Elizabeth was asleep.
Darcy gave a little sigh that was composed of equal parts disappointment and relief. At least this way he could look at her without being observed -- well, Mrs Bingley could see him, but she must understand his feelings well enough if she knew of the letter. Six years -- he had not thought that six years would work any change on her, even six years spent waiting on a dying father.
I'm a fool, he thought, and pressed his lips together, striving for composure as he took the step that would enable him to clearly see her. It was Elizabeth, sprawled across the sofa, her fingertips dangling over the side. He felt a little like a voyeur as he drank in the sight of her, while she lay all unawares. It would be worse, however, if she woke to find him staring at her like -- like -- like a very foolish person.
Elizabeth Bennet was one of those fortunate late-blooming women, whose youthful prettiness at twenty or one-and-twenty inevitably gives way to a fuller beauty at seven- or -eight-and-twenty. If he were completely impartial, he might acknowledge that she still was not Mrs Bingley's equal, but Darcy claimed no such neutrality, and still considered her the loveliest woman he had ever set eyes on, not even barring Georgiana. And all this with her eyes still closed!
The sensation of sliding into starry-eyed infatuation ought to be familiar by now, but it was as overwhelming as ever. I have no claim on her affections -- she owes me nothing at all -- he told himself, but somehow it was more halfhearted than usual. He turned slightly -- and saw only the letter sitting on a small table. Mrs Bingley was nowhere to be seen. Darcy felt a bewildered, happy smile curling his lips before he quite realised it was happening, and reached out one hand to touch it tentatively. She had returned for his letter. Why? As a reminder of her mortal frailty? To keep her antipathy fresh?
No. She was not hostile at Pemberley, and she had already kept it by then. She would not risk her life for so mean a cause.
Curiously, he opened the letter -- it was all right, surely, as he had written it? -- and stared. The first paragraph was almost completely indecipherable. Only two words, freedom and justice, could even be hinted at. Much of what followed was the same. He had supposed it would be burnt, that Elizabeth would burnt it, from what he had said -- and worse, how he had said it! -- here. And it had -- but not at all as he had expected. But nothing ever was, was it? He smiled at the irony of one clear line -- I must have been in error. The effect of smoke and fire grew considerably less on the following pages, for whatever reason. Only near the end did the circumstances of its retrieval seem to have had any effect -- one line of the last paragraph had been completely and neatly burnt through, as if it had been excised out by some divine hand, and so read,
For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions . . . that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.
His signature, however, had been altered beyond any recognition but that of the author, and, perhaps, the recipient. Mrs Bennet would never have guessed at her daughter's mysterious admirer -- for that was undoubtedly the suspicion she had entertained. My chivalry was unnecessary after all, he thought with a smile, and carefully replaced the letter. He had a great deal to think about.
---
Early that morning, he woke to a pounding on the door. Darcy, who had lain awake most of the night, pondering, analysing, and re-evaluating even the most ambiguous of remarks, opened the door in a distinctly ill temper.
"What is it now?" he demanded. The maid cast a lingering eye over him, before quailing at his expression. Servants these days, he thought, and primly closed his robe, feeling a distinct sense that this had all happened before. "Anne -- my daughter, she is well?"
"Oh yes, sir, it's only that an express just arrived for you, from Pem -- "
He muttered to himself and shut the door, dressing quickly before finding Bingley with a sealed letter in his hand. "I do hope nothing is wrong," the latter said, as cheerful as ever.
"So do I." He broke the seal and read it, his brow furrowing.
"Well?"
Darcy simply stared, then went back and re-read it. "It's from Mrs Reynolds. She says that -- that a strange woman has arrived at Pemberley and refuses to leave until she has spoken with me, and they aren't certain what to do with her."
Bingley stared, then smiled a little roguishly. "You, Darcy?"
"No, most certainly not I," he returned sharply. "I have not even looked at a woman since -- " he shut his lips firmly.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I quite forgot about Lady Rosemary."
Darcy started. "Oh -- yes." Bingley gave him a strange look.
"Well, are we to have the pleasure of your company much longer?"
Darcy vacillated a moment. He could go to Pemberley, resolve the matter of The Woman, and return -- but something might happen -- not that something wouldn't happen even if he was there, but what if --
"Yes, actually," he said, clenching his hand as if to relive the sensation of rough paper against smooth skin. "I think I shall stay. Surely a full staff of servants can manage one wayward female?"
---
Darcy knew that he had made the right decision when he woke once more, at a slightly less ungodly hour. After dressing and avoiding the erstwhile Polly, he went to Bingley's study to continue work on the matter of the mill, and was quickly so caught up in thought that all else faded. Bingley entered at perhaps eight o'clock, looking strained and nervous. He repeated himself three times before Darcy noticed him.
"Oh, Bingley. Hello." He smiled absently, then came back to earth with a jolt, recalling all that had passed -- or not passed -- the day before.
"Darcy, didn't you hear?"
"Hear what?"
Bingley shook his head with a weak laugh. "You never change."
Darcy blinked a little, then, finally, noticed the furor. Mrs Bennet's voice was unmistakable, and Lady Elliot's insistent tones could also be heard. A low sobbing he recognised, after a moment of consideration, as Mrs Bingley. Dear God, no. "Bingley, what is it? What has happened? Is it . . ."
"Lizzy has taken a turn for the worse," he said heavily. "The doctor doesn't know what to do -- he says he hasn't enough experience with these things. And it would take time to find another, and convince him to come here on such short notice, and -- "
Although his heart was pounding in his ears, and the room again tilting a little, Darcy pulled on his inner reserves and divorced himself from everything but what could be used. "A physician, from London, that is what he thinks is best? Someone with experience? Very well -- it is done. I will send an express this very moment."
And it was done, as quickly as that, while a slightly bemused Bingley looked on. "I -- I had better return to Jane. She is very upset."
"Yes, I daresay she is." Darcy could almost feel his ability to keep himself separate strained to its utmost. "Incidentally, what is the difficulty with Miss Bennet?"
"Apparently she was weakened by her state after the fire and caught some lung ailment -- I am not certain, to be perfectly honest. Anatomy was never my forte. But as long as she is well again, that is all that matters."
"Yes, yes, you are quite right."
He only presumed to approach the general vicinity of her room once. He could hear dry, seemingly endless, coughs, and Jane's low, soothing voice. But neither could he force himself to leave until he knew she would be well, no matter what was transpiring at Pemberley. Only the certain knowledge that whether she saw him with pleasure or pain, neither would be conducive to her health, kept him away, and he nearly drove himself mad with inaction until Mrs Bingley kindly advised that he occupy himself with business matters until he could be of greater assistance.
---
Zohra: A de-lurker! Hi! Thank you, I am glad you're enjoying TRAAR. It's gotten way mixed reviews -- far more than LtF, which is exactly the opposite of what I expected. Yes, my stuff is about filling in the blanks -- bringing the disparate parts together. Darcy of course, but also Lady Catherine, Georgiana, even Jane and Elizabeth and Bingley -- exploration and interpretation. I turned to fanfic after getting terribly frustrated with the "one true interpretation" school of thought at -- other sites. Thanks yet again. Background is fun -- for instance giving Lady Catherine a touch of scandal -- just a touch -- but enough to explain her "issues." Darcy/Elizabeth will come up eventually, I promise!
Marta: Wow! Thanks for de-lurking too. I hope you continue to enjoy my humble effort (do I sound like Mr Collins or what?). So, I'm presuming what you didn't see coming was Elizabeth's attempt to save her letter?
Jenna: I'm not leaving you hanging, not really. I mean, does anyone else post more than once a day? I ask you:D