Page 1 of He Taught Me to Hope (Darcy and the Young Knight’s Quest #1)

M ore than once, he had found himself repeating the oft-asked question, mostly in silence but sometimes aloud.

How on earth do I find myself in such an untenable position?

Try as he might, he could not fathom an explanation that did not baulk at everything he knew to be right and wrong.

He could do no more than consider all that had led to that fateful day.

Though some months ago, it seemed to him as if that unpropitious moment in time had occurred just recently.

Days had turned into weeks. Yet and still, her prognosis had remained much the same.

More than one London physician had been consulted, each of them had been no better equipped to explain her strange malady than the one before.

Her mother had declared it all an utter waste of time.

There was nothing to be done, for it was quite simple, to her way of thinking.

Her daughter was dying of a broken heart.

Poor Miss Anne de Bourgh had lived most of her sheltered life it seemed, for one true purpose—to marry a wealthy gentleman. Though not just any gentleman, for if she had known only one truth, it was that she was destined at birth to marry her cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

The future had not always been so clear to young Anne.

As time had passed, she simply had reconciled herself to that prospect.

She had allowed her mother’s dream to become her dream.

Anne had cared for her cousin, and even had looked forward to his annual visits to Rosings Park and her frequent trips to Pemberley over the years.

But it was only during their late adolescence when she had begun to appreciate her future state as his intended.

He had grown more handsome and charming with each passing year.

In social settings, other young women possessing far more beauty and charm than she would ever have, sought and failed to capture his attention, teaching her to appreciate what she had been blessed by Fate to have secured as her own.

By the age of two and twenty, she had begun to think her cousin might not be as reconciled to their destiny as was she.

Anne had started to speak of their union as fervently as did her mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

So much so, that Darcy’s visits had become few and far between and eventually pared to only once a year, at Easter.

Darcy had been a tirelessly vigilant attendee to his poor cousin.

His guilt was palpable, as he had not come as soon as he had received his aunt’s summons.

He had supposed it a scheme, planned by both his cousin and his aunt to lure him to Rosings Park, to bring pressure to bear upon him once again to honour his dearly departed mother’s favourite wish.

After all, considered he, when of late was Anne ever not sick?

Alas, the summons of the very physician he had dispatched in his stead persuaded him to come.

Dr. Everett had been a loyal and trusted physician to Darcy’s family for many years.

Darcy could have no reason to think he might take part in any sort of subterfuge or have any cause to do his aunt’s bidding.

He did care for his cousin, after all. Just not in a manner which would persuade him to marry her.

The inducement of combining the two great estates of Pemberley and Rosings Park was not enough of a consideration for Darcy.

However, if there was a chance in the world his presence by Anne’s side would aid in her recovery, he felt he needed to be there.

At his aunt’s urgings, he sat with his cousin day after day for hours at a time.

Darcy’s mood soon grew as foul as the air in Anne’s sick room.

It is no wonder she does not recover. He started to bring her fresh-cut flowers each day.

Acting against his aunt’s counsel, he drew open the dark shades and even opened the windows to allow in the fresh air.

Every day, he sat by her bedside and read to her.

He often spoke to her—anything he thought might bring about a change.

“Please, Anne; will you not even try to come around? Would that I could do something to see you smile once more.

“I would do anything. Arrange to have you travel abroad with Georgiana and me. Would you not love a tour of the continent?

“I shall visit you here at Rosings Park more often than I have of late. I shall even bring Georgiana. Would you not love to know your younger cousin far better?”

It had torn at his heart to see her wasting away, growing more feeble and colourless before his eyes.

He was beside himself with worry. Day after day, with no change at all in Anne’s circumstance, Darcy had suffered heavy fatigue, having scarcely slept at all since his arrival.

Kind words of comfort and gentle cajoling had given way to desperation and out-right bargaining.

Dare I say the words out loud? She has yet to respond to a single word I have spoken.

More than likely, she is entirely unaware of my presence.

In a barely audible, reticent, and uneasy tone, he voiced, “I might even go as far as to marry you.”

Darcy was in residence at Netherfield Park with his close friend, Charles Bingley.

He thought of it as a reprieve of sorts, one that served two purposes.

First, he needed more than ever a change of scenery, or rather time and distance from his obligations .

Secondly, he had the excuse of being there to offer his friend counsel on the management of his new estate.

For the third morning in a row, Darcy set out on horseback.

If he were to be of any help to his friend, it was important that he enjoy a strenuous ride.

Ideally, he would be too tired upon his return to think of anything beyond the tasks immediately in front of them.

Heavy rains the day before had hastened the descent of the magnificent autumn leaves of amber and burnt orange he had so admired his first time out.

They carpeted the paths ahead, rendering them a bit slippery.

So very different from the pristine lanes of Rosings Park, he pondered .

The sharp sting of Darcy’s fine leather riding crop urged the stallion on.

It seems I cannot escape that place, no matter where I go.

My life was not supposed to turn out this way. What have I gotten myself into?

Though the lanes were rather foreign to him, Darcy raced along on his fierce stallion with reckless abandon, utterly oblivious of everything around him.

His mind was miles and miles away. Suddenly, a figure darted across the path ahead of him.

In light of the breakneck speed of his powerful beast, it was all Darcy could do to avoid what might certainly have been a near fatal collision, by wrenchingly jerking its reins, causing the magnificent beast to rear violently.

As a consequence, there was only one injured party, instead of two or even three, counting Darcy’s stallion. Sharp piercing pain flooded his senses, recalling him to the present. Darcy slowly sat upright trying to recover himself fully, whilst nursing what felt like a badly bruised shoulder.

That was not the first time Darcy had taken a bad fall, especially whilst racing about the countryside absent-mindedly. It was the first time, however, he had recovered from a fall whilst finding himself under attack—the blade of a sword aimed squarely at his heart.

If not for the craftsmanship, or rather lack thereof, of his attacker’s weapon, Darcy might have been in some danger.

As it was, the weathered and splintered blade would have better served as kindling.

From his seated position, Darcy looked his attacker straight in his eyes.

He did not even flinch, as the aggressor leaned in nearer.

“Identify yourself, stranger!”

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy replied in righteous indignation .

“I demand that you identify yourself!”

“I am in no mood for games,” said Darcy. “As you see plainly, I am quite indisposed. Step aside.” Darcy braced himself to stand.

“Halt, I say!”

“What is your name? I take it you live amongst the tenants.”

“You, stranger, are mistaken! I am Sir Lancelot du lac. I am merely passing through these lands on my way to Camelot.”

“Sir Lancelot, you say.” What an eager imagination this child possesses. I might as well play along, especially if it means quickly sending him on his way. “Then, surely you forget yourself, young sir. Do you not recognise me? I am King Arthur! ”

The child swiftly adopted a deferential demeanour. He lowered his sword and knelt beside it. “A thousand pardons your majesty. I did not expect to find you in these parts.” The child bowed his head in supplication. “I am yours to command.”

“There is no need for all that. Now, if you will pardon me, I must be on my way.” Darcy stood and brushed off his clothes.

He spotted his horse twenty yards or so up the lane.

Deciding not to signal his horse to his side for fear of startling the child, Darcy started gingerly walking in its direction.

“Where are you going, my King? I have waited long for this moment. There is much to discuss if we are to mount a proper defence against the evil Meleagant. ”

“Perhaps you had better run along, child. Your family might soon wonder of your whereabouts.”

“I am on an important mission in defence of my family’s honour.”

“Indeed—why, pray tell, has such a task befallen you? Who is your father?”

“My father is no longer of this world. He was slain by his enemy. Whilst my mother tended to him, I was stolen away by the Lady of the Lake. She carried me off to live with her in her Kingdom. Now that I am all grown up,” the child straightened himself to his full height, “and have learnt of my heritage, I intend to right the wrongs against my family and restore our legacy. ”