Page 14 of Body and Soul (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #8)

Chapter Fourteen

December 10, 1811 Longbourn Mr. Bennet

M r. Bennet watched the carriage drive away, regret filling his heart. Oh, how his soul ached. He was so tired! Tired of fighting with his wife, tired of feeling as if he were no longer wanted or needed in his own home.

Fanny had barred her door against him long ago. He could not blame her, really. How dreadfully he had treated her since Mary’s birth! Thomas did not know why he had acted as he did. His wife’s behavior had at first concerned him, then frightened him. Doctors told him she would improve, but she never did. Instead, she began spending money on lavish clothes, parading before him and begging for compliments. In truth, he detested her new attire. It hid her handsome figure and made her look like a decorated pastry or cake. His wife did not need adornment to look lovely. As the years plodded on, he retreated into his books. When he spoke to his wife, it was to disparage and mock. She had never been very intelligent, and he got a wicked sort of pleasure out of subtly insulting her.

Yes, it was wrong! He knew that. He had vowed to love and cherish her and he had failed miserably at that these last fifteen years and more. But though his wife was still alive, she had been dead to him for a long time.

Thomas thought he could be content with his life. He had his Lizzy, a bright, precocious child with a zest for life and a quick mind. He had trained her in his likeness, lavishing her with attention and teaching her everything he would have a son. It was easier to spend time with Lizzy. Out of all his children, she looked least like his wife and reminded him less of what he lost.

His other girls he held at arm’s length. Jane behaved properly, but she looked most like Fanny. It would be difficult to tolerate her at all if not for her serene disposition. Jane’s influence permeated the house. She alone could calm her mother when she had a fit of nerves. And even Lydia sometimes listened to her eldest sister.

Yes, the status quo had been established. Or so he thought. After the Netherfield Ball, everything had changed. Overnight, Mrs. Bennet had emerged from whatever madness had held her bound for almost two decades. She came down to breakfast in a lovely blue gown, trimmed with just a little ribbon. Her figure on full display, his eyes had been drawn to her instantly. The manic look in her eyes was gone, and though she looked a little tired, she moved with grace rather than in jerky, nervous movements. He had discounted it as a fluke, of course. How could he do anything but? Too often he had hoped only to be disappointed. So, instead of complimenting his wife, he insulted her.

Sighing, he turned away from the window. The carriage was long out of sight, and he grew cold standing there. Thomas went to his decanter and poured a measure of amber liquid. He took the glass to the chair by the fire and sat, losing himself in the last few weeks again.

Stranger than his wife’s abrupt personality change was his daughter’s. His Lizzy no longer came to his study. She began to sit nearer to her mother at the table and did not come to borrow books anymore. Instead of joining in his humor, she had pointed out his tactics to his wife. Traitor, he had thought that day.

Though he rarely saw his wife outside of meals and a few hours in the parlor in the evening, she always came to him with household needs. More money! More food! More gowns for the girls! And then it had stopped. He suspected she thought he had not noticed the simpler meals and the replacement of his beeswax candles with tallow ones. These were areas where Mrs. Bennet never economized. And now she was! Why? he wondered.

Each little change irritated him more. He began to fight with his wife deliberately, if only so she would speak with him. He hated it and loved it. And she was so tempting! Her new attire drew him in, made him want to hold her as she had not allowed in years.

“ Stuff and nonsense!” he blustered aloud. She was the same as ever, and he would not fall for whatever scheme she sought to enact. Oh, yes, he could see it now. She would lure him in, beguile him, and then ask for fifty pounds. “Never.” Goodness, she even had him speaking to himself!

That evening, he had been fully prepared to go to Lucas Lodge. He had his clothing laid out, ready for his man to help him dress. As he walked upstairs, delaying until the last moment, Fanny came out of her chambers. She wore a red gown with fitted sleeves and a lower waistline than was fashionable. A gold ribbon adorned her waist, and her maid had woven a matching one into her hair. White gloves hung from her hands, and as she turned, he could see the pearl earrings he had given her for their first anniversary hanging from her ears.

“Dressing to impress, Mrs. Bennet?” he asked snidely, instantly regretting his words when her expression grew still and cold.

“I cannot imagine who you would think I have to impress,” she said stiffly. “I certainly do not have your regard. Pray, were you planning to come to Sir William’s soiree or not?”

“Would it please you if I remained?” he asked, answering her question with one of his own. “I cannot think why else you would undergo such a drastic change except to please another man!”

“How dare you!” Fanny swung her gloves at him, slapping him across the cheek. “If I were a man, I would call you out! Between the two of us, Mr. Bennet, who has kept their marriage vows?” She turned and stormed away, leaving him alone outside his chamber door.

Furious at himself and wondering if he had gone mad to attack his wife in that manner, he went into his room and shut the door. Hill came once asking if he was to accompany his family, and he declined.

He crept out of his room and to his study, waiting until the door closed behind his family to come into the hallway. A million regrets poured through him and he did not know what to do.

I should apologize when she gets home, he thought. But he had never been very good at admitting when he was in error. There is no time like the present to learn. He would do it. Fanny deserved better. He only wished he knew how to give it to her. Change comes from within, but he did not know if he had the desire or fortitude to alter his behavior.

He could not say how many hours passed before he heard the carriage approaching. He did not move, content to allow his family to come inside and remove their things before emerging from his sanctuary. When all was quiet outside his door, he stepped out of his study and almost collided with his wife.

“I beg your pardon,” she said stonily.

“I need to speak with you, Fanny,” he said. She nodded and brushed past him, going into his study and standing near his desk.

“No point in allowing the entire house to hear our quarrel,” she said after he had followed her and shut the door.

“What makes you think we will argue?” he asked.

“That is all we ever do these last few weeks, sir,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

She actually rolled her eyes at me! he thought, shocked. “I only wished to…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. She looked at him, a speculative expression on her face. Frowning, he continued. “I wished to ask how the evening went. Did Sir William enjoy announcing Jane’s engagement?”

The disappointment on her face was too much to bear. “Well?” he snapped when she did not reply instantly. She always replied quickly, eager to tell him about her night.

“The evening passed tolerably well until I returned to Longbourn,” she replied. “Goodnight, sir.” She turned to go away, and he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“I did not excuse you!” he cried, desperately wishing he could keep her here and speak about everything that was in his heart. His stubbornness stole his words, giving him only bitter ramblings. “I wish to know how the evening went. What lace did Lady Lucas wear? Did Mrs. Goulding gossip about her uncle and his new wife again? Blast it, woman! Tell me this instant!”

She did not move, did not try to remove her arm from his grip. “Why do you wish to know, sir?” she asked woodenly. “Always you have complained about lace, begging me to speak no more of it. Yet, when I abide by your strictures, I am censured. Tell me, Mr. Bennet, how am I to act?”

“Act like my wife!”

She shook her head. “I pray you will someday see,” she said. Carefully, she freed her arm and left the room, leaving him alone once more.

Thomas wished to cry out, such was his agony. He fell to his knees. “Lord,” he prayed, “what is wrong with me?” A strange vibration began beneath his hands, which rested on the floor. The thunder grew louder and louder, forcing him to cover his ears. And then, as abruptly as it started, everything stopped, and all was quiet again.

Shakily, he stood. Thunder in the winter was not common in England, but it happened occasionally. Wobbling a little, he stumbled from his study. He felt ill. Thomas tripped a little on the stairs as he made his way to his chambers, falling into his bed without even summoning his man to help him change. Sleep was infinitely preferable to wakefulness now, and he welcomed it.

Something felt different the next morning. Thomas rolled over in his bed, reaching for his spectacles. His hand brushed something unfamiliar, and he opened his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Immediately, he panicked. Nothing was as it ought to be. The damask curtains that hung around the bed ought to be red, not dark green. The table where he put his spectacles should be round! And his pillows… there were far too many.

Where am I? he thought, looking around. Absently, he ran a hand over his head, stopping when, instead of a receding hairline, he touched soft locks. Curls, if he had a guess. Am I dreaming? He pinched himself. No, definitely not dreaming. He looked down and gasped. My hands! They were attached to him, yet they belonged to someone else. Strong with black hair on the back instead of gray.

Truly confused now, he stumbled out of bed and looked around the room for a mirror. One hung near a washbasin and he made his way there, cursing as his toe struck a footstool. It is too dark, he thought, detouring to the window to open the drapes. Once he had light, he went to the mirror.

It was all he could do not to scream. Mr. Darcy stared back at him. Aghast, he reached up and touched his face. The stubble felt real, and his reflection copied his movements.

“What devilry is this?” he said. Mr. Darcy’s reflection spoke his words.

No, no, no, what happened? The last thing he remembered was arguing with his wife and then stumbling into his bed. Then this!

I have to get home, he thought. Nothing else mattered. If I am home, I can put this to rights. Determined to be off at once, he rifled through Mr. Darcy’s clothing, looking for something that he could put on himself. All the coats were too tight, so he settled on a lawn shirt, a cravat, trousers, and a waistcoat. He pulled on hessian boots and then searched for a hat and gloves. He would need them to ward off the chill.

“Darcy’s great coat is likely in the closet near the entrance,” he muttered.

“Sir?” a voice came from behind him, startling Mr. Bennet. He whirled around.

“Yes?” he asked, hoping he sounded uncaring.

“You have misbuttoned your waistcoat.” Thomas stood, mortified, as the man stepped forward and assisted. This must be Darcy’s valet, he thought.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I wish to go on a walk. Fetch my things, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant obeyed without complaint. How very novel.

Minutes later, Thomas walked briskly across the lawn. He had no wish to call for a horse. If— when— he figured this nonsense out, he had no wish for that dour, haughty man to accuse him of stealing. He would make his way across the fields and over Oakham Mount. It was the fastest way home.

As he crested the summit, he saw a figure picking her way across some fallen branches. He recognized the lady as his daughter Lizzy and rushed forward.

“I am very glad to see you this morning!” he cried, relieved.

She looked at him quizzically. “Are you well, sir? You look as though you have had a fright.”

“I am not myself, Elizabeth,” he said. “Come, you must take me home. Your mother will help.”

Lizzy took a step back, the fear in her eyes making him pause. “I am afraid my mother is not ready for callers, sir,” she replied, her voice wavering.

“Oh, stop being missish, child!” He stepped forward, hoping to embrace her. He needed his dearest daughter. She would comfort him in his confusion. “Come to me at once or I shall leave my books to another.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Books?” she repeated. “What books? I have heard tales of Pemberley’s library, though I have no interest in its dusty tomes if it comes with a madman.”

“I mean my books, Elizabeth! Poppet, please! I do not know what to do!” She thought him mad, certainly. Oh, what would he do if she ran away and did not listen?

Elizabeth’s face lost all color. “Impossible!” she cried. Immediately, she began laughing, doubling over and clutching her stomach. “Oh, this is too unbelievable! Lizzy will be vastly amused!” Tears streamed down her face as she straightened, and she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief. “You, too, Thomas? Well, well, well.”

He gaped at her. “Fanny?” he choked. “Wh-what has happened?”

“Providence appears to have punished you, as it punished Lizzy and me. Our daughter has been Mrs. Bennet since the 27th of November. And I, dear husband, have been your favorite child.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. Fanny’s changed behavior, her clothing, Lydia being locked away, a governess. “Elizabeth is… you! I ought to have known. You would never have sent Lydia back to the schoolroom. Nor would you have dressed so elegantly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I will have you know I have approved the changes Lizzy has made . She respects my position as mistress of Longbourn.”

“I shall believe it when I have heard it from her.” Suddenly, his heart sank. He had directed all his cruelty for his wife at Elizabeth. “Oh dear,” he said softly.

Elizabeth—Fanny—frowned. “I see you have realized just how badly you have wounded her,” she said softly, though without sympathy. “I held her as she cried last night. Goodness, she is not your wife and your words hurt her more than they do me! I steeled myself against your barbs long ago.”

“I did not know!” he cried.

“Does that excuse your behavior?” She shook her head. His shame compounded, for it felt as though Elizabeth were disappointed in him—not his wife. When did my daughter’s good opinion start to hold more value than Fanny's? he wondered. He had much to atone for.

Fanny gasped. “If you are Mr. Darcy,” she said, trailing off. “Oh, we must go to Longbourn at once!” She whirled away and began running down the hill.

“Fanny!” he cried. “Wait! Why are you running?”

“If you are here,” she said, panting, “Mr. Darcy is in your chambers. Elizabeth is in the connecting room!”

Horrified, Mr. Bennet began to run, easily catching up to his wife. “Bless Mr. Darcy’s long legs,” he muttered as he went.

“Let us hope the rest of the house still sleeps,” his wife replied.