Page 2

Learning about her ladyship’s role in influencing Mr. Collins to arrive at Longbourn immediately upon the heels of Mr. Tilman’s demise had been a strong inducement in encouraging Elizabeth’s low opinion. Her insisting that the man should marry Longbourn’s recently widowed mistress had dealt the final blow.

Misery had been her constant companion ever since the day she agreed to walk down the aisle to meet her cousin Mr. William Collins at the altar. She felt she had no choice but to agree to the scheme. Yes, her sister Jane was the eldest daughter, but in marrying Mr. Tilman, Elizabeth was the mistress of Longbourn. She was responsible for providing for her mother and her three unwed sisters. Nothing had changed in that regard, at least that was Elizabeth’s consolation.

Time away from Longbourn with her dearest sister, Jane, was her greatest solace. Even that did not keep her from crying herself to sleep that particular night.

Had it not been for the pounding rain that had prevented her from returning to Longbourn that evening, she would be all alone in the room she had once shared with her sister Jane, for she did not have the heart to displace her mother from the mistress’ apartment. Widowed on the day of her wedding to Mr. Tilman, the last thing in the world she felt like was the mistress of Longbourn.

Her pending marriage to Mr. Collins would further establish her role as Longbourn’s mistress along with everything such an alliance entailed. Her mother and her three younger sisters seemed happy enough with the scheme. Elizabeth’s own hope for the future faded more and more with each passing day.

Chapter 2

Fitzwilliam Darcy had indeed caught an arousing glimpse of the lady’s exposed breast when his presence interrupted her sleep and caused her to bolt upright in bed. A surge of longing coursed through his body straight to his groin. He had seen other women similarly adorned in their night clothing before, but none so enticingly beautiful as this. Honor, however, must always exceed lust. Therefore, look away he must—a feat he managed so soon as a healthy man could be expected to do so.

He attributed his late arrival to an incident with the carriage at the last changing station. He subsequently rode ahead of his party, journeyed to the nearby town of Meryton in the rain for directions, and ultimately found an escort to help steer his way through the darkness to Netherfield Park. Not wishing to disturb his friend Charles Bingley at such an inconvenient hour, he asked to be shown to any available apartment. Quite capable of attending himself for one evening, he dismissed the servant just outside the door after telling him that he did not need anything more.

With his brightly lit candle in hand, Darcy easily discerned that the young woman had been crying when she moved to the edge of the bed.

“Pardon my asking, but you seem upset, and it is more than the result of awakening and finding a stranger in your room. Pray what is the matter?”

“Assuming there is something the matter, why would I discuss my personal affairs with you, sir? I do not even know you.”

“Sometimes it is better to confide one’s troubles in a stranger—an impartial listener if you will.”

He moved closer. He used his own candle to light those on the bedside table and then set it next to the others. Noticing a half-filled pitcher and a glass on the table, he filled the glass with water and then offered it to her.

* * *

The brush of his fingers against hers when she accepted the glass was somehow comforting. Elizabeth really wanted to talk to someone about her troubles—someone other than her sister Jane. But other than Jane, there was no one with whom she could confide such matters. For the first time in her life, she honestly felt she was all alone with no one to rely upon other than herself.

“May I?” he asked, signaling his desire to sit at the foot of her bed.

A part of her supposed she ought to balk at his presumption, but the restless part of her—the part of her that could not help but be fascinated by the sudden appearance of such a seemingly compassionate gentleman as this in her apartment, prevailed. The cover of darkness enveloping the room emboldened her, and she nodded her acceptance of his request as she likewise resumed her former attitude in bed. Pulling the bedcovers above her lower half, she said, “There is nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep will not remedy, I am sure.”

“That is once you have given in to a good long cry.”

She nodded. “Yes—I suppose that is true, and I am not happy about it. You see, I never cry when I can help it—that is I never used to cry.”

Elizabeth had spoken the truth. Except for a moment of weakness soon after her father’s passing six months prior from a horseback riding accident, she had refused to cry. Her mother, Mrs. Fanny Bennet, who fancied herself nervous when it suited her, cried enough for the entire village. Someone needed to be strong for her family. To Elizabeth’s way of thinking, that burden fell squarely upon her own shoulders.

The gentleman moved a little closer. “What has happened, if you do not mind my asking?”

Shrugging, Elizabeth stared helplessly into his eyes for a moment or two before looking away.

This was sufficient encouragement for him to move even closer—to the spot on the bed directly beside her. Placing his fingers under her chin, he persuaded her to look into his eyes. “What happened to cause you such sadness this evening?”

His tender touch sparked an awakening in her such as she had never suffered. Not knowing how to think or feel about her body’s reaction, she lowered her eyes, breaking contact with his.

“I was lying here reflecting upon an earlier conversation with my sister Jane,” Elizabeth began, before thinking better of how much she should disclose to her brother’s friend. She told him as much.

After a bit of cajoling on the gentleman’s part, Elizabeth’s resolve weakened. She started sharing those parts of her past that had brought her to that moment: the loss of a most beloved father, the death of a husband whom she never had a chance to know, and her reasons for the path she had embarked upon in agreeing to marry again. Finally, she recounted the events of the evening that had led to her current desolation. Not that she had received unfortunate news of any kind. Quite the contrary, for her dearest sister had shared the news that every new bride would wish to convey to her loved ones. Jane was with child.

Her own sentiments a mixture of gladness and sadness, heartfelt joy and unbearable sorrow, Elizabeth’s eyes pooled with tears.

“It is not fair,” she cried.

“I beg your pardon. I was always given to believe the birth of a child is the happiest news a newly married couple might wish to receive.”

“Oh! It is indeed happy news. I am overjoyed for my sister. In saying that it is not fair, I fear I am thinking only of myself. Such bliss that my sister spoke of is something I shall never ever know.”