Page 17 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
DARCY
F or the next several weeks, I sought Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s company as often as circumstances allowed.
In my own mind, I had long since ceased to think of her so formally; and though I suspected that, when we were alone, I occasionally omitted the customary honorific in addressing her, she never offered the slightest reproof.
Yet I could not fail to observe the delicate flush that suffused her cheeks each time I did so.
Each morning that the weather proved fair, we met atop Oakham Mount and conversed for hours that seemed to slip away like minutes.
Our discussions ranged over literature, history, and matters of principle.
I spoke to her of Pemberley—not merely of the house itself but also of those who belonged to it who gave it life—of my parents and the rare and steady affection they had shared and of Georgiana’s sorrow the previous summer, a wound still tender and unhealed.
In return, she spoke with a candour that both surprised and humbled me.
She described her life at Longbourn, the responsibilities she had lately undertaken in guiding her younger sisters towards more becoming conduct, and the vexing indifference of her father.
Mr. Bennet, it seemed, was not blind to the behaviour of his youngest daughters, but he remained disinclined to intervene, choosing instead to find amusement in their foolishness.
She confessed her growing disappointment in him and how her new understanding of his habitual neglect had wounded her more deeply than she had imagined possible.
The subdued resignation in her voice and the way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears stirred within me a powerful and unfamiliar ache.
When those tears at last fell silently down her cheek, I could no longer remain unmoved.
I reached for her and drew her gently into my arms, and she did not resist. The embrace, though brief, did not feel like a breach of decorum but rather the natural culmination of all that had passed between us.
In that moment, a calm certainty settled over me: she belonged in my arms, and I would devote myself wholly to the task of proving myself worthy to keep her there.
Those tranquil mornings lingered in my thoughts long after I had left her, each one a promise of what might be—mornings shared at Pemberley, her presence beside me not as a guest but as its mistress.
In the evenings, when we were fortunate enough to meet again at one of the gatherings hosted by the families of Meryton, another vision soon took hold: Elizabeth, moving with effortless grace through the drawing rooms of London, charming even the most particular of my acquaintances.
She encouraged me to engage more freely with her neighbours and friends, and I found myself doing so—not from obligation, but from the quiet pleasure of being part of her world.
Her warmth, her wit, and the gentle brilliance of her presence drew me in, and I followed willingly, grateful for every moment in her company.
We were seldom alone on such occasions; more often than not, Miss Lucas or one of her sisters was nearby acting as a chaperone of sorts, even if they were, perhaps, not aware of their role as such.
I had noticed that Miss Lucas looked at me knowingly a time or two.
For Elizabeth’s sake, I prayed that her mother had not observed how frequently my attention strayed in the direction of her second daughter.
If Mrs. Bennet had remarked upon it, Elizabeth gave no sign, and she had made no mention of any gossip linking the two of us .
More than a month after my arrival in Hertfordshire, I attended a dinner held in honour of Colonel Forster, who had recently assumed command of the local militia.
Several of the neighbouring gentlemen had arranged the event as an opportunity to become acquainted with the colonel and a number of his officers.
Bingley had received an invitation, and, as was often the case, Hurst and I accompanied him.
The evening proved more agreeable than I had anticipated.
Although the officers were unfamiliar, I found the company pleasant and the conversation lively.
Over the past weeks, I had grown more at ease amongst the local gentry, and on this occasion, I found little difficulty in engaging with those seated near me.
As we lingered over the second course, the elder Mr. Goulding addressed me with a good-natured smile as we sat next to each other at the table.
“I daresay, Mr. Darcy, you are far more sociable than rumour had led me to expect. After the assembly, my wife was certain your party would be poor company, but you and Mr. Bingley have been fitting right into the community.”
I inclined my head politely. “Then I suppose I am glad to have disappointed, sir.”
He chuckled. “Indeed you have. Whilst perhaps not as jovial as your friend, you have been a welcome addition to our neighbourhood. My son speaks highly of you, and I have heard that you have not only offered assistance to the tenants at Netherfield but have also offered several thoughtful suggestions, which he now proposes to implement upon our own estate.”
I inclined my head and allowed a faint smile.
“You are very kind, sir. Whilst Derbyshire may differ from Hertfordshire in many respects, at heart I am still a gentleman farmer, much like yourselves. My father instilled in me a strong sense of duty, and I have always endeavoured to do the best I can for those who depend upon me. If Mr. Bingley means to establish himself here, it will serve him well to have neighbours he may consult directly, rather than relying solely on my advice from afar. I only mean to aid him in this as best I can. ”
This prompted a serious discussion amongst those at our end of the table, and the conversation continued with ease. Although the evening lacked the familiarity of old friends, it held the comfort of civility and the promise of continued acquaintance.
When we returned to Netherfield, it was raining heavily, and as soon as we entered, we were met with the news that Miss Jane Bennet was in residence.
She had been invited by Miss Bingley and her sister to join them for the afternoon and evening.
Miss Bennet had ridden to Netherfield and had been caught in the rain.
After sitting for far too long in the damp and cold, she took a chill and was now ensconced in a bedchamber upstairs.
For a moment, I considered it odd that Elizabeth had not mentioned the invitation to me, but then I heard Bingley ask a question that would provide the answer I sought. Apparently, they had not invited her until the afternoon, knowing that the gentlemen would be out.
Bingley, who had sought Miss Bennet’s company almost as frequently as I had sought out Elizabeth’s, was visibly pleased to learn she was in his home. However, his pleasure was tempered by a flicker of irritation when he turned to his sisters.
“You invited her here tonight and said nothing to me of your intentions?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Why was I not informed?”
Miss Bingley gave a negligent wave of her hand.
“We did not think it was so important. She arrived a little before dinner, thoroughly wet through. Doubtlessly, her mother sent her on horseback knowing she would be required to stay the night. After dinner, she claimed she was chilled and felt unwell. We escorted her to a bedchamber, and after seeing that the fire was lit and she had a nightgown to don, we sent a maid to see to her. She will be perfectly well in the morning.”
“And you did not call for a physician?” he asked, clearly dismayed at this lack.
“She claimed it was merely a trifling cold,” Mrs. Hurst added with a shrug. “If she worsens, we can always summon the apothecary. That is all that they have in this little village. For now, the housekeeper reports that she is resting comfortably and has a maid attending to her.”
Bingley looked as though he wished to say more but held his tongue.
I could see the concern in his expression, and I confess, I shared it.
Whilst the ladies seemed unconcerned, I knew Elizabeth would worry for her sister.
I wished I was able to send her a note, but given the weather, it seemed improbable for more than one reason.
Given the rain, it seemed unlikely that anyone could easily make their way to Netherfield that night.
Still, I instructed one of my footmen to remain alert and stationed him near Miss Bennet’s room.
He was to provide any assistance the maid might require and inform me at once if there were any concerns about her condition during the night.
By morning, I would see to it that Miss Elizabeth was informed of her sister’s illness.
Were it not for the storm, I would have ridden to Longbourn that very moment.
Nor would it be appropriate for me to show up on their doorstep at this time of night, but I wished to keep Elizabeth from worrying about her sister, even to wonder about the reason for her stay.
When I rose the next morning, there was still a light rain falling. I considered going to meet Elizabeth anyway, but a loud clap of thunder made me decide to wait. Instead, I went into the passageway and found the footman I had stationed outside Miss Bennet’s room the night before.
“What have you heard?” I asked him. He was a tall, well-favoured youth of about seventeen, the son of one of my tenants—an honest man with more children than he could comfortably provide for—who had taken to accompanying me wherever I went.
“The maid believes the apothecary should be called,” Jack replied. “I brought her cool water several times in the night, but Miss Bennet remains feverish. Mrs Nicholls is of the same opinion; however, the mistress left orders that no one be disturbed before breakfast. ”
I frowned. “When was the last time you spoke with the maid?”