Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (32 page)

He was twelve years or so, healthy
but still small, and with a mind stuck at a rough ten-year-old level, when a
broken piston water pump left in a heap of parts captured his attention.
Suddenly, as if magnetically drawn, Matty knelt on the ground, and with
unwavering focus, repaired the pump as if a trained master. From that moment on,
his mystifying talent to comprehend the construction of anything remotely
mechanical earned him respect and a place of honor amongst Longbourn estate’s
workers. No one was prouder than his father, thus the tease of Matty’s “simple-headedness”
was an affectionate banter purely to induce laughter. Matty, even with his
diminished intelligence in most aspects, knew he was special and a valued asset
to Longbourn.

“Are you assigned chores today,
Matty? Or are you free to help me with the roses? I could use the assistance in
reaching the top of the arbor, and your company would be appreciated.”

The subsequent hour passed with an
agreeable mixture of laughter and work. Lizzy explained why the branches must
be trimmed at specific places and angles, demonstrating the techniques while he
nodded seriously. How much of the science to pruning roses he understood was
questionable, but his observational skills were keen. Once shown a procedure,
Matty would mimic it precisely without fail for as long as the work continued.
By the following day, more often than not, he forgot the process entirely. No
one was disturbed by this, however, because being in young Matty’s presence was
a true pleasure.

In his halting manner, with faulty
English, Matty chatted as they snipped the dead flowers and withering stems,
entertaining Lizzy with tales of his nieces and nephews primarily. Another
favorite subject was the antics of the rabbits he was allowed to raise. Matty
called them
bunnies
with individual names and personalities, and at
times, as he rambled, it was unclear if he was talking about humans or animals!

Finally they neared the end of the
arbor. Lizzy and Matty stood side by side on ladders, supporting each other as
they reached to the branches curving over the arbor’s latticed ceiling. He cut
the dried flowers, laughing as the petals fell onto his head, and Lizzy used
the excuse of brushing them away to make his coarse hair stick up in wild
spikes.

“Now you look just like a
porcupine! No, wait, a hedgehog! Or maybe a skunk with these white petals,” and
so on she teased, to his delight.

“All done, Missy Lizzy,” he
announced with a last snap of his shears. “Lemme help ya down.” Jumping to the
ground, he reached up to steady her descent, one hand raised to take her hand
while the other grabbed the body part closest to his eyes, that being her right
shin, skirts and all. Seconds later, she was safe on the graveled pathway
beside Matty, both of them satisfactorily scanning the perfectly pruned roses.

“An excellent job, Mr. Beller,” she
declared, the formality topped with a wink and pat on his shoulder. “I could
not have completed this without you, kind sir. I shall be eternally in your
debt.” Dropping into a deep curtsey while Matty flushed scarlet, movement in
her peripheral vision captured her attention.

Standing in the shade of an elm at
the far edge of the garden, close to the house, was Mr. Darcy. His face was
obscured, but of course she knew who it was. Straightening from her playfully
dramatic curtsey, Lizzy broke into an even wider grin and dashed down the
pathway toward him.

“Mr. Darcy! You have returned. How
absolutely wonderful! I hoped today, but could not be certain so came into the
garden—Oh my! I suppose Mama was right this time. I must look a fright in
this dress, and the gloves—Heavens!” Laughing, she tugged on the frayed
gloves while trying to remove flakes of rose petals from her clothing at the
same, which was impossible and increased her mirth. “Bother! Nothing to be done
about it. You have caught me, sir…” She trailed off when an unhindered view of
his face revealed a serious expression bordering on anger with traces of
distress.

Frowning, she stepped closer. “William,
whatever is the matter? Did something happen while you were away?”

Instinctively, she reached out to
grasp his hand, startling when he jerked away. Then she flushed, assuming he
was reacting to her grimy hands, although the severity etched onto his face
felt extreme for a bit of dirt. Her happiness to see him and concern over some
unknown tragedy mingled with vague irritation at his silence and behavior.

“My apologies,” she mumbled.
Tossing the gloves to the ground, she attempted to find a clean area on her
apron to wipe her hands. “If you wish to wait in the parlor, I will wash and
change quickly. Then I can greet properly and we can talk—”

“Who is he?”

“What?” She swung her eyes to his. “Who?”

“That man. Beller, was it?”

For nearly a full thirty seconds,
she stared at Mr. Darcy, clueless as to what or who he was growling over. Matty
was Matty. Even her “Mr. Beller” jest was a rarity, so it did not immediately
register Mr. Darcy was referring to him. Mainly, however, it was simply that
no
one
thought of sweet, innocent Matty as a man! Chronologically he was, of
course, being three-and-twenty at least.

Lizzy turned back toward Matty, who
was raking the rose debris and paying them no heed. For the first time, she
examined him with fresh eyes, astounded to note that despite his short stature
and thin physique, Matty had indeed physically matured. Adding to her amazement
was the realization that he was quite handsome.
How extraordinary!

She laughed aloud, capturing Matty’s
attention. He smiled and waved, Lizzy returning the bright smile and wave
automatically.

“Clearly the two of you are
extremely
well acquainted.”

Caught up in the epiphany about
Matty, Lizzy reacted slowly to her fiancé’s inference. When she did, the urge
to dissolve into hysterical laughter was intense. Instead, she chose a
different tactic.

Cocking her head, she replied
innocently, “Yes, one could state our relationship in those terms, Mr. Darcy. I
prefer to think of Matty as a
special
friend.”

Darcy had balled his fists onto his
hips and was glaring at her through dark eyes. Perhaps she should have spared
his distress, but the idea of jealousy over Matty was so ludicrous that teasing
him was irresistible!

“Matty, is it? Very interesting.
Tell me, Miss Bennet, are there a profusion of gentlemen you refer to
familiarly by their Christian name?”

Tapping her chin with one index
finger, she gazed vacantly to the left. “Let me think for a moment. Hmmm….There
are Abner and Percy”—two of her nephews, and not technically of adult
age, but Mr. Darcy did not know that—“Gil and Keefe”—twin
stableboys who, much like Matty, had grown up at Longbourn and had been
playmates all through her childhood—“and, of course I cannot forget Stanz”—the
elderly Russian newspaper seller whose surname was so difficult to pronounce
that he had been Stanz since long before she was born—“and…No, I believe
that is all. Why do you ask, Mr. Darcy?”

Lizzy arched her brows, relaxed her
face into a guileless expression, and waited. His penetrating focus might have
unnerved if not for the absurd circumstances. In fact, the longer he glared at
her, the less she wanted to laugh.

“I distinctly sense you are mocking
me, Miss Bennet, and do not appreciate flippancy after being subjected to
witnessing my future wife cavorting with another man. A man you touched, and
who touched you, several times, including, to my horror, on your leg!”

Now she was angry.

“As I see it,
Mr. Darcy
,” she
emphasized, matching his stern expression, “you interpreted what you witnessed
and drew conclusions as you chose to rather than with a trusting, unjaundiced
heart. Therefore you deserve to be mocked. Or worse. Instead, I shall ease your
distress, but not for your sake. Matty is too kindhearted to have anyone
misjudging him. Matty,” she called, “come here please. I want to introduce you
to Mr. Darcy.”

Dropping the rake as if on fire,
Matty rushed over, his hands scrubbing through his unruly hair and patting over
his clothing in a vain attempt to compose himself. “O’course, Missy Lizzy!
Iffin’ you wish. Meetin’ Missy Lizzy’s gen’leman is special, yes, sir, it is!”

Lizzy clasped one fidgeting hand
between both of hers, smiled at her childhood friend, and then pierced her
fiancé with chilly eyes. “Mr. Darcy, allow me to introduce Mr. Matty Beller—”

Matty interrupted with a snorting
laugh. “I not a mister, Missy Lizzy! Jus’ simple-headed Matty Beller. That’s
me. Your fine gen’leman is a mister. Very special meetin’ simple me, I say!”

“No talk of being simple, Matty,
remember? You fixed my shears, and how would I have finished the roses if not
for your excellent assistance?” Matty blushed and stared at his toes. “In fact,
Mr. Darcy was just commenting on how helpful you were to his future wife—entertaining
me while we pruned the roses, steadying me so I would not unbalance on the
ladder, and aiding my descent so I did not fall. Is that not so, Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes.” Darcy cleared his throat
gruffly. “I…I was. Thank you, Mr. Beller. Miss Elizabeth’s wellbeing is
important to me, and I am pleased to know her safety is assured when I am
absent.”

“You like bunnies, mister?” Darcy
blinked at the unrelated query, stammering a vague affirmative. “I gots pretty
bunnies at home. Soft and fuzzy. You come by anytime, pick any bunny ya want, ’kay?”

“That is very kind of you, Matty.
Now, can I impose upon you to return the tools to their proper place? I wish to
speak with Mr. Darcy alone.”

Lizzy watched Matty stack the equipment
into the wheelbarrow and ignored Mr. Darcy until the young man was gone. Then
she broke the silence, speaking coolly while gazing toward the empty pathway
under the arbor. “Later, if you wish, I can recount Matty’s story and why he is
like a brother to us. I presume it is now apparent that Matty is harmless. That
is why your comments amused me initially. No one has ever been jealous over me,
so for a moment it was flattering—until you insulted me with your
insinuations. Do you trust me so little, Mr. Darcy?”

She turned around as she asked the
question, fully expecting to see embarrassment at the least, preferably deep
remorse. To her surprise, Mr. Darcy’s expression was largely unchanged! His
face was stony, with furrowed creases between his brows and eyes hard as
agates.

“Trust must be earned, Miss
Elizabeth. Until this, I had no reason to distrust you.”

He spoke bluntly, as if stating the
obvious. Astonished, Lizzy asked,  “And now?”

“Now I know my interpretation was
erroneous.”

“Quite magnanimous of you, sir. Is
that to be the extent of your admission of guilt?”

Mr. Darcy pressed his lips together
and she saw his jaw muscle twitch. Again speaking in that maddeningly icy,
clipped tone, he said, “It is a statement of fact, not an admission of guilt.
The advantage of knowledge was not in my possession, thus I interpreted based
on what I saw. Yet rather than enlightening me immediately as to my error and
easing my heart, you responded with mockery.”

Ouch!
That hit a nerve.
Still irritated, Lizzy crossed her trembling arms over her chest, lifted her
chin, and scowled. “Dealing with the ridiculous provokes me to mockery, Mr.
Darcy. Be prepared for the consequences if irrational jealousy is to be your
standard reaction.”

“Jealousy, by definition, is
ofttimes irrational, no matter how strongly one attempts to maintain control
and a clear vision.”

“Is this a warning, sir, to beware
of smiling or talking to any other man?”

“If the talking and smiling
includes that man touching you, then yes!”

With each sentence, their voices
grew louder and their bodies stiffer. The space between them had narrowed to a
mere foot. For several seconds the only sound was angry breathing. Then Darcy
sighed, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose between two
fingers.

“Elizabeth, I cannot apologize for
my jealousy because it is, and always will be, my natural response where you
are concerned. Maybe a man who felt less for his betrothed would not experience
possessiveness. I am not that man. The intensity of my love for you prohibits
me from reacting complacently to what I saw today. Perhaps it is too soon to
hope for, but I would like to imagine that if the situation were reversed, you
might feel a glimmer of jealousy as well.”

Lizzy gasped as a weight abruptly
slammed into her chest. Instantly she recalled the day in Meryton and the
powerful sensations that had rendered her physically ill when she suspected
Caroline Bingley’s advances toward Mr. Darcy. Since then Lizzy continually
fought the urge to squeeze the jezebel’s scrawny neck. Worse yet, with honest
reflection, traces of fretfulness persisted, the nearly inaudible voice citing
Caroline’s finer attributes and accomplishments as a rational reason for Mr.
Darcy to capitulate.
What if a woman you did not know he disliked acted in
such a manner?

Indeed, she understood Mr. Darcy’s
jealousy and distrust far better than he suspected.

Before she formulated a reply, he
tenderly grasped her hands and bent until level with her eyes. “My dear, while
I cannot apologize for my jealousy, I can and do apologize for succumbing to it
before seeking an explanation. That was wrong of me. I humbly beg your
forgiveness, on behalf of Mr. Beller as well, for presuming precipitously and
casting aspersions. Can you forgive me, Elizabeth?”

His gaze remained direct and his
expression serious, but warmth softened the hard edges. The combination made
her heart flutter.

Inhaling, she whispered, “I will
forgive you, William, only if you forgive me first.”