Mr Darcy's Obsession

240 Pages·2016·1.07 MB·English

by  Reynolds Abigail

Copyright
Copyright © 2010 by Abigail Reynolds Cover and internal design © 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Cathleen Elliott/Fly Leaf Design Cover images © Bridgeman Art Library;
NinaMalyna/Fotolia.com Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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www.sourcebooks.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Reynolds, Abigail.
Mr. Darcy’s obsession / Abigail Reynolds.
p. cm.
1. Darcy, Fitzwilliam (Fictitious character)--Fiction. 2. Bennet, Elizabeth (Fictitious character)--Fiction. 3.
Courtship--Fiction. 4. England--Social life and customs--19th century--Fiction. 5. Gentry--England--
Fiction. I. Austen, Jane, 1775-1817. Pride and prejudice. II. Title.
PS3618.E967M68 2010
813’.6--dc22
2010027014
Table of Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
Dedication
To Elaine and Harriet,
with thanks for their enduring and supportive friendship.
Chapter 1
“Missed, damn it!” Bingley handed off his musket without a second glance.
With a frown, Fitzwilliam Darcy accepted an intricately decorated rifle from
his loader. “Bingley, is anything the matter? You do not seem yourself.”
“I missed the damned bird; that is the matter!” Bingley scowled. Darcy had
seen little of Bingley’s habitual smiles since his friend had arrived at Pemberley.
“There is no shortage of birds to shoot at.” Darcy waited while the handler
shooed the spaniel into the brush. A brace of partridge rose obligingly from the
trees. He sighted down the barrel and shot. One of the birds plummeted to the
ground, and the dog crashed through the brush to retrieve it. “I was surprised
your sisters did not accompany you on this visit.” It was his only guess as to
what might be troubling Bingley.
“I do not care if I ever see them again.”
So it was something his sisters had done. Certainly they could be irritating,
but it surprised Darcy that they would affect Bingley enough to cause this
uncharacteristic fit of ill humour. “Have you quarreled, then?”
Bingley took another shot, hardly bothering to aim, but said nothing until
Darcy had his own rifle to his shoulder again. “Do you remember Miss Elizabeth
Bennet?”
Darcy’s finger tightened involuntarily on the trigger before he braced
himself. The rifle recoil knocked him back a step, and his shot went wide. “I
remember her, yes,” he said brusquely.
“I saw her at Kew Gardens. Did you know she is living in London now?”
Darcy rubbed his shoulder where the rifle had kicked him. He tried to still
his racing pulse. Of all the mutual acquaintances Bingley could have named,
why did it have to be that one? Darcy had almost put her memory behind him
after his last Easter visit to Rosings when he discovered Mr. Collins had left his
aunt’s employment, thus terminating his only potential source of intelligence
about Elizabeth. “No, I had not heard.”
“Her father died last autumn, and the estate was entailed away from the
family. That idiot cousin of theirs, your aunt’s clergyman, inherited. Mrs. Bennet
and her daughters moved in with her sister in Meryton, but there was not enough
room for all of them, so Miss Elizabeth came to live with her aunt and uncle in
Cheapside. She helps them with their children.”
“I had not realized there was an entailment.” Yet another reason it was
fortunate that Elizabeth had returned home from Rosings the previous year to
care for her ailing father before Darcy had time to act on his impulse to ask her
to marry him. Still, the idea of Elizabeth without a home of her own gave him a
tinge of discomfort. He had always imagined her comfortably ensconced at
Longbourn. And unmarried. His imagination refused to consider the possibility
she might marry another. He watched absently as the handler took the dead
partridge from the dog’s mouth and dropped it into the game bag.
“She seemed to think I might know about it, and said her sister Jane had
written to Caroline and told her the news, but never received a reply. I asked her
if Jane was in London as well, and do you know what she told me?”
“I have no idea.” He was certain from Bingley’s savage tone that it was
nothing good.
“A week before their father’s death, Miss Bennet accepted an offer of
marriage from one of her admirers in Meryton, one who had been thought
beneath her consideration, but this way Jane could be in a position to provide for
her mother in her old age. My Jane, married to a shopkeeper old enough to be
her father.” Bingley practically spat the words out.
Darcy shook his head. Bingley should be thanking his lucky stars for his
narrow escape, and instead he was still pining over the girl two years later. “I
hope it will work out well for her.”
“Miss Elizabeth told me she had tried to persuade Jane not to do it, because
Jane always wanted to marry for love, but she said she could never marry the
only man she would ever love, so it mattered little whom she did marry. I could
not help but ask what happened to the man she loved. Miss Elizabeth looked me
straight in the eye and said, ‘He left one day without explanation and never
returned.’”
Darcy could picture it all too easily. Elizabeth had never hesitated to speak
her mind, and if her sister had truly loved his friend, despite her appearance of
indifference, Elizabeth would no doubt resent Bingley for his abandonment. “I
am sorry to hear it.”
“Not as sorry as I am. Then she asked me if I happened to see her sister
when she had been in London the winter before their father died. Apparently
Jane had called on Caroline and Louisa, who never saw fit to mention it to me.
Caroline claims she did it to protect me.” Bingley’s bitterness was obvious.
It was just as well Bingley had no clue as to Darcy’s interference in the
matter. Darcy was not sure he would trust his friend with the information while
he had a gun in his hand.
The loader held out a musket to Bingley, but he pushed it away. “I have lost
my taste for shooting.”
***
Darcy had promised himself he would not do this. Not a day had passed since he
learned of Elizabeth’s presence in London when he had not imagined seeing her
somehow, but he knew it was foolishness. Their paths were unlikely to cross,
and even if by some chance they did, the degradation of such a marriage would
be even worse now than it had been when he had first considered it, that night at
Rosings when her playing and verbal jousting had entranced him.
Yet here he was, not a fortnight after his return to London, riding down
Gracechurch Street, attempting an air of unconcern as if he were paying no
attention to his surroundings. It was not truly an attempt to see her; no, he had
decided that his preoccupation stemmed from a concern as to Elizabeth’s
circumstances. If he could see for himself that she was part of a respectable
household, he would be able to stop thinking of her constantly.
The street itself did not appear disreputable, despite the warehouses visible
just beyond the houses. There were no more than the usual number of beggars
and shifty-looking characters. He wondered which house was hers. Was she
there, behind one of the windows? Did she ever think of him?
He shook himself out of his reverie, spurring his mount to a faster pace. He
had learned what he needed, and now he should go, but instead he stopped at a
small flower shop near Bishopsgate. Georgiana would like some flowers.
A street urchin appeared at his side as he dismounted. “’Old your ’orse, sir?”
Darcy handed him the reins. The small, disreputable boy with a smudge of
soot on his face no doubt had the privilege of seeing Elizabeth in the
neighbourhood, an opportunity unavailable to Darcy. Without much thought he
selected a bouquet from the flower girl. Returning to the boy, he fished a coin
from his pocket and dropped it in his outstretched hand.
The boy pulled at the edge of his ragged cap. “Thank yer, sir.”
“Do you know the house of Mr. Gardiner?”
“Course I do.” The boy pointed unhesitatingly up the street to a smallish
house with painted shutters and well-tended flower boxes.
It was as if he could not help himself. “There is a young woman who lives
there, a Miss Bennet.”
The boy screwed up his face in thought. “Pretty bird, wiv dark hair?”
The description could have fit half the young women of London, but it
brought only one image to Darcy’s mind. “Do you know anything of her?”
“No, sir, but I know the cook’s boy. I could find out somefin’, if yer wanted
me to, sir.”
With a certain misgiving, Darcy handed the boy another coin. “Can you
meet me here tomorrow? There will be another one of those for you if you can
tell me about her.”
“For sure, sir. What would yer be wantin’ to know about ’er?”
Darcy hesitated. “Whether she is treated well, if she is happy, if she is…
engaged or has a young man.” He could barely bring himself to say it. “But not a
word to anyone that someone has been asking.”
“Course not, sir. Yer can count on me!”
***