Elizabeth continued, wringing her hands. “They disapproved of the inequality in our stations, did they not?” How had she guessed about the disparities in their fortunes? “Did we elope?”
“Elope?” Darcy felt as if he had arrived halfway through a play. “Why would we elope?”
Elizabeth gestured to his clothing. “Well, you are obviously not from an estate. Are you a farmer? A laborer?” She swallowed thickly. “A servant?”
It took a moment to catch her meaning, but then Darcy could not stifle a laugh. Once the laughter had started, it was difficult to stop. He owed Elizabeth an explanation, but the idea that he was unacceptable because his station in life was too low… This provoked a new bout of laughter.
When he finally gained control of himself, he apologized. “These garments are but a disguise. My clothing is usually of a better quality, but it would be too conspicuous here.”
“Oh!” She sank back against the pillows in evident relief. “So what is your profession, then? A clergyman? A solicitor? Are you in the army?”
“I am of no profession. I am a gentleman.”
“Oh.” She exhaled slowly. “So coming to France did not bankrupt you?”
“Why would you—?” He stopped himself. It did not matter; he only needed to reassure her. “No, not at all.”
“Is your property large?”
“Yes.”
“And prosperous?”
“Extremely.”
“So I was a complete fool to think you were a common laborer,” she said with a self-mocking smile. “Your accent should have told me. In my own defense I can only say that I am recovering from a blow to the head.”
“I am doing my utmost to avoid resembling an English gentleman and have utterly failed to fool the Martins, so I am pleased at least one person believed the disguise.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you fooled the woman who cannot remember her own name. Quite a feat.” He laughed. “My family did not disapprove of our marriage?”
“No.” Darcy feared lightning would strike him down, but it was a reasonable falsehood. No doubt Mr. Bennet would be quite pleased to have his daughter marry the master of Pemberley—particularly after he discovered Darcy had spent the past two nights sleeping in Elizabeth’s bedchamber.
She considered for a moment, her head tilted to the side. It was such an appealing expression that Darcy wanted to kiss her. “Are my parents living? Do I have brothers and sisters?”
Resisting temptation, Darcy sat back in his chair, happy to address less fraught subjects. “You have no brothers, but four sisters. The oldest is Jane. You are second eldest. The others are… Mary…” Darcy strained to recall the names of the two younger girls; he had done his best to avoid them, but a husband would know that sort of information. “Katherine…and Lydia.”
“Longbourn…Bennet…Jane…Lydia…” she repeated to herself. “Nothing. I thought that surely the names would provoke some memories.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. Darcy wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms. Blast it! He would if she were his wife in truth.
“You have been conscious for less than a full day. Give yourself more time to remember.” His hand moved of its own volition to stroke her hair. He froze for a moment but then continued. Surely it would not be wrong to exhibit some husbandly behavior.
Elizabeth sighed, nuzzling his hand with her cheek. The simple gesture brought him a sense of warmth and contentment he had never experienced before. “Please tell me about my home,” she said in a muffled voice.
Darcy tried to conjure the image to mind. Truthfully, the estate was not particularly impressive, and Mr. Bennet was not an especially careful landowner. But he tried to picture it through the eyes of a woman who had grown up in the house and loved it. “There are many trees and copious shady lanes for walks. A picturesque stream winds its way through the property and into the home of a friend of mine. You mentioned to me once that you especially enjoyed the walk to Oakham Mount where you could view all of the surrounding countryside.”
“Did I never take you there?”
“No…we never had that pleasure. Perhaps when we return.” If you are still speaking to me.
She turned her head, and he was transfixed by eyes as green as holly in winter. His hand was tangled in her hair, and his face was inches from hers. You cannot kiss her. She is not your wife. It was growing more difficult to remember that fact with every passing minute.
“Will you tell me how we met?” she asked.
The request threw a bucket of cold water on his ardor. How could he describe those circumstances without inadvertently revealing the truth of their relationship? However, he was saved from a response by the entry of the maid with a tray of food.
He carried Elizabeth’s hand to his lips and murmured, “Another time, my dear. You should eat and then try to rest again.”
There was a stubborn set to Elizabeth’s shoulders, but already her energy was flagging. “Very well, I will eat. But I shall expect the full story when I awaken.”
***
Elizabeth watched William bustle about, removing the last of her dishes and handing the tray to the waiting maid. He moved with such grace and such economy that she would guess he was an excellent dancer. If only I could recall dancing with him! She imagined facing him across a line of dancers, taking his hand for the turns, or speaking to him as they waited while others danced. But she did not glimpse even the shadow of a memory. It was as if her life had started the moment she awakened in this room two days ago.
William fussed with opening the windows and drawing the curtains, making sure she caught the early afternoon breeze without enduring too much sun. He was so attentive to her needs—the quintessential gentleman. How could she have believed he was anything else? He was accustomed to ordering the servants. His teeth and skin were quite good, his accent quite precise. She had been foolish not to notice before.
“Would you sleep?” he asked.
“I am not as fatigued as I was. May we speak a little longer?” He nodded his assent.
His words about his property suggested that he was not just a gentleman but also a man of considerable means. Now Elizabeth rather suspected she had married above her station. Perhaps far above it. William contended with not only a poor wife, but a poor wife who did not remember him. If only I could will myself to remember! But she had found nothing buried in her mind, save a few disjointed images of places and people she did not recognize.
Her husband certainly could tell her something to provoke a memory. “Tell me about when you made your offer of marriage.”
William froze, one hand on the curtain. “Perhaps it is best if you recall that in your own time.”
He did not want to describe how he had proposed? Surely that was a safe and joyful subject for a conversation. He seemed to be hiding something, but she did not know him well enough to guess what it might be. Ha! She did not even know herself well enough.
She had noticed yesterday that he was more at ease discussing her family or his estate than anything pertaining to their relationship. Very well. “Tell me about your family.”
His shoulders loosened as he slipped into the armchair. Yes, this was the right approach. “My parents have been gone for a long time. I have a sister who is just turned seventeen. Her name is Georgiana.”
“What is she like?”
Did he know how he smiled when he spoke of her? “She is a very accomplished musician—playing the pianoforte and the harp—but she is very shy around strangers.”
“Does she like me?” Elizabeth could imagine forming a friendship with such a girl. I like music, do I not?
William started. “You have not met.”
How curious. Had his sister objected to the union? Elizabeth’s face must have revealed her consternation.
“Recall that we have not been married long,” he said hastily. “I have no doubt that you and she will become good friends.”
“Where is your siste
r now?” Elizabeth asked.
“She should be in London by now. She was to leave our home, Pemberley, in Derbyshire a few days ago to visit my aunt and uncle in London.”
Yes, he must be very wealthy. “Is Pemberley a very grand house?” she asked.
“Many would call it grand.” He did not make a great effort to conceal his pride.
“I must have liked it exceedingly.”
He flinched again and did not answer at once. After a long pause, he said, “You have not yet visited Pemberley, but I am certain you will approve.”
Not met his sister? Not visited his estate? Apparently they had quite an odd—and brief—courtship. Why had they married so hastily? I am the kind of person who would marry a man without sufficient acquaintance. Am I so impetuous?
One possibility occurred to her. “Was it an arranged marriage?” Wait! I did not intend to blurt that out.
His eyes widened. “No,” he responded immediately.
Something in Elizabeth’s chest loosened, but her fears were not completely assuaged. She stared down at her hands. “If that is the case, I will understand. Many marriages are contracted under such circumstances.”
“No! Nothing like that. Why would you believe such a thing?” He leaned toward her, resting both hands on the edge of the bed.
Elizabeth shrank back against the pillows. Was he angry with her?
“Why?” he demanded.
“I have not met your sister or visited your home,” she explained. “It is so odd. I do not understand unless…” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I did not entrap you into marriage?”
Elizabeth had heard of such things, although she could not recall the source: women who led men into compromising situations or who deliberately created rumors of an imminent engagement so that a man would feel honor bound. Please God that I am not such a woman!
Instead of exploding in anger, William exploded into laughter—for the second time that hour. The sight quite transformed his face. Before she had thought him terribly handsome, but when he laughed, the harsher lines of his face softened, a dark curl fell over his forehead, and he seemed far younger. Sober William was attractive, but laughing William was…irresistible. No wonder she had consented to be his wife.
Elizabeth wished she had the courage to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. A wife ought to do such things when she wanted, but it felt wrong. She did not truly know this man.
“The things you think of! You did not entrap me.” William chuckled. “In truth, I had quite a difficult time convincing you to marry me.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. He had? Why in the world would I resist such a handsome, caring man?
He surged to his feet, holding her hand as he stood by her bedside. “Elizabeth, I am very much in love with you…and most likely have been since the first day I met you.”
Elizabeth blinked. This was not what she expected such a solemn, composed man to say. “Oh…I thought…since you did not wish to discuss our courtship…”
He shook his head ruefully. “Of course, you noticed that. You notice everything, do you not? Even when you cannot recall your own past and or leave your bed.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable with such praise.
William sunk to the edge of the bed, her hand still in his, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body through the sheets. “I owe you an apology, love.” He paused for so long she was unsure if he would speak again. “I…some parts of our…courtship did not proceed smoothly. I am not eager to revisit those days or share them with you.”
Oh. Elizabeth had not considered the possibility there might be something painful in their past, and she immediately speculated about its nature. But she must respect his desire to avoid the subject. How sad that their courtship should provoke unhappy memories! Had they quarreled, perhaps before she left England? Was that why she had boarded a boat without her husband?
But his hands clutched hers so tightly and he regarded her so earnestly that there could be no doubt he cared about her. Abruptly, Elizabeth felt a little queasy. How could she question a man who had traveled so far to find her? She owed him everything. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What would happen if the memories were gone forever? She could not possibly be a good wife to him if she never recalled the details of her previous life—their courtship, why she had fallen in love with him, who she really was.
He was a wealthy man, and sometimes wealthy men put their wives aside if a marriage failed. Was he such a man? Would he send her to live in a distant country house while he installed a mistress at Pemberley? Tears welled up in her eyes. Heavens, she was becoming such a watering pot!
Surely I would not have married such a man. Or would I? I do not even know my own character! Despite her husband’s hand and the closeness of his body, she experienced an aching, overwhelming loneliness. He was here, but she was still alone inside her head.
“Elizabeth?” William asked gently. She looked up, only then realizing that she was squeezing his hand unmercifully. With an apologetic smile, she let it go. “What will happen if I never remember?” Oh, she had not intended to raise that subject.
“It will not matter, love,” he said, brushing tears from her face with warm fingers. “You are still the woman I fell in love with.” He chuckled softly. “There is no doubt about that.”
Elizabeth wished she could be so sure.
She leaned into his hand until he cupped her cheek tenderly. His touch felt so natural on her face, so familiar. They must have experienced many moments like this.
His face was quite near hers. His dark blue eyes were so mesmerizing she could not possibly glance away. Then his eyes dropped to her lips. Would he kiss her? His lips drifted closer. She could imagine how they would feel against hers—firm and demanding, yet gentle. She wanted to taste him.
Abruptly, he gave a tiny shake of his head and pulled away, standing in one fluid motion. “I should allow you to rest. You have long been awake.”
I do not want to sleep. I want you to kiss me. But she said nothing. I am in no position to make demands; I can only be a burden to him.
She slouched back against the pillows, realizing that she was indeed quite fatigued. “Perhaps I will.” But her eyes followed William as he crossed to the door. She called his name before he disappeared from sight, and he glanced back over his shoulder.
“Thank you for answering my questions,” she said softly.
He gave her a quick nod before escaping through the door.
***
The small rowing boat rocked violently on the waves, tossing Elizabeth recklessly from side to side. She grabbed the hull with one hand and the bench with the other, trying not to become seasick.
But her attention was not on her wayward stomach; it was fixed on the man in the middle of the boat, rowing frantically, his face twisted with exertion. He would not have been a handsome man under any circumstances, with his heavy brow and pinched eyes, but at the moment his mouth was set in an angry line that rendered him even more unattractive.
Elizabeth swallowed back her nausea. “I pray you, return me to the ship,” she pleaded with him. “I will do nothing to prevent your escape.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Returning you to the ship would do you no good.”
He spoke in riddles. The ship meant safety and a way to return home. Out here in the middle of the ocean, home seemed thousands of miles away. She stared longingly at the ship, which was rapidly shrinking into a smudge on the horizon.
Leaning toward the man, she reached out her hands. “I pray you—”
Startled, the man dropped the oars and pulled a pistol from his coat, pointing it unerringly at Elizabeth’s chest. “Stay! Come no closer!” he warned. “Your life has no value to me now.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She had no reason to doubt his threat. Raising trembling hands in the air, she slid back against the boat’s stern, as far from the man as was possible in such a small vessel. “I will not fight y
ou. I simply ask that you return—”
A loud boom reverberated across the water, causing Elizabeth to start. A moment passed before she could make sense of what she saw. A fire now raged on the horizon—just where the ship had been. With growing horror, she realized the ship had exploded. The Majestic was no more. She covered her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. All those sailors… “Was this your doing?” she asked the man.
“I could not leave any witnesses.” He shrugged. “The ship was carrying great stores of gunpowder; it would be a shame to let them go to waste.”
A shudder of revulsion ran through her body. “You are a monster!” Her muscles tensed with the need to flee. His malicious smile, his hard eyes, his very presence…everything about him made her skin crawl. But jumping from the boat would mean certain death; she was trapped.
Her horror seemed to amuse him as he stowed his pistol and resumed rowing. So, this is how evil looks, she thought.
Elizabeth turned away from the sight of the burning wreck that had once been a ship full of sailors. Clasping her hands in her lap, she said a desperate prayer. Now there are no witnesses…nobody knows that this man has abducted me.
On the heels of the prayer came another revelation: she was the only person remaining who could identify the man. He cannot allow me to live.
Chapter Seven
Darcy stared at the ceiling from his pallet on the floor. The lace curtains did not completely conceal the moon—nearly full—a blur of silvery light outside the window. Movement caught his eye, but it was only the curtains fluttering in the breeze, for which Darcy was thankful. The room had been quite warm when they retired for the night, but now it was cooler. Perhaps he should cover Elizabeth with another blanket.
She sighed and turned in her sleep. Today, the third day since she had awakened, she had ventured from her bed for the first time. They had started small, just a few steps from the bed to the window and back, but they had met with more success than Darcy dared to hope. After she rested from her exertions, she had insisted on another journey, a slow stroll around the upstairs corridors. Her steps had been hesitant, but she had been less fatigued than either of them had expected. It gave Darcy hope that she would be recovered enough to travel within a week’s time.
The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy Page 7