic, for it would allow Georgiana to tell them about her visit there the previous summer. Georgiana would therefore not have to think of a suitable topic of conversation for quite some time.

But just as she was turning towards Charlotte with an approving glance, she was startled to see Georgiana blush bright red and the tea cup rattled in her hand.

Mr Darcy dexterously took the cup from his sister and handed it to Charlotte.

Elizabeth could not understand why Georgiana was so perturbed at the thought of Ramsgate, but she quickly changed the subject, saying, ‘I have never been to Ramsgate but I have been to Lyme. Have you been there?’

Georgiana managed to shake her head.

‘It is well worth a visit. Perhaps your brother might take you one day. It is exhilarating to walk along the Cobb, although care must be taken in bad weather as the wind is very strong. Do you like to walk? I confess I find the exercise invigorating.’

Georgiana nodded.

‘And do you like to go out in the phaeton? Your cousin Anne enjoys it very much.’

‘We have a phaeton at Pemberley,’ said Georgiana, who by now had brought herself back under control. ‘My brother often drives me round the park.’

Georgiana turned her attention to the tea once more and supplied the rest of her guests with the refreshing beverage. Nothing was then heard for some time except the clink of spoons in saucers and forks on plates.

When they had finished eating, Charlotte once again ventured on a new topic of conversation.

‘We met some friends of yours in the autumn,’ she said. ‘Mr Bingley rented Netherfield Park and his sister stayed with him. I believe you know Mr Bingley and his family?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Georgiana.

‘We met another of your friends as well, Mr Wickham,’ said Charlotte.

Again Miss Darcy blushed a fiery red.

Elizabeth was alarmed and changed the subject quickly, praising the flower arrangements in the room and saying, ‘Do you arrange the flowers, Miss Darcy?’

Georgiana’s companion filled the embarrassed silence, for Georgiana was still unable to speak, and said, ‘Miss Darcy arranges flowers very well. The arrangement at the end of the room is her work.’

The safe subject of flower arranging was taken up and they all talked of it energetically. But as Elizabeth talked of flowers, her thoughts were running on less harmless matters, for a dreadful thought had just occurred to her.

Could Miss Darcy be the heiress with whom Mr Wickham tried to elope?
she thought in horror; for, from something he had said to her the previous autumn, she knew he had been in Ramsgate over the summer.

If so, that would explain Mr Darcy’s hostility towards Mr Wickham – a hostility which had always seemed out of proportion to any small indiscretions Mr Wickham might have committed. And it would explain Georgiana’s crimson blushes.

She glanced at Mr Darcy and his expression told her she had guessed the truth.

How horrible it must have been for him to have met Mr Wickham again in Meryton. And how much worse to find out that Mr Wickham was universally liked, whereas he himself was despised.

Elizabeth was ashamed to think that she had been one of those despising him.

How wrong she had been.

And how good he was to have forgiven her.

A warm feeling stole over her. He was a much better man than she had ever realised.

And he was in love with her.

The warm feeling spread throughout her body and filled her with happiness.

A silence had once more fallen over the room and Elizabeth said, ‘Will you play something for us, Miss Darcy?’

‘Yes, Georgiana, please do,’ said Mr Darcy, encouraging his sister.

Georgiana rose shyly to her feet and went over to the pianoforte. She played a Mozart sonata and followed it with several other pieces, all expertly played with feeling as well as brilliance.

Elizabeth found herself thinking how pleasant it would be to play duets with Georgiana in the beautiful drawing-room and arrange flowers for the house and organise balls and dinner parties and . . .

She stopped herself there as her thoughts ran away with her, for she had been about to think how happy it would make her to live there with Mr Darcy.

If she had accepted his proposal, then that future might have come to pass. But she did not even remember his proposal, save for its description in her letter.

Even if she had accepted him, their marriage would never have come to pass, for he was doomed to live the same day over and over again.

She could scarcely believe it. And yet she had the evidence of the letter to show her it was true.

It was with lower spirits, therefore, that she passed the rest of the afternoon.