Excentryke's Musings

Title: Amethyst Eyes
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Pride & Prejudice / Twilight Saga
Pairings: Bella/Darcy, Kitty/Mr. Collins, Jane/Bingley
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6.5k
Warnings: time travel/dimension travel, Quileute magic, domestic violence, no Edward, no Wickham, Bella is adopted, Elizabeth is worse than horrible, Darcy is overbearing but we love him, some time-appropriate racial prejudice, Mr. Collins is almost a darling

Amethyst Eyes

Darcy had spent a week in the same house with her and found her opinions pert and bordering on the unladylike.  She walked across the room with Caroline Bingley in order that he might admire her and her fine eyes sparkled with mischief.  Elizabeth Bennet meant to catch him as surely as her elder sister meant to catch Bingley, but Darcy would not be caught.

Three days after the Bennet sisters returned home, Bingley wished to call on the eldest Miss Bennet to inquire after her health.  Darcy could not let him go alone.  The visit would surely stretch on too long and the Bennet mother would use any ploy to her daughter’s advantage.

They were just riding toward Meryton when, by chance or by fortune, they came upon all five of the Bennet sisters.  Jane, Mary, and Lydia were looking at ribbons in the Milliners’ window.  Catherine, he believed was her name, was walking with a young man who bore a striking resemblance to the Bennet father.  Elizabeth—with her fine eyes and pleasing figure—was standing with another young lady.

At a word from Elizabeth, this newcomer looked up and her bright violet eyes captured Darcy’s attention.  He nearly startled at the color, so unusual it was, and found himself unable to look away.

“Oh come.  Let us meet the new officers,” Elizabeth was now saying.

The girl flashed her attention to Elizabeth, looking away from Darcy.  “Officers?” she questioned, confused.

“Yes, officers,” Elizabeth urged, herself now glancing toward Darcy.

Darcy was dismounting his horse and made to tie him to a post on the side of the road.

“You do not wish to make the acquaintance of Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth assured her friend, seeing that the young woman with the violet eyes had turned her attention back to Darcy.  Elizabeth placed her hand on the girl’s arm.  “Miss Collins.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Collins objected, a blush suffusing her cheek.  “The object of our conversation is approaching.  He can surely hear you.”

Elizabeth glanced up and reddened in embarrassment. 

Darcy approached them and doffed his hat.  “Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted solemnly.  “Bingley and I were come to Longbourn to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health.”

Looking displeased, Elizabeth curtseyed.  “Jane is as you see her.”  She glanced toward her companion.  “This is our cousin, Miss Collins, recently come from Kent.”

Miss Collins looked up at Darcy with her incredibly violet eyes.  Her pale skin flushed again, accented by her midnight hair that just peaked out from underneath her plain bonnet.  “Mr. Darcy,” she greeted in a shy voice.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And what brings you to Hertfordshire, Miss Collins?” he inquired politely, entranced by this shy creature.

“My brother Matthew,” she answered readily with a small smile.  “He was recently ordained and thought it time to mend old wounds between our family and Mr. Bennet.”  She indicated over Darcy’s shoulder.

It was the young man with Catherine on his arm.  Strange that he should escort the fourth youngest of the sisters when Miss Bennet would have precedence.  Mr. and Miss Collins also looked nothing like each other.  Perhaps they had different mothers although they seemed relatively close in age.

“I see Captain Denny,” Elizabeth interrupted before Darcy could respond.

Darcy looked at her strangely.  He had expected her to flirt with him if she seriously meant to catch him, not run off to speak to another man.  Still, it rather solved the problem of her presence.  “Good day, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

Elizabeth looked apologetically at Miss Collins, but still left her with Darcy.

“Do you stay long in Meryton?” he inquired of her, once they were alone, or as alone as they could be on a busy street.

“It depends,” she answered hesitantly.

He looked at her expectantly.

She indicated over his shoulder again.  He turned and saw Mr. Collins leading Catherine over to the Milliners’.  Darcy took her point.  It depended on a marriage alliance between the two sides of the family.  Stranger still that Mr. Collins should choose one of the younger daughters.  Perhaps he shared Darcy’s opinion that the eldest Miss Bennet smiled too much.

“I hope Miss Catherine is of an age to marry.  I do not know the ages of all five of the Bennet sisters.”

“It is quite peculiar that they are all out,” Miss Collins agreed carefully.  “I would never fault Mr. Bennet however for his parental choices.”

“I take it then, Miss Collins, you and your brother are quite independent and have no parental influence.”  It was always prudent to check.  He did not quite understand Miss Collins’ position other than that her brother was a recently ordained clergyman (which was an acceptable position, if a little beneath his own as Master of Pemberley).

“Papa passed on several years ago,” Miss Swan told him.  “It is just Matthew and I.  He takes prodigious care of me.”

“An ideal brother then.”

She blushed again charmingly.  “Indeed.”  Hesitating, she seemed to change her mind and blinked.  Her violet eyes seemed to shine amethyst for a moment. 

“Forgive me, Miss Collins,” Darcy began hesitantly, “but you and Mr. Collins do not resemble each other.”

Miss Collins looked worried.  “No,” she carefully responded.  She bit her lip and looked away.

Darcy meant to reassure her, but almost as if sensing her worry, Mr. Collins called out, “Bella!  Come see this muslin!”

A look of relief washed over Miss Collins’ face.  “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, curtseying, before she hurried away.

“Miss—” He tried to call her back, but she was rushing across the street, her hand on the top of her bonnet to keep it from coming off.

Darcy had misstepped.  He should not have mentioned her looks in regards to her brother.  Miss Collins—Bella!  What a beautiful name!—obviously did not resemble the Bennets, but perhaps she did have a different mother, which was nothing to be ashamed of.  Perhaps that is how she had inherited her unearthly eyes.

Bingley was now making his way back over to him with a smile on his face.  “Miss Bennet is quite well,” he reported.  “It seems their cousins are visiting from Kent.”

“Yes,” Darcy confirmed.  “A Mr. and Miss Collins.”

“Were you speaking to the sister?”

“Quite,” Darcy said plainly, closing the subject.

Bingley, however, did not mind.  He was quite happy to discuss Jane Bennet’s smiles.

That night as Darcy listened to Caroline Bingley perform, he wondered at how nature could produce such a singular color as Bella Collins’ eyes.  It was quite remarkable.  He would have to ensure that Bingley invited Mr. and Miss Collins to the Netherfield Ball.

Two nights later Darcy dreamt he was in a fog.  He was standing alone and searching for someone, but she was always out of reach.  He would see the hem of her skirt, or the trailing ribbon of her bonnet, but he could never quite catch her.

“Bella,” he whispered as he awoke, drenched in sweat.  He lay in bed for several moments considering.

When his man came to shave him that morning, he was standing at the window wondering if Bella’s hair curled or not.

“Where is Mr. Collins’ living?” he asked Bingley when they were playing billiards the following afternoon.

“Kent.”

Darcy felt exasperation slide through him.  “Yes, yes, I know that.”  He hit the white ball and watched in satisfaction as he pocketed the seven ball.  “Where in Kent?”

Bingley shrugged.

“What’s this about?” Hurst asked from where he was sitting, drinking his fourth glass of port.

Darcy glanced over his shoulder but did not answer.

Hurst did not inquire again, happily taking a drink.

On the third morning when Darcy woke up with Bella’s name on his lips, he could not bear to remain confined to his room.  He walked to the stables in his shirtsleeves and boots and saddled his horse.  Riding out into the early morning mist, he went in no particular direction, allowing the fresh air to waken him.

The sound of a whiny surprised him and he reined in his horse.

He looked into the early morning light and saw a mare and rider appear out of the shadows.  Squinting to see who it was, he breathed, “Bella.”

Bella halted her horse and looked over at him.  Her black hair was cascading down her back and she was draped in a large overcoat.  “Mr. Darcy!” she greeted in surprise.  “What are you doing riding?”

“I could not sleep,” he told her plainly.  Darcy had been dreaming of her and like an apparition she had appeared before him.  “Are—are you riding without a saddle and reins, Miss Collins?”

Darcy could imagine she was blushing although the light was too dim for him to tell.

“I learnt to ride this way,” she said by way of explanation.  Her mare canted to the side, but Bella soothed her. 

“Shall we ride together?” Darcy suggested.

Almost like a wild horse herself, Bella tossed her midnight black hair as she regarded him.  “Very well, Mr. Darcy.”—then she took off across the fields.

Darcy looked after her in shock, but soon spurred on his horse, taking off after her.  Darcy and Bella rode over the fields and jumped over hedges and gates, Darcy soon getting lost as he did not know the estates around Meryton well.  They finally circled back and Darcy recognized Netherfield in the distance.  The sun had risen fully by now and Darcy knew it would soon be time for breakfast.

When Bella took him back within the span of a field of Netherfield Hall, she halted her horse and looked back over at him, her violet eyes shining.

He looked at her in wonder.  “Forgive me, Miss Collins,” he breathed, “but you are unlike any young woman I have ever known.”

She laughed a little to herself.  “I well believe that to be true,” she agreed.  “Most young ladies don’t ride bareback before the sunrises.”

“No,” he agreed.  “Are—” He took a deep breath and asked carefully, “Are you truly a parson’s sister?”

She looked over at him in worry.  “I am—now.”  Looking down at her hands tangled in her horse’s mane, she kicked its sides and galloped away from Darcy, leaving him at Netherfield Hall.  Darcy’s stallion canted to the side, but he did not follow her.  He would call on her when it was teatime.  He recognized a family secret when he saw one.  He held Georgiana’s secret elopement close to his heart.  Bella Collins’ origins were just as damaging to her, but he had glimpsed the truth hidden behind the polite veneer of society.  Bella had trusted him with it, and he would be worthy of this trust.

Seeing Bella like this, atop a horse with her wild hair flowing behind her back, only made Darcy desperately want her—

He paused, considering.  Could he trust himself to have Bella?  She was publicly the sister of a respectable ordained minister, a gentleman in his own right, the cousin of a landed estate holder. 

Darcy could always mark Mr. Collins for a bishopric so that the connection would be suitable.

As he allowed his horse to be led away, Darcy came up to Netherfield and took in the great house.  Bella was undoubtedly wild. Could he see her as a great lady of a house such as this, of a house such as Pemberley?  He had seen her dressed properly in Meryton, her hair demurely tucked beneath a bonnet.  She had presented herself as a comely young lady of society then—

“You seem distracted, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy looked up from the window.  He had been standing for more than three quarters of an hour looking out over the gardens of Netherfield as the family party talked in the drawing room.  He had not been attending.  Glancing at the clock, he saw it was too soon to pay calls.

“Forgive me, Caroline,” he apologized with no particular warmth in his tone, turning back to the window.  “I am not a good conversationalist today.”

As he was not attending, he missed the disappointed look in her eye.

He did not tell Bingley where he was going, for he if did, Bingley would surely wish to accompany him to Longbourn.  Darcy knew the way, and he was there in plenty of time for tea.

Mrs. Bennet was at her sewing with her plainest daughter—Mary, Darcy believed—sitting at the pianoforte.

“Miss Collins?” Mrs. Bennet fluttered.  “Why, I believe she is in the garden with my other daughters.”

“I can show myself the way,” Darcy assured her when she made to get up.

“Well, if you are quite sure.  Did Mr. Bingley not accompany you?”

He shook his head.

She seemed quite put out, but went back to her sewing.

Darcy went into the garden and saw Jane and Elizabeth at the roses.  Mr. Collins was sitting with Catherine on a bench, but he had to venture further in to find Bella.  She was under a lilac bush, reading a small volume, her hair quite rightly put up in a simple style that quite became her.

“I see I find you at your reading,” he greeted.

Her violet eyes flicked up and widened in surprise.  “Mr. Darcy,” she breathed, setting down her small book.  “What are you doing here?”

“You left me without a word,” he reminded her, coming up to her and indicated that he should like to sit next to her.

She just stared at him.

Darcy decided to take that as encouragement and sat down.  “What are you reading?”

Bella looked like she did not comprehend the question.  He pointed to the book in her hands and she seemed to come to herself.  “Oh,” she murmured.  “Thomas Gray.”  She handed it to him.  “Perhaps you were expecting Lord Byron.”

“Do you read Lord Byron?” he asked as he read the inscription.  It was from her brother, Matthew, not that he was her brother in actuality.

“Matthew says it rots the brain.”

“I quite agree with him,” Darcy said with a small smile.

She laughed a little to herself, a bright, pleasant sound.  “I am certain Lord Byron is not the pinnacle of depravity.”

“I daresay not,” Darcy agreed, “but he is nevertheless scandalous.”

“In his actions.  I have not had proof that it translates to his poetry.”

“Art often imitates life,” Darcy quoted sagely.

Bella only smiled at this.

“You look quite the pretty picture under the lilac bush,” Darcy commented, watching Bella blush.

“We have a garden in Kent,” Bella told him.  “Matthew is the gardener, but I like to sit in it and read.”

“I suppose you cannot ride around the village with your hair not in its bindings,” Darcy remarked carefully.

“There is no one to see at Rosings—”  Bella looked up at him with wide amethyst eyes.  “There is only Lady Catherine and Miss De Bourg to see and neither of them leave the house.”

He was completely surprised.  He looked back out into the garden.  “Mr. Collins is Lady Catherine De Bourg’s cleric?  In Hunsford?”

“Why?” Bella asked, her pretty eyes narrowing.  “Do you know the place?”

“I do,” he confessed, looking back at her.  “Lady Catherine is my mother’s elder sister.”

It was Bella’s turn to look shocked.  “Indeed?”  She turned to face the garden.  “How peculiar.  Lady Catherine has shown great preferment to Matthew.  When we came to the parsonage, she made several alterations to it and she has been most kind to me.  It—It was she,” Bella admitted, “who suggested that the church needed a cleric’s wife.  She said—she said I was not enough for the parish, and some man would take notice of me eventually.”  Bella was now looking down at her hands and picking at her muslin dress.

Trusting his instincts, Darcy reached out and took Bella’s hand.

She looked up at him with her wide amethyst eyes.

“It was wrong of her to say you were not capable,” Darcy told her firmly.  “I am certain that is not the case.”

“I was not brought up to it like Matthew,” Bella tried to explain away.  “His father held a living in Surrey before he passed.”

This was another reference to Bella not being Matthew’s actual sister.

“—but I do try.”

Darcy squeezed her hand.  His green gaze held hers.  “I am most certain you will be able to guide Miss Catherine in her new position when a happy event occurs,” he soothed.

She blushed again.  “I chose Catherine for Matthew.  He was going to choose Elizabeth—” (Darcy did not even feel a twinge in his stomach at the thought of another man preferring Elizabeth) “—since Mrs. Bennet said there was already a claim on Jane—”

“Pardon?” Darcy interrupted.  “What did Mrs. Bennet say?”

Bella looked up guilelessly.  “She said there was already a claim to Jane—”

Darcy looked back into the garden.  Mrs. Bennet was grasping at Bingley then more than he thought if she was scaring away other suitors.  He would have to put Bingley on his guard.

He turned back to Bella who was looking at him anxiously.

“Mr. Darcy?”

He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand, which was still warm in his.  “Forgive me, Bella—”

“That is the third time you have called me ‘Bella,’” she noted.

“I apologize.  That is how I think of you, Miss Collins.  Is ‘Miss Collins’ even your proper name, Bella?”

She looked away anxiously. 

“I wish to know the name,” he prodded, “of the fearless young lady who rides on a horse bareback before the sun rises.”

When she still did not look at him, Darcy soothed, “What else can you do, Bella, when no one suspects?”

She glanced at him, a smile curving on her lips.  “Oh, you’ll never guess,” she teased, her speech slipping into an unfamiliar pattern.

“Will I not?” he teased back, enjoying the light in her amethyst eyes.

“Bella!” Catherine called, coming around a corner, “Mama says it is time for tea—”

Darcy quickly released Bella’s hand and slid away from her. 

Catherine paused when she saw Bella and Darcy sitting underneath the lilac bush together, but she composed herself quickly and addressed her cousin.  “It is time for tea, Bella.  I am certain you are more than welcome, Mr. Darcy.”

“Tea sounds most delightful,” Bella agreed.  She turned to Darcy.  “Shall you stay for tea, Mr. Darcy, or must you return to Netherfield?”

“I shall not impose on Mrs. Bennet’s kindness,” he told the two young women.  Truth was, he thought Mrs. Bennet and the two youngest Bennet sisters very silly.  He could always see Bella again on her morning ride, away from prying eyes.

Bella looked at him knowingly.

She walked him to his horse, and he kissed the back of her hand.

He knew himself to be well and truly caught when he got back to Netherfield and almost immediately turned around to return to Longbourn again, almost deciding on a prevarication to see Bella that very afternoon for a second time.

Darcy still did not know the circumstances of Bella’s birth, the position of her parents, the manner of her coming to be adopted by the Collins family, her name, or why she would ever be taught to ride a horse bareback.  Still, he did not seem to care.  All he wanted to do was see her again.

Her name was on his lips when he awoke the next morning in a dead sweat, but the birds were already chirping and the sun had indeed already risen.

He was afraid Bella would think she had abandoned him.

When Bingley proposed riding to their closest neighbors and delivering invitations to the Netherfield Ball personally, Darcy immediately volunteered to accompany him.

Louisa Hurst regarded him in wonder, but did not comment otherwise.

When they arrived at Longbourn, it was to find the five daughters assembled along with their cousins.  Mr. Collins readily accepted on behalf of himself and his sister.  Bella was sitting with Elizabeth who had a mischievous look in her blue eyes.

“But shall you accept?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Collins.  “Would your bishop approve?”

Bella glanced between her brother and Elizabeth.  “You would deprive Catherine a dancing partner?” she asked outright.  “I did not think you such a jealous sister.”

Elizabeth looked thoughtful.  “I am not jealous, Bella.  Surely you understand that.”

“I can think of no other reason for you to suggest that Matthew not attend when you know full well that the clergy attend social functions.  I am surprised at you, Cousin Elizabeth!”

“You may attend,” Elizabeth countered.

“Elizabeth,” Catherine begged.

“No, Catherine,” Mr. Collins interjected.  “If Elizabeth is worried for my reputation—”

“I assure you, Mr. Collins,” Bingley was now saying, “this will be a sober event in the best of taste.  Miss Elizabeth need not worry for your reputation.”

Elizabeth looked betrayed.

Mr. Collins bowed.  “I thank you, Mr. Bingley.  I believe that settles the matter.”

Bella was staring accusingly at Elizabeth.

The tension in the room was palpable.  There was no opportunity for Darcy to ask for Bella’s first two dances, and he and Bingley left disappointed.

“What was that?” Bingley asked once they had ridden a good mile from Longbourn.

“It appears,” Darcy posited, “that Miss Elizabeth is jealous of Miss Catherine.  Miss Collins indicated to me that her brother means to marry Miss Catherine of the four daughters.  It seems it is beneficial for the two sides of the family to form an alliance, though I do not know the principle reasons why this may be so.”

“Indeed?” Bingley seemed curious.  “When did she indicate that?”

Darcy gave him a cool look.

Bingley knew not to inquire any further.

When Darcy saw Bella on horseback the next morning, she barely even paused, but instead kept on riding.  He spurred on his horse and followed her.  There was something savage in her riding as she jumped multiple hedges and kept on urging her horse forward farther and farther abroad.

“Bella!” Darcy called, but she would not heed him.  She seemed hunched forward onto her arm, riding half bent down over her horse.

“Bella!” he tried again, but when she would not stop, he was forced to ride alongside her and grab her horse’s mane, forcing the horse to turn inward and stop.

She glared at him, her hair wild, breathing heavily but did not speak.

“Bella,” he tried again.  “What is the matter?”

Looking away from him, she still would not say a word.

He reached out for her, but she flinched away.  “I would never hurt you,” he promised.  Bella curled into herself.  He reached for her again, but she pulled her wrist away from him.  Darcy sighed.  She looked over her shoulder, and Darcy paused.  “Who hurt you?” he demanded.  Her eye was swollen purple.  “Bella!”

The silence stretched so long, Darcy thought she would not answer him, but then Bella sighed and she slid off her horse.

Darcy quickly dismounted. 

He let his horse go graze and approached Bella carefully.  She was holding her wrist with her other hand and he took it gently between his own.  It was badly twisted.  He looked into her amethyst eyes and saw the left side of her face and neck had been pummeled.  Someone had given Bella a beating.

Carefully, he drew Bella into his arms, and he kissed the top of her head lightly.

“Did Mr. Collins do this to you?” he asked quietly into the mist.

She shook her head into his shoulder.

“Mr. Bennet?”

She shook her head.

It was one of the Bennet sisters then.  Darcy did not like to imagine a woman raising her hand in violence, but that did not mean it was not possible. 

He ran his hand through Bella’s hair and noticed that it was all tangled.

She hissed in pain.

“Dearest,” he whispered and he pulled her closer, kissing her forehead.  “I apologize.  Come.  Let us clean you up and get you warm.  Will the mare find her way home?”

Bella peeked her head up from his shoulder.

Leading her over to his horse, he lifted her up into the saddle and then swung himself up behind her. 

“My horse,” she worried.

“I do not want you holding on with that wrist,” he told her.  “You probably reinjured it.  The horse will hopefully follow.”

He turned toward Netherfield and whistled for the mare.  The animal, which was fortunately trained, trotted up to him.  He rode back at a trot and arrived far after breakfast was probably over.  By that time Bella had fallen asleep and after giving over his horse and the mare to a stablehand, he carried Bella up into the house proper.

Telling a footman to send for Bingley, he carried Bella up to his room and laid her down on the bed.  He stroked her bloodmatted hair away from her face and saw the purpling of the left eye.  Someone had hit her and had hit her hard.  There was a laceration above the eye and bruises down her neck and below the lining of her dress. 

Bingley came in quietly.  “The footman said you had a lady,” he whispered.

“Yes.”  Darcy slipped out of the room and closed the room.  “It is Bella Collins.  Someone beat her badly.  She said it was not her brother and it was not Mr. Bennet.”  He paused.  “I would posit it was Miss Elizabeth.”

“Miss Elizabeth?” Bingley breathed.  “Surely not!”

“Someone beat her,” Darcy disagreed.  “I have seen the evidence with my eyes.  She said it was neither her brother nor Mr. Bennet.  Ergo it must have been one of the ladies.”

“But why?”  Bingley seemed at a loss. 

“We must send for one of the maids and a bowl of water.  She has blood in her hair.”  Darcy was at a loss for what else to do.  “Should I send for Mr. Collins?”

“Surely he must be wondering where his sister has gone,” Bingley suggested.

“Write him,” Darcy decided.  “I shall see to Miss Collins.”  He nodded to Bingley and reentered the room.

Bella had awakened and was sitting on the bed, holding her knees to her chest.  When she saw Darcy, she quickly tried to rise, but he quelled her with a hand on her shoulder.  “Bella—” he warned.

“I should return to Longbourn.”

“You are not returning to that house,” he argued.  “Someone beat you there.”

“It is not as bad as it seems—”

“No, it is worse,” he argued.  He came and sat on the edge of the bed.  “Who did this to you, Bella?”

She looked at him with her wide violet eyes, but said nothing.

“Was it Miss Elizabeth?”

Her eyes widened even further becoming an even more impossible color.

“I thought so.”  His worst suspicions had been confirmed.

“She is angry—” Bella tried to explain away.

“At Mr. Collins for courting your sister,” Darcy argued.  “She should not beat you for it.”

Bella seemed at a loss for words.

There was a knock at the door and a maid came in with a basin of water.

Darcy stood.  “This maid will clean you up.  I will have someone send you breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”  Again, Bella lapsed into a strange pattern of words, but Darcy let it pass.

“I will send it up regardless.”  He looked at her and wanted to reach out, but they were no longer alone.

She looked so small in the bed with her matted hair and her long overcoat.  He wanted to protect her and never let her go.  He now no longer cared the history of her origins.  He wanted to marry her and take her back to Pemberley immediately so no one, especially Elizabeth Bennet, could lay a hand on her.

He quit the room and went downstairs despite his disheveled state of undress.

He waited impatiently for Mr. Collins to arrive.

When the man came he was distraught and immediately wanted to see Bella.  He flew to her room and locked himself in with her.  By then, Darcy’s man had fetched his clothes and Darcy had been changed and shaved.  He and Bingley were waiting for Mr. Collins in a small ante room.  Caroline Bingley and the Hursts had been mainly kept ignorant of the morning’s proceedings although they knew that there was movement about the house.

“Well,” Collins said when he was shown into them, “it is worse than I thought.”  He looked up between Darcy and Bingley.  “I understand it is you, Mr. Darcy, I have to thank for rescuing my sister.”

Darcy made a motion with his hand.  “She was in distress.”

“I have only seen her in such distress once before,” Collins mused, halfway to himself.  He looked at Bingley carefully.  “If you will excuse us, Mr. Bingley.”

It was unorthodox to dismiss a man from a room in his own house, but Bingley nodded solemnly.  “Miss Collins is welcome to stay for as long as is necessary, until you quit for Kent, if such is required,” he offered before removing himself from the room.

Collins waited for the door to click shut before anxiously looking at Darcy.  “Was she out riding?” he asked.  “Is that what happened?”

“No,” Darcy said in surprise.  “She was beaten and then went out riding.  I found her in distress.”

Collins looked shocked.  “You mean to tell me she did not sustain such injuries from falling from her horse?”  He walked across the room and poured himself a brandy.  “I know she is a superior horsewoman, but she is reckless.  When I found her once before, she had sustained her injuries by her own stupidity—”

“What do you mean, ‘when you found her once before’?” Darcy inquired, looking at the man.

“I know she told you she is not my sister,” Collins began carefully.  “I found her when I was at Cambridge, floating in the Cam.”

Darcy stared at him in shock.

“She said it was not suicide,” Collins continued.  “She said she was cliff diving, but there were no cliffs.”  He drank the brandy in a single gulp before setting down the glass.  “She nearly drowned.  I took her in and nursed her back to health.  She was so small and thin, I could not bear to see her go to the poor house, so I adopted her and taught her how to be a lady.”  He grimaced at the memory.

“Where did she come from?” Darcy could not help but ask the question that had been on his mind since he had first seen Bella.

“She claims,” Collins admitted ruefully, “that her father is half-Quileute.  It is how she cliff dives and rides bareback.  She smokes tobacco like a man.  Said her grandfather Swan took her to a tribal meeting when she was a child and let her smoke a ‘peace pipe.’  She is an Indian.”  He laughed.  “She says her mother was a paleface who died in childbirth and she inherited her pale skin, but she has her grandfather’s native eyes.  When she first told me, I did not credit her, but then I went to the library and researched the Quileutes.  She knows everything about them down to the names of their ancient spirits.  A girl from the streets of London would not have such knowledge.  I believe she is who she says she is.”  He shook his head.  “But you say she did not fall from her horse.”

“No,” Darcy confirmed, shocked by Bella’s history, but putting it aside for the moment.  “She was beaten.  Did you not see the handprint on her shoulder?”

“You looked at her shoulder?” Collins gasped.

“She cannot move it,” Darcy explained away.  “I was examining it.”

“And you say that there is a handmark there.”

“Indeed.”  He took in a deep breath.  “I tell you that Bella has been beaten.  I thought you or Mr. Bennet had beaten her, but she denied it.”

“Then who has laid a hand on her?”

Darcy paused.  “It was Elizabeth Bennet.  I guessed and she accidentally confirmed it.”

Collins stared at him.  “Cousin Elizabeth?  But they share a room!”

“Then she had access.”  Darcy crossed his arms.  “I will not allow Bella back into Longbourn House.  She will stay here under my protection.”

Now Collins was offended.  “You take a great deal upon yourself, Mr. Darcy.”

“I mean to marry Bella, whatever her actual name happens to be, and I will not see her be abused.  As it is, I have half a mind to carry her off to London and have us be married by special license so that no one else lays claim to her.”

Collins stared at him.  “She is a native—”

“I care not.  No one will believe it.”

“One need only see her on a horse—”

“Do you not want to be connected to the House of Darcy?” he inquired seriously.  “No.  As soon as Bella is recovered enough I will take her back to London.”

“See here!” Collins demanded, getting into Darcy’s face, but he was no match for Darcy’s anger.

“You failed to protect her.  Under your protection she was beaten half to death.  And you call yourself a gentleman,” he scoffed.

Collins seemed cowed.  “You do not know if Bella wants to go with you.”

“I shall convince her and I shall give her the time she requires to heal,” Darcy assured him.  “She will be safe with my sister’s companion, whom I will send for directly.”

Collins stared at him.  It was surprising how much like Mr. Bennet he looked.  “You are actually serious.  How do I know you do not mean to ruin her?”

“Because I am a gentleman and my word has not been called into question.  Now.  You will send over Bella’s trunk immediately and I will be keeping her horse.”

“It is Mr. Bennet’s horse.”

“I care not.”  Darcy felt only cold anger and resolve.  “I wish you good day, sir.”

Collins looked shattered.  Darcy did not care.  He left the room with the door wide open behind him and went to the stairs, taking them two at a time.  He had to inform Bella of his decision.

She was sitting up in bed, holding a compress to her face.  The sight nearly broke him, she seemed so small and fragile.

“How are you, my dear?” he asked solicitously.

“I heard raised voices.”  She took off the compress and set it to the side.  “Is Matthew still here?”

“If he is, he is leaving.”  Darcy reached for her and ran a hand down the uninjured side of her face.  “Are you tired?  The maid said you had not touched your breakfast.”

“I have no appetite.”

Darcy paused.  Taking a deep breath, he murmured, “I told Collins that I am taking you to London.”

This clearly startled Bella.  “I am to return to Kent once Matthew marries Catherine—”

“You are not safe at Longbourn or in Collins’ care.  You are coming back to London—with me.”

“Am I to be Miss Isabella Darcy now?” she asked in complete shock.  “Is Matthew just handing me off to you?”

“Is that your name? Isabella?” Darcy asked in wonder.  She opened up her mouth to answer, but he interrupted her, “but no.  You are to be Mrs. Isabella Darcy.”

She closed her mouth.

“It is not how I meant to ask you,” he apologized, reaching for her hand.

She slid it away from him.

“Bella, surely you must know how deeply I admire and love you.”

She looked down at his hand, which reached for hers again.  This time she gave it.

“I am going to keep you safe.  I shall give you time to heal and consider.  I shall send for Mrs. Ainsley—”

“Who?” Her amethyst eyes flicked up.

“Mrs. Ainsley is my sister Georgiana’s companion.”

“I did not know you had a sister.”

“I do,” he answered with a small smile.  “You shall like Georgiana.  She is most accomplished at the pianoforte.  I suppose Mr. Collins was unable to teach you the pianoforte as it is not part of the accomplishments of a young clergyman.”

Bella did not even look surprised at the supposition.  “Grandpa Swan paid for lessons.  I can play—passably.  Clair de Lune.  Some Beethoven.  Not as fine as Miss Darcy, I am certain.”

“It is well,” Darcy assured her.  “You will have the benefit of the masters.”

She looked up at him.  “We are so fine?”

“You shall want for nothing,” he promised her.

“Did Matthew tell you I tried to commit suicide in the Cam?” she asked cautiously.

“He might have mentioned it,” Darcy admitted.

“It is not the truth.”  There was a twinge of desperation in her voice.  “I was cliffdiving on tribal lands.”

“In the Americas?” Darcy asked carefully.

“Yes,” she answered, reaching for him with her other hand.  “I went with Jake, Billy Black’s son.  We were friends.  Billy Black was the Quileute Chief.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed, curious as to what Bella was trying to tell him.

“We went cliffdiving all the time.  It was cold that day.  Jake said we shouldn’t go, but I insisted.  I jumped—the water was so cold I froze up and I went under and when I came up—I thought I had died.”  She swallowed.  “I wasn’t it Washington anymore.”  Again that strange pattern of speech had come over her words.  “I was in Cambridge.  Somehow I went from one place to another.  Matthew found me.  He was punting and he fished me out of the water.”  Tears were now in her eyes.  “Jake was nowhere to be found.  He must not have—traveled—with me.  I can’t explain it.  I’ve never been able to explain it.  It should never have happened.”

“Hush,” Darcy soothed her, reaching out and wiping a tear that had slipped down her cheek.  “I understand what you are telling me.”

“Do you?” she asked desperately.

He smiled at her.  “You are telling me you were in one place and found yourself in another despite what the laws of physics tells us.”

“Exactly.”  Bella seemed so relieved.  “I was never even sure how to try to get back so I just accepted being—here.”  She looked around the room as if it held the secrets she was looking for.

“And I am most grateful,” Darcy told her.  He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, drawing her attention back to him.  “However, you will tell no one.  You will never confess this to Georgiana nor my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.  You shall simply say you are the sister of a respected parson.”

She smiled at him sadly.  “Indeed.  I know my place.”

“Your place,” he told her, “is by my side.”

Hesitating for a moment, Bella paused.

“What is it, my love?” Darcy questioned.

“Can we stay for the wedding?  I so wish to see Matthew married.”

Darcy considered for a moment.  “It shall be expected you will be there,” he agreed, “as long as you are properly recovered.  We shall return for it, but first we go to London.” 

She nodded.

“But first, my love, if you will but indulge me: what is your name?”  He looked at her in the bed, small and covered in bruises and wondered who she might be.

“Bella,” she answered.  “Just Bella.”

And that had to be enough.

The End.