Page 15 of Body and Soul (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #8)

Chapter Fifteen

December 11, 1811 Longbourn Darcy

D arcy moaned and stretched. Never had he felt so stiff, not even when Horace had thrown him. That great beast had refused to jump the fence. Father declared it a miracle that Darcy had not been killed.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to clear his vision. Yet, it did not clear. Everything remained blurry. He rubbed a hand over his face and into his hair. Freezing as he touched skin instead of curls, he brought his hand down in front of his face. Gray hair adorned the back of his knuckles. Spots and blue veins covered the back of his hand.

“What in the world?” He tried to swing his legs off the side of the bed, only to find they did not move as easily. Darcy squinted and spotted a pair of spectacles on a table next to one of the four posts. He donned them, wondering if they might help, and felt pleased when they did. His vision cleared, and he examined the surrounding chamber.

Red bed curtains replaced his green ones. A writing table sat near a window and a door graced the far wall. Standing, he groaned. Something was definitely not right. He walked slowly to the washstand, hoping the movement would loosen his muscles. Before he stooped to splash his face, he looked in the mirror. Gasping, he stumbled back, his hand clutching his heart. Slowly, he came forward, touching his nose, his head, his cheeks… Somehow he had become Mr. Bennet overnight!

“I am dreaming,” he said aloud. “This is a dream!” But no matter how hard he hit himself or pinched himself, nothing changed. He was still Mr. Bennet, dressed in a wrinkled shirt with a loose cravat and unbuttoned waistcoat.

Hearing a noise from behind the closed door, he moved there directly, throwing it open, hoping to see someone who could help him.

Mrs. Bennet shrieked, whirling to face him. Her robe she hastily tied shut.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he said, bowing and backing from the room. Before he could close the door, another opened and Elizabeth rushed in.

“Lizzy!” she cried, “Oh, you will never guess!”

Lizzy? But…

“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Bennet said pointedly, nodding toward the door.

Elizabeth turned and looked. “That is what I came to tell you. That is Mr. Darcy!”

Mrs. Bennet turned and looked at him in surprise before turning back to her daughter. “And how long has he been Mr. Darcy?” she asked evenly.

“Since this morning.” He stepped into the room. “I woke up here. Like this. Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, what has happened?” They appeared to know more than he did.

“It would seem, Mr. Darcy, that we have switched places.”

Another entered the room and Darcy gasped in shock again. He , or rather his body, closed the door tightly. “Shall we sort out this mess?” the man wearing Darcy’s appearance asked.

They agreed that once Mrs. Bennet… or whoever she was, was presentable that they would meet in the woods. “There is a cottage there, abandoned,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I used to walk there often. We will not be disturbed.”

And so Darcy returned to Mr. Bennet’s chambers and called for his man. He was older than Darcy’s valet and not nearly as gifted. With a simply tied cravat and an ill-fitting coat, Mr. Darcy emerged, anxious for answers.

Elizabeth joined him in the hall. “Good morning, Papa ,” she said, smirking.

“You look very much like Miss Lydia when you do that,” he teased. Oh, how he loved her! His ardor had only grown since returning to Hertfordshire. But now he wore her father’s body.

The others joined them, and they left the house. No other occupants seemed to be awake, and so no one questioned them. Mrs. Bennet led the way. No one spoke. It was as if speaking would make it all feel real.

The cottage came into view, and Mrs. Bennet quickened her pace. Elizabeth followed, leaving the gentlemen behind. Once they were all inside and sitting round a table, Elizabeth spoke up.

“Well, since this mess began with us, we had best tell them everything. Lizzy, would you like to begin?”

Darcy blinked. “Who are you, madam?” he asked, confused once more.

“I am Mrs. Bennet,” she replied. “Do let us explain before you judge too harshly.”

The woman who looked like Mrs. Bennet was Elizabeth, then. She opened her mouth and began to weave a fantastical tale that began the night of the Netherfield Ball. When she finished detailing the last weeks, she fell silent.

“I recall thunder last night,” Mr. Bennet said. How odd to think of him that way, looking as he did like Darcy! “And I felt positively ill afterwards.”

“My prayer seems to have been answered,” Mrs. Bennet—Elizabeth said frostily.

“Lizzy, I am very sorry…” Mr. Bennet began.

“Save it for when you mean it,” came the harsh reply. “You had no business speaking to me like that, even if you thought I was your wife! Especially since you thought I was your wife!”

Darcy cleared his throat. “So, in short, Mr. Bennet now appears to be Mr. Darcy—me. And I have taken his place. And you, madam—” he turned to who looked like Elizabeth, “—you are Mrs. Bennet. Which means the lady I thought I was courting for weeks is not Elizabeth.”

He did not know whether to laugh or to cry.

“I wished to be, sir,” Mrs. Bennet—Elizabeth—said. “Mama and I had to make the most of it. She tried her best to be me, bringing you all my questions. I sat near so I could listen. Please, do not despise me for it.” She looked desperate and apologetic.

His heart softened. How could he condemn her for a situation not of her making? This debacle was not in her control. “I shall not,” he promised. “But we must find a way to fix this!”

“We have tried,” Elizabeth’s form cried. “Lizzy and I believe that to change back, we are required to fix that which is broken. And we have done our best to repair the relationships we have with those around us. We have worked together and things have improved…mostly.” She glanced at Mr. Darcy’s figure, glaring.

“Then how should we proceed? Mr. Bennet will need to stay at Netherfield Park. And you have said his handwriting will be mine as long as he is in my body. That means he must handle all my correspondence. I shall have to show you what to do. Pemberley is a great deal larger than Longbourn.”

“One estate is the same as another, boy,” Mr. Bennet said disdainfully. “I can manage.”

“Be that as it may, I wish to review anything you do before it is sent. I have worked hard to improve my income and will not see all my efforts destroyed because you will not ask for my help.”

“I have been managing my estate since you were in leading strings!” Mr. Bennet stood, anger pouring off him in waves.

“Enough, both of you!” Mrs. Bennet, trapped in Elizabeth’s form and looking rather fearsome—stood, the scowl on her face silencing the men. Darcy felt a little fearful of her wrath, despite the petite body she wore. Her fine eyes flashed, and she glowered. “Arguing does nothing. We learned that. It is our responsibility to work together. Mr. Darcy, you will stay at Longbourn and you will behave yourself. I shall be there, keeping an eye on you both.”

Elizabeth flushed, the expression making the face she wore—that of Mrs. Bennet—appear younger. It pleased Mr. Darcy to know he affected her even when she was not herself. But goodness, this is growing confusing!

“Mr. Bennet, you will take over Mr. Darcy’s responsibilities with his oversight until you know what he expects. That means that when Mr. Bingley comes to call, you will come, too, bringing all his letters and papers. Mr. Darcy, you will help Elizabeth manage Longbourn. We exchanged duties weeks ago and have become rather good at our respective responsibilities. If we have a pressing need to discuss things openly, then we will meet here. Are we agreed?”

“If I—that is, Mr. Darcy, who is, in fact, me, at the moment—call on Longbourn every day, people will think he courts Elizabeth.” Mr. Bennet did not sound pleased about that.

“Goodness, Thomas!” Mrs. Bennet’s laughter emanating from her daughter’s body sounded oddly like Elizabeth, yet there was something of the matron’s vapid giggling woven into the sound. Oh, how Darcy loved hearing Elizabeth’s laugh, even this altered version. “What do you think the gentleman has been doing all these weeks? I suppose you might have missed his intentions, given your seclusion in your study.”

“Courting? Mr. Darcy and Lizzy? Preposterous! We all know he does not look at a lady but to see a blemish!”

Darcy felt rather offended. “I beg your pardon!” he cried. “I have the highest respect for your daughter.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Bennet makes a valid point. Out of necessity, it will appear to everyone that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are courting. Our neighbors will expect the courtship will lead to its natural conclusion. If there is any hesitation on either of your parts, it must be discussed now.” Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and looked at them expectantly. Darcy had to remind himself once again that she was currently Mrs. Bennet.

Darcy cleared his throat. “I expect I can court Miss Elizabeth in whatever form we possess. She is still herself in all the ways that matter.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Very good,” her mother continued. “Now, it is Elizabeth’s usual habit to walk out in the morning. She occasionally meets Mr. Darcy—or rather, I have recently. He walks me back to Longbourn before returning to Netherfield Park. I suggest we continue that pattern. Lizzy has been walking too, whilst she has been me. Mr. Darcy, you and my daughter will return to Longbourn together as if you were on a stroll.”

“Given the current state of affairs between the master and mistress of Longbourn, I doubt any will believe that.” Elizabeth sounded very bitter and Mr. Darcy wished to comfort her. Though she wore her mother’s face and he did not know Mrs. Bennet well, the anger and sadness were apparent. What had she endured whilst her father had no idea he insulted his daughter and not his wife?He recalled finding Mrs. Bennet weeping on Oakham Mount, suddenly realizing it had been Elizabeth. His heart ached for her and the pain she carried.

“We are meant to be repairing things, dearest.” Mrs. Bennet patted her daughter’s hand soothingly. “We shall depart first. Come along, Mr. Bennet.”

Darcy watched himself get up and follow his Elizabeth out. He shook his head. “This is very odd,” he said. “I almost do not know what to call anyone.”

“Best keep it simple. Mama calls my father Mr. Bennet or sir. He calls her Mrs. Bennet or ‘my dear’.”

“I should like to use such endearments,” he confessed, reaching out and taking her hand.

“Mama told me everything,” she said again, this time more earnestly. “We did not mean to deceive you. It was she who first noted your interest in me. Oh, how she worked to convince me! And when she did, I began to care for you. I have not allowed my heart to hope, though. My feelings have undergone a material change. Yet, I cannot see a way out of this predicament.”

“I must believe a future is possible,” he replied with the same fervor. “Come, let us go back to Longbourn.”

“Will it not be difficult for you to be so exposed to my family? The dynamic has changed, given Lydia’s banishment to the nursery and Kitty no longer being out. Perhaps it will not be such a trial.”

He chuckled. “I have spent many hours in just such an attitude. The idea of being so surrounded grows on me.”

She looked pleased and accepted his hand. They left the cottage, securing the door behind them.

“Why is this not in use?” he asked. “It is a shame that it sits empty as nature overtakes it.”

“The Smiths had it,” she replied. “They moved away, and their fields were taken over by the Wilsons, one of my father’s longtime tenants. I have tried to keep the worst of nature at bay, just in case it is needed again. And it will be, for the Wilson’s oldest son has lately proposed to the baker’s daughter. They will likely approach my father and ask for it.”

“It seems a shame for you to lose your sanctuary.”

She shrugged. “I shall find another,” she replied. “As I always have.”

They walked slowly, arm in arm, carefully picking their way along the path.

“I feel as though I can know you in truth, now,” she finally said after a long silence. “It has been very frustrating not to be able to speak whilst you talked with my mother.”

“She did an admirable job of being you,” he confessed. “I could not tell the difference.”

“You will learn quickly. Mama has a few mannerisms that I do not. I shall point them out.”

Longbourn came into view and they went inside. Both proclaimed their hunger as they handed their things to a bemused Mr. Hill. They ignored the stares as they walked arm in arm to the breakfast room. Mr. Darcy held her chair out as she took a seat before going to the head of the table.

They bid each of Elizabeth’s sisters a good morning as they walked in. Mr. Bennet’s usual paper went untouched, still folded by his plate. Instead of reading, Mr. Darcy engaged in conversation with Jane, asking after her plans for the day and wondering if her betrothed would call. Then he turned to Kitty, inquiring if she wished to choose a book from his library.

Kitty’s mouth dropped open in shock and she stuttered a reply in the affirmative. Later, as she browsed the shelves, Elizabeth told him that Mr. Bennet never let the other girls into his private room. “That was an honor given only to me,” she said sadly. “Now, I avoid this room as much as possible. It is a reminder that I saw and knew nothing.”

“We will work in here,” he said comfortingly. Darcy took her hand and kissed it. “If we are meant to heal what is broken, then we must fix this room for you. It will be a happy place again, my love.”

Did I say that? Well, he would not apologize. He loved Elizabeth in whatever form she had. “Now, where are the books?”

Elizabeth plopped a stack of ledgers down. “Here they are. I know the basics, but my father handles most of it.” He noted how bitterly she mentioned her sire and wondered again how he had wounded her.

He opened the first, reading silently. “I can already see several places where we might employ easy improvements. I shall discuss it with…” he glanced up. Kitty was across the room, far enough that she had not overheard their conversation, but it would be prudent to be cautious. “Later,” he concluded. “We can speak on that later.”

Kitty bounded up, a novel in her hand. “I have never read Gulliver’s Travels !” she cried. “Thank you, Papa!” She kissed Darcy’s cheek, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“You are welcome,” he replied. Kitty ran from the room, the book clutched tightly to her chest.

“Alone at last,” he muttered.

“Oh, sir? Do you intend to press your advantage?” She smirked and winked, pulling a chair close to his and sitting down.

Darcy laughed. It sounded unfamiliar to his ears. “I meant only that we could speak freely,” he said.

Elizabeth chuckled. “I know.” Pausing, she frowned. “I confess, though I know you are not my father, it is difficult to separate what my eyes see from what my mind and heart know. The whole situation feels entirely confusing, wrong… unnatural! I fear I have been losing myself. It has been difficult, facing the fact that my father is not all he ought to be. His words were directed at my mother, but I am my mother right now. Every insult, every bit of mocking stung. It became easier to pretend I was Mama, if only to distance myself from the pain. And it helped me to stand up to him when needed.”

His heart cried out for her, protesting the injustice she had faced. “We shall resolve it in time. I swear.” He took her hand again, caressing it and kissing the back.

She sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, sir, our success likely depends on all four parties learning whatever we are meant to learn. We are well on our way, but the other two… Oh, my mother and father have many years of grievances to air. We have only a few months.”

He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “What grievances?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

She smirked again. “I suppose I ought to ask, sir, if you find me more than tolerable, now that I have blond locks and an extra six inches of height.” She batted her eyes playfully as she rested her chin on her palm.

“Tolerable? Oh dear.” She laughed as he closed his eyes in mortification. “You heard me! Allow me to apologize. I was a pig-headed, blind fool. You are a vast deal more than tolerable, my dear. You are, in fact, the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.”

“Even as a woman of nine-and-thirty years?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “Your beauty transcends outward appearance.” He touched her face, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes.

Sighing, she leaned into his palm. “Oh, that was nicely done, sir. Nicely done, indeed.”