Page 20

Elizabeth made her way down the stairs by the light of her flickering candle. She detested the nights when she could not fall asleep, and being in a house that was not her home made it worse. The cold marble steps of Netherfield were in stark contrast to the old, creaky wooden ones of her dear Longbourn.

If she were to sleep, she needed a new book. One that did not hold her interest as the current one she was reading. She wanted a book that would bore her, if not to death, then into a blissful sleep.

She moved slowly, trying not to extinguish the flame that illuminated her way. Its demise would plunge her into an unfamiliar darkness.

The clock’s chime in the foyer initially startled her but then irritated her. It was now half past the hour since the last time she had looked at the clock in her room. Cupping her hand before the flame, she hurried on a little faster towards the library. When she stopped at the door she let the flame steady before lowering her hand to open the door It went out anyway from the flow of warm air coming out into the cold hall. Behind her, plunged into darkness.

She breathed a sigh of relief. A hint of light from the fireplace’s glowing embers was visible through the partially open door.

She pushed the door open and froze upon hearing the quiet sobbing. She was not sure what to make of it. She was about to turn away. What if it was one of the servants? Except those brought by Mr Bingley, she knew many as they had come from her father’s tenants and the village of Longbourn or from Meryton.

Elizabeth could not decide if she should leave, but her heart finally won out, and she entered the room determined to find out who it was and console them as best she could. As she rounded the corner of the couch, she was shocked to see Mr Darcy in the dim light of the fireplace.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy sniffed through the tears he was trying to control, as he stood a little wobbly to his feet.

“Mr Darcy,” she exclaimed, looking down at the floor to avoid looking at him and noticed crumpled paper at his feet. “Sorry to disturb you. I did not, I thought... I shall leave at once,” she stammered, unsure what to do but knowing it was best to leave immediately.

“Wait, please don’t leave,” he said, brushing her arm with his fingers as she turned to leave, “ me alone.”

Elizabeth stopped at his words and touch, which, as innocent as they were, still sent a tingle through her body, even through the thickness of her winter robe. She turned back, knowing he must have received bad news about his cousin, as she had heard the riders. She looked back up feeling a tightening in her chest.

In the soft glow of the embers of the fireplace, she could not make out his face. He sniffed again and knew he must be holding back the sobbing she had heard.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, dreading to hear the bad tidings.

“I just received…”

She could tell it was taking every bit of willpower for him not to break down and start sobbing again. Without thinking she dropped the candle and threw her arms around his waist, holding him tight.

“You can tell me, Mr Darcy.” She already knew what he would say. “I shan’t ever tell anyone what I’ve seen.” She whispered as her face pressed into his chest.

“I received word from Whitehall. My cousin is dead.” As soon as the last word passed his lips, he began to cry even though he tried his best to keep his emotions in check. Elizabeth hugged him tighter. She started crying herself as she felt his pain as his body shook in sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Mr Darcy. I am truly sorry. I wish it were not so,” she cried with him as his arms encircled her.

He could not find words to say about the grief he felt about the loss of someone who had been like a brother. Trying to regain his composure, he reluctantly let his arms drop and disengaged himself from her caring arms.

Darcy sat, his thoughts still numb to the information he received and the whiskey he had drank to try and alleviate the pain of it.

To imagine his vibrant, jovial cousin Richard no longer among the living baffled his mind as if it could not accept the reality of it. Never to be seen again except in eventually fading memories or a lifeless portrait on the wall.

Elizabeth sat beside him. One of the few times in her life she was unsure of what to say or do. She was about to make her excuses for leaving when he leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. She instinctively rubbed her hand up and down his back trying to soothe him.

Without thinking, she pulled his head to her bosom as she would one of her sisters, as he fought hard to control his overflowing grief because she was there.

“I do not know how, but all will be well,” she whispered in his ear. “You must be strong for your cousin and sister. All will be well regardless of how dark the situation appears or whatever thoughts might be going through your mind. It will get better.”

Darcy struggled to master his emotions. He felt he should be ashamed of the weakness he showed in front of this woman he barely knew, but he found he was not. If Miss Bingley had discovered him in this moment of weakness, would he have been different?

Elizabeth brushed her hands through his hair, wondering what she should do. What would he think in the morning, knowing she had seen him so vulnerable? What would she think in the morning? Would she be mortified the next time she saw him, knowing that his head had been pressed against her breasts as she tried to comfort him? He suddenly pulled his head away from her as if reading her thoughts. She thought perhaps he would like to be alone now and made to stand but was arrested as he took her hand. Unlike their dance at the assembly, it was a gloveless hand

“Miss Elizabeth.”

“Yes, Mr Darcy,” she asked breathlessly from his touch. Unlike her father’s, it was not soft. It was different.

“Please stay. I cannot bear the thought of being alone right now. My family diminished to…”

Elizabeth was unsure what to do. While she felt empathy for the terrible circumstances, it put her in an awkward position. She should not be alone with him in such intimate proximity in the middle of the night dressed as she was. It was beyond propriety. If a servant discovered them, she would be ruined.

Despite her apprehension, she leaned against his shoulder, patting his thigh to comfort him. She murmured platitudes as he brushed his fingers through her hair. He began to talk, telling her about his cousin. She listened to the stories as occasionally he struggled to get out the words with the sadness he felt.

Elizabeth woke with a start. She gasped in shock when she realized that her head rested in Mr Darcy’s lap. His fingers entwined in her hair, the braid having become loose. The memories of the previous night flooding back. His hand slipped from her hair as she sat up.

Judging from the sunlight coming through the windows, she had to think that one or more of the servants had seen them. The fire in the hearth had not been restarted. Had the servant responsible for its maintenance not shown up, or had they retreated from the room in shock?

Elizabeth’s mind was in turmoil as she contemplated the implications. He stirred but thankfully did not wake as she stood. Once on her feet, she made for the door and did not look back. She quickly glanced around, hurried to the stairs, and started up. Her heart froze when she thought she heard whispering below. She wanted to stop and listen but instead moved faster. Reaching the top of the stairs, she paused momentarily to listen but heard nothing, so she hurried down the hall to her room. Inside, she leaned against the door. She was sure she had not been seen but waited with her heart pounding for any sign of another person awake.