Mr. Darcy's Bad Day: A Pride & Prejudice Novella Page 7

  She hated him. She would never consider marriage to him.

  He rubbed his hand over his face. Unfortunately, his words at the Meryton assembly had been uttered, apparently within her hearing. Recalling their conversations while she cared for Miss Bennet at Netherfield Park, he now realized she had never taken the initiative to speak with him. He was the one who had to work at finding a topic to share. He was the one who had asked her to dance—twice. She had refused him both times.

  He sucked in his breath. What had he done to recommend himself to her? To her family? To her friends? Darcy pondered his attitude and actions since his arrival in Hertfordshire six weeks prior. He had been a stubborn ass, just as much as Mr. Bennet’s donkey.

  He scratched behind Benedick’s ears when the donkey lowered its head to eat from the slippery tufts of grass which had been responsible for his fall. “We are much alike, you and I.”

  The donkey snorted.

  Darcy wanted to do the same. “No, it is true.”

  Thinking of the events to come and possible opportunities he could use to repair his reputation with Meryton society, he remembered Bingley’s ball. The day was Tuesday. The Netherfield Ball would be held on Tuesday next. He had one se’nnight to make needed adjustments to his attitude. He had not admired himself for most of the time he was in his dream state. But that could change. It would change.

  A portion of his delusional fantasy was the tree limb he had used as a crutch. He gazed around the field. Nothing.

  “Oh, good Lord.” He wanted to slap himself or bang his head back on the rock. He had a donkey right in front of him who appeared to be unafraid of him and who apparently liked the shaving soap his valet used. “Benedick! It is to be you and me, then.”

  Pressing his gloves into the soft soil, he attempted to wedge his good leg underneath him. With no success. Putting his hands behind him, he tried to use the rough edges of the boulder to push himself upright. That did not work either.

  Humiliated to the core, he did the only thing left. He rolled to his side until he could lift himself onto his hands and knees. He knew Benedick would laugh, if he could, at having a human in a similar stance to his own. Fortunately, there was no loud braying to draw attention to his indignity.

  While still poised on his hands and knees, he heard her.

  “Mr. Darcy, I can see you are unwell. Pray, allow me to return to Longbourn for aid.”

  He groaned aloud, the pain in his ankle vying with the degradation.

  “Sir!” Miss Elizabeth moved closer. “If I help you stand, would you be able to ride Benedick as far as Longbourn?”

  In that split second, Darcy had a decision. Would he let things be and hope their journey towards their future brought them together in the same manner as his dreams? Or, was it more prudent to begin now to forge a new path? He decided on the latter.

  “Miss Elizabeth, your appearance is timely and I appreciate it sincerely.” He saw only concern on her face. No mockery. No teasing. “I could do with some assistance.”

  With no small amount of effort, he stood. He could not have done so without her help, and he told her so.

  She looked around. “Benedick! Come!” The donkey ignored her, as donkeys do.

  Then, she did something so amazingly wonderful, he could not take his eyes off her. She curled her tongue to the roof of her mouth and emitted the loudest whistle he had ever heard. Not only did it catch his attention, it did Benedick’s as well.

  “Miss Elizabeth, you have proven you are, indeed, an accomplished woman.”

  She smiled at him and he was stunned to realize it was the first time she had done so. “Do you think so, Mr. Darcy? Would not Miss Bingley need to be informed so she could add it to her list of what constitutes an accomplished woman?”

  Shared laughter is the most joyous.

  The donkey stood still while Miss Elizabeth scratched behind its ears. Darcy was able to mount after no little amount of struggle. Still, all of the pressure was off his foot and the relief was immense.

  “I will confess, Miss Elizabeth, to a certain level of jealousy.”

  At her raised brow, he continued.

  “My mother could whistle so loudly that my male cousins and I would hear it when we were at the far reaches of Pemberley playing in the ponds and streams. We always knew to come running.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We practiced for hours, day after day, from one end of the summer to the other, and none of us ever came close. I am impressed.”

  She laughed. “I suppose it is a particular sort of accomplishment.”

  “Whoa.” He stopped the animal. Miss Elizabeth turned to look at him.

  “Sir?” He could see the concern on her face. “Are you not well enough to continue? The clouds look like rain.”

  He looked up. Yes, she was correct. Then he peered back at her.

  “When I was eight-years-old, I vowed I would marry the first female who could whistle like my mother.” He snickered. “My cousins and parents always knew how important it was for me to keep my word; to be honorable to a promise. So you might imagine how my father dreaded the arrival of each new milkmaid, as they often called the cows to the barn with a whistle.”

  She grinned.

  “Twenty years have passed since I made that vow.” He reached down and covered her hand where it rested on the donkey’s mane. “I will not ask you now to be my bride, as I suspect you would refuse me, and rightly so.”

  She nodded. Her eyes looked directly into his soul.

  “I am ashamed to admit that I have not presented myself as I truly am while in Hertfordshire. Therefore,” he gulped, “I beg for the honor of a courtship to get to know one another better. My intentions are honorable. My hope is that, in time, you will be my bride.”

  She looked down to where his hand rested on hers.

  He waited. Impatiently!

  Looking back up at him, she spoke. “You are correct, Mr. Darcy. I do not like you and had suspected you did not like me as well.” Then her words became magical. “However, Benedick likes you and that says far more about your character than I have discerned since we met. And Mr. Bingley likes you. That tells me you may have hidden facets worth exploring.”

  He liked having hidden facets. He could not keep the smile off his face.

  “Pray, stop, Mr. Darcy.” Her smile grew. “Dimples are so unfair.”

  “I will use what I have, Miss Elizabeth.” He became serious. “May I speak to your father?”

  He thought of the Mr. Bennet from his dream and wondered at the reality. He supposed he would find out.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy.” She threw back her head and laughed. Benedick joined in by braying loudly enough to drown out the musical quality of her sounds. “Tell my father what a fine animal you are riding and you will have a friend for life.”

  “And what would it take to have you as a friend for life?” he had to ask.

  She looked him directly in the eye, lifted her brow, and gave him the key to happiness. “Why, Mr. Darcy, do you not already know?” Tilting her head to the side, she smiled softly, her eyes luminous. “You walk beside me when I walk. You listen to me when I listen to you. And, sir, you fill your days, not with badness, but with joy.”

  He returned her smile. Rain started to fall, pounding in time with the ache in his ankle. He could not have cared less. The day which had started badly was now the happiest in his life.

  Tapping Benedick on his side with his good leg, he entwined his fingers with hers, and they started their walk to Longbourn.

  Epilogue

  Fourteen months later –

  Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy was having a bad day. Her feet were swollen, her face was puffy, her stomach was as big as Pemberley’s main house, and her lower back ached fiercely. She glared at the man walking alongside her. He had restricted her strolls to the vicinity of their home and, though she appreciated his care and wisdom, it was not what she had wanted to hear when she first announced her intent.

  She was grumpy. She
was growly. She wanted to throw something or hit someone … and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who would be the target.

  Oh, yes, she was having a bad day. And it was all Fitzwilliam Darcy’s fault.

  From the Author:

  Christie Capps is the pen name of a best-selling author who, because of increasing demands on her time, has fewer and fewer hours to read. She doubts she is the only one with these circumstances. Therefore, her stories will all be approximately 100 pages of sweet romance and will be priced less than one cup of flavored coffee from your local barista.

  Happy reading!