Page 29 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

Meryton. There was nothing in ‘that backwater town’, as his uncle had once referred to it.

That was all he had thought as well; when he entered it less than two months earlier, the small village was nothing more than a place to escape from his family.

He had gone from despising the place and its people to needing the sense of purpose he found there.

Now, as he rode towards Longbourn, Bennet’s letter burning a hole in his pocket, he felt more in his heart than he had in years.

Relief, to leave behind London and his increasingly vexing relations.

Sorrow for Mr Bennet and grief for his family.

Anticipation, for all that was to come with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth . In the beginning she had resented him, then she had grown to enjoy his company, teasing him and intriguing him.

They had become friends, and he could only hope that in these most desperate hours, she would welcome him.

His heart ached, knowing the distress and the responsibility towards her mother and sisters she must feel.

Elizabeth was too strong to wish him to be her rescuer, but he wished she would feel as he did, and want to honour her father’s wishes as he now did.

Darcy felt every nerve in his body come alive as he neared Longbourn.

He slowed his horse when he espied the chimney, watching the smoke pour out before dissipating into the clear blue sky.

If only the distress and pain he knew was roiling within the Bennet household could so easily drift away and disappear.

He wondered how much the Bennet family knew of their father’s plan, how much he had disclosed to them.

Mr Bennet had been dead more than a week now, according to the message Mr Gardiner had enclosed with the man’s letter.

The funeral had been conducted, and word of Mr Bennet’s death had been sent to Mr Collins only days ago.

He had much to explain, yet when he jumped down from his horse, there seemed no clear or proper manner to approach any of it. To approach her .

Alas, the widow must come first. He braced himself.

Mr Darcy is here, Elizabeth said to herself.

He is here. A wave of relief, coupled with shock and confusion, swept over her.

She backed away from the window, desperate that he not see them gawking, desperate that he not know how dire their situation.

She had told herself that he must know—the man who had spent recent time with her father ‘advising’ him on estate matters.

Perhaps he did know how grim things stood.

He could not be their saviour, but perhaps he could share more advice with her on how to move forward.

He had buried his parents, his wife, and?—

No, perhaps he is not a man I should ask anything at all.

“Why is that man here?” demanded Mrs Bennet.

Jane set her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I would expect Mr Darcy wishes to pay his respects.”

“He is too late for the funeral,” she snapped.

“Mama,” said Jane, “perhaps Mr Darcy is unaware of Papa’s death. Our misfortune?—”

“Our misfortune? Your father’s death is far more than a mere misfortune.

We are in dire straits, girls.” Mrs Bennet rushed away from the window and fell into her chair.

It was the first day she had emerged from her rooms before midday, and it was clear she felt put upon by a caller, a friend of her beloved Mr Bennet, who last left them with hardly a polite warning.

“Mr Collins, Mr Darcy,” she moaned. “Where is Mr Bingley?”

Elizabeth tried to ignore Jane’s bleak expression.

Kitty tugged at the skirt of her black gown. “Perhaps he is here to marry one of us.”

“Ha,” cried Lydia, “marry one of the girls he called tolerable, not handsome enough?”

Elizabeth froze and clamped her hand over Lydia’s mouth.

Mrs Bennet shrieked. “What was that?”

Lydia, having twisted away from her older sister, had the grace to shame their guest before he entered the house. “Yes, Mama. Samuel said Mr Darcy stormed off with his horse one day, growling those words about one of the ladies here.”

Mrs Bennet, who had spent the past week veering between hysterical weeping, loud exclamations of despair, and angry resentment for both her dead husband and the cousin due to inherit, now had a new target for her emotions.

“He was your father’s friend! The nerve of him, insulting and ignoring my daughters in favour of Mr Bennet, and now coming here. He likely wishes only to retrieve his borrowed books. Or take what your father lost in one of their infernal games!”

“Shush, Mama!” Elizabeth urged her red-faced mother. “He will hear you.”

A few moments later, Mr Darcy was announced.

He entered the drawing room awkwardly, his eyes roaming over the six ladies assembled in the room. Elizabeth felt his gaze pause on her before setting on Mrs Bennet. He stepped towards her and bowed.

“Mrs Bennet, allow me to express my condolences and deep sorrow on the loss of Mr Bennet. He was a fine man. ”

The object of his attentions sniffed and nodded. “I thank you, sir.”

“Would you please sit, Mr Darcy?” Jane gestured to a chair.

Darcy seated himself and leaned towards Mrs Bennet. “My apologies for not arriving sooner.”

Sooner? Elizabeth wondered how long he had been in Hertfordshire.

“You come from Netherfield?”

He looked surprised at her question. “No, I was in London a few hours ago. My carriage will go on to Netherfield. I wished to call here first, as it was your dreadful news that compelled my early return to the country.”

Mrs Bennet beamed. She should have simply nodded, but her pride had been mollified and could not be reined in.

“That is proper and kind of you, Mr Darcy. How pleased Mr Bennet would be that you placed duty and piety above seeing your friends or refreshing yourself.”

As her mother continued speaking, bewailing her bereaved and hopeless situation, Elizabeth realised she must step in.

Her mother could talk for hours, telling and re-telling her story of woe and loss.

Elizabeth sensed Mr Darcy was too polite to interrupt the grieving widow, and time for a polite call was nearing its end.

For reasons less unselfish than apparent to the others, she decided to rescue him and satisfy her own curiosity about his visit.

“Mr Darcy.”

He, and everyone else, turned to her.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“I believe you left a book or two in my father’s book room. Would you care to retrieve them?”

His eyes seemed to warm, and he rose immediately to follow her.

“Those ridiculous books!” Mrs Bennet cried, her outburst garnering her the attention of the remaining daughters and allowing Elizabeth and Mr Darcy to move quietly, and alone, into the book room.

Elizabeth left the door slightly ajar and turned to look at the tall gentleman, standing in the room where she realised, abruptly, she had become accustomed to his presence.

Here, in this room. Talking, reading, playing chess.

Some of the last times she had seen her father had been in this room with Mr Darcy.

Infuriating man, stealing the last of her time with her dear papa.

“It is?—”

Suddenly overwhelmed, emotions she had hardly allowed came rushing forth, and she began to sob.

The next thing she knew, Elizabeth was enfolded in Mr Darcy’s strong arms, shaking and crying.