One Love - Two Hearts - Three Stories

  One Love –

  Two Hearts –

  Three Stories

  A Pride and Prejudice Collection

  The Library

  Married!

  Ramsgate

  by

  J Dawn King

  “The Library”

  “Married!”

  “Ramsgate”

  Copyright © 2015 by Joy D. King

  Cover design: JD Smith - Design

  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 Joy D. King.

  ISBN-13: 978-1511994675

  ISBN-10: 1511994673

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, 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 Quiet Mountain Press

  Follow J Dawn King on Twitter: @jdawnking

  Like her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/JDawnKing

  Or connect by email: jdawnking@gmail.com

  Website: jdawnking.com

  Acknowledgements

  Before I became a Jane Austen Fan Fiction (JAFF) writer, I was a devoted reader. Without those who forged the trail ahead of me, I never would have sat down to write. My stories of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet would have stayed inside me, safely tucked away in my imagination.

  Since publishing my first book in early 2014, there have been a whole new crop of writers in this genre who have added stories that are simply amazing. Different formats, different styles, and different lengths have spurred me to push myself in different directions, just like them. Boy has this been good for me. I want to be a progressive author and I’m running as fast as I can trying to keep up.

  Dedication

  This book is affectionately dedicated to all of the authors, old and new, who painstakingly craft Jane Austen Fan Fiction (JAFF). You are my heroes!

  The Library

  by

  J. Dawn King

  A Pride & Prejudice Collection

  CHAPTER ONE – CAUGHT

  He had been sitting across from her for almost twenty minutes in silence; listening to the pendulum's movement in the aged walnut mantle clock while watching her. He could feel the heat radiating from the stone fireplace, taking the edge off the chill of the late September day. It was his favorite room, his own personal refuge, in Netherfield Park.

  They were each reading the same tome by Shakespeare — Hamlet. She was bewitching as she sat at the corner of the settee, periodically using the fingers on her right hand to twist a curly lock of hair around her index finger; round and around. The curl, the color of dark mahogany, had escaped the careful confines of her hairpins. He longed to run his hands through the rich thickness of her hair and he wondered how long it would be if it were all let loose. Would it reach to her waist or to what lingered below? He desired to help her put the curls back or to remove the rest of the pins.

  Her small slippered foot occasionally tapped a few beats on the library floor in an intermittent rhythm. He had long since lost interest in the story and rested his book on his lap, not taking his eyes off her. As she read, her face reflected the emotions she was feeling; vacillating between anger, anticipation, and keen delight. It was Hamlet after all.

  She chuckled. The tone of her voice was pleasing; playful. He was irresistibly drawn to the sound. He had read the book several times and never had he felt the need to chuckle. What had she discovered that I had not?

  As enticing as he found her physical form, it was her intelligence — her wit that had permeated his heart like the London fog creeping through the neighborhoods until they were covered in a blanket of grey. She had bested him several times as they challenged each other in conversation. He wondered where she had learned the finer points of debate. His skills were developed with his father and honed as President of the debate team at Cambridge. Though she seemed unaware that this elevated her above the others gathered in the household, he knew. His heart bore witness, pounding so loudly that he feared she would be startled by the noise.

  Over the past spring and summer, he had examined the offerings of the season and had found London society's debutantes wanting. Their quickness to adjust their opinions to suit what they thought he desired was disgusting to him. Their inability to comment on something other than the weather, the gathering, the fashions, or the roads, frustrated him beyond measure. Each social occasion was cloaked in the sameness as the last. He had left London to assist his closest friend, Charles Bingley, in the leasing of an estate to escape that boring sameness. It was there that he had met her; in Hertfordshire.

  He had not been kind to her that first night. His frustration with society, his disappointment that he had failed to prevent harm to his only sibling, Georgiana, and his irritation with the sister of his host, made him short-tempered and not the best of company at the local assembly. He had lashed out, saying unkind words that he quickly wished unspoken. Had she heard? He sincerely hoped that she had not. She had never spoken of such and had not treated him with unkindness, so he assumed she was unaware that he had proclaimed her "tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him." He was tempted! In fact, he had never before felt the intense pull of attraction that he felt for her. He could not sleep at night for thinking of her. His days were filled with wondering how she would react to the events of his life. The words he had spoken to Bingley during the assembly at Meryton had been a lie. Disguise of every sort was abhorrent to him. He felt the weight of shame for how he had spoken of someone so lovely.

  He again focused all of his attention on her. Sunlight from the tall library window allowed sunbeams to move slowly across the floor, waking dust particles and inviting them to join in the dance. It placed the side of her face in shadow; the side where she twirled the curl.

  The small hand holding the heavy book was strong, like the legs that carried her on her long walks about the countryside. His estate, Pemberley, would open a world of new trails and paths to her that she would delight to discover. His imagination easily placed her there, enjoying the end of summer and the early days of autumn. They would have the time to watch the colors of the leaves turn from verdant to rust from season to season - if she were there.

  She was a small woman, petite in form, yet strength resonated from her; strength of character, strength of will, and strength of form. Her waist was so small that his large hands would easily circle it, should he ever have the opportunity. Her breasts were… he closed his eyes, trying to block the vision. I am a gentleman!

  He inhaled deeply and resolved to clear his vision and calm his treacherous body. He knew that he had no right to examine her so closely. There was no arrangement, no courtship, and no engagement to allow him that type of freedom. With his elevated position in society there was little likelihood that there ever would be. Even though she was a gentleman's daughter and he was a gentleman, where they should have been equals, their circles would never merge. He mourned that thought.

  Opening his eyes, he focused on her lovely face. Her countenance was peaceful and serene, yet her face was alive with emotion. Her lips were full and red where she had tucked her bottom lip under her straight, white teeth; biting softly. He almost groaned aloud! Her nose was small and slightly turned up at the end, and her eyes… were looking right at him.

  CHAPTER TWO – CHAGRIN

  He could feel the heat of embarrassment burning up his neck as he squirmed in th
e leather chair in the same manner he had done as a child under the eye of his disapproving mathematics tutor. To this day, I still resent that man. Fitzwilliam Darcy prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions under good regulation and to present himself at his best under any circumstance. He now had reason to wonder if this pride was misplaced.

  This was unknown territory for him and he was not aware of how to proceed. To his mortification, he had carelessly crossed the boundaries of his own pre-set limits of what constituted the appropriate amount of interest to show a woman. He never wanted to inspire expectations in a lady and his first inclination was to fear that he had done so.

  He immediately dropped his eyes to the floor, wondering if it were possible to crawl under the carpets and hide from this humiliation.

  "Mr. Darcy, are you well?"

  As he lifted his eyes to look at her he noticed that she had closed her book, keeping one finger inside to mark her place. When his eyes made the leap from her book to her face, he saw her right eyebrow raised as if to quiz him for his actions.

  Quickly setting his book aside, he cleared his throat and leapt to his feet, crossing over to stand in front of the window with his back to her. Little did he realize that this blocked the sunlight as his shadow was cast across the same lap that he had just been caught staring at. It was a pose that he often presented when in company with those he was uncomfortable with. This would not do! I will never gain her attention by standing about in this manner. Clearing his throat again to remove the giant mothball that seemed to have settled there, he addressed her with a confident bluntness that was, for him, all a show.

  "Miss Elizabeth, I thank you for asking. I am well." And that was it – the complete extent of all that came to mind. At least his inbred manners had allowed him that much speech. He desperately wanted to find the words to adequately explain himself, but fear of giving a woman of such inferior circumstance’s encouragement clogged his brain and nothing close to intelligent verbiage came to him. Bowing slightly, he looked to her again as if in hopes that she would rescue him and his clumsy efforts at an explanation. With relief, he listened as she spoke again.

  "Mr. Darcy, I notice that you, too, are reading Hamlet. Is it a favorite of yours?" She spoke in such a way that he was able to form a ready answer.

  "Yes…, I mean, no." Could it be any worse? "Yes, I am, indeed, reading Hamlet, and, no, it is not my favorite. I much prefer Shakespeare's comedies." Darcy was somewhat proud of his answer, or proud that he had given an answer.

  "Comedy, Mr. Darcy?" He could see the mesmerizing twinkle of her eyes and hear the mirth in her voice. He was almost undone. "I would not have guessed you to be a lover of comedy."

  "And, why would you say that, Miss Bennet?" Darcy walked back and sat in the leather chair that he had only moments ago vacated. During those few steps he realized that his struggles were over. He had made a decision and once done, there was nothing to do but proceed. Thinking of how to frame the offer of courtship almost stopped his brain completely. He struggled to recall the current point of conversation. His relief when it finally came to him was palpable. "Is it such a challenge for you to imagine that the lighter side of life would have an appeal to me?"

  Elizabeth Bennet settled her back into the settee and wondered at this man in front of her. 'Light' was not a word that came to her mind when she thought of Fitzwilliam Darcy. His pride, his arrogance, and his selfish disdain for the feelings of others caused offense each time she had been in his company. From the first time that her eyes had met his, she had felt the blow of his harsh words. 'Tolerable!’ 'Not handsome enough!' Yes, she had heard the words and they had pierced to the depths of her soul. Her nature did not allow the slight to become permanently engraved on her heart, thus she had laughed it off; or so she had thought. However, the fact that it was so easily recalled to her memory indicated that it was indelibly carved inside her and Elizabeth knew that this was the last man on earth that she would ever be prevailed upon to seek friendship with.

  "Yes, Mr. Darcy, it is a surprise to me for a certainty." She also set her book alongside her and tilted her head in question. "However, I believe that the salient point that needs to be addressed is your reason for staring at me so. Do I have dust on my nose or on my cheek?"

  His eyes were uncontrollably drawn to those places. His face burned a scarlet hue.

  "No, Miss Elizabeth, there is no dust on your face." Suddenly, Darcy longed for a drink of anything to ease his parched throat. He rose and went to the open library door and requested tea from the footman that stood outside. Darcy breathed deeply of the air in the hallway, feeling that somehow it was less stifling than that in the room. Realistically, he knew that it was only his imagination that made it thus.

  Having an idea, he walked briskly back into the room to the window and proceeded to lift the sill to let the cool air come in. "It is exceedingly warm, is it not?" He felt quite clever with this move.

  Elizabeth looked out the window to the trees bending and the leaves dancing on the stiff breeze. She could not hide the shiver that shook her and the goose bumps that immediately appeared on her arms. She moved to wrap her shawl tighter around her as Mr. Darcy turned and noticed her actions.

  Will it ever end? Can I do nothing right? Darcy closed the window with a resounding thud and then stood with his head raised, eyes closed, and hands fisted at his sides. He wished that he would be struck as invisible or that time would turn backwards so he did not find himself in such a muddle.

  "I offer my apologies, Miss Elizabeth." He shook his head as he opened his eyes and gazed down at her again. Resolution hit him as he realized that some explanations were in order. He knew not where to begin. "I was feeling the need for air. I just did not realize that we would be getting quite so much of it at once."

  "Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth quickly interjected. She could see that he was uncomfortable and wondered what had happened to this man. He was acting so out of the character she had sketched that she worried he had taken ill. "Again, I have to ask, are you well?"

  "Miss Elizabeth, I find myself discomposed and I am making an effort to find my way out of it." It was hard to be so honest, but he felt that she deserved no less.

  "Might I help you, Sir?" She looked so sincere and he remembered her kindness in spite of the insults that Caroline Bingley had thrown at her after dinner the night before and the kindness she had shown in walking the three miles from Longbourn to Netherfield Park to care for her beloved sister. He also recalled the kindness and defense of her good friend, Charlotte Lucas, at her own mother's insult to her at Lucas Lodge. He felt unworthy of her kindness.

  "Miss Elizabeth." He looked directly into her eyes and marveled at the color which was almost hidden by the dark forest of lashes. "My reason for discomfort is you."

  His bluntness caused an immediate reaction in her. She gathered her book to her chest, holding it to her like a shield, and started to rise. He knew that she was quitting the room and that was the last thing he wanted her to do. He had been offered this opportunity of having her alone where the demands of propriety were met by the open door and the servant in close proximity. "Please, stay." The words were quiet, yet forceful in their intensity.

  She sat.

  “I am sorry. I need to explain myself, and again, I apologize if I have caused offense." He gently shook his head. Darcy could not remember the last time that he had offered so many apologies in so short of time and suspected that never in his adult life would have been the right of it.

  "Miss Elizabeth, I sit before you a man with a dilemma I do not know how to solve and I believe that you are the only person who might be able to help me." Darcy had no clue that the look he gave her was so pleading, as if he was on a precipice and needed someone to return him to safety.

  Elizabeth wondered at this confession. She never would have guessed that he was the type of man to display weakness so readily. It did not fit with her opinion of him. She could not imagine that she could have been th
at wrong about his basic character.

  "Please be assured that I will give whatever assistance that I am able, Sir." Her curiosity was piqued as she saw him dip his head down and clasp his hands between his knees. She had never seen him so vulnerable. It seemed like a lifetime before he raised his head and startled her with the words that proceeded out of his mouth.

  "Miss Elizabeth, I have reached the age of seven and twenty without finding a woman with whom I could spend more than just a few minutes."

  Before he could take a breath, he watched anger flare in her eyes. "I see your point, Mr. Darcy, and I apologize for being so long in the library." Elizabeth was livid. How dare the man! It was not his home. Mr. Bingley had generously offered his library for use while she was caring for her sister, Jane. Even Miss Bingley, who barely was civil to her, had given Elizabeth permission. Mr. Darcy had no right to forbid her presence, even if it made him uncomfortable. Again, she stood to leave.

  Darcy stood as well, horrified that Elizabeth had apparently taken his words so wrong. Would they never be able to understand one another clearly? Before she could move far away from the settee, he blurted out, his voice possibly firmer than he intended, "Miss Elizabeth! Do not go." He softened the command with a plea, "Please?"

  Elizabeth was angry and confused. Did he not just clearly state that he could not spend more than a few minutes in my presence? She stopped with her back turned to him, arms held stiffly at her side. Without turning to face him, she inquired, "Why?"

  It was one word, simply stated, yet it moved him to reveal his heart to her.