Scotch and Sirens - Lizzy and Darcy - Scotch and Sirens

It had been a long while since he had last slept this well, Brougham reflected on his way down to breakfast. After Darcy had left him to retire to his room, he had stayed in a melancholy mood, musing on what he surely felt to be harsh injustices and inane misunderstandings between two such reasonable and sensible people as his friend and the keeper of his heart. He had never thought Darcy would ever be so unlucky in love. Aside from his youthful follies he had always been the one forced to discourage hopeful females and their matrons, and even if there had not exactly been droves of broken hearts left in his wake, since he was always careful not to give any encouragement, he certainly was equipped with all the attributes that would make any female review him and his offered circumstances as highly favourable.

Except for this one Miss Bennet of Longbourn, he reflected. It was by no means surprising that his friend should have lost his heart to her, but that such an intelligent, spirited and sensible woman should not welcome his affections, or even be unaware of his true inner worth, seemed to him both sad and aggravating.

When he entered the breakfast parlour Darcy looked at him from behind his newspaper.

“Good morning, Brougham. Did you sleep well? What are your plans for today?”

“Well, good morning to you, too! I slept exceptionally well, thank you! I expect it was all that wining and dining and walking in the fresh air yesterday. Which puts me in mind of a lot of outdoor duties I should attend to. I need to reshoe my horse, cut down that rotten old elm on the south lawn before the autumn storms do the work for me, and go see to a footbridge that needs repairing downstream. The water is high for this time of year and it will only get higher. Want to come along?”

Darcy smiled teasingly. “Brougham, do you not have people to do all of those things, or do you simply want to feel that you are mortal? I am having a holiday. Do not expect me to waste it by following you around while you perform tasks that you are likely not even suited for – ones that will only require the help of those same people who would much rather you left them to it on their own. You would do better to occupy yourself in another manner.”

“Do not tell me you know me so poorly,” Brougham said in mock surprise. “Idleness for me is an abhorrence. It makes me quite ill.”

“Ah, yes, do pardon me. I must have been thinking of another friend of mine, who at the mere sight of a shade tree takes the opportunity to lie down and take a nap.”

Brougham rattled his paper loudly as he turned a page. “Hmm? Did you say something, Darcy? Anyway, as I was saying, as much as your conversation keeps me occupied, I need some other forms of amusements too. You are, of course, at liberty to occupy your time as you wish, but I like doing the odd job here and there as you know, and I therefore think I will start with the horse.” He winked.

“So you claim the skills of a blacksmith now?”

“Well, no… not exactly, but I will watch how it is done.”

Darcy only smirked, and Brougham returned the question. “Pray, tell then, what will you be doing while I take care of these most important chores?”

“Well, Brougham, it seems that I am to leave you.”

“Leave me? How astonishing. Just when things are getting interesting. May one enquire why?”

“I received a letter this morning, if one can still call an express a letter, that reached me here from Pemberley after first going to my London house and then to yours. Anyhow, that delay will only hasten my departure. Mrs. Reynolds writes me that my uncle and Fitzwilliam are awaiting me at Pemberley. They must have assumed I would be present during harvest season.”

“Well, it sounds serious. You had better go before the good Colonel and his father empties your cellar of all the best port and move on. Will you be back, or should I have anything sent to London or Pemberley?”

“I should be back for the fair. I will not retreat from an engagement of that kind.”

Darcy rose from his chair, now finished with his meal. “Please, impart the information to the Rosefarm party. I shall see to my packing now.”

“As you wish. Give my regards to the Colonel and all that is appropriate to your uncle. I will give McLaughlin a shout when I see him in the stables, and I think Riemann is up in my dressing room satisfying his sense of order among my linen if you should need his services. I shall see you off when you are ready.”

His Lordship dove back behind his newspaper and only knew Darcy had left the room by the sound of his retreating steps.

Darcy did not have many things with him, and he did not need even half of them for the trip, so the packing went quickly. He thought he would make the return trip to Clyne in his carriage and bring more luggage. He would certainly need his sword and more clothing.

He stopped by the breakfast parlour on his way out and stuck his head in.

“Brougham, I am ready to leave.”

“I'll follow you out then!”

They shook hands, and Darcy mounted his horse. Their goodbye was perfunctory, but as heartfelt as could be expected between two old friends who would see each other soon enough.

When Darcy reached the bifurcation of the roads, one of them leading to Rosefarm, he stopped his horse and hesitated. There was little time to lose if he wished to appear at Pemberley before his family gave up on waiting for him to make an appearance, however, he did not want to leave without making his farewell to Elizabeth personally. He figured that he would probably need to add another hour for finding and talking to her, but he turned his horse toward Rosefarm anyway.

An hour later he had twice traversed all of the paths he was aware of as her favourite ones, but she was nowhere to be seen. He sighed deeply, deciding against going to Rosefarm itself, and headed in the direction of Pemberley.

Lizzy followed Holly as they each carried yet another basketful of apples to the cellar. She marvelled at the unpredictable autumn weather. The mornings and evenings were growing very cool, almost cold, but this afternoon was as hot as midsummer. At least they were almost finished with the bringing in -- then they would begin helping Mrs. Higgins with the preserving of all they had gathered. She did not look forward to it in the least. It was not that she shirked the work, nor that she was more used to having someone else do it, for she was not averse to labouring when it was needed. After all, it did give her something to occupy her mind with during the long afternoons when she had nothing to do but give in to her almost constant thoughts of Mr. Darcy and when she might see him next. So it was not the effort or the drudgery that gave her pause, it was more that she dreaded the opportunity it gave Holly to ask her too many prying questions and to dwell on the fact that she had not seen very much of her visiting cousin of late.

Elizabeth experienced a great deal of guilt over feeling that way, but if she were to admit the truth to herself, and she was doing so now as she trudged along with the basket, she would say she had been avoiding Holly during the day, much preferring Monsieur Vian’s more undemanding and unassuming company. Of late, he felt like the more comfortable friend when she had a choice between them. After that last time when her cousin had become so upset after only two mornings of her going off walking early – and with no real reason for it since Holly could not know she did anything but walk – and considering Holly’s mistrust and dislike of seemingly all men, Lizzy was even more careful about what she revealed of her own thoughts and feelings. Not that she would not have been before, for she was always a rather private person when it concerned something of a completely personal nature. Even Jane, who was her closest friend and confidant, was not privy to all of her innermost thoughts and fears. But she now regretted more than ever that she had said anything to Holly about Mr. Darcy when she had first arrived. If only she had not been so weak – and had known that he was in the neighbourhood! What a difference those two things would have made!

It was tough enough at night, when they all finally retired to their beds. Sharing a room with her cousin had its drawbacks, for it was then that Holly inevitably brought up Mr. Darcy if they had seen him at all that day, or if she had had word of him from some other source, and she invariably always did it in a negative way, comparing a perceived action or look of his in a bad light in her efforts to convince Lizzy that she should not think of him any longer, and that it was for the best that she forget him, for it was clearly her cousin’s opinion that he certainly did not think highly of her or consider her with any more elevation than he did any other woman – and with that Lizzy had to agree. While that assessment was not entirely accurate, it was true to the extent that he no longer thought of her in the way he once did, but only as a friend now. While Holly meant well, and tried to be supportive in her own way, it was hard for Lizzy to hear it repeated over and over again, and so she had begun to avoid time alone with Holly as much as possible.

Yet, despite all of this, there was also another truth, even more important to her for why she did not wish to share her thoughts and feelings with anyone else. There was something about her time spent with Mr. Darcy – the smiles exchanged, the tenderness of his voice, the look of concern in his eyes, the lightest touch he would sometimes give her – that composed her most cherished memories of him and was too private a thing to be spoken aloud, let alone laid out to be examined by another. Those things she wished to keep for herself and peruse in the silent hours of the night, a spell she would not like to see broken or intruded upon, for it was something that she shared with him alone, and she wished to think, no matter if it was only an illusion, that he might also keep such memories of her, unknown and untainted by the touch or thoughts of another. It made her feel closer to him than she was in reality, and she would not give that feeling away when it was all she had.

After climbing down the cellar steps, Holly shoved her basket into a back corner and turned to take the one Lizzy was bringing down behind her.

“Who would have thought that our few little trees would produce so many apples? Thank goodness this is the last of them.” She pushed Lizzy's basket next to her own, stood up straight and stretched her back. “Let us rest for a moment, shall we?”

Both girls sat atop lumpy burlap sacks filled with turnips or potatoes, rested their heads against another such bag filled with some other such produce, and enjoyed the cool air of the root cellar.

“So Lizzy, this is quite a different life than you have at home, is it not? I must say, for a novice you have picked up the finer points of manual labour and drudgery very quickly.”

Lizzy, her back, arms, and neck aching from the picking and hauling of what seemed like millions of apples, had her head turned away and so indulged in an eye roll. At times it seemed that Holly thought she was the only one in the world who knew how to work. However, upon reconsideration of the remark, especially after her own recent and uncharitable thoughts, she realized they were both tired and that there was some truth to what her cousin likely felt, for her own life was much easier than that of her cousin’s in some ways.

She turned and gave her a stern look. “I will have you know,” she said with mock severity, “that I take umbrage with your last comment. Why, my daily routine almost always includes lifting at least ten barges and toting some twenty bails before I have even had breakfast!”

Her look then softened. “I will admit that you do have more responsibilities than I do myself, Holly. However, if you somehow find that you are not happy with my labours of today, I shall carry all of these apples back to the trees, tie them back up on the branches with string, and then depart for Longbourn immediately – after throwing a few at you first, of course!”

Holly smiled as her cousin took her remark so good-naturedly. “I appreciate your willingness to help, and your help itself, very much.”

She leaned back and absentmindedly looked around the cellar as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. “Wait, what is this?” She jumped up and pulled two bottles off of a corner shelf. “We are in luck, Lizzy! The last two bottles of Mrs. Higgins’ famous spiced cider! We thought it was all gone, but must have missed these two pushed back into the shadows. Here, let us have a taste before we bring it up to the house. It is just the reward we need after a long day's work.”

She opened one bottle and took a taste of it. “Ooohhh! It is fizzy! I do not remember it being fizzy before.” She handed it to Lizzy to try.

Taking the bottle from Holly, she looked at it dubiously, trying to see the contents inside by the dim light coming in through the cellar door. “If you do not remember it being fizzy, than perhaps it has gone over?” Lizzy timidly took a small sip. “No, I think it has not. It is delicious, and I find myself very thirsty! I think we shall just have to ease the monotony for ourselves, as we have carried enough today. We shall drink one here and bring only one back to the house.” She took a bigger drink from the bottle.

“Holly, your memory must no longer be in working order because you simply have more manual labour than mental labour in your daily life. I would recommend that you mend that sooner rather than later. You simply must begin using your brain more, dear, and try to work less like I do,” she smirked. She laughed and took several more large drinks before holding it out to her cousin.

“That shows how little you are aware of my far reaching talents,” Holly replied. “I will have you know that as I am breaking my back with manual labour, my mind is likewise occupied with deep thoughts and philosophies. Why, just now I was meditating on which signals greater intelligence – brown eyes or blue.”

Holly then smilingly took several good-sized swallows herself. Holding it up as if on display, she said, “Now see here Lizzy, this is why we work so hard. So we can enjoy the fruits of our labours.”

They busied themselves with shuffling around produce and treated themselves to a drink of cider every now and then, but after a while, the more they drank of it, the less they continued shifting bags and baskets, and the more frequently they stopped to talk and laugh.

Lizzy, quite happy now and miraculously no longer feeling the aches and pains that she did before, was finding it increasingly difficult to bend over and then stand upright again so often. She finally just resorted to making herself an approximation of a chaise lounge chair on her side of the cellar floor and laid back comfortably in it, the now half empty bottle held firmly in her lap. Holly, still trying to work diligently, finally noticed her cousin's inaction.

“Oh, you are right, Lizzy. Your idea is more to my liking and more fitting to gentlewomen such as we are than this hard work.” Taking the cue from her cousin, Holly made herself a comparable seating arrangement, but before she settled into it she grabbed the bottle from Lizzy’s lap. Swaggering toward her in an imitation of Monsieur Vian’s walk, she held the bottle out.

“A toast, to Mademoiselle Bennet. Zee most beauteous woman to ever grace zee eyes of such a humble Frenchman as myself. Of all zee women’s hearts I have in my keeping, Mademoiselle Bennet’s is zee most lovely, zee most pure, and zee most precious. I drink.... to her!”

With a flourish, Holly drank to Lizzy – until suddenly she felt the need to make use of her newly constructed seat.

Lizzy laughed so hard she temporarily developed hiccups and then laughed all the more because of them. She was sitting on the edge of her seat now, and seeing the bottle so close she reached over and took it, thinking that if she drank several sips while holding her breath she would cure them. It took several attempts and several long sips before it had the desired effect.

“That is so not true and you know it, Holly! He is kind at heart. I think he is just bored and wishes to be entertained. He is the only man here among three women and just wishes to please us. He tries to pay you just as much attention, but you lose your patience quickly and scare him away!” She stood up on wobbly legs and steadied herself. “But now it is my turn! Behold. Mr. Grant!”

She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked backward and forward on the balls of her feet and began in an earnest tone, “Miss Tournier, did you know that you walk like beauty in the night, and I was wondering if you would mind if I asked how do I love thee? Let me count the ways right before I go over and ask your mother for your hand!”

They both fell into another fit of giggles.

Lizzy took her seat again, as standing was becoming more and more difficult. “Wait! What about blue or brown eyes?” she asked. “You said you contemplated them. Whose?” She absentmindedly removed the pins from her hair, most of them having come loose already anyway. Running her fingers through her long tresses like a comb, she muttered, “I am feeling rather fuzzy right now. We must have worked too hard today. I prefer brown, Holly, just so you know, but do tell me your opinion.”

After her giggles had finally abated, Holly laid her head back on her lumpy pillow, closed her eyes and wondered why the root cellar seemed to be spinning around. Lizzy’s question brought her eyes open again, but her mouth felt so odd that she decided another drink was needed before she could properly address the subject.

“My, but this tastes good. I remember it tasting good, but I do not remember it tasting this good. It tastes just… so good… Brown eyes! How can you possibly prefer brown eyes? No Lizzy, you are wrong, brown eyes are all well and good, but blue eyes… blue eyes are to be preferred, especially since my comment referred to intelligence to begin with and I have blue eyes! Oh, wait a minute. Whose brown eyes are you referring to? You are thinking of Mr. Darcy, are you not?”

She smiled at Holly’s question. “Of course I am referring to Mr. Darcy's eyes. They are mighty fine eyes, are they not? I almost get lost inside when I look into them. He has such a way of looking at one, so intensely that you are sure he can see right through you. You must have noticed this, because he probably looks at everyone that way, but it is quite disconcerting to me. I cannot seem to see inside of him so deeply as I would like, but I have tried. Sometimes I think I know what he is thinking, but then I find that I am wrong, as there is always another explanation.”

Lizzy took the bottle and had another swallow. “Eyes are funny things. They are windows into the soul only if you know the secret of how to look into them. Do you know the secret, Holly?”

“Of course not,” Holly was surprised, “and why should I know that? I do not go about staring so deeply into anyone’s eyes. It would be perceived as quite rude behaviour.”

Holly sat up and gave her cousin what she believed to be a deep and serious look, which caused both girls to break out into a fit of laughter.

“No.” she continued. “There is nothing special about brown eyes. I have always preferred blue, and I am glad my own are of the same shade. Whose eyes are lovelier, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy’s or mine? I have never noticed anything extraordinary about Mr. Darcy’s, though I cannot say I have paid much attention. I suppose he is a rather nice looking man. I say, both of the gentlemen from Clyne are very handsome are they not? Why could Mr. Grant not be as handsome? I believe I would have married him years ago if that were the case.”

Lizzy contemplated both Holly’s and Mr. Darcy’s eyes in her mind for a moment. Knowing full well whose eyes she preferred, she opted to utter aloud an entirely alternate conclusion to tease her cousin. “Yours or Mr. Darcy's better? Why I was thinking my own eyes best of all actually. I think I have a pair of very fine eyes!” She smiled inwardly at her own joke.

“Mr. Grant is not so very bad you know. I must say that he is an improvement over Mr. Collins and that you are far luckier in that sense. But I suppose his poetry would soon sound like the other man's sermons and would quickly lose their appeal.”

Lizzy drank some more, realized that the bottle was almost empty, and handed it to her cousin. “Holly, we can only guess all too well what would be in store for someone married to a Mr. Grant or a Mr. Collins, but what do you think married life would be like if one were to marry a Mr. Darcy or a Lord Brougham?”

After tipping out the last drops of cider, Holly lay back and pondered the question “Oh. Lizzy, can you imagine going to the theatre on the arm of such a handsome and wealthy man, and wearing a new dress in the latest fashion. Would not all the other ladies envy us? It would be like a fairy tale...”

Holly sat up straight and tried to shake some clarity into her head. “Now I am being silly. Fairy tales do not happen to girls like us. We marry the Mr. Grants of the world, count ourselves fortunate and make the best of things. But what do you think it would be like, Lizzy, if such good fortune were to visit itself upon one of us?”

Lizzy briefly wondered at her cousin’s vision, and any suspicions she might have held about Holly truly caring for Lord Brougham were washed away by it. If she had felt anything for him, her thoughts would not be filled with dresses and theatres and the envy of others. Then her mind shifted and eyes glazed over as the possibilities of being married to Mr. Darcy came to her mind.

“I think not of dresses, but I do think of the fairy tale. It would be heaven. He would be beside me always, both of us in tune to the other's thoughts and needs. Always wishing only for the other to be happy and comfortable. Of course he would understand me, and my quirks, and most importantly, he would love them. I know he would challenge my wit daily in the most pleasant ways, just as I would do the same for him. And teasing each other would be an invaluable part of our lives… and he would hold me in his arms, watching over me and keeping me safe always.

Lizzy closed her eyes tightly for a moment and envisioned herself spending her time not at the theatre among strangers, but most preferably in his arms. She sighed, “But I do not like to allow myself to even think about it. It is something that I know could only cause me pain, since it will never happen.”

She opened her eyes and turned to her cousin. “You know, Holly, I think that cider may have gone over after all, but in a different way than gone bad. Is this what it is to be drunk? I think I am drunk!” She lay back in her place, closed her eyes, and laughed heartily. “I always wondered what that would be like, and now I think I know.”

Lizzy's laughter shot through Holly's head like a cannon. Wincing, she lay her head down. “No, Lizzy, that is impossible. Ladies do not get drunk, and we have only had cider. We worked very hard today, that is all, and I think I may be coming down with something. I do not feel very well...” With that, she curled up on her lumpy bed, closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

Lizzy was sure that Holly must be wrong and tried to tell her so, but after some lengthy rant on how fruit juice might become alcohol, she finally realized that Holly was asleep and did not hear a word of it. She laughed to herself then, a lengthy fit of giggles, and then closed her eyes as well.

At first she thought she had better open them back up immediately because a small part of her wondered if perhaps they had been poisoned by bad cider and that she should inform someone so they would not lie here in this dark cellar unattended and unnoticed. However, she soon thought her first inclination, that they were simply drunk, was the more correct one and felt she should wake Holly so they could make their way to their room as unobtrusively as possible. It simply would not do to have Mrs. Tournier find them like this. She would tease them unmercifully for a long, long time to come. In a moment, she thought, just as soon as she rested here for a minute longer.

Her thoughts then turned to Mr. Darcy. She relived the last ride they had had together when he had taught her how to jump, remembering the thrill of being so close to him on the horse. She missed their meetings and breakfasts together so much that it physically hurt. Her memories then wandered to the picnic. She remembered the poem he had recited for her. She knew he had referred only to the laughter part, but the rest was lovely too and she wished he had meant those sentiments as well. Knowing that Holly could not hear her, she spoke aloud.

“I lied then you know, Holly, saying that I could not think of any poems. I had one for him. I just could not say it!”

The poem she had had running through her mind that day could not be spoken aloud in front of anyone, even him, because it was too telling, and because she could not make it go out of her head, she could think of no other.

Her mind then wandered to the falls and his rescue. She had not hesitated to choose him to come and get her, and she now realised how it could be interpreted if one were paying attention. Mr. Vian was already standing there with her, and there was no real reason to have Mr. Darcy go to the trouble of coming to her, but the fact that he had insisted warmed her heart even now. He did care for her, that she knew, or he would not trouble himself to do all that he did for her. She just could not be sure how far his caring extended, and that was always her problem concerning him.

She positively glowed at the remembrance of his teasing of her behind the falls and whispered to herself, “He was funny, you know! He was so naturally witty at such a moment. How could one not love him?”

She drifted off to sleep, dreams of him coursing through her mind. At some point in her dreaming, she murmured aloud the word “Dearest” just before the kiss he really did give her in her dream while he had held her in his arms to carry her out from behind the falls.

Vian had been looking for the ladies for some time. As soon as he had learnt they were occupied in the harvest he had wanted to offer his help. However, they were nowhere to be seen, and he was just about to search all the possible places once again when Mrs. Higgins suggested that the ladies might be found in the root cellar. He descended the narrow steps and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There, lying on boxes and sacks, he saw both ladies sleeping and an empty bottle lying on the floor between them. He smiled to himself at the sight. He delicately took Holly up in his arms and carried her up the stairs and out into the fading daylight. On his way through the hallway, he met his aunt, who paid him her most alarmed look.

“See what I have found in the root cellar, Tantine. I believe the harvest was very fruitful this year.” At her still anxious stare, he added, “They worked very hard. I think they were very tired after their labours.”

Understanding dawning on her face, he smiled and gave a wink as he turned to the stairs leading up to the bedchambers. He laid Holly down and headed back to the root cellar to fetch Miss Bennet.

When he entered the dim room once again he heard Elizabeth shifting in her provisory bed. She looked so beautiful, her breath steady. He slowly reached out with his finger and brushed it tenderly along her chin, tracing up to her lips. They parted at his touch. He sighed. She looked so innocent, almost virginal. How he wished it were true, that she had waited for him… But that was not to be, and he should not wish for the impossible, resenting her for something she did in a moment of weakness. He would love her still, he would teach her things a cold Englishman had no idea about. They would share their lessons together, from the very beginning. He would grant her every caress, anticipate her every wish. He would take all his life to learn her body and master in pleasuring her.

He embraced her and held her close. She turned her face to his and he heard her whisper, “Dearest.” He could not help but bend his head down and lay a tender kiss on those shapely lips.

When he carried Elizabeth upstairs and placed her beside Holly on the quilt, he could not leave before hugging her once more where she lay.

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