A Ride with Mr. Darcy Read online

  “Maybe he loves Lizzy!” Lydia broke in with a shrill giggle. “Can you imagine anything more unlikely?”

  Kitty and Mrs. Bennet joined in the shrill laughter and none seemed to notice that everyone else did not find it quite so amusing. Elizabeth found herself filled with a combination of panic and wounded pride—panic that Lydia had discovered the truth and hurt that she found it so unlikely.

  “What a thing to say, Lydia,” Elizabeth said, forcing herself to sound as if she too found the idea ridiculous. “I think it is far more likely that we have all simply misjudged his character from the start.”

  “Agreed,” Jane said, jumping into the conversation. “Aunt, how was it revisiting your childhood home?”

  Elizabeth heard the conversation drift away from her and Mr. Darcy, and she was exceedingly grateful. She did not know if Jane had done it by design or accident, but it was a relief nonetheless.

  Several hours later, after dinner and more conversation in the sitting room, Elizabeth and Jane were making their way up the stairs to their bedroom. The rest of the family remained with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, as they would be departing in the morning. But the long journey had finally caught up with Elizabeth and she knew she needed to retire.

  “Jane, I’ve missed you,” Elizabeth said, squeezing the arm that was supporting her. “I’ve had so much going on in my head and needing someone to talk with. I am glad that we are together once more.”

  “Yes, I can tell that you’ve had a lot on your mind,” Jane observed, opening the door to their room.

  Elizabeth waited for her to elaborate, but she did not. Both the sisters began to get ready for bed. When both of them were in their night clothes, Elizabeth finally felt ready to hear what Jane had to say.

  “How can you know that I’ve had a lot on my mind?” She asked.

  Jane took the hairbrush from Elizabeth’s hand and motioned her to sit. Elizabeth sat and Jane began to brush her hair before she answered.

  “Lizzy, you cannot think me blind,” she said. “From your departure until know, there has been a great change in your tone towards Mr. Darcy. I can remember your passionate declarations to hate him forever, and yet now you speak with a different tone.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Elizabeth stammered, shocked at Jane’s observations and words. She knew that she no longer hated the man, but Elizabeth was not sure whether “not hating” someone was quite as noteworthy as Jane was insinuating.

  “Could it be that there is some truth to Lydia’s jest?” Jane asked boldly.

  Elizabeth stared at her sister in the mirror. This was certainly not the conversation she had envisioned having with Jane—not tonight anyway. She dropped her eyes and remained quiet.

  Jane continued to brush her hair, giving Elizabeth time to think. Yes, Mr. Darcy had declared his love, but she had rejected it. And certain matters were still unresolved between them—Jane and Mr. Bingley being the most important of them. Mr. Darcy’s treatment of Jane still coloured her opinion of him, no matter how kind he had been. Elizabeth knew she had to remember that, she had to remember how Mr. Darcy had treated Jane.

  “I am not in a state of mind that will allow me to speak of such things,” Elizabeth said finally and Jane nodded.

  “Then we will talk of other things,” Jane said simply. “What else has been occupying your mind of late?”

  Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude towards her sister. She knew Jane was burning with curiosity, but Jane respected her enough to allow her privacy. Such restraint was rare.

  Instead, Elizabeth began to pour her heart out to Jane about the disconcerting aspects of her injury: memory loss, headaches, not being able to think. She talked and Jane listened long after they had blown out the candles. By the time she fell asleep, Elizabeth knew for certain that she was home.

  Chapter 10

  Darcy

  Darcy stood in front of the fireplace in his London home, eyes fixed upon the mantle clock. It was six o’clock on the evening of the twenty-sixth and Charles Bingley would be arriving at any moment. When he had first penned the invitation, Darcy had not considered the depth of confession his meeting with Bingley would require.

  He was not looking forward to admitting to his oldest friend that he had plotted behind Bingley’s back, in the company of Bingley’s sisters, and conspired to separate him from the woman he loved.

  As Darcy considered his actions, he winced: they sounded so horrible. However, Darcy thought sadly, his actions had been horrible. Whatever he had tried to tell himself about thinking of Bingley’s happiness above all, there had also been an overpowering assumption that the Bennet family was not good enough for Bingley to marry into.

  Darcy heard the front bell ring and his pulse quickened: that had to be Bingley. He had a plan for approaching the topic. He would go slowly, first mentioning that he had seen Elizabeth Bennet, then shifting the conversation toward Jane, then… Then he would have to tell Bingley the whole, awful, truth. He sighed heavily. No matter how slowly or carefully he revealed it, the end result would always be Darcy’s betrayal. It would not be an easy conversation.

  “Mr. Charles Bingley,” a servant intoned, showing Bingley through the door.

  “Darcy, what a delight!” Bingley said with a warm smile, bowing in greeting. Darcy met his smile and bowed in return.

  “Indeed, it has been too long, old friend.” He indicated a pair of chairs near the fire. “Please, have a seat. Port?” He held up a glass questioningly.

  “You know I never say no to a good glass of port,” Bingley said jovially, taking his seat and accepting the glass Darcy offered. “Your letter was most mysterious, I have hardly been able to contain my curiosity. What is this news that must be shared face-to-face?”

  Darcy took his seat and sipped his wine. He was attempting to slow down the conversation, and Bingley seemed to know it—his face wore an unmistakable look of impatience.

  “I saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet recently,” he began, not meeting Bingley’s eye.

  “Oh, did you?” Bingley replied, his excitement deflating. “And that is the news which could not be committed to paper?” He looked distinctly annoyed.

  “Not really,” Darcy admitted. His plan was not going the way he had intended. “I wonder if your sister is still in correspondence with Miss Jane Bennet?” With this question, Darcy knew he had made a mistake. Bingley’s face took on a mask of anger, and his reply was full of venom.

  “Not that I know of,” he said shortly. “After our abrupt departure from Hertfordshire, it is my understanding that we all cut off contact with the Bennets. I am quite surprised, therefore, to hear you bring them up in conversation.”

  Darcy knew anger would be a part of this night. Indeed, he had hoped for it—if Bingley was angry, it was a good indication that Bingley’s affections had not changed. But it did not make the situation any more comfortable.

  “Bingley,” Darcy sighed. “I am going to tell you a story. It will anger you beyond what you feel now, but it is necessary for me to tell you. I beg that you will not interrupt until I have finished. Will you do that for me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Bingley asked acerbically, an eyebrow arched.

  “Yes,” Darcy said. “But I urge you to hear me out. For at the end of the story lies possible happiness. For both of us.” Bingley looked intrigued at this, but still thought it over for a moment.

  “Alright,” he finally said. “I will do my best to hear you out without comment.”

  Darcy nodded, this was the best he could ask for. He took a deep breath and began his story.

  “When we left Netherfield, I was convinced it was for your own good,” he said. He could see Bingley grinding his teeth and quickly continued. “However, that action was, in part, for my benefit as well. For you had developed affections for Jane Bennet, and I…” He paused and swallowed hard. “I had developed feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Bingley stared at him, obviously not quite sure if he cou
ld believe what Darcy claimed. But he remained quiet.

  “I knew my affections were inappropriate—indeed for all the reasons I had given you in regards to Jane! More so on my part because Elizabeth had never displayed even a passing liking for me. I was convinced that the best course of action for us both was to leave Hertfordshire and seek the affections of women more appropriate to our stations.”

  Darcy paused to take a drink. He half expected Bingley to interject at this point, but his friend was as good as his word and remained silent.

  “Some time later, I went to visit my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I told everyone that I visited out of duty, but in truth, I heard Elizabeth was visiting an old friend of hers, recently married to the vicar on my aunt’s estate. I had to see her again. I thought for sure that if I saw her once more, my infatuation would be finished and I would be free of her. But it was not to be. When we met again, my affections redoubled until I could no longer contain them. I could not sleep, I could not eat: I knew I wanted to marry her. So I asked for her hand.”

  “You what?” Bingley snapped, thunder in his voice. Darcy could understand his friend’s outburst upon learning this fact.

  “I asked her to marry me,” Darcy repeated. “And was soundly, and vehemently, rejected.”

  “Wait,” Bingley said, trying to understand Darcy’s story. “She turned you down? You? But you are rich!”

  “Yes,” Darcy agreed dryly. “But this was the first of many indications that I had misjudged the Bennet girls and their motivations.”

  “I could have told you that,” Bingley said bitterly.

  “Yes. You have always been a more insightful man than I when it comes to social interactions,” Darcy admitted. “But please, allow me to continue.”

  Bingley nodded his assent, and Darcy resumed his story.

  “In the course of her rejection, I learned that she knew of my influence in your decision to quit Netherfield. She told me of her sister’s broken heart, of Jane’s true and lasting love for you, of the joy of which I had robbed you.” Darcy paused, trying to read Bingley’s face, for it had markedly changed.

  “She loves me?” Bingley asked in a whisper. “You mean she truly loves me?”

  “She does,” Darcy reassured him. “But please, I have not finished.” He took another drink before continuing. “After leaving Kent, I vowed I would never think upon Elizabeth Bennet again, and I tried desperately to live up to the determination. I was managing to do a fair job of it, until Elizabeth Bennet suddenly appeared in the stables at Pemberley.”

  Bingley laughed aloud at this development. Darcy could not tell if it was a bitter laugh, meant to bring him pain, or if it was merely finding amusement in the unlikelihood of the situation. Trusting that his friend, in spite of his anger, did not wish to harm him, he decided it was a laugh of amusement. He smiled back at Bingley.

  “Yes, it was quite the startling discovery. It transpires that Elizabeth was touring the Peak District with her aunt and uncle and had come to tour the house and grounds. My housekeeper had assured her I was not present, or I am certain that Elizabeth would not have agreed to the tour. But my housekeeper was behind the times, and I was working in the stables when Elizabeth came upon me—covered in sweat, hay, and the unpleasant leavings of my best horses.”

  “You always know how to make a fine impression,” Bingley said with another laugh.

  Darcy's mouth tightened for a moment. He hated to look foolish, but he continued with his story.

  “I invited her and her relations to go riding with me. You know how much more beautiful Pemberley is from horseback, and they agreed. However, in the course of our ride, Elizabeth was thrown and received an unsettling injury.”

  Bingley looked horrified at this news.

  “Thrown?” He asked, concern in his voice. “But is she alright?”

  “Yes,” Darcy assured him. “However, she was required to convalesce at my home for some days. In this time, we spent much more time together, and I fear that I am even more in love with this woman than I ever was before!” He buried his face in his hands, and his next words were somewhat muffled. “I thought I sensed a change in her feelings,” he said. “But I still do not know for certain. All I know is that I must try to win her over or I shall go mad from it all!”

  He sat back in his chair, hands away from his face, but his eyes avoiding Bingley’s. Both men sipped their drinks and neither spoke for some time.

  “So,” Bingley said finally. “Let me see if I understand. You conspired to get me away from the woman I love, the same woman who loves me.” Darcy nodded miserably. “At the same time, you fell in love with her sister.” Darcy nodded again, shame creeping upon him. “Now, months later, we have come to learn that Jane loves me, but Elizabeth, so far as you know, does not love you?”

  “Yes,” Darcy said wretchedly. “I think you understand.”

  Bingley nodded, seeming to think for a few moments.

  “Well,” he said finally. “We cannot allow this to stand.”

  “What?” Darcy asked, confused.

  “It will not do for your love to remain unrequited. No, it seems to me that we must return to Netherfield. I to claim my love, you to win yours.”

  “But,” Darcy said, completely thrown by this reaction. It was, to be sure, what he had hoped would happen. But he was certain he would be required to convince and cajole his friend, that he would have to face far greater anger. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

  “Oh, make no mistake,” Bingley said with a good-natured grin. “I am furious with you. But the joy of learning that Jane loves me is enough to push away that anger. And, the joy is enough that I wish to share it with you.”

  “Bingley,” Darcy said, hardly believing what he was hearing. “You are a good man, and a good friend.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” Bingley replied with a wide smile. But Darcy did not yet return it. There was still one piece that he needed to say, and he wanted Bingley to know he was serious.

  “Charles,” he said softly. “I am sorry. I am so sorry for stepping where I did not belong. It matters not what my motivations were, it caused you great pain, and I am sorry.”

  Bingley heard his words and nodded. His grin was replaced by a look of seriousness and he seemed to be contemplating his response.

  “I forgive you,” he said after a few moments. “Please do not do it again.”

  Darcy’s face cracked into a large smile.

  “You have my word,” he promised, raising his glass.

  “Good!” Bingley replied, raising his own glass in response. “Now, let us make our plan to win the hearts of the women we love!”

  Chapter 11

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth and Jane sat together in the garden, enjoying the sunshine after days of clouds and rain. Ostensibly, Jane was embroidering handkerchiefs while Elizabeth read, but in truth, both girls sat with their faces upturned, like flowers taking in the warm rays.

  “They’re coming!” Kitty’s shrill, excited voice broke through the calm. Elizabeth was so content in her positioning that it took her a moment to understand Kitty’s words.

  “What?” She asked sleepily, turning slowly to face her younger sister.

  “They’re coming!” Kitty said again, flitting back and forth, her hands tightening and loosening in her excited agitation.

  “Yes,” Jane said patiently. “But who are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Bingley!” Kitty exclaimed. Elizabeth heard Jane’s sharp intake of breath.

  “Mr…Bingley?” Jane said slowly.

  “Kitty, are you quite sure?” Elizabeth asked, her languid attitude now forfeited.

  “Quite!” A new voice entered the conversation and Elizabeth looked past Kitty to discover Lydia hurrying toward them as well. “And he isn’t alone!”

  “Mr…Bingley,” Jane said again, as if not quite sure what else to say.

  “And,” Lydia said, drawing herself up in front of her elder sisters. “You
shall never guess who else is with him.” Lydia smiled mischievously, clearly enjoying the thrall she held over Jane and Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth pursed her lips together, feeling annoyed at Lydia’s insistence upon drama.

  “Well, if Mr. Bingley is calling,” Elizabeth said, standing slowly. “I’m sure it is his sister who accompanies him.”

  “Yes, Caroline, of course,” Jane agreed, standing as well. Elizabeth reached out to steady Jane, for the other woman looked as if she might faint. Her cheeks had gone pale and she seemed unsteady upon her feet.

  “Ugh, no,” Kitty said, her face taking on a distasteful look at the mention of Caroline Bingley. “Not that odious woman.”

  “Kitty!” Elizabeth admonished. “You have no reason to speak that way about someone. Caroline Bingley was perfectly polite to us whenever we had occasion to meet.”

  Privately, however, Elizabeth more than agreed. For whatever good things the woman had to say to their faces, her words when the Bennets were out of earshot were undoubtedly unkind. And her behaviour toward Jane in London… unforgivable. But Lydia did not need to know that.

  “Then who comes with Mr. Bingley?” Jane asked, some colour returning to her face, no doubt in relief that at least Miss Bingley would not be joining them.

  “It’s that one who came with him to Netherfield the last time,” Kitty said, frustrating Lydia’s hold upon the conversation. “Mr. Derby? Mr. Mancy? The ill-tempered one who always looked as if he were in pain. The one who so took care of our Lizzy in Derbyshire.”

  “Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her own face and knew she must now look as pale as Jane. “No, he could not possibly be here. Are you certain?”

  “It is the same man as before,” Kitty confirmed, rolling her eyes.

  “Though, since he does not wear regimentals, you can hardly expect us to have learned his name,” Lydia said with a giggle.

  “But what do you mean they are coming?” Jane asked, still not quite certain what was happening. “You mean here? Now?”