Free Mr. Darcy's Obsession by Abigail Reynolds

she doing even thinking of this? For once and for all, she must forget him.
    "Mr. Griggs, would you care for some more coffee?" she said, her voice steady and warm. When Mr. Griggs proposed, she would accept him and learn some of Jane's philosophy of seeing the best in her situation.
    ***
    Darcy stomped his feet on the bare ground, trying to keep the last bit of warmth from leaving his toes. He had been waiting at least an hour for Elizabeth, just as he had the previous day and the day before that. An hour was a long time to spend wondering why Elizabeth had failed to come to Moorsfield yet again.
    The first day he had waited with an unusual sense of contentment and the knowledge that he was finally on the right track, dreaming of the expression that would be on Elizabeth's face when he made his offer. The second day he was impatient. Today he was worried. Was she ill? He thought it an unlikely time of year for her to travel, but she might be away. He refused to think of reasons why she might have decided to stay away from Moorsfield. It had been but a month since he saw her there last. Surely she could not have become engaged in so short a time.
    If she did not come tomorrow, he would call on her directly. His pride revolted at the idea of accepting the hospitality of a tradesman, but for Elizabeth, he would do more than that. He would have to meet them eventually in any case, though he hoped Elizabeth would limit her contact with them once they were married. She would have a position to maintain, after all.
    But he needed to see her. He had felt somehow unclean ever since that night at Rosings, and he knew instinctively that Elizabeth was the cure. He could tell her of his revulsion at his uncle's behaviour, though he would certainly leave out the details. She would understand. With Elizabeth by his side, he would be able to face his uncle and refuse to tolerate his insinuations.
    But it was long past the time she usually walked there. He collected his horse and rode back to town via Gracechurch Street, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her somehow, but fate was against him.
    A sudden longing for her presence seized at him as he rode past her house. Where could she be? Could she indeed be ill and unable to walk to Moorsfield? There was always illness in London, illness and death.
    It would not do. He must know, even if he could not see her. He thought for a moment and then looked for the flower shop he remembered from his first trip to Gracechurch Street. It was still open, despite the season. He dismounted and entered the establishment, requesting their finest bouquet. It was still not as fine as Elizabeth deserved, and he was sure the clerk overcharged him, but it was no matter.
    Now he needed a messenger. Back on the street he spotted two young girls in ragged clothing. They were laughing together, but stopped as soon as they noticed his interest. In clipped tones, he said, "There was a boy here a few months ago. His name was Charlie."
    "You want 'im?" The taller of the two eyed him calculatingly.
    He placed a coin in her chapped hand. "Where is he?"
    She darted across the street to the entrance of a dark alley. "Char-leee!" she called in a shrill tone. "There's a mort what wants you."
    The boy emerged, rubbing his eyes. He straightened in recognition when he saw Darcy. "You wanted me, sir?"
    Darcy drew him aside. He had no desire to be overheard. "Can you deliver these flowers to Miss Bennet without telling her who sent them?"
    "Anythin' you want, sir. What if she asks who sent 'em?"
    "Tell her..." What could he say that would make her go to Moorsfield the next day? He could not ask for an assignation. "Tell her they are from an admirer. But give them only to her, you understand?" He hoped she would understand.
    "Right, just to 'er."
    Darcy handed the boy the nosegay and ducked under an awning. How low had he sunk, skulking in the shadows to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth? But it had been weeks, and if something was