Falling for Mr. Darcy (39 page)

“No!” Darcy sat back in surprise at the sudden strength of her voice, but then she continued, more raspy than ever, stopping to cough occasionally. “That is not necessary, Fitzwilliam. I am resigned to my fate.”

Darcy frowned and said, gently, “Where is my Uncle Henry? Have you sent word to the Fitzwilliams?”

Lady Catherine croaked, “Let us not worry them for now. Perhaps you are right and this is only a passing folly. I should not like to intrude unnecessarily upon their lives.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed at the comment. He could not remember a time when his aunt had not willingly intruded on the lives of her relations, but immediately he dismissed it and felt guilty for his ungrateful thought. Perhaps in her last days, she was softening.

“I should like to rest now, Fitzwilliam. Visit me tomorrow, if you can spare a moment for your invalid of an aunt.”

“Of course, Aunt. What time shall I come?”

“I will send my nurse for you. I never know when I am well enough for visits. I am much too weak sometimes, you see.” She coughed violently before adding, “You are a good boy to come to my sickroom to see me.”

“I would do no less, Aunt Catherine.” He reached for the hand she had again taken out from her blanket to give it a squeeze. It was cold as ice again, and he rubbed it gently to warm it before placing it on the bed and standing to leave. “Good night, Aunt. Rest well.”

She weakly waved him away, and once Darcy had reached the outside of her room, he collapsed upon a bench in the hallway. He ran his hands through his hair and thought a moment. His aunt was really quite ill, and now he was beginning to fear for her life. He remembered the freezing feel of her skin and the whiteness of her face. Amid all that heat from the fire, he could not believe she felt so cold. It sent a chill through his spine, and he stood up to walk it off.

Reaching his bedchamber, he rang for his valet who was already in his dressing room unpacking his trunks. He decided to retire early and dressed quickly for bed. He knew Rosings would pass to Anne upon his aunt’s death and that his cousin would be well taken care of. As much as he had hated his yearly visits to Rosings every Easter, he was beginning to wonder whether the previous Easter was to have been his last with his aunt. He never enjoyed her company, as she was always so sanctimonious and demanding. All that seemed to matter little now, seeing her frail form in the sickroom.

Darcy rolled over, blowing out the candle next to his bed and lay staring at the canopy above him. The stresses of travelling and hearing the news of his aunt’s illness were taking a toll on him already. He breathed in deeply and brought his mind willingly to Elizabeth. Thoughts of her always calmed him. He allowed himself to imagine what she was doing or how she would look when he saw her again. He fell asleep recalling their pleasant morning together and her obvious pleasure at his request to speak to her upon his return.

* * *

The next morning, Darcy awoke and asked the housekeeper how his aunt was doing. She could not give a favorable reply, saying only that his aunt would allow no one but her nurse in the sickroom, and the nurse had reported that Lady Catherine was no better and, perhaps, even worse. He informed the housekeeper where he could be found should his aunt summon him, and he left for his aunt’s study where he decided he would look over her estate books as he had always done.

Darcy busied himself all morning with estate business, trying to keep his mind off the lack of news or updates from his aunt’s sickroom. Twice he asked the housekeeper for news, and twice she had given him the same reply: “She remains unwell and is resting.”

When Anne came down later in the afternoon, he spent a few minutes visiting with her before she declared she wished to rest. In the early evening, once it began to darken outside, he was summoned by his aunt. He eagerly went to her room and entered when the nurse opened the door for him. He was met with the same unpleasant aroma of illness and the same sickly appearance of his aunt as the evening before. The room was even more stifling in its heat, yet his aunt’s hand remained cold.

Darcy breathed a sigh of momentary relief as it seemed, at least, she was no worse, and they conversed for a short while. Mostly, Lady Catherine made him promise to see to this or that upon her demise. He consented and promised her that, should she go, even though he was sure she would pull through, he would take care of all that was necessary.

“You need not worry, Aunt,” he said tenderly.

Soon, however, she tired and wished to rest, so he left her sickroom with a mixture of relief and growing concern. The doctor came the next day and pronounced the situation no better and could offer no solutions.

The routine of Darcy’s day was the same for three days as he worked feverishly in the morning and afternoon at the estate books to distract his growing concern. He met and visited briefly with his cousin at least once during the day and then, in the evening, he was summoned to his aunt’s sickroom to visit for a half hour before she retired.

On the fourth night, his aunt’s voice and pallor seemed much worse as she said, “Fitzwilliam, promise me you will see after Anne.”

For most of his life, he had disliked his aunt, but in the past few days, she had seemed to be so changed, so weak. He felt compassion for her and, for the first time in his life, thought, perhaps, he had misjudged her. “Of course, Aunt Catherine. Do not trouble yourself over Anne. I will take care of her.”

She seemed satisfied and dismissed him for the evening. He left her chamber with a heavy heart and went straight outside for a moonlit walk around the gardens to clear his mind. He wished Elizabeth were there with him to comfort him during these strange, stressful days. He looked to the sky; it was a clear night, and he could see the stars.

* * *

The next morning Darcy did not go down to the study to work on estate business. He was worried and stressed from the decline he had seen in his aunt the evening before. Instead, he tried to occupy his time with a book and by writing letters to Elizabeth. Of course, he could not give them to her as that would be improper, but the process was cathartic to him, and it soothed his mind a bit.

Late in the morning, he decided to go for a ride to exercise his mount and release some tension. He gathered his riding crop and gloves and walked down the hallway from his bedchamber. Nearing his aunt’s room, he slowed his pace as he heard a voice from within.

He quietly walked closer to the door, and his eyes grew wide with astonishment. He could hear Lady Catherine’s voice clearly through the door, as strong and imperious as ever, and he was completely confused. A surge of relief flew through him at the thought that she had recovered overnight. He quickly opened the door and walked into the room.

Nobody noticed his entrance, and he watched with amazement and growing anger at the scene before him. His aunt, sitting upright and rigid, was commanding servants all around her with as much power as she ever had before her illness.

“Remove those buckets of wet towels, I do not need them until tonight, and the smell is putrid. Add a little more vinegar tonight before you return. These things must be attended to!”

Darcy erupted. “What is the meaning of this, ma’am?!”

Lady Catherine immediately sunk back against the pillows as if exhausted and pulled the covers over her body. “Fitzwilliam,” her voice raspy again, “Thank God you are here, these servants are incompetent — they have left the towels in here from when they washed the floor, and I am sure it is aggravating my illness —” Her voice was cut off by her nephew’s.

“Aunt Catherine!” He went to her and felt her forehead. “Are you well?” Pulling back his hand, he saw that it was covered in a white powdery substance. His eyes came together in anger as he realized it was chalk powder that gave the pale color to her cheeks. “Are you even ill? I suppose your cold hands were the work of ice under the blanket!” he shouted disbelievingly.

Lady Catherine blanched at his discovery. Resigned, she sat up and immediately dismissed all of the servants, who had been standing paralyzed at the sight before them.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy! You will stop this immediately!”

“Excuse me, Aunt, but why with so little endeavor at civility, am I thus refused an answer to my question?”

“Darcy, you can be at no loss as to why I would pretend illness.”

“You mistake me, Aunt. I have not the pleasure of knowing why you would subject me to such trickery,” he growled.

“I did it to prevent an alliance of monumentally disastrous proportions. I heard last week from my rector, Mr. Collins, that you spent much time with Miss Elizabeth Bennet while in London and you escorted her back to her home in Hertfordshire. Tell me this is a scandalous falsehood! Her arts and allurements must have caught you. I set straight away to bring you here to prevent such an impossible folly.”

“I wonder, Aunt, if you thought it a scandalous falsehood, why you took the trouble of appearing ill. What could your ladyship propose by it?” Darcy seethed.

“To garner your promise, of course, to Anne as I received last night.”

“I made no such promise to Anne!”

“You did, indeed, Fitzwilliam!”

“I promised to support her — to make sure she was taken care of! I did not promise to marry her,” he said incredulously.

“This is not to be borne, Darcy! I insist on being satisfied. Have you made Miss Bennet an offer of marriage?”

“You have declared it to be impossible, Aunt.”

“Let me be rightly understood, Nephew. This match to which you have lowered yourself can never take place. You are engaged to my daughter, Anne. Now what have you to say?”

“Only this, if that were true, you could have no reason to worry that I would propose to Miss Bennet. Besides, I have made no such promise to Anne.”

“Darcy!” Lady Catherine was shaking with anger. “Your engagement is of a peculiar kind, you know that. It was the favorite wish of YOUR mother as well as myself. While you were in your cradles, we planned the match, and now when the dreams of both your aunt and your mother could be realized, you wish to destroy them by allying yourself with a woman of inferior birth and connections? Are you lost to all feelings of propriety and delicacy?”

“I never heard my mother speak of such a wish. Furthermore, being the husband of Miss Bennet must bring its own sources of extraordinary happiness that would make such disadvantages seem trifling.”

“Obstinate, headstrong boy! I am not in the habit of being disappointed!”

“That will make your position more pitiable, Aunt, but will have no effect on me.”

“Tell me at once; are you engaged to Miss Bennet?”

Darcy hesitated; he wanted to tell his aunt that he was and walk out of her room — nay her house — with a slam of the door, but he could not dissemble. “I am not.”

Lady Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. “And will you promise not to enter into such an engagement?”

“I will not and certainly never shall. You have insulted me and the woman I hope to make my wife beyond all accounts. I must take my leave now.” He turned to go but stopped upon hearing her next sentence.

“Not so hasty, Nephew. I have one more objection. Do you think I am not aware of the distasteful dalliance Miss Bennet has engaged herself in with the son of your former steward? Is such a woman of low morals and no virtue to be the mistress of Pemberley? Are its shades to be thus polluted?”

Darcy spun around and glared at his aunt with such disgust and anger that she sat back involuntarily. “Enough!! I will not allow another slanderous word to be spoken by you against the woman I love. I WILL marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet if I have to wait my entire life for her to accept me. I will beg on my knees if she so requires, but I will not listen to you speak of her in this manner. Until such time as you can speak with kindness and respect to the woman of my future life, all connections between us are henceforth at an end. Goodbye, madam.”

Darcy strode out of the room angrily and slammed the door behind him as he walked to his chambers and pulled the bell for his valet. When Rogers entered, he blared, “Pack my trunks, Rogers; we leave in an hour.”

True to his word, Darcy entered his carriage with his belongings an hour later and left Rosings Park, perhaps forever. His mind reeled at the presumption of his aunt. To fake an illness and to trick half the staff, her own daughter and him into coming and playing court at her sickbed was inconceivable. He had told her many times he did not wish to marry Anne. Long ago, he had spoken to Anne and found she had no such expectations. She had no wish to marry as she knew she was not well enough to do so.

Lady Catherine’s disgraceful comments and assumptions about Elizabeth angered him further, and he swore under his breath as he remembered her presumptuous words and actions. He was filled suddenly with only one desire: to take Elizabeth as his wife and damn anyone in the world who opposed him. He tapped on the roof of the carriage, and as soon as it rolled to a stop and his groom came to enquire at the door, he said, “Make a stop at Darcy House; I have something to retrieve.”

“Very good, sir.”

Chapter 19

Darcy stood near the window in his chambers at Netherfield watching the sunrise. Although he had arrived late the evening before from Kent, he could not sleep any longer, and so he had risen early and dressed. His mind was filled with Elizabeth. He knew it would be a long while before enough of the morning had elapsed to allow him to go to her. He decided he would spend the time pleasurably running through each of his memories of her, one by one.