Falling for Mr. Darcy (2 page)

“Mr. Darcy, sir?” Rogers opened the dressing room door to address his master.

Thankful for the diversion from his thoughts, he directed his valet. “Ready my riding clothes, Rogers, and inform the stables to saddle Salazar.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else? Shall I order a breakfast tray brought up?”

“No, thank you, Rogers. I shall breakfast when I return.”

“Very good, sir,” replied Rogers, as he retreated into the dressing room to prepare the clothing.

Yes, a very long, hard ride is just what I need this morning to extinguish these persistent thoughts of Elizabeth. No! She is not Elizabeth to you; she is Miss Elizabeth. Get hold of yourself, man!
he groaned as he chastised himself
. A hard ride and soon.

In his dressing room, he leaned back in the chair and stretched out, closing his eyes as Rogers began preparations for his shave. He knew he only had to make it through another week or so before he could politely tell Bingley he had business in London to attend and could leave Hertfordshire and the bewitching spell of Miss Elizabeth. He had to stay for the anticipated ball at Netherfield; he promised as much to Bingley the night before over a game of billiards — the ball, where Miss Elizabeth would be laughing, smiling and dancing in front of his eyes; her soft figure arresting him at every turn. He could just imagine the gentle pressure of her hands in his as he took her down the set. She would look up at him and smile and tease him as they danced.
Danced! You cannot dance with her; it would betray your feelings!
Moaning softly, he tried to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

The sound alerted Rogers. “Is everything all right, sir?”

“Oh . . . of course, yes, Rogers. Carry on.”

Trying to think rationally, Mr. Darcy focused his thoughts on his upcoming ride. He loved being out of doors and feeling the strength of his horse beneath him. He often beat out the stress of the demands of being the master of Pemberley or the worries he had over Georgiana by riding hard across a field. Only the sound of hooves beating into the soil and the exchange of air in his lungs seemed to work for him, pounding out his strain and doubts with each stride. It had not been easy becoming the master of Pemberley at a young age. Not infrequently did he long for the advice of his late father. His father would have known exactly what should have been done at Ramsgate with Georgiana — no, his father would not have made the mistakes that led to that situation in the first place. He had again been deceived by that dastard Wickham. Just thinking of him made Darcy’s temper rise. His only consolation was that his father was also deceived by the character of George Wickham.

However, his father was not there anymore and was no longer the master, nor was he responsible for Georgiana. Darcy was, and it was a heavy burden as he worried about how despondent she had become since the summer and that horrible day by the sea when he discovered Wickham’s scheme. Not for the first time, Darcy offered up a prayer of thanks that he arrived when he did. Still, the damage was done. His dear sister, the only family he had, was left hurting. He knew she felt remorseful and laid all the blame on herself, causing her to retreat even further into shyness. He tried to help her understand that she was not at fault and that he loved her, but she continued to hurt, and he did not know what to do about it. She needed some cheerfulness in her life. She needed liveliness and warmth.
She needs someone like Elizabeth.
If he allowed himself to be truthful, he knew that someone like Miss Elizabeth was exactly what he needed, too — someone to lift his spirits and help him to return to the Fitzwilliam Darcy that he was before the burdens of life weighed him down. She would do that for him and Georgie. Liveliness and cheer came naturally to her, and she radiated warmth. Thinking of her made him warm and contented when he allowed himself to do so without fighting it. His mind drifted to the time when she first came to enquire about Jane with concern after having walked determinedly to Netherfield. Her eyes were bright and her complexion was pink from the exercise. A few of her soft curls had escaped their pins, and they lay delicately at the nape of her neck. Her dress was splattered with mud and her shoes were caked in it as well. He remembered the way she bravely looked at the Bingleys when her arrival was announced — her eyes challenging them to reprove her for her impropriety and disgraceful appearance. Only he noticed the way her hands trembled slightly with uncertainty. He had never seen her look as beautiful as she did that day. It was all he could do not to cross the carpet and embrace her. He remembered how he had to hold on tightly to his teacup in a concentrated effort to will himself to remain where he was.

“Mr. Darcy, sir.” Rogers called his master to announce his shave was finished, but Mr. Darcy did not move. His face held a calm and contented look that made his valet smile. Whatever he was thinking about was certainly doing him some good. “Mr. Darcy?”

The voice of his valet finally stirred him from his thoughts, and opening his eyes, he rose from the shaving chair and began to dress. Looking in the mirror as he adjusted his cravat, he thought
, it is for the best; my duty demands a lady from higher circles. Besides, she will never know my weakness, and one day she will marry someone else.
Darcy grimaced as he contemplated her being another’s wife. Shaking the thought out of his head, he grabbed his riding crop and left his bedchamber with a determined stride in the direction of the stables. He did not pause to contemplate why he now had a bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath of crisp, cool, autumn air. In another mile, she would be able to see the beginnings of an outcrop of trees. It was her favorite place to ramble, listening to the birds singing their morning praises as well as the rustle of the trees: those still half-laden with leaves bright with the color of fire — yellow, orange and red. This was her favorite time of year. She picked up her pace, eager to see the forest come into view. The combination of new saplings and old, dying ancients helped her to clarify her thoughts and make discernments almost as if the venerable trees gave her wisdom and the young ones gave her new life. Today the trees would talk to her as the strong wind bent them to its will.

As she walked, she held one hand to her bonnet and the other to her shawl to keep the wind from taking them. Her thoughts drifted back to her time at Netherfield. She felt mortified at the embarrassment Jane must have felt arriving on horseback on a day that threatened rain from its onset. Elizabeth knew the Bingley sisters and Mr. Darcy looked down on her family. When she arrived to ask after Jane, she noticed Mr. Darcy’s teacup shook in his hand, and she was certain it was due to finding so many faults in her that he was trying not to lose his composure and turn from her with incivility. She had boldly stared straight into those dark eyes and had seen a fire there that she assumed was disapproval. When he drew in an unsteady, disapproving breath, she raised her chin in challenge of his censure.

Shaking her head as she walked, she wondered, not for the first time, why she could not get that man out of her head. He disliked her, and she disliked him, but she was still oddly drawn to him. He was brooding, dark and hostile, but she liked to challenge him and, in so doing, felt vindicated for his thoughtless comment at the assembly. She liked putting him in his place with her teasing remarks though there were times she detected a bit of amusement in his features. His eyes, which she always thought so expressive, would hold a trace of a smile and maybe even something more that she could not quite figure out. Occasionally, he would even smile. She was struck by the memory of his smile.
He should smile more often; it makes him look quite handsome, indeed!
The memory temporarily stopped Elizabeth’s forward motion, and she stood still for a moment, thinking of the way his face softened with a smile. He had two teasing dimples that naturally drew her eyes to his smiling lips.

With color rising in her cheeks at these strange thoughts, she laughed out loud and resumed her walk.
All the better for Miss Bingley!
She laughed at what a pair those two would make. He certainly appeared not to desire her effusions, and she was too ignorant to notice.

Looking ahead, Elizabeth finally could see the forest and already felt its strength clear her thoughts. She quickened her pace, hoping the trees would serve as protection from the ever-increasing wind so she could rest a bit.

* * *

Darcy took his mount and, leaning forward to stroke and pat his horse’s neck, could feel the animal’s agitation at the blustery weather. “You and me, both, Salazar!” Taking a deep breath, Darcy kicked his horse into a steady trot away from the stable yard, heading for the open field directly ahead. It was the same field he and Bingley had raced across when they first came to look at Netherfield. Upon reaching it, Darcy set down his crop, and with silent agreement, horse and rider took off in full sprint. The wind made it difficult to steady himself as they sailed across hedgerows and fences at breakneck speed. At one point, a gust of wind came across Darcy so forcefully that his hat flew off. Looking back to where it landed, he contemplated going back for it, but after noticing it had fallen safely onto a mound of dry grass, he decided to leave it until his return trip.

It was unlike Darcy to be less than properly attired, but the feeling of freedom, of the wind in his hair, reminded him of the carefree days of his youth when he would ride across the grounds of Pemberley without a hat. He turned his horse towards a hill a short distance away and, upon reaching the summit, stopped briefly to take in the scenery. It was truly a beautiful county. The rolling hills and glens were quite different from the more rugged and untamed, natural beauty of Derbyshire. In the distance, he spied a grove of trees that reminded him a little of the forests at Pemberley. A gust of wind pushed like hands against his back, compelling him towards the grove. Taking a deep breath and one last look across the countryside, Darcy kicked in his heels and again raced across the fields.

Upon reaching the grove, he noticed a path leading through it. The peacefulness of the sound of leaves in the wind made the decision for him to ride on. Bringing his horse to a slow walk, he breathed contentment after the hard ride. As he rode leisurely along the path, he thought of Georgiana and their reliance on each other. Until recently, she had been the only person in whom he could confide his most personal concerns. He now felt she was too burdened with her own recovery to speak with her about the feelings stirred inside of him by Elizabeth. He was not sure she would understand his reasoning regarding Elizabeth’s unsuitability. She saw good and never suspected ill will in anyone, which was why she was so easily persuaded by Wickham. She would not understand the pressure he was under to marry well nor the inappropriateness of the match. No, he could not tell Georgiana. Thinking of the improper match helped Darcy steel his emotions and that twinge of — was it loss? — that he felt when thinking of avoiding any connection with Elizabeth.

With his resolve in place, Darcy took in a cleansing breath to expel all thoughts of her from his mind and focused instead on enjoying the slight reprieve from the wind provided by the forest as he meandered through it.

A few minutes later, he came around a small bend and caught sight of a flash of rose-colored fabric about thirty yards ahead. Immediately drawing his horse to a stop, he retreated a few steps to avoid being seen as he was not in the mood to be civil. When his eyes focused on the patch of color, his heart stopped and then started beating fiercely at double time.
It is Elizabeth! She has not seen me; I will quietly turn around and go before she does
. He was thankful for the sound of the wind through the trees disguising the hoof beats, keeping Elizabeth unaware of his near approach.

But he could not move. He was frozen in place by the sight of her. She was sitting on a fallen log amongst a group of very old and frail oak trees. Her foot was tapping rhythmically and he just caught the sound of her humming as the wind changed direction and sent her song to him. Her head was tilted up, caught in a small patch of sun peeking down on her. Her eyes closed, and he noticed how her eyelashes splayed across her cheekbones, and in that moment, he wished he could kiss them. Adjusting uncomfortably in his seat, he noticed her dress had small, yellow flowers on the sleeve as one arm was peeking out of the shawl that had fallen temptingly off one shoulder
. She is so beautiful!
As she tipped her head further back to gain more sun, he noticed the wind brush softly across her features as a few tendrils of her dark curls blew out and around the side of her bonnet.

He was not sure how long he sat there atop his horse watching her. After a while, he felt embarrassed that he had spied on her for so long and decided to take one last moment to memorize the picture she made of pure contentment and then be on his way. Just as he was guiding his horse to turn around, a gust of wind tore through the forest, upsetting the animal. Darcy had to use all his skill as a horseman to calm his mount and bring him under control, lest he lose his seat. As he did this, a sharp booming crack caused Salazar to rear up in terror. He had barely calmed his horse when he turned to see Elizabeth. Another stronger gust of wind tore through, causing the old oak tree near her to break at its rotten base and fall. She screamed as she stumbled backwards, attempting to get out of the way. He watched in horror as she barely managed to avoid being crushed beneath the falling tree before her foot slipped, causing her to fall back on her hands. He froze as he heard her head hit the ground.