Switched Page 8

  “He is – difficult,” she answered his question then.

  Bingley moved quickly to face her. “Has he – is he –”

  “Oh no! Not at all.” Her free hand flew to stay his arm. The sensation of both sets of her soothing fingers laid upon his person sent both cooling comfort and fiery warmth through Bingley's veins. He watched her with eyes wide and lips open. “Mr. Darcy is – gentlemanly enough.”

  Whether her words meant a fact that Bingley direly wished for – he did not dare to ask.

  “You spend much time alone?” He asked instead, heart pained by her obvious frailty. His arm instinctively pressed her closer.

  “I – yes,” Jane answered, eyes suddenly blinking furiously. “I – I do not claim to understand him, though perhaps his distance is therefore welcome. He is a – strange man.”

  Bingley's chest swelled, aching. Was he to rejoice that she found as little joy as he did in her newfound marriage – or would he be the better man to hope that she find happiness when he could not?

  “Not all pairings – succeed instantly,” he offered limply, uncertain himself. His eyes remained fixed upon hers.

  She did not answer – until moments later, when their faces leaned far closer to each other than they should. “And you and Elizabeth?”

  Bingley stilled, her person still attached to his side.

  He did not know – could not answer. What was he to say?

  He licked his lips and pressed his right hand firmly atop the slender fingers upon his left arm. His eyes and lungs felt weary as his lips sketched Caroline's many quarrels with Elizabeth.

  “She sounds not unlike the Elizabeth I know,” Jane responded softly, when his words ceased. “She can be – fiery, when provoked.”

  “Yes.” Bingley could not trust himself to say more.

  It was not considered proper, after all, to call another man's bride – or, God forbid, wife – the only woman to have captured his heart. It would not do to draw attention to his unwavering affection for a woman not his own. He would – could not – share his true thoughts today.

  • • •

  “I hope, madam, that I have proven worthy company the past hours.” Charles smiled at her, ever handsome, when they reached the fork in the road. Brigham Park laid at the end of the path on the right – Pemberley on the left.

  “Your candidness cheers, sir,” Jane answered gently. Her own arm ached from its unmoving pose around his arm the entire morning – and yet, she could not let go.

  “I fear candidness is generally not a trait praised, milady.” Charles' rueful smile seemed older today – wearier, deeper. She wondered if his newfound wrinkles could ever be soothed away.

  “I find it – wonderful,” the words escaped her without thought. His sudden stiffening, then subsequent beaming, brought to light the gravity of her own words. Jane's breath shortened. “I – I meant to say – I meant merely that –”

  “Thank you,” Charles intercepted, voice breathy. Her breathing stopped when he raised her hand and pressed it against his beating heart. His eyes sought for something in hers – begging and hopeful. “Jane, I –”

  “Sir,” she cried out suddenly and withdrew her hand. He stood as if burnt – yet made no move to reach for her again. Jane's heart beat wildly, its pace surpassing any rush she had ever felt before. One moment earlier, when his eyes had met hers, she had almost given in to selfish abandon. Oh, how close she had come to flinging herself in his arms, resting on his chest for joy and comfort! It was not helpful, not at all, that Charles was kinder, happier, and always so much more caring than her new groom ever was.

  The gentleman and the lady stood still as stone for many moments. Her handmaid hovered a dutiful distance behind and waited with them.

  While he was first to sigh, she was first to speak.

  “I am sorry.” The thought that she had caused him pain, however warranted, grieved her sorely; and the apology flowed with ease from her lips.

  Charles nodded, frowning at first, before slowly offering a smile. “You do no wrong – Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Charles, please – don't –”

  “Yes, I'm sorry.”

  Neither truly cared to specify the topic of their rebuke and apology, for to do so was to discuss emotions neither was yet willing to admit.

  “If you are lonely,” Charles said slowly after another minute's silence, “perhaps we could arrange a visit?”

  Jane looked up towards him, the handsome savior of her heart. She frowned slightly. “Visit each other – alone?”

  “No, of course, I did not mean – “ Charles trailed off himself. Fidgeting, he moved closer and tried again. “I – I meant a – dinner, perhaps? 'Tis longer than a call, and I believe you would much wish for your sister's – company.”

  The allusion to Elizabeth's existence made Jane feel pointedly ashamed. Despite the point of neglect, however, she could not deny a promise of a proper meal with Charles – without the ceaseless walking – was a rather delightful thought.

  “You and – Darcy. Both of you – no, three of you – Georgiana may come too. It would be – nice to have your company tomorrow evening.” Her lack of immediate answer sent Charles into a bumbling spiral of thoughts.

  Heart lighter than it had felt all morning, Jane smiled. “We would be honored, Mr. Bingley.”

  He smiled and nodded at her assent.

  “I shall see you tomorrow – madam.” He bowed to leave a kiss upon her hand.

  “Tomorrow,” she echoed happily, before he let her go.

  The word had not held such great promise for weeks.

  • • •

  The afternoon sunbeams drew lazily across the floor of his study. The glass of port he held in his hand was, thank God, just his second for the day. He had gotten himself drunk quite enough times over the past five weeks – even if some of those times, like the night after he'd kissed Elizabeth, had been inevitable.

  Armed by his solitude, Darcy heaved a heavy sigh. Vivid memories of their encounter, however futile, haunted his every waking moment. The feeling of her body between his hands, her fingers in his hair, and her lips sealed against his – was a sensation he would never forget.

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  He turned towards the light rapping on the door. Did someone call his name?

  The rapping continued – until the same frail female voice repeated, “Mr. Darcy?”

  If the voice had been any stronger, he would easily have satisfied himself with imagining that Elizabeth had fled Brigham Park and come to elope with him.

  Why was eloping not permitted for people married? From his own experience – husbands needed the availability of said option as much as bachelors did.

  The soft, persistent knocking ceased at his silence – followed by a nearly urgent but equally quiet “Mr. Darcy?”

  Resigned to the reality that the faceless woman was not his beloved Elizabeth, Darcy responded.

  “Come in.” He could not resist a sigh.

  “Sir.” Jane Bennet, timid and withdrawn, appeared at his door. Darcy frowned without thought.

  She did not speak as she moved towards his desk, and his temper nearly flared at the thought that she – and not Elizabeth – entered his sanctuary today.

  “Sir?”

  He did not spare her a single glance. His eyes remained, resolute, upon his oaken desk.

  “Sir –”

  “Yes?” Whether he barked from impatience or guilt, he no longer knew.

  “Mr. Darcy, I – I wish to inform you – of – dinner.”

  Her faltering words took several moments to impress their meaning.

  “Dinner – tonight?” He looked up when he understood, puzzled. “I do not – you are aware that I do not – participate.”

  Her sudden pained look evoked slight guilt over his neglect, if not his lack of affection.

  Darcy straightened, turning to face her more fully. The desk served as an ample barrier between them.

  “Are
you – inviting me?” He asked hesitantly, hoping against his good sense that she was not attempting any form of reconciliation.

  Her subsequent answer both surprised and worried him.

  “We have received an invitation,” she said, voice quiet as could be, “to dinner at Brigham Park – tomorrow.”

  An invitation to dinner – personal yet formal – hovered dangerously in his mind. The thought of visiting Bingley, reunited in friendship, tugged at his heart. The thought of seeing Elizabeth as hostess of Bingley's home, another man's bride – seemed far from appealing.

  “I – have agreed.”

  Jane's sudden words surprised him – and he was certain his face indicated his curiosity in full.

  “Sir, I – “ The small lady quivered, looking entirely ill at ease. Her teary eyes communicated sadness – fear.

  Darcy blinked, mind blank – then busy.

  Was he truly that imposing of a man?

  Miss Jane's shaking form seemed to affirm his unfortunate shared bloodline with Catherine de Bourgh – though Elizabeth had never seemed to exhibit such fear. He had given his new bride no reason for concern – no judgment, no demands, no interaction. He had left her to roam about Pemberley to her heart's desire, and she had repeatedly chosen to exile herself to the drawing room. He had yielded her Georgiana – and she had repeatedly ignored the poor girl. His stray thoughts reminded him that Mrs. Reynolds had lamented often of the new Mrs. Darcy's lack of appetite.

  Darcy himself found that he could not care less.

  “Sir, if you find the choice unacceptable –” She paused all to herself.

  Darcy looked at her, his sharp mind muddled. He had not met Elizabeth since their fateful encounter last week – though he had observed her twice from afar. The thought of partaking a meal across from Elizabeth, dressed in all her finery – eyes bright and smile beautiful – raged against his dwindling resolve like wildfire. The realization that he would be meeting Mrs. Bingley, a woman mere days from her confirmation, sent arrows through his heart.

  “I can – inform them of our absence if you –”

  “No,” Darcy found himself answering. His eyes rested on Jane, though his mind thought of her sister. The prospect of seeing Elizabeth – of conversing and engaging and indulging in her company – eclipsed any qualms he had felt at acknowledging her new position. He licked his lips lightly, port on his tongue. “We – we shall attend.”

  • • •

  “We shall have guests tonight,” the master of Brigham Park announced casually upon his arrival at the breakfast table.

  Elizabeth froze, even as Caroline tittered.

  “It is just the thing, Charles!” Miss Bingley responded gleefully. “The reclusion has been torturous to the highest degree!”

  If the preening lady noticed anything wrong with Elizabeth at all, she made no act to relieve it.

  “You shall prepare the menu, Ja – Elizabeth?” Mr. Bingley looked startled at his own mistake, though his eyes stood their ground.

  Elizabeth swallowed despite her empty mouth. “Yes, sir.”

  “You trust the country nobody to set your table?” Caroline's scoffing tones left no room for doubt regarding the height of her disdain. “You have lost your mind, Charles!”

  Elizabeth's stinging eyes and tapered tongue threatened to break loose with every passing moment. By Pemberley's lake, she could mourn undisturbed. Here, she must keep her guard.

  “I know your friends far better than the country chit does,” Caroline continued. Her fanning action looked comical in the cool morning. “Pray, allow me to govern your little dinner party.”

  “No.”

  While his denial of his sister's wishes brought joy to Elizabeth, the fact remained that she knew little of what she was expected to do.

  “Mrs. Bingley shall – fulfill her role,” the young master persisted in his rare display of resolve. “She – she shall prove more familiar of our guests' habits.”

  Caroline moved quickly to protest, Elizabeth to question – but the only man at the table silenced them both. “The Darcys visit tonight.”

  Then he gulped down his food unceremoniously and left the table without another word.

  Dumbfounded, guilt-ridden, and elated beyond measure – Elizabeth pressed her thinning hands together upon her lap. Despite her many weeks of residence, Brigham Park had never become home. Why would one wish to call home a place of stinging barbs, gross negligence, and lonely nights?

  The thought of two beloved people – thought beloved in vastly different ways – appearing at this place confused her mind. Was she to be compelled, at last, to accept the permanence of her stay? Was she to play hostess to two – or even three – people she loved and to pretend that she was happy with the task?

  Angry and tired, Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. If the universe would ask her, just this once, what she truly preferred – then perhaps she may explain that she would much rather play hostess beside Darcy, rather than towards him.

  As it was – the universe remained a stoic, spoiled brat.

  “If I may, Eliza,” Caroline begun across the plates and trays. Elizabeth barely spared her a glance. “One must acknowledge that as an acquaintance of the Darcys for a much longer time, I am uniquely qualified to bestow wisdom regarding their preferences at meals. If you must know, Mr. Darcy prefers his meals as –”

  “Caroline!” Elizabeth stood, heart tight at the thought of sharing a meal with Fitzwilliam again. “I believe a woman who has been his wi – bride – for an entire fortnight may know plenty regarding his preferences.”

  The distaste on Caroline's face came with little masking. “And you believe that your horrific position as his former partner shall qualify you instantly to be proud, disdainful, and arrogant regarding your knowledge concerning him? If anything, I would think you know what not to do to please his person.”

  “I know plenty,” Elizabeth growled, eyes narrowing despite herself. She knew, thoroughly, how gallant he was a man, how charming, how handsome, how irresistible. She knew the joy of his conversation, the sorcery of his smile. She even knew – though foolishly, perhaps – the sensation of his lips on hers.

  But there was little she was willing to admit to Caroline.

  “Your vanity and pride knows no bounds, Elizabeth Bennet.”

  The smirk on her own face felt both satisfying and sad. “I shall prove you wrong yet, Caroline.”

  Elizabeth's curtsy was curt indeed as she left the breakfast room that morning. There were few joys she cherished these days as much as the privilege to dress, serve, and impress her beloved Fitzwilliam and darling Jane.

  And if images of a certain lakeside kiss lingered in her mind, Elizabeth was determined to confess the fact to no one tonight.

  Chapter 8

  The indubitable clinking and clanging of metal upon metal, hooves upon stone, and whips against horseback alerted Elizabeth to their guests' arrival. Despite her repeated visits within Pemberley's borders, she had not laid eyes upon the Darcy carriage since that fateful night of their first meeting – when all her hopes and dreams had been torn apart.

  Frankly, she never understood Mama's fascination with carriages.

  Tonight, of all nights, she found the sight torturous to no end.

  “Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” the footman inevitably announced as Darcy handed a bejeweled Jane to the ground. Elizabeth wondered if she had tied her corset too tightly – if her shallow breaths were as audible to the man standing beside her, or to that man's smirking sister.

  She tried to avoid his gaze – with every last bit of resolve she owned. The thought of meeting the eyes of the man she truly admired, when she stood right beside the man which law had bound to her, was the least appealing action she could ever have imagined.

  The circumstances broke her resolve before she could test its limits, when Mr. Darcy unfortunately addressed, “Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley – Mrs. Bingley.”

  She lifted her eyes then, only pondering fo
r one slight moment if her former groom noticed at all that she wore his favored colors – that her hair and gown, coat and necklace were meant to reflect the shades of Pemberley that he so loved. She wondered if he –

  The lightning bolt that struck her heart was the opposite of what she had prepared for.

  Eyes pleading, he watched her like a desert wanderer regarding his first oasis. His lips parted slightly, his gaze searing her mind as his kiss had seared her heart. Elizabeth frightened herself with a recollection so publicly made – but the feeling of his hand lifting hers quickly dissipated any guilt she had fleetingly experienced.

  She waited for him to kiss her hand – for the scandalously delicious sensation of feeling his lips upon her person once more.

  He merely bowed over her hand, before stepping back to allow Bingley to do the same to Jane.

  Disappointment, surprise, and confusion swirled in her heart as the company made its way to the dining room. The cutting realization that she was in love with another woman's husband – her sister's, no less – condemned her spirit even as memories of his body and touch thrilled her soul. She barely noticed Caroline's snide remarks when she took Mr. Bingley's arm, nor Georgiana's introduction until the young girl sat across her.

  “Elizabeth,” Georgiana's happy whisper roused her tentatively from her own tumultuous thoughts.

  “Georgiana.” She could not help but smile, rejoicing at the one friendship no person in the room could condemn. “I am beyond happy to see you tonight.”

  “As I am you!” The young girl exclaimed. Her eyes danced brightly on her fair face. “Oh, how I've missed you, Elizabeth! Pemberley is –”

  The clearing of her brother's throat silenced Georgiana – as well as the ready acquiescence on Elizabeth's tongue.

  Ashamed at the joy she felt over Georgiana's words, Elizabeth licked her lips and forced herself to play the hostess she was destined to portray tonight.

  “I hope you shall enjoy dinner,” Elizabeth spoke when her voice had sufficiently calmed. “I took care to choose – wisely.”