Page 3 of A Maid of No Consequence (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
MORE THAN COMMON AWKWARDNESS AND ANXIETY
T he look of shock on Mr Darcy’s face was something Elizabeth had never quite seen before, although now that she thought of it, there may have been some similar look of utter confusion when she had turned down his offer of marriage.
“Mr Darcy. Sir.” Even in her discomfort and embarrassment, there was no forgetting she was but a servant, even lower in status than she was when he had proposed to her.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, sounding confused. “What are you doing here?”
“Pray do not concern yourself with–” Attempting to rise, she moaned at the bolt of pain that shot through her ankle and kept her on the ground.
The disbelief on his face softening, he reached his hand towards her. “If you would permit me, I wish to help you, Miss Bennet.”
“I am no longer Miss Bennet.” Elizabeth looked at him straight in the eye. She wanted to appear brave, or at least unaffected, but was betrayed by an errant tear that slid down her cheek.
Mr Darcy pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her; a finely embroidered FD was stitched on the corner of the pristine white cloth.
The ridiculousness of it all—the fine linen square held by the elegant gentleman as she sprawled on the ground in maids’ attire—was almost too much to bear, and before she could bring herself to take it, Elizabeth began to laugh.
And she continued laughing, trying unsuccessfully to stop.
When she gained control of herself, she looked up to see a slight grin on his handsome face.
He bent down and again urged her to take his proffered handkerchief.
Hesitantly, Elizabeth reached for it before thoroughly soiling the linen with mud as she wiped her face and hands.
A moment later, clenching the cloth tightly, she resolved to end the conversation as quickly as she could.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir. But I must be getting inside before I am missed.” She tried to rise but again pain shot through her ankle, and she sank to the ground.
“Let me find someone to help you. Are your family within?” Mr Darcy reached down to pull her up, supporting her while putting his hand carefully around her waist. It was highly improper and yet so very chivalrous.
Elizabeth allowed herself to put her head on his shoulder, just momentarily, before remembering herself. “Sir, I am well, if you would just lead me towards the door.”
They were interrupted by the appearance of Reggie, the groom, at the door. “Eliza? What happened? We thought we heard a yell! ”
“No need to worry, I am well.” Elizabeth put on a brave smile. Above her, she heard Billy’s father call to him, and then looked up to see the concerned young boy looking over the railing. Remembering he had taken a tumble himself, she asked, “Billy, are you injured?”
“I am well, miss, thank you.”
“Reggie will bring you the sweets from Cook.” She looked around for the wrapped sweets she had for him, now scattered on the ground where she had inadvertently tossed them during her fall.
“I will retrieve them.” Mr Darcy gestured to Reggie to come help her.
Reggie took hold of Elizabeth’s arm and guided her towards the servants’ door, while Mr Darcy ascended the stairs, taking the sweets to the young boy waiting above. She heard him ask, “You are unhurt?”
Billy affirmed he was well, and she heard Mr Brumsley relay his thanks to Mr Darcy.
With Reggie’s help, Elizabeth reached the door in time to turn slightly and see that Mr Darcy had followed them and now stood frowning at the servant’s door.
“Miss Bennet, pray who lives here?”
Supported by the door frame, she turned to Reggie. “I can stand on my own, thank you. I will be in shortly.” He nodded, and after giving Mr Darcy an assessing look, slowly retreated into the house.
Mr Darcy stepped closer; his frown had softened slightly. In a lowered voice, he asked, “Why are you dressed as a servant?”
She inhaled deeply before admitting, “Because that is what I am. ”
“You are a gentleman’s daughter!”
“Maybe once. But no longer.”
“I do not understand. What has happened?”
Elizabeth quickly looked behind her, then to Mr Darcy once again.
Against her better judgment, she said, “If you want to know all, Mr Darcy, I will tell you. Tomorrow is my half day. I shall be at Hyde Park tomorrow at half past one, near the Cheesecake House. Look for the bench by the crooked tree.”
Before he had a chance to respond, a familiar shrill voice sounded from inside the house. “Eliza! Where are Humphrey’s shoes? You have been dawdling again!”
Elizabeth glanced behind her, and then back at Mr Darcy. “You must go,” she whispered before quickly stepping inside and closing the door.
In an instant she was gone, and the door closed. Darcy heard the muffled sounds of a dressing-down taking place inside. Wincing, he turned and, though still in disbelief of what had just occurred, walked quickly to his club.
“Hurst! Just the man.” Darcy sank heavily into the chair, disturbing the sleeping man next to him. “Who has your sister married? And where does she live?”
Benedict Hurst was a man who loved three things above all else: good food, good drink, and a good nap.
He merely tolerated his overexcited wife, and his two very excitable children.
And yet, mused Darcy, he never did have much tolerance for his wife’s annoyingly nonsensical sister.
I am finding I cannot tolerate her myself.
Waking slowly, Hurst mumbled something unintelligible .
“Will you answer my question? Quickly, if you please.”
“Lord Pollard of Cranthorpe Park in Northamptonshire. He married Caroline about four years past. She is stepmother to his two children.”
“Where do they live in town?”
“They bought our home on Grosvenor Street. Louisa and I needed a house in a quieter area, for the children, you see, and he was wanting to wave his money about once he ascended to his title.”
Clearly that was not the only reason, but Darcy did not care for details. Hurst always had been a man more of fashion than fortune.
“I charged him more than it was worth, you know. But since he had the money to toss about, I thought, why not?” Hurst laughed heartily, reeking of stale alcohol.
Darcy did not find humour in Hurst’s revelations. Elizabeth, his beautiful, lively, intelligent Elizabeth was lowered to the life of a servant! And for none other than the former Miss Caroline Bingley! What perverse twist of circumstance was this?
“Are you well, Darcy? You look a bit ashen.” Hurst was wide awake now. “Shall I pour you a brandy?” He waved over one of the servers.
Darcy shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. “None for me, thank you. I need a clear head.”
Standing, he gave Hurst a curt farewell. He could hear the man’s words as he exited, “Well, he may not want it, but you may as well pour me another. ”
Darcy spent much of the night tossing the coverlet back, standing, pacing, and sitting, before returning to his bed where the cycle would start all over again.
There was so much he did not know of what happened to Elizabeth.
Five years ago, his very sudden, very intense affair of the heart had died when she had rebuffed him.
There had been no reply to the rather honest and revealing letter he had personally handed to her on one of Rosings’ paths the day after she had refused him.
He had not expected one, of course, but he had hoped, rather desperately, that she would defy propriety and find some way to respond.
He winced as he recalled the words he had said to her during his proposal—one minute praising her and sharing his ardour for her, and in the other chiding her lowly relations and their intolerable behaviour.
And then he had gone on to reassure her that despite her inferiority, he would condescend to marry her anyway.
Even now, he could hardly believe what had come from his own mouth!
What pomposity! What had he been thinking?
He had given no thought for how Elizabeth would respond, adversely or otherwise; he had thought only of his need for her!
It was no wonder she had flatly refused him, throwing his words back in his face and laying all sorts of truths, misunderstandings, and misdeeds at his feet.
Writing his letter—revealing the truth of things he felt he must explain and facts he needed her to know—had kept him up most of the night.
It had not been easy to share his personal history regarding Wickham, particularly as it had affected his dear sister, but he had done so despite deep fatigue and heartache, and yes, he could admit, anger.
The day after it was delivered into Elizabeth’s hand, she had fled back to Longbourn without a word, and his heart had been torn to pieces ever since.
And now to his utter surprise, here she was: the woman who had not left his thoughts since she disappeared from his life five years ago.
The moment he heard her voice and glimpsed her fine eyes through the railings of the stair, he knew not only that he had found her but that his heart had not changed.
This time there was no way he would let her go.
She had given him an opening— hope —by telling him he might find her tomorrow.
On her half day. There was so much he needed to know about what happened since their last meeting at Rosings.
Beginning with why she was in service to Caroline Bingley, of all people.