The Darcy Monologues Read online

  She raised a brow at him and he crossed the carriage to sit beside her. “You refused me. And yet, you see the world exactly as it is. You chose poverty or charity over marriage to a man you disliked. I am the richest man in Derbyshire, but I did not meet your moral standards. You would have preferred spinsterhood.”

  “Ah, but you see I am vain enough to think I might have had other offers after yours. Who is to say the second richest man in Derbyshire might not want me?”

  “I daresay he would.”

  The carriage now moved at a crawling pace, driven back by the thick snow and howling winds. They were in the middle of a blizzard. Darcy sighed heavily.

  “Fitzwilliam, will you please never say that in front of my mother? About you being the richest man in Derbyshire. I fear it would surpass ‘ten thousand a year’ as her favourite phrase.”

  He laughed and moved to kiss her forehead, but then everything slid sideways. There was much noise from outside as his coachman shouted and the horses protested. His arms went protectively around Elizabeth and he threw up silent prayers to the heavens—which were thankfully answered. Though they tilted and moved at a perilously odd angle for a few moments, they did not tip over completely and the slide was halted with a firm, but soft, thud. Darcy looked at the window to their left which was now covered completely with snow. Instead, he flung open the door on the right and jumped down to see John the coachman perched at a peculiar angle, clinging to the rails of the carriage which had tipped sideways, ever so gently, into a snowdrift.

  Darcy checked on the postilion and his manservant who had been riding next to the coachman. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but they were well stuck. Darcy offered his assistance in digging the carriage out, but the blizzard raged on and his men would have none of it, insisting he should walk Mrs. Darcy to the nearest inn, a third of a mile down the road. He nodded his gratitude and looked back up into the carriage. Elizabeth was calmly putting her gloves on. He held out his arms and she fell eagerly into them.

  He carried her a few paces before she protested.

  “For heaven’s sake, put me down.”

  “No, I mean to carry you. I will not have you soaking and cold.”

  “For a third of a mile! I shall be a widow before I have had a chance to be a wife. I may have no dowry, sir, but I do have two strong legs.”

  Which I would very much like to have wrapped around me before the night is out, he mused, then chided himself. What a time for such thoughts! He set her on her feet as requested but feared for her safety as a sudden gust of wind-whipped snow attacked them, nearly blowing them off their feet and covering them in white flakes.

  She swiped at her eyes, threw back her head, and laughed at it. “Will anything ever be easy for us, do you think?”

  Darcy shook his head and tucked her under his arm, throwing his greatcoat over the pair of them as they set forth. For every four steps they managed forwards, they were blown back one, but eventually the light of the inn came into view. Lanterns glowed gently in the windows and a smart-looking sign creaked as it swung on a pole outside. It did not look too bad, respectable even. Darcy’s spirits rose as they went through the door, stamping the snow off their boots and grateful for the immediate warmth its four walls provided.

  The landlord was quickly found and told Darcy he was in luck. There was still one room unoccupied which he might rent. He nodded quickly when told the price. He would have paid anything. They would be going no further. The snow continued to fall and even if his carriage was quickly rescued it would be foolhardy to try and reach London now. He would not risk it.

  He quickly apprised the landlord about his servants and gave instructions for them to receive food and shelter as soon as they arrived. He turned back to Elizabeth, relieved and triumphant. Though far from being the evening he had planned for them, they would have some privacy, a fire, some wine. It was not so very terrible. Or, at least it would not have been, but the door opened again, admitting a young man and his lady, she very heavy with child and looking dreadfully weary. They had arrived in a battered cart. Darcy guessed him to be a shopkeeper or clerk of some sort and knew—before the man even spoke—what would happen. There would be a request for a room; the landlord would shake his head regretfully and explain that they were full. Elizabeth’s large, exquisite eyes would implore him to be kind. And it was exactly so. He sadly handed over the key—which had not been in his hands for more than two minutes—to the man whose wife burst into grateful tears. Kindness was supposed to have its own rewards. Darcy felt he was being punished for his as he watched them disappear up the stairs.

  He needed a drink.

  “Mrs. Darcy should not have to spend even a moment in a saloon bar. Let alone an entire night sitting up in one.” Blinking in disbelief at the situation he found himself in, he took a seat next to Elizabeth on the hard, wooden bench. There had been nowhere else to go but the main room of the inn—a rowdy, noisy place, bursting with people from every station in life. And so, Darcy had found her a seat before securing a tankard of ale for himself. There was no brandy or port to be had, it had all been supped. This news was not a surprise, convinced as he now was, that this was an evening when nothing was destined to go right for him.

  “Mmm, yet here I am.” Elizabeth peeled off her gloves and took hold of the tankard he had put on the table in front of him. She sipped the beer and set it back down again. “And Mrs. Darcy is very proud to have such a good husband. You are the very best of men.”

  Her words warmed him and he slid closer to her on the bench.

  “I suppose you had very different plans for this evening.”

  “Yes. There was to be good wine, an elegant, intimate supper, flowers direct from a hothouse, and some very fine confectionery.”

  “Chocolate?” she asked with a smile.

  “Indeed. You see how well I know you already.”

  “I will be a very spoilt wife.” She leaned forward to take another sip of beer. “And what else did you have planned?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him. She was so enticing, her mouth so full.

  “When you have been married some time, Elizabeth, you will realise it is not kind to ask me such a question in a crowded room, while looking at me in that manner.”

  “Shall we talk of something else then? What think you of books? Tell me what you are reading at the moment.”

  Reeling from her sudden shift of mind, and his body taut with desire for her to the point of snapping, he shrugged and replied gruffly, “Some nonsense I picked up from the scant library at Netherfield. I have a novel, but the plot is implausible.”

  “All novels are implausible,” she said decidedly and took another sip of his beer. “We would not wish to read them if they were not. Can you imagine how dull a tale would be if it were completely founded in reality? I do not read a novel to hear how Mary or Anne went to the shops to buy ribbons or that they sat at home sewing for three days without a single letter or caller. I declare implausibility a must if the reader is not to be bored to tears.”

  “This is implausible,” Darcy said, looking about him. “This should not be happening. We should not be here.”

  “Sometimes, I find it implausible that you should love me.”

  “No,” he replied. “It would be implausible if I did not love you.”

  When she reached for his beer again, he stilled her hand with his own.

  “Would you like your own drink?”

  “Good heavens, no. Whatever would Lady Catherine say?”

  Darcy could not help himself. He needed to be closer to her and shuffled until his thigh was pressed against the length of hers. Damn propriety, there was no one here to judge them anyway. Nobody they would ever meet again. No Caroline Bingleys or Louisa Hursts. She did not shift away from him but leant her head against his shoulder.

  They had been sitting in such a way, in comfortable silence, for a few minutes when the table in front of them was jolted by an elderly man, slightly in his cups and uns
teady on his feet. Darcy was about to take considerable objection but was appeased when an apology was quickly forthcoming.

  “Dear me, I am sorry. We are all stranded here with nothing to do but drink, and I have taken more than I normally would. I beg your pardon, sir, and the pardon of your lovely wife.”

  “No matter,” Darcy said and nodded, trying to quickly dismiss him.

  The man lingered however, and smiled softly at Elizabeth. “Your lady reminds me of my own dear wife. Gone now, taken from me too soon by a bout of influenza.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “I thank you. We were only eight years married. I have now been without her longer than I was with her, but I treasure the memories. How long have you been married, sir, if you will excuse the impertinence?”

  “All of eight hours,” Elizabeth said, favouring the old man with a broad smile.

  “Good heavens, ’tis your wedding day!” he exclaimed, just as John burst through the door, seeking his master and bringing the cold air with him.

  “No lasting damage done, sir,” the coachman said. “Carriage and horses are fine, but the snow shows no sign of stopping.”

  “Yes, John. We must stop here the night. I had already resigned myself to that.”

  “What room is it, sir? I’ll have the trunks brought up,” John offered.

  “We have no room. They are all taken. We shall sit here.”

  “No! How dreadful. You must take my room,” the old man insisted. “I haven’t been up to it yet but am told it is a tiny room with just a small cot. I daresay it might be the worst in the whole place, but I would not rest easy in it, knowing your lady had no bed. You must take it.”

  Darcy saw that Elizabeth was about to object. “If you are certain, I would be most grateful,” he interjected quickly.

  “I am quite certain. I shall sleep very well down here with my feet up by the fire.”

  “You are a gentleman, sir.”

  “I am not.” He shook his head; his wrinkles deepening with his smile.

  “Yet, your generosity makes you one. For I was recently reminded by a young lady of my acquaintance that it is not always a question of birth. A gentleman proves himself by his deeds and behaviour.” He glanced down at Elizabeth. “On behalf of my wife, I accept your kind offer.”

  He could not allow Elizabeth to protest again, if there was a bed available, she must have it. It was his duty to ensure her comfort, and so, he took the man’s hand and shook it vigorously.

  Within half an hour Elizabeth had been shown upstairs by the landlord’s wife. Darcy went to inspect the carriage and horses himself and watched John and the postilion locate a small travelling trunk, which Elizabeth insisted was the only one she needed for the night. The men staggered about the top of the coach, laughing as they were blown about by the wind and kicking snow at one another. Following the advice of his father, Darcy tried his best to be a benevolent, generous master and had been repaid in kind by loyal, happy servants. He thanked them profusely as they found the desired trunk and hauled it indoors. He remained outside for a while, cooling his ardour and adjusting his temper. He had to allow himself a few moments of bitterness before he could accept his fate sanguinely. When he could no longer feel his fingers, he went back inside and sought directions to her room.

  She was drying her face when he went in, stood over a small basin of water on a table with a cloth in her hand. As he had been warned, it was a small chamber, meant for a lone traveller of moderate means. There was a chair, a single cot, and no space for anything else. It was clean and there was a fire blazing, but still, for her to have to stay in such a room rankled and jarred his pride.

  “I am sorry.”

  “For what? The weather? Even the richest man in Derbyshire cannot control that.” She sighed. “I feel guilty about that poor old man, however.”

  “He will be well looked after—I shall see to it. And I will post John to sit outside your door, for protection.”

  “You will do no such thing. He will freeze to death in the corridor. Besides, I have you here.”

  “I thought to sleep downstairs.”

  “Did you now? I think not.” She moved towards the fire and he noticed her feet were bare. Her boots were set upon the hearth to dry in front of the flames and she had hung her stockings over the back of the chair. With quick hands, she began to remove the pins from her hair. In her dark travelling clothes, with her toes exposed and her curls flowing freely about her shoulders, she looked more gypsy girl than fine lady.

  Her smile was shy and gentle as she began to twirl her ring around her finger again.

  Darcy stepped closer, until they were both before the hearth. “That is fast becoming a habit of yours … fiddling with this.” He caught her hand and brushed his thumb over the gold band before quickly letting go again. “Does it bother you?”

  “No.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “I did not realise I was fiddling. It does feel odd. Heavy.”

  “You do not like it? You may choose another when we get to London.”

  She put her hand on his lapel. “No, I like it very much. It is just a new feeling. Something else to get used to. New name, new clothes, new … sleeping arrangements.”

  “I will sleep downstairs,” he said firmly.

  “Do you mean to embarrass me? Am I the bride whose husband would prefer to sit downstairs in a saloon bar all night than be with her?”

  “Embarrass you, no. You misunderstand me. Deliberately perhaps. You must see that this is not the place—”

  “Stay,” she said simply.

  “If I stay here, I should want to … to kiss and touch you.”

  “And do you imagine that I do not want to be kissed and touched? Am I some statue only to be admired from afar?”

  “No, you are all too real, but this is not a place fit for … for you.”

  Elizabeth moved to the chair, threw herself down quickly, making her skirts fly up for a moment. Darcy saw a sweet ankle and a beautifully, sculptured calf before tearing his gaze away.

  “Are you angry with me, for staying so long at Longbourn?”

  “No, I said as much in the carriage.”

  “Did I somehow cause us to slide into the snowdrift?”

  “Ridiculous. How could I blame you for that?” he said.

  “Then tell me my offence.”

  “I am not angry with you.”

  “You are.”

  “I am not, but God damn it, Elizabeth, if you had accepted me in March, we would have been married in the spring. There would be no snow,” he snapped, then immediately cursed himself for it.

  She sat bolt upright, her mouth dropped open. She came towards him in a fury. Unsure of what she was about to do, he caught hold of her, trapped her within his embrace, and kissed her before she could properly tell him off. She gasped against his mouth, gave in for the briefest of moments, before pulling back as far as his arms would let her.

  “And perhaps we would have had April showers so heavy they would have washed the bridges out, and still we might have been trapped here. What do you say to that, sir?”

  “What I say, madam, is that you always seem to have an answer for everything. But I love you for it. Forgive me, Elizabeth. I want you to always have the best of everything, every comfort. Not this awful room, not here. It cannot be what you wished for.”

  She gave a little shake of her head. “Wishes are hopes that drift in the sky. You ought to know your wife has her feet planted firmly on the ground. And this evening, I am warm, safe, healthy, and longing for you. I might be innocent, as yet, about many things, but whatever you feel and need, I am certain I feel and need it also.”

  Outside in the storm, he had resolved to wait for her—to wait until London—but she was too close and the room warm enough to melt his determination. Any lingering doubts were done away altogether when she put a hand about his neck and brought his mouth down to hers again, a kiss he returned feverishly. And then his lips began to travel everywhere, her
eyelids, the tip of her nose, across her smooth cheek, to her ear, and then down to her neck—where every kiss and brush of her skin with his lips produced a breathless gasp from her. He knew only half of what he did. He reminded himself to go slowly, yet his hands moved quickly. There were clothes, and then somehow, there were far less clothes. Do not rush her into bed, but then they were headed towards the cot, pulling and tugging at one another, kissing constantly, until he felt drunk with it. They fell onto the tiny bed, laughing at the singing coming from downstairs, where twenty or so drunken men and women had turned the storm to their advantage and were busy making merry.

  Afterwards, he would remember the sounds more than anything. Footsteps on the stairs, and how they temporarily stilled her exploring hand on his thigh, until the noise passed by and she continued her experimental caress. A dog barking when he asked her to bare herself to him completely, and how it had howled when she had bravely pulled off her chemise and thrown it aside. The rattle of the glass in the window frame as the storm attacked it while he thrust into her. And when they were done, while he was still on top of her, his back soaked with perspiration, his lungs struggling for air, his heart full, his legs heavy, and his whole body shaking, there was the distant sound of a glass smashing, and a cheer going up as the clumsy individual was mocked.

  Then there was only the two of them again as Darcy concentrated on nothing but her comfort. He whispered into her ear and gave reassurances until she laughed, but she was crying too. “They are good tears, I assure you,” she told him.

  “Good tears,” he said incredulously, as he wiped them away. “Whoever heard of such a thing. I think you are too generous. I have hurt you.”

  “No, you did not. Well, maybe, but only a very little. Women cry for all sorts of reasons and I weep delirious tears of love for you. And I am relieved, I suppose. I always thought of this as something that was to be done to me, but it was not so. ’Tis something to be enjoyed together, I think.”

  Darcy nodded. “You are very beautiful,” he said, looking down the length of her, all the way down to her delicate feet. “There is not a part of you I do not adore.”