Too Close to Mr Darcy Page 13

  “We need not hurry,” Miss Anne said. “I am grateful you have even agreed to come along. I am pleased to simply walk my dear Thunderclap and be close to him once again. I thought he would have forgotten me, but animals are more loyal than people. They hardly forget.”

  She patted the horse’s luscious blond mane and bent over to stroke its chest. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was concentrated on moving as little as possible. She was afraid that any extra movement might set off her animal at a pace faster than a crawl. Her face was nearly drained of color and her hands sweat inside her riding gloves.

  In the distance, the two gentlemen had reached their destination and now waved vigorously at the ladies to follow along. Elizabeth prayed that Miss Anne would not be tempted to leave her behind.

  “So, you said you have never mounted a horse and yet you look as if you have had some training.”

  “Only the very modest kind,” Elizabeth said and thought back to her experience earlier in the day.

  The vivid memory of the myriad sensations she had experienced rushed back into her mind. Mr. Darcy’s distinct scent of orange peel, pinecone and musk, the strength of his arms as he lifted her effortlessly onto the saddle, his thrilling proximity… He had been so close, she had been able to smell the cocoa on his breath and feel the warmth of his chest. Elizabeth had never thought that mounting a horse could yield such intimate, pulse-racing moments.

  “Miss Bennet?” Miss Anne said, expectation in her tone. “Are you at all listening?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “I must have become too absorbed in maintaining my balance. What was it you asked?”

  “I asked, what do you think of Mr. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth nearly jumped in her saddle and involuntarily pulled on the reins. Her abrupt reaction caused the horse to whinny and then let out a loud snort of disapproval as it settled back into a trot. Elizabeth panicked. She could not tell what horrified her more, her horse changing temper or the fact that Miss Anne was waiting for a response to her question.

  “I rather dislike him,” Elizabeth said, surprising both herself and her mistress whose mouth fell open.

  Elizabeth winced at what she had just said. What was the matter with her? Even if she believed the man to be intolerable, a notion she revisited less and less frequently recently, she had no business being open about it to her mistress and his future fiancee.

  Miss Anne suddenly burst into laughter.

  “Miss Bennet! You are uproarious,” she said while gulping for air. “I cannot believe Mama was the one to employ you. She would have had a fit if she ever heard you. Your honesty is so refreshing after all the pretense I have been surrounded with nearly all my life.”

  “Perhaps I was a bit too quick to speak…” Elizabeth tried to back out of the uncomfortable situation she had just put herself into.

  “No, please, be forward. What is it that you find disagreeable about him? Given that I might need to spend the rest of my life with him, I think it important to see him through another’s eyes. And not the eyes of my mother who thinks all other men pale in comparison to him.”

  “I…” Elizabeth considered her words carefully this time. “Well, it is just that I did not first meet Mr. Darcy upon my arrival at Rosings.”

  “Is that so?” Miss Anne said, lifting her eyebrows.

  “Yes. I first came across him at an assembly back in Meryton where I am from. My station was quite different back then, of course. I was left with the impression that his sense of privilege deprived him of getting any enjoyment out of the event.”

  “In other words, you thought him arrogant, self-important and completely dismissive of anyone who did not match him in wealth and position?” Miss Anne probed.

  Elizabeth reminded herself she should not shift much despite the clear sense of discomfort that made her fidgety and restless in the saddle.

  “You might say so,” she admitted, thinking back to the way Mr. Darcy had insulted her all that time ago and finding herself burning with indignation once more.

  Miss Anne laughed heartily.

  “That is our Fitzwilliam,” she said. “It is not the first time I hear someone express this view of him. But, tell me, what do you think of him now? You have seen enough of him to either amend or solidify your opinion.”

  Elizabeth was glad they reached an arch in the hedge ahead, which only allowed for one horse to pass through. Riding one behind the other, Miss Anne could not see the deep red of her flushed face.

  Yes, her opinion of Mr. Darcy had changed, but she did not like to admit to it. Being appalled by his despicable character had been much easier than finding aspects of it she admired and even craved. Certainly despising a man she could never be with had been much easier…

  Elizabeth remembered she had not responded yet.

  “My opinion has little changed,” she lied. “After all, I have only seen very little of him. Our positions do not imply much relation so I might be biased from past experience. You should not allow my distorted view of him to influence your opinion in any way.”

  Now that the two women were riding side by side again, Elizabeth saw that her mistress had a mysterious smile over her face. She seemed amused by some secret knowledge or realization that she was not about to share. Elizabeth wished she knew what was on the young woman’s mind.

  Had her mistress believed even a word she had said? Had Elizabeth’s growing attraction to the most forbidden of all men become obvious to her?

  She decided she must change the subject at once or she was at risk of losing both her mind and her control on the reins.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Anne?” she asked. “Please, tell me we did not rush too much with this ride. Are you feeling any faint or hot?”

  “Ride?” Miss Anne said, laughing again. “Dear Miss Bennet, we are barely crawling along. I assure you I am more than fine. In fact, I have been meaning to thank you for all this.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth said, confused.

  “Do you not see that you have given me back my life?”

  “You are being too generous with—”

  “No, please,” Miss Anne said passionately. “Do you not see? Before you came here, I was bound to my bed, sipping my potions and smelling my salts, squinting into a gloomy room that reeked of wax, sickness and vinegar. Every day I dulled my mind with the same old copy of Sermons to Young Women, waiting for the high point of my day, which was my doctor’s visit. How is that for a life?”

  Elizabeth smiled, acknowledging the progress the two of them had achieved over the course of a few short weeks.

  “Thanks to you, I am now indulging my mind, exerting my body, and nourishing my spirit and I do so willingly, without being afraid that everything I do would only worsen my condition. Miss Bennet, whatever my mother says, you have been detrimental to my recovery. So, yes, I feel better than fine.”

  Elizabeth did not miss her mistress’s subtle suggestion that she had been the topic of conversation between Lady Catherine and her daughter this morning. She had sensed she had been playing with fire ever since the old mistress of Rosings did not rejoice at Dr. Morton’s assessment of Miss Anne’s health.

  Was it possible that Lady Catherine wanted her daughter to remain sick? Was it conceivable that Elizabeth was standing in the way of some hidden plan of hers? Was she a hindrance the old woman would soon run out of patience for?

  Elizabeth shook the grim thoughts away. As unpleasant as Lady Catherine seemed, Elizabeth could not allow herself to believe the old woman to be that vile as to wish for her own daughter to remain sick in her bed in order to fulfill some evil plan.

  “Come on!” Miss Anne’s cheerful voice urged her on and finally distracted her. “Let’s race to the pond! It’s only a few yards!”

  “Please, Miss Anne!” Elizabeth called after her, but the young woman had already smacked her riding crop against her horse’s backside and was flying forward towards the couple of gentlemen who we
re still patiently awaiting them.

  Before she could react, Elizabeth was swept forward like a dry leaf caught up in a gust of wind. Her horse, suddenly becoming agitated by the other animal’s burst forward, had rushed after it. Elizabeth’s limited experience was not enough to rein it in. For a moment, she allowed fear and panic to overtake her. It was long enough for her to lose her firm grip on the leather handles and let them slip out of her loosened fingers.

  She flew out of the saddle and landed in a heap over the still thin cover of early spring grass. The shock of the fall was enough to render her momentarily disoriented and numb. Her first thought was that she had sustained no injuries as no pain made itself known in those first treacherous seconds after she landed. Not a minute later, a sharp sting radiated from her ankle, traveling up her leg and soon taking over her entire body.

  “Ah,” she squealed despite herself. The miserable sound was loud enough to attract Miss Anne's attention.

  "Oh my!" she screamed. "Elizabeth! Wait, do not move!"

  Elizabeth had no intention to. She only registered the use of her Christian name through a mind foggy with the pain. She realized she was clutching her ankle, doubled over and wailing like a wounded animal despite her better manners. Tears prickled the back of her eyes.

  Faintly, she heard Miss Anne shout something and noticed her mistress waving frantically in the distance. Elizabeth waited. It was all she could do in the state she was in.

  The first person to reach her was not Miss Anne, however. A tall silhouette bent over her, blocking the sunlight. Elizabeth did not need to see clearly to know who it was. He was close enough for her to smell and sense.

  "Mr. Darcy, I should not have—" she whispered through gritted teeth.

  "Hush now," he said as he knelt beside her and looked at the spot she was rubbing. He gently removed her hands and started to unlace her boot. Despite the pain, Elizabeth was still capable of other emotions, such as the utter embarrassment of having a gentleman handle her footwear. "Do not try to speak or move. I will take care of you."

  Mr. Darcy's words were like a balm to her aching body and, suddenly exhausted, Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the deep timbre of his voice. It seemed to erase the hard edges of her pain and lull her into a trance-like state.

  Carefully, Mr. Darcy placed one of his arms under her knees while slinging the other around her shoulders. For the second time today, he lifted her but this time she could feel even more of his body, his warmth and his distinct scent as he carried her towards his horse, her body tightly pressed against his.

  He lifted her gently onto the saddle, making sure her foot was not in a position to move much or be bounced by the horse, then climbed behind her.

  Elizabeth was glad he could not see her face. She was certain her suddenly rosier cheeks betrayed the way she felt rather clearly. Only this morning she had thought that she had never before been in such intimate proximity to a gentleman and here she was, wrapped in Mr. Darcy's arms again, her back resting against his firm chest.

  Her heart hammered in her chest and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She closed her eyes again in an attempt to still her racing pulse. After a soft urge from Mr. Darcy, once he had made sure Elizabeth was comfortable in the saddle in front of him, the horse finally took off towards the house.

  Thankfully, the main entrance was not too far away. Elizabeth's head gently bumped against Mr. Darcy's shoulder and the side of her hip was intimately lined with his leg, which made her tingle all over. Although she still felt the pain, it was mixed with something else, a sort of physical bliss she had not yet experienced in her life.

  Elizabeth only opened her eyes when she felt the horse slow its gait. She guessed correctly that they had almost reached the house. The setting sun reflected off the polished surfaces of the tall windows lining its grand facade. Its oranges, purples and golds transformed them into mirrors.

  As she allowed herself to relax her body into Mr. Darcy's inviting warmth one final time before she stiffened in preparation for coming down from the saddle, Elizabeth had no idea that a set of prying eyes was observing her every move from behind one of the tall, fire-colored mirrors.

  19

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh had many fears. She was scared of old age, mice and people with long fingernails. Most of all, however, the old woman was terrified that she might lose Rosings Park, the home she had shared with her late husband and where she had spent most of her life.

  She realized that the only way to keep Rosings in the family was to ensure that her only daughter married within their wide circle of relatives. She had shrewdly singled out Fitzwilliam Darcy as the best match for Anne. He was, in her estimation, handsome, virtuous and well-educated. He also possessed wealth of his own, so Lady Catherine could spend the rest of her days at Rosings while the young newly-weds would travel to live at Pemberley, Darcy's own inherited estate.

  Lady Catherine was also not a fool. She was perceptive enough to see that neither Anne nor Fitzwilliam were any more fond of each other than a brother and a sister would be. She believed that connection to be enough for a good marriage and still, Darcy stalled.

  He had not yet proposed to Anne and he seemed in no rush to do so despite their intimate conversation last week. Lady Catherine had been briefly encouraged when she saw that the two cousins had at least started to spend more time together, but she also knew that if there was anything that would spur the young man into action, it would not be frivolous chats with Anne and walks in the park.

  It would be guilt.

  Perpetuating the myth of Anne's illness had become an obsession for the old woman. She believed Fitzwilliam's sense of obligation was strong enough for him to fulfill his duty towards Anne if he were sufficiently convinced that the latter had little chance of surviving. Lady Catherine had somehow managed to appease her own consciousness with the thought that she was doing all this for Anne's own good.

  Because, what of the alternative? Her shy, sheltered, plain-looking daughter would undoubtedly either remain a spinster or be caught up in the greedy schemes of a suitor below her station, someone who would be lusting after Rosings rather than after Anne herself.

  Lady Catherine would not be able to bear it.

  Yet, recently, an unforeseen obstacle had appeared to thwart her plans even further. The young companion she had hired for her daughter was more trouble than worth.

  Indeed, Lady Catherine was not a fool.

  She had seen the effect Miss Elizabeth Bennet had on both her daughter and her nephew. She had seen the way Fitzwilliam's eyes followed her around dreamily while trying to remain discreet. He drank her every word with the thirst of a man in love.

  What was with young people these days? What was this sudden tendency of them entertaining the notion that anyone of good social standing should marry for love? What happened to family obligation and loyalty?

  Anne was also under Miss Bennet's spell and seemed to have completely lost her focus on her impending engagement. It took constant reminding on Lady Catherine's part to keep the girl on course.

  Lady Catherine was also an old and wise woman. She knew with a certainty that she had made a mistake in employing Miss Bennet in the first place. She also knew she should get rid of the young woman as soon as possible before the situation worsened.

  Yet, one last thing she knew without a doubt was that forbidden fruit was the sweetest and she was not about to make Miss Bennet any more attractive in either her daughter or her nephew's eyes by simply firing her...

  Elizabeth and Miss Anne sighed with delight as the latter placed her index finger to mark the spot she had reached and closed the book she had been reading out loud. For a while both stared unseeingly before them, still savoring the deliciously dangerous scene Miss Anne had just finished.

  "Is it not entertaining to have our roles reversed?" Miss Anne said eventually.

  "Quite entertaining," Elizabeth said. "I only hope Lady Catherine does not sudd
enly realize I am too much of a liability for the household and promptly fire me."

  "Nonsense!" Miss Anne said and stood up from the stool by the vanity. She circled the bed and reached to adjust Elizabeth’s pillows.

  Then she proceeded to fix the hard cushion that Dr. Morton had recommended Elizabeth place under her sprained ankle. In addition, he had prepared an herbal salve she was to apply frequently to speed up the healing process.

  Elizabeth's foot still throbbed with pain during the night, but the swelling had gone down considerably and the awful purple bruise that had bloomed over the wound had changed colors several times. It had now faded to a gray-green color similar to lichen. In short, she was feeling much better, although it was still too early for her to walk.

  Miss Anne ambled to the window and peered outside.

  "Tell me what you see," Elizabeth said, her eyes pleading. She had been confined to her room for nearly a week now and she longed to be able to at least make the short distance to the window to see for herself. The doctor had expressly forbidden it.

  "It is rather gloomy," Miss Anne said. "It might rain soon. But the trees are greener today.”

  Elizabeth sighed with longing. Gloomy or not, she wished she could breathe in the damp, earthy scent of the rainy spring morning.

  "I still do not see why you insist on spending your time with me here when I am perfectly capable of being on my own. I am certain you have much more exciting prospects for your day."

  "Dear Elizabeth," Miss Anne said, "You feel like a sister to me. I would not leave you, regardless of what Mama might say."

  This time Elizabeth did not even flinch at the use of her Christian name. Miss Anne had taken to speaking it so often, it had become a regularity. The mention of Lady Catherine did not unsettle her either. She was now familiar with Miss Anne's tendency to rebel against her mother's wishes and suspected that the old woman did not quite have an idea of how much time her daughter spent in her companion's room.