***
Elizabeth stopped at the door to her chambers. Twisting the handle, she slipped inside, making her way across the Aubusson carpet. A small fire crackled in the hearth, chasing off the morning chill. Draping her shawl upon a nearby chair, she paced to the far corner of the room. Stooping beside her trunk, Elizabeth loosened the straps, tipping back the lid and deftly running her fingers along the smooth bottom.
Her thumb bumped against the tiny lever and she pressed down, causing the door to the hidden compartment to spring open. Reaching into the small space, she pulled out the familiar envelope with its red wax seal. The once crisp vellum had softened to a supple buttery-texture, and Elizabeth was careful not to cause any further damage as she extracted the two sheets of parchment, written through in a very close hand. Rising to her feet, she returned to the comforting warmth of the fire before glancing down at the words she had long ago committed to memory.
Her eyes skimmed the page, phrases leaping out at her to once again wreak havoc with her heart.
Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter…
… I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten…
… pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly…
… ignorant as you previously were… detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination…
… I will only add, God bless you. FITZWILLIAM DARCY
Swallowing back a swell of emotion, Elizabeth turned to stare out the adjacent window. However, when she gazed through the mullioned glass, it was not Pemberley’s rolling hills she saw, but Mr. Darcy’s countenance—the serious expression in his dark eyes the day he had handed her his letter.
… I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself…
And yet he had humbled himself. Not only in penning this missive—laying his heart bare and confiding his deepest family secrets—but in all the months that had followed, with his every courtesy to her and her family, despite what had come before. Her throat tightened as tears prickled at the corners of her vision. Propping her elbow upon the mantelpiece, Elizabeth held the letter loosely between her fingers, her gaze coming to rest upon the final line:
I will only add, God bless you…
After the word add, she could just make out a splotch of ink upon the fine linen parchment, as if he had held the tip of his pen there overlong before completing the valediction. Had he intended to write some other words in that space, besides his blessings? Elizabeth shook her head. If he had, she would never know. His pride and her prejudice had destroyed any hope they might have had of building a future together.
… the happiness of both…
How very different her idea of happiness was now, from what it had been then. In Hunsford, she had sworn that Mr. Darcy was the last man in the world that she could ever be prevailed on to marry. Now, she would give anything just to hear him express the sentiments she had scorned back then.
Her fingers tightened around the letter, a silent sob tickling her throat.
Heaven help her, she loved him. If only she hadn’t discovered it far too late.
Chapter 25
APOLLO’S HOOVES DROVE into the densely packed earth, but no matter how hard and fast Darcy rode, he was unable to outrun the thoughts that continued to clatter inside his head. Despite his sister’s illness, the days he had spent with Elizabeth at Pemberley had been amongst the happiest of his life. But like sand through an hourglass, their time together was slipping away, and he was no closer to declaring his feelings. He had almost done so that night in the library, when Elizabeth had been so close he could smell the intoxicating scent of citrus and wildflowers that always surrounded her—when he had looked into her eyes and thought he’d seen, for a brief moment, a reflection of his own desire.
But in the end, he had done nothing. He had simply let her walk out of the room. Darcy released an anguished sigh.
In the beginning, having Elizabeth at Pemberley had seemed like a dream, and for a while it had been. But then Georgiana had become ill and he had turned into a man he hardly recognized—his behavior worse even than it had been in Hertfordshire—and Darcy cringed to remember it.
Unbidden, Grant’s face entered Darcy’s consciousness and his thoughts returned to the times he had witnessed Elizabeth with the young physician: talking animatedly at dinner, sitting side by side in his sister’s chambers, Grant holding Elizabeth in his arms… Darcy’s fingers tightened around the reins and he shook his head to clear it of the image.
As much as he was loath to admit it, Grant would be a good match for her. The physician was intelligent and kind; he possessed an attractive countenance, and made a comfortable living. He was closer to Elizabeth in age, and of her social sphere. But even thinking about Elizabeth with another man made Darcy’s stomach roil and he closed his eyes against the pain.
Then there was that blasted book. He had expected Elizabeth to be angry when she found it, but she had only appeared mildly confused. He was certain she would be grateful to have the volume finally restored to her, but when he had returned to his study, it still sat upon his desk. She had left it for him. But what did the gesture signify? Was the book intended as a keepsake? Or did she simply wish to sever their connection, once and for all…
Yanking on the reins, Darcy allowed the stallion to slow his pace. It was time to make a decision. To figure out what he wanted and to attempt to make it so, otherwise he would spend his whole life wondering if his misplaced pride had cost him the only woman he would ever love.
Relaxing in the saddle, Darcy stared into the distance. So, what did he want? Well, that was simple. He wanted Elizabeth. He could not remember a time when he had not wanted her. In the year since his disastrous proposal, his need for her had not abated—it had continued to grow. When he had offered for her at Hunsford, he had desired her. He had been charmed and captivated by her. He had even believed himself to be in love with her. Thinking back on it now, harsh laughter tickled his throat. For just as a shadow is to the solid object it reflects, what he had felt then was a pale facsimile of what he felt now.
But as much as he wanted Elizabeth, there was something he desired even more. He desired her happiness. And if that was with Grant, or any other man, Darcy would step aside. It would be tantamount to torture, but seeing her well-settled and happy—truly happy—meant more to him than his own life.
Your selfish disdain for the feelings of others…
Suddenly, Elizabeth’s words echoed inside his head and a sad smile pulled at his lips. She had been correct, of course. It was not her feelings he had considered back then, but his own. It was his happiness he sought. Now it was time to seek hers.
Pressing his heels into Apollo’s flanks, Darcy tugged on the reins. It was time to set things to rights, once and for all.
***
Elizabeth wandered through the sunlit gardens, the birds singing in the trees and the fresh scent of newly cut grass filling her lungs. Saying goodbye to the colorful blossoms for a while, she ascended to some of the higher grounds, where an opening in the trees gave way to views of the valley below. A narrow stream meandered beside a low wall, and Elizabeth followed the water until it ended at a small pond. Stopping, she rested her elbow on the stone partition. Pemberley’s lands stretched out before her—high woody hills and rolling fields as far as the eye could see. In the near distance, majestic oaks and Spanish chestnuts created a natural border for the more manicured gardens closer to the house. Her throat constricted as she realized all this might have been hers—along with the love and admiration of the best man she had ever known—if only she had not been so foolish and stubborn as to have thrown it away.
Taking a ragged gulp of air, Elizabeth pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her gown. Lowering her lashes, her gaze fell to the wild lavender growing at he
r feet. A pair of bumblebees bounced from one blossom to the next, echoing the thoughts that continued to buzz inside her head. But although her mind was in turmoil, one irrefutable fact continued to rush to the surface: Mr. Darcy had kept her book.
When she had glimpsed the volume peeking out from underneath a stack of correspondence on the gentleman’s desk, her astonishment had been absolute, and she had seen Mr. Darcy startle when he turned to observe her holding it in her hands. Could he have merely forgotten the item was in his possession? But if that was the case, why had he appeared so uneasy to see that she had discovered it? Had he kept the volume as some sort of token?
Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered at the idea, but a moment later her thoughts sobered. Even if he had, that did not necessarily indicate that his feelings had changed. True, there were times—such as the other evening in the library—when she was almost certain he still possessed a degree of affection for her… But that did not alter what she knew to be true.
Mr. Darcy did not wish to make her his wife.
***
Darcy strode across the wide expanse of lawn bordering the formal gardens. Merging onto the gravel path, he ascended a small rise, and a sudden movement caught his eye. His footsteps stilled. There, not twenty paces away, Elizabeth stood alongside the pond that separated the rose garden from the south pasture. She faced away from him, one knee slightly bent, her weight resting on the ivy-covered wall. Her chestnut curls were uncovered and her pale gown seemed to almost glow in the hazy morning sun.
He must have made a sound, because she turned to face him. He could see what might have been a kerchief clutched tightly in her fist, but she tucked it inside the folds of her gown before moving in his direction.
“Mr. Darcy. Good morning.”
Darcy bowed slightly at the waist before walking the remaining distance to where she stood. “Miss Bennet. I am glad to see you are enjoying the park.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth’s gaze returned to the horizon and when she spoke, her voice took on a wistful quality. “I shall miss it when I leave.”
Darcy shifted his weight, his heart contracting at the mere thought of Elizabeth’s departure. Attempting to lighten the mood, he glanced around at the empty lane. “I see you are once again without your maid. I hope you have not misplaced your shawl?”
Elizabeth flushed at his tease. “No, sir. Polly is not a great walker and I felt the need for some time alone. I hope you will not give me away?”
Darcy offered her a smile. “You may be assured of my secrecy. Though if it is solitude you seek, perhaps I am intruding?”
“No, not at all,” Elizabeth answered. Then, seeming to take in his apparel she added, “Although it looks as if you were planning to ride? Pray, do not allow me to keep you.”
“No, I have just returned. I thought I might walk for a while, if you would care to join me?”
When Elizabeth nodded her agreement, Darcy offered his arm, and a feeling of satisfaction settled over him when she took it without hesitation. The two set out. They continued along the well-worn path, neither speaking. Elizabeth appeared to be content to examine the views of the surrounding countryside, but after some moments, Darcy broke their silence.
“Miss Bennet, I wished to thank you—for your kindness to my sister and for staying on to offer her companionship. I am sorry you missed your trip to the Lakes.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, as though surprised by his choice of conversation. “It was my pleasure, sir. I am happy to see Miss Darcy restored to good health. And the Lakes will always be there. Perhaps next summer…” Her voice trailed off and they walked for several more minutes before she added, “I have enjoyed my stay. It was good to see your cousin again, and I was pleased to make Mr. Grant’s acquaintance, though I am sorry for the circumstances that brought him here. He seems very kind.”
At the mention of Grant, Darcy felt his body stiffen.
Elizabeth stopped walking. “Mr. Darcy, is anything the matter?”
“What? No. Why do you ask?”
Elizabeth looked away. “It is nothing. I only thought…”
Darcy’s sighed. “Pray, forgive me, Miss Bennet. It was not my intention to make you uneasy.”
“You do not make me uneasy. I only wondered if perhaps I had made you uncomfortable.”
“Of course not. Why would you think so?”
Elizabeth lifted her shoulders and it was Darcy’s turn to look away. It was time to do the right thing, no matter how painful. If he loved her as much as he said he did, he needed to let her go.
Drawing a breath, Darcy resumed their walk, his gaze fixed on the landscape in front of them. “I believe you are correct, Miss Bennet. Mr. Grant does seem like a good man. I… I am certain he will make an excellent husband.” Out of the corner of his vision, Darcy could see the slight quirk of Elizabeth’s brow, and a flush warmed his cheeks. “Forgive me, it is obviously none of my concern, but I… I thought perhaps you had formed some… attachment to the gentleman.”
Elizabeth slowed her pace. She regarded him for several moments before appearing to make up her mind. “To be truthful, Mr. Darcy, I have formed an attachment, but it is not to Mr. Grant.”
Elizabeth’s words hung in the air like a dark cloud eclipsing the sun, and Darcy swallowed down the bile climbing up his throat. So, it was true. He was too late. Remembering the gentleman he had seen at the theater, Darcy answered flatly, “Oh. I see. There is… someone else, then? Someone in Town?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered, and Darcy’s stomach plunged.
This was a mistake. He could not stand here and listen to the woman he loved profess feelings for another. Desperately he looked around, wondering if he could claim a sudden megrim and return to the house. He was so consumed with his own thoughts he neglected to notice the hint of a smile that played at Elizabeth’s lips. He realized she was speaking again and forced himself to look at her.
“… that is, the gentleman does have a home in London. But I believe he prefers to spend most of his time at his country estate.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “In Derbyshire.”
Darcy’s feet stumbled to a halt and he shook his head, wondering if he had heard her correctly. Hardly daring to breathe, he answered slowly, “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I do not take your meaning.”
Elizabeth simply looked up at him, her dark eyes luminous.
“Miss Bennet, you are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are what they were at Hunsford, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged.” Darcy paused, running his fingers through his hair, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with emotion. “No. That is not true. My feelings have altered. I find I love you far more now than I did then. More now than I ever thought possible.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth, but immediately closed it again.
Darcy gazed down at her before reaching for her hands, slowly running his thumbs across the knuckles. “This cannot come as a surprise to you?”
“I… I confess, it does. That is, I suspected you felt… gratitude… for my assistance after the accident, and for my friendship with your sister but…”
Darcy stepped closer, and Elizabeth’s breath fanned his cheek. “Elizabeth. I feel gratitude when my valet draws me a bath, or when my cook serves lamb instead of pheasant. What I feel for you is not gratitude. It is not infatuation. It is a deep, abiding love.”
“I do not understand. After your refusal… I thought…”
Darcy lifted her hand, placing a soft kiss upon the outside of her wrist. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I believe you are the one who refused me. Not that I blame you in the least,” he hurried to add. “Not after the way I spoke to you on that occasion.”
“You mistake me, sir. I did not mean… I was referring to the conversation you had with my father. In Town.”
Darcy’s frown deepened. “But… surely you cannot think that I did not wish to marry you?”
Elizabeth looked away
.
“Good God. I should have realized…” Abruptly Darcy released her hand, pacing away several feet before returning to her side and gently taking her elbow. “Come. Let us sit,” he said, indicating a cluster of benches beneath a nearby oak and guiding her in that direction.
When they were both settled, Darcy leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees, but he sat in silence for some minutes before speaking.
“Elizabeth, when your father came to see me in London, the… friendship that you and I had forged was still new, and I did not sufficiently comprehend your feelings for me. You see, it had not been long since your refusal of my offer, and I am afraid the words you said to me on that occasion were still fresh in my memory.”
Elizabeth looked away, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Do not remind me. I behaved abominably to you then.”
“No more so than I deserved.”
“So… that is why you refused?”
“Yes. Well, no… As I said, I did not refuse. That is, I only refused to marry you against your wishes. As much as I longed to make you my wife, I could not bear the thought of forcing you into an arrangement that would make you unhappy.”
To Darcy’s dismay, Elizabeth trembled. One of the tears that had been hovering at the edge of her lashes slipped down her cheek. He reached up, brushing it away.
“Elizabeth, I must beg your forgiveness. Never did I imagine that you might misinterpret my feelings, or the reason for my refusal.” Sliding across the bench, he folded her in his arms, but it was only seconds before he felt her body stiffen. Releasing his hold, Darcy looked down to see her eyes were filled with tears.
“Mr. Darcy, it is not my intention to cause you any more pain. But I feel I must be honest. I cannot marry you.”
“Tell me why. You must know by now that your happiness means everything to me. You need only speak, and I will do whatever you ask.”
To Conquer Pride Page 26