Leap Into Love-An Excerpt from a Forthcoming Novella

Our month of love is nearly at its end but before it concluded I wanted to throw in my bit, a post on an upcoming novella, A Fine Joke, which will release in July!

And so I can reassure everyone–NO! Darcy is not actually dying in this story but he does believe he is at this point in the story! A diagnosis of a terminal brain disease has made Darcy desperate to secure the future of Pemberley in the time he has left. Although this is a post-hansford, pre-reconciliation time point, he decides to ask Elizabeth, in hopes her compassion will carry them through. Might not be the MOST romantic scene but he is asking her to take a leap into love, so I hope it works!

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Darcy arrived at Longbourn at the hour appointed, anxiety and nervousness sending such tremblings and flutterings plaguing him throughout his journey that he could scarcely remain still atop his horse.

He was shown in by Mrs Hill, who looked at him curiously but said only that which was appropriate. Elizabeth awaited him which made him still more anxious; evidently her father had informed him of the need for an interview. She said nothing, silent and grave while Mrs Hill saw to his comfort. Then both went into the sitting room.

“This is a surprise, Mr Darcy,” she said at last.

“I know it is and please know that I am exceedingly grateful to you and your father for arranging this time for us speak.”

She looked like she might say more, but he interrupted her. “Would you sit, please?”

Looking wary, she did as he asked, perching on the edge of a light coloured settee. He remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I wish first to say how terribly sorry I am for all that I have done which has caused you, in any measure, grief or embarrassment or vexation. From the very first moment of our acquaintance, I have not treated you as I should, and my regrets in this are many.”

She said nothing to that.

“I also regret, heartily the offensive nature of my proposal. I should not have spoken of your family as I did, nor should I have done anything that hurt you.  Even my letter—did you perchance read it?” 

“I did.” 

“Thank you. I wrote it with the intent of explaining myself, wishing you to think better of me but I do realise now it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. So this too I beg forgiveness for.” 

She gave a slight nod and half a smile. “Of course.”

“I have also spoken to Bingley,” he added. “Regarding the fact that I was sorely mistaken in my opinions on your sister’s affections for him. He knows the truth of the matter now.”

“Yet he did not return to Netherfield with you.”

“I believe he shall join me before long,” Darcy said. “A beloved aunt in Scarborough has passed and he is required to go settle her affairs for her.”

“I see.” After a brief pause, she added, still speaking with a bit of reserve, “I would like to offer my apologies as well, for so judging you about the situation with Mr Wickham.”

“Think nothing of that,” he replied immediately.

“No.” She shook her head, looking down. “I am ashamed of my behaviour. I should not have heard his lies, nor should I have believed him so readily and above all, I should not have contributed to the spread of them. I am sorry.”

“Very well,” he said with a faint smile. “As you have so generously forgiven me, so too are you wholeheartedly forgiven. I must own, however, that even before you spoke, I harboured no ill against you. It was that which I adore in you most that caused you to believe Wickham’s tales — your compassionate heart.”

She looked up quickly, turning pink from his compliment. “Thank you.” She dropped her eyes again, not seeing when he moved quickly into the seat beside her.

She rose immediately on feeling his weight settle next to her. “It seems we have it settled between us then so let us return to the party and—”

“Not just yet if you please. There is something else.” His heart began to pound furiously. “I need to ask something of you…um, ah…a favour of sorts. Rather a large one.”

“Very well.” Hesitantly, she lowered herself back into the seat she had so recently vacated. “What is it?”

The words were at once lodged firmly in his throat. The enormity of what he was about to request came upon him. It might have been easier, had she shown any sign of interest in him, but she did not. She was indifferent—an improvement, perhaps, from having formerly despised him but minimal at best.

Candour, in the fullest sense, was required, he decided. She might pity him, it was true, but there was no point in maintaining pride at such a time.

“I have had a bit of bad news recently,” he said, his voice quiet and grave. “Exceedingly bad, in fact. I have learnt that I am afflicted with a very grave illness. I expect that this summer shall be my last.”

She startled, her posture growing stiff as she quickly turned her head to look at him directly. She was, he thought, rather satisfyingly distressed looking.

“But… but how? You seem quite… no, surely not. It cannot be true.”

“I am afraid it is very true,” he told her. “I have heard it myself from an expert. If you will note my face is not… I am losing symmetry, not so alarming in and of itself, but it is indicative of a greater problem within my brain, a problem that will cause my demise in but a few months.”

She stared for a moment, agape. He was shocked when she raised her hands, looking almost dreamlike as she laid her fingers on his cheeks, tracing lightly over the contours of his face. “You seem perfectly symmetrical to me, sir.”

“No,” he said ruefully. “If you look closely you will see that my ears are not quite the same size, my dimples no longer align and one brow is lengthened in comparison to the other.”

She did indeed look closely, but her judgment was evidently not the same as his. She gave him a brief, puzzled look and then said, her voice trembling a little, “Your physicians must surely know better than I but…allow me to say how very sorry I am to hear it.”

“I will admit to you it is a struggle to accept it myself but I must. I will die, and soon, and all I can do for it is to settle my affairs and see that there is nothing left to answer for when I am gone.” 

He gave her a rueful smile and it seemed to undo her. 

“Excuse me.” She rose, hastily, going to the window and looking out, her back to him. He watched as she drew deep breaths and eventually began rustling about in her skirts, seeking something. A handkerchief? 

He rose and went to her, offering his own. Though he stood behind her, he could see her face reflected in the glass, and see the shine of tears on her cheeks. “Elizabeth, pray, do not weep for me.” 

“Do not weep for you?” She half laughed and half sobbed. She took the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes and turned, finding herself very nearly within his arms. “I am so very sorry. It is not fair, not fair at all.”

He was moved by her sincerity and so moved, reached for her almost unthinkingly, pressing her to his chest. Who could not wish to touch someone so dear to them at such a time? He did not wrap his arms about her, permitting himself just one arm, pressed lightly against her back. “Thank you.”

She allowed his embrace for a moment. He felt her shuddering breath as she gained control over herself before pulling back slightly and looking up into his face. 

“I begin to think you really are good,” she said. “My prejudice blinded me to the truth of you before but how admirable that at such a time, you do not succumb to pity but rather move forward, mindful to those who depend upon you to the end.”

“I would be lying if I did not tell you that pity and despair do haunt me at times,” he admitted. “Sorrow, some anger…I cannot deny it. Those things do me no good however, and I would like to live out my last days with some pleasure if I may. That is where I need you.”

“Me?”

“Let us sit once again,” he said.

This time, they sat together with no reservation. Her eyes bore a bit of dampness around them, although she maintained a determined air of equanimity.

“I must apply to you for something of great importance to me,” he said. “It is no small matter though and were it not for my affection for you; I could never dare broach the subject.”

“Anything, anything at all.”

“No, no, you must not say that,” he said with a little laugh. “What I will ask is something that will forever alter the course of your existence. It cannot be given lightly.”

“Forever alter the course of my existence?” Elizabeth gave him a rather charming look, somewhat teasing. “Such sweet words Mr Darcy, and with a hint of a mystery. You must know such sentiments can only entice me.”

He felt his heart leap a bit and hoped it was only due to her and not to his illness.“Well, I must do as I can to raise my prospects.”

Her teasing look became quizzical as he continued.

“I spoke the truth when I told you, at Hunsford that, I loved you. I have loved you for several months now, though the precise time cannot be known for it took me some time to recognise it for what it was. However, it has been some time that I knew you were the only woman I could ever truly love, the only one who I could imagine marrying, and the only one with whom I would wish to raise a family.” 

He cleared his throat. “I need a wife, Elizabeth. I would like to see that the future of my name and my estate is secured before I depart this mortal coil, but I could not entrust those things to anyone but someone I held in the highest regard.”

Her eyes raised now, astonished and a bit alarmed, and her mouth dropped, forming a perfect O.

“You,” he said. “I wish only for you to aid me in these, my last days.” 

It was hopeful, he thought, that she did not immediately deny him.