8. Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

That night, Darcy's sleep was haunted by dreams of his sister and George Wickham. In the wee hours, he awoke with a start, bathed in sweat. Grumbling, he threw back the counterpane and slipped out of bed, and paced the room for several minutes. Finally he sat down heavily in the chair by the window, and stared out onto the moonlit landscape. The waxing moon had not yet grown past a sliver, but in the cloudless sky, it was enough to cast eerie shadows upon the gardens and fields.

Bother and damnation! He laughed under his breath. Richard has me swearing like a soldier now! Mother would be devastated to know I might even think such language. He raked unruly curls from his face and cradled his face in his hands. Will that man always haunt me? Can I not even sleep without his face tormenting me?

He stood and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. I should have taken action against him. I could have had him sent to debtor's prison back at Ramsgate. Had I done that, I would not be facing him yet again, here and now. But in the time it would have taken to accomplish that, he would have made good on his threat to reveal Georgiana's indiscretions. He would have ruined her in the eyes of society. I know well enough that he would have had no compunctions about doing it either. He was quick enough to take advantage of her in the first place. His stomach knotted tightly and he felt ill. I should have found a way to stop him then. I had not considered that he might…what a fool I was! At the time, I just wanted him and my problems to be gone!

He found his robe and slipped it on, tying it tightly against the chill of the evening. Quietly he pushed open his door and made his way to the library, where he knew Bingley kept a bottle of brandy. He was surprised to find a small fire still burning in the room, but ignored it in favor of the brandy. He poured himself a glass and, lost in thought, wandered to a chair near the fire. A sudden gasp startled him from his lassitude. His head snapped up, and he looked up into the astonished face of Elizabeth Bennet.

"Mr. Darcy!" she gasped.

"Miss Elizabeth!" he stammered. "Please forgive me! I had no idea you were here!"

Regaining her composure quickly, she smiled. "I do not suppose that you would. It is not where one expects to find a lady in the middle of the night." She laughed softly. "It would seem that you are quite intent on encountering me when I am at my most improper." She blushed prettily.

For a moment Darcy stared, entranced. She was curled on the sofa, wrapped in a shawl, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the fringe. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, bound lightly in a ribbon away from her face. Her eyes were bright and sparkled in the firelight. In her hands, she held a worn leather-bound volume. I dare say she is even more beautiful now than she was in the field that day. "Once again, it appears that I am guilty of intruding on your privacy. I should go." He retreated back a step.

"There are those who would say I am never fit for company, sir." She sighed wistfully. "If you wish, I do not mind if you share the fire with me."

How scrupulously I have avoided this very scenario, being caught in a compromising situation. Now I find that it has happened through no design of the lady nor fault of my own. Yet, she has no desire to take advantage of it. I would never have imagined a lady could be so guileless. I know I should not stay, but what further harm can it do to sit here now? He settled himself on the settee opposite the one she occupied. "You are quite gracious, Miss Elizabeth, thank you."

He has a charming smile, though he does not reveal it often enough. She realized that she was staring at him, fascinated by his open collar. Her blush deepened, and she looked away.

"What are you reading?" he asked casually, sipping his brandy.

"Jane brought this for me from home. It is a favorite of mine." She turned the cover so he could read it.

He leaned forward to read the worn lettering in the dim light. "I am familiar with that work, but find I prefer the bard's histories."

"I would have thought you more favorably disposed to his comedies," she replied, the corner of her lips twitching.

"I think you should be nearly alone in that opinion. I believe Bingley is the only one who might agree with you."

She held his eyes and chuckled.

"Are you laughing at me, Miss Elizabeth?" He sat back, a perplexed look on his face. And why does the thought of that not bother me?

"No, certainly not that. My manners surely have not fallen to that level, sir." I have no doubt that you appreciate a well turned joke much more than you let on.

The sweet warmth of her smile produced the oddest sensation in his chest. "But you are laughing."

"I am laughing at the thought of anyone, even you, sitting stone faced through Much Ado About Nothing [sup]1[/sup]. You cannot tell me you do not enjoy Beatrice and Benedict and their efforts to aid the luckless Hero and Claudio?"

"I suppose I am of a very serious mien, for I find it difficult to see the lightheartedness in a young woman nearly ruined by the machinations of an evil man," he murmured, staring into the fire. Had Georgiana only been as innocent as Hero.

"But was not her innocence proven in the end, and those who wronged her brought to justice?" Lizzy drew her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.

She is utterly charming, a pixie debating the finer points the Bard's works. "I will grant you, justice is the final conclusion in this case. But is it not true that in life, such men often escape such a righteous fate?"

"I fear I must grant you that," she somberly agreed, the smile disappearing from her face.

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, noting the rough stubble that scraped his fingertips. "Having several younger sisters, I am surprised that the machinations of Don John do not trouble you further." He raised his brows.

She gazed at him critically for a moment. I wonder what he knows about Lydia and Kitty. Is he trying to tell me something? Certainly not, he is much more direct a man than that. "I suppose if I allowed myself to dwell upon them, they would, sir. You are quite correct; the world is not a kind place to young women. They may be so easily ruined. I suppose then, if anything, the play would imply that it is the duty of those around them to steadfastly come to their defense when one such as our villain Don John would try to work his intrigues." She shifted slightly, and pulled the shawl more tightly around her. With a slight shake of her head, she added, "But I am not made for melancholy. I attend more to Beatrice."

Darcy suddenly laughed, surprising even himself. She cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow in question. "Forgive me, you just caused me to recall an evening at the theater when Bingley declared I reminded him of Benedict at his most insufferable. I could not imagine what he meant." He snickered under his breath, his expression belying his words.

Lizzy giggled merrily. "My father has at times warned me to take care, lest someone mistake me for Beatrice. My youngest sisters have cautioned me that my tongue is as sharp as hers."

Darcy stared at her, his eyes glittering with warmth. "I cannot imagine why." I have never felt more comfortable with anyone before, and yet this moment is so very improper. Why does it feel so natural to talk with her like this? Bingley would harrumph and tell me it is because I have found the Beatrice to my Benedict. The thought arrested him; his heavy brows knit.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Darcy?" She peered into his face intently.

He shook his head slightly and forced his lips into a wry smile, "No, not at all. It was just a passing thought, not one worth dwelling upon." He sipped the last of his brandy and reluctantly pushed himself up from the settee. "Thank you for your company," he lifted his empty glass toward her, "but I believe it is time for me to retire. Good night." He bowed slightly, feeling a bit awkward doing so in a nightshirt and robe.

"Thank you, sir, I have been abed too much these last few days, and I believe I shall linger here a bit longer. Good night."

Darcy returned to his room, pondering on Benedict and Beatrice, their faces replacing Wickham's in his dreams.

Bingley finished buttoning his coat as he hurriedly made his way down the stairs. At least I can be certain that Caroline will not intrude this morning. He snickered under his breath. Darcy was right. I should have taken a stand with her long ago. But now it is done and done for the best. He struggled to suppress his grin as he saw her face in his mind's eye.

"Why did you ask Mr. Darcy for his opinion on Miss Bennet?" Caroline demanded angrily as he came out of his study.

"What are you doing here? Why were you eavesdropping on my private conversations?"

She waved her hand. "That is not the point here…"

"I believe it very much is."

"You cannot possible be considering that country chit…"

"You will not dismiss me, Caroline," he snapped, squaring his shoulders.

Her eyes bulged as her jaw dropped. "You will not speak to me in that tone…"

"I most certainly will, Sister. Have you forgotten that I am head of this family, not you? If you wish to leave my protection, I will turn your fortune over to you and put you on the first post coach back to London."

"You would do no such thing." She stepped very close and glared into his face.

"Do not test me in this, I have tolerated enough from you. I will have no more of your meddling in my affairs, no more of your insulting the Bennets, and no more pursuing Darcy." He crossed his arms firmly over his chest, tapping his foot rapidly.

"You cannot be serious! Those Bennets…"

"…are friends. I will not have you belittle them in my home any longer."

"Someone must speak sense to you! You will ruin us if you persist in this foolishness!" Her shrill voice pierced his ears.

"Someone has spoken sense to me and warned me not to trifle with her. So I shall not." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Thank heavens for that! I knew Darcy could not support such nonsense." She threw her hands up in relief.

"I intend to court her, if she will have me." He could not restrain the smug look of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Have you gone barking mad?" She stomped to him.

He raised his open hands to halt her advance. "Not another word, Caroline. Do not test me, for I have seen what a firm hand with a younger sister can bring about, and I am quite determined to act on that example. Now remove yourself to your room for I will have no more of this conversation."

She drew a deep breath to speak.

"A single word more and I shall instruct your maid to begin packing immediately. My coach can be ready to leave in a quarter of an hour." He folded his hands in front of him.

Her mouth worked silently for several minutes, but finally she shut it. With a loud huff, she whirled and stomped away.

He followed her with his eyes, a grin blooming across his face. He felt someone watching him. Turning to look, he saw Darcy in the doorway of the study, nodding his approval.

He slowed his steps to a more dignified pace as he reached the bottom of the stairs. As he approached the morning room, his breath hitched. She was there!

Jane sat at a small table, alone in the room, her face turned toward the garden window. Her elbow braced on the table, she held a teacup in her hand, stopped midair. The morning light glinted off her hair, making it appear as spun gold. A small smile graced her lips and lit her eyes as she watched several birds flit playfully through the bushes. He stood in the doorway a moment, just drinking in the sight. She is so beautiful and so wise. Sometimes I feel just like a puppy around her. He sighed softly. Could a woman like her ever look at me as more than that? The corners of his mouth drooped slightly, and he leaned his head and shoulder against the door frame.

At the soft sound, she turned. Her eyes brightened, and her smile grew. "Good morning, Mr. Bingley," her soft voice caressed his ears, and he knew—he just knew.

Suddenly his knees turned soft, and he leaned harder against the door jamb. A grin suddenly burst upon his face. "Good morning, Miss Bennet," he said brightly. His strength returned, and he strode into the morning room. He stood behind her for a moment. "The garden is lovely at this hour. Would you care to take a turn in it with me?" His heart raced.

Craning her neck to look up at him, she caught his eyes and held them in a warm embrace. "I think that would be very pleasant, sir. It will take me but a moment to fetch my bonnet and pelisse."

He pulled her chair for her and, in a moment, she was gone. A chill descended over him, as if the fire had gone out in the room. With a quick glance, he checked – it had not. Sinking into her empty seat, he braced his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist to watch for her return.

True to her word, she reappeared only a few minutes later. Bingley beamed as he rose and offered her his arm. Caroline is never ready so quickly.

Jane slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and allowed him to lead her into the garden. Bees buzzed around the last flowers of the summer whilst birds called to them from the trees. Lizzy called him a puppy. She was right; he is amiable and loyal, but there is more to him than that. "The gardens here are quite fine." She looked down the neat beds. "Your gardener has quite a hand with the roses."

"I am quite pleased with them. I must admit, they are one of the things that drew me to this property." Bingley took in her peaceful expression with a sidelong glance. "Hurst's townhouse in London has very little garden to speak of. I found that I missed having one very much."

"Your previous residence had extensive gardens?" she asked, clutching his arm more firmly as she stumbled slightly over a stone.

He placed his hand over hers securely, enjoying the closeness. "I suppose it depends on what you might call extensive, Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy's Pemberley has extensive gardens. My mother's were nothing to that." He laughed softly. "But she was quite fond of them, and took a great deal of care with them. Though the townhouse we had was smaller than what might be considered fashionable, the gardens were large by comparison."

"My mother was very fond of her gardens. Kitty and I maintain them now." Jane looked up at a bird flying past. "They are not quite so formal as yours. She preferred to leave them more…what was the word she used…unstructured. It was the way Papa liked them; it was one of the last sights he saw, and she could not bear to change them from what he remembered."

"I think of my mother when I am in a garden. There are times I miss her very much." He turned his gaze to his boots.

Jane swallowed hard. "I miss mine as well, sir."

"I recall how difficult it was for my sisters, especially Louisa…Mrs. Hurst, when mother left us. She tried to care for Caroline, but…well I am sure you know." He peeked at her and noticed the sadness on her face. "Forgive me, I have said too much."

She patted his arm with her free hand. "Not at all. I must confess, it is actually a relief to have a moment where one can confess the sadness to one who understands and does not feel the need to pretend it does not exist."

They walked on in companionable silence for a few moments, pausing at a shaded bench some distance from the house. "Would you care to sit down?" He extended his arm toward it.

"Thank you, I would." He brushed a few stray leaves off the wooden bench, and they both sat down. "Have you been long without your father?" She smoothed her pelisse.

"It was just three years at Michaelmas." He chewed his knuckle absently. "He would have approved of Netherfield. That was his dream, to see us settled into the gentry."

"Is it yours as well?" She turned to look into his eyes.

She has the most penetrating gaze. I feel as though she is looking into my soul. He paused thoughtfully. "I confess, I do wish to have an estate. Darcy's love of Pemberley has left me longing for a place on which to leave my mark, a place in which to invest myself in something that will live on beyond me." Jane smiled approvingly. His heart soared. "But, whilst I dearly enjoy the society of others, I would prefer to do so in a place such as this, without the strictures of the ton . Climbing the social ladder is not nearly so appealing to me…"

"As it is to your sister, Miss Bingley?" she finished for him with an understanding nod.

"I suppose it does not take a great deal to observe the differences between us."

The funny little smile of his is so endearing! "Though Elizabeth and I are quite like-minded, I often find myself thinking the same thing of my youngest sister."

"I think Caroline finds it quite vexing that I do not share her enthusiasm for seeking status and connections." He scuffed the dirt with the tip of his boot.

"I believe Lydia would say similar things about Lizzy and myself." Jane reached above her to pluck a leaf from the tree and twirl it around in her fingers.

"It seemed that you and Louisa became better acquainted when we rode home from Meryton together."

"I believe we did." Jane felt his eyes on her and blushed. She focused on the leaf in her hand. It was still a rich green, but soon the leaves would begin to color with the rich tones of autumn.

"Will you call on her after you return to Longbourn?" he asked, biting his lower lip anxiously.

Startled, she looked up into his beseeching eyes. "Why, I do not…that is to say, I had not considered…well, yes, I believe that I will."

He grinned boyishly, "Capital!" Seeing her surprise, he caught himself. "That is to say, I am sure she will be quite pleased." His ears turned red and burned. She peered into his eyes, but he quickly looked away. A moment later, though, he looked back. "Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, Mr. Bingley." She held her breath.

"Would you…could I…" he sighed in frustration. "May I call upon you at Longbourn?" He fought the urge to take her hand. To his surprise, her forehead creased in pain, and she looked away. "Miss Bennet?"

"I am sorry," she stammered and rose. She began to walk, but chose to continue down the garden path rather than return to the house.

He quickly followed after her. "Miss Bennet! Please!" She continued, walking quickly, staring at the path. "I do not understand!" he pleaded, but she did not slow. Finally, he took several long steps and got in front of her. He stopped and faced her.

She stopped short and drew in a sharp breath. Looking up into his face, she saw his confusion and sadness. Gasping, she covered her face with her hands and gulped back a little sob.

"Please do not cry! Tell me what is wrong," he begged, his hands on her shoulders.

Jane could not speak; the tears flowed out of control. Unable to stop himself, Bingley drew her to his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. For several minutes, she wept until finally her tears were spent. At last she looked up at him, her face tear-stained and her eyes red. With a wistful smile, he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. Looking away, she wiped her face and dabbed at her eyes. Taking her hand, he led her to a fallen log and pulled her to sit down next to him. He was about to plead for another explanation, but the expression in her eyes arrested him. "Are those tears of sorrow, or of joy, Miss Bennet?"

"I am not sure I know myself," she confessed softly, wringing her hands. "Please forgive me, sir. I am not usually so volatile."

He chuckled, "No, your father has declared you the most peaceful woman in all of England." He caught a stray tear from her cheek. "I believe I am glad he was overstating his case."

Jane swallowed hard and shook her head. "There are times that I believe Papa thinks far too well of me."

"And it is difficult to know that you cannot possibly stand up to scrutiny. You know that if one looks too closely, your faults will be revealed, and all that you have tried to maintain will come shattering down around you?" Boldly he took her hand.

She gaped at him in astonishment. "How…" she whispered.

"My sisters, Caroline especially, think me an affable puppy and want very much to believe that is true. Any time I have tried to show them differently, they have become quite disappointed in me." He rolled his eyes as his lips wrinkled into a frown. "Caroline in particular is very vocal in her disenchantment." He looked down and kicked his toe in the dirt. "I fear I learned a long time ago that it was best to keep her placated. Her tantrums used to upset my father greatly, and the doctors told me that he needed to avoid such upset as much as possible. So I generally ignored the bulk of her ramblings lest she begin squawking her displeasure. I fear I grew accustomed to giving into her. Even more so, she grew accustomed to it." He screwed his lips into an awkward frown and shook his head. "Perhaps it was not a wise choice on my part."

"I dread upsetting my papa and my sisters, too," she said softly, studying her feet. He squeezed her hand warmly, and she looked up into compassionate blue eyes.

"What else do you dread, Miss Bennet?" He stared deep into her eyes.

Lost in his gaze, she hesitated before she spoke, "I know you have met my father…"

"And found him to be a most congenial fellow. His is an acquaintance I hope to build into a friendship."

She sighed and chewed at her upper lip. "I love him so dearly…and he needs me."

A knowing look lit Bingley's eyes. "I should have realized." He rolled his eyes skyward. He took her hand and clasped it in both of his. Her hands are so dainty. "Nearly three years before his death, my father suffered an apoplexy that took away the use of the right side of his body."

"I am so sorry…" He silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips.

"My mother was gone and neither of my sisters had the disposition for the sick room. Caroline resented his infirmity greatly. I spent a great deal of time with him over business matters, often acting as his secretary, so it was only natural that I began to care for him too. I am well acquainted with being needed ." He closed his eyes briefly. "I still miss him dreadfully."

Jane stared up at him in wonder, tears overflowing once again. "Then you do not despise…you do not fear all that Papa's affliction may imply?" He shook his head gently. She struggled to blink the tears back, this time smiling as she did so.

"Does this mean that I may call upon you?"

"I would like that very much."

[sup]1[/sup]Much Ado About Nothing [size=8pts]is a comedy by William Shakespeare about two pairs of lovers, Benedick and Beatrice, and Claudio and Hero.

Benedick and Beatrice are engaged in a "merry war"; they both talk a mile a minute and proclaim their scorn for love, marriage, and each other. In contrast, Claudio and Hero are sweet young people who are rendered practically speechless by their love for one another. By means of "noting" (which sounds the same as "nothing," and which is gossip, rumour, and overhearing), Benedick and Beatrice are tricked into confessing their love for each other, and Claudio is tricked into rejecting Hero at the altar. However, Dogberry, a Constable who is a master of malapropisms, discovers the evil trickery of the villain, the bastard Don John. In the end, Don John is captured and everyone else joins in a dance celebrating the marriages of the two couples. [/size]