Chapter Thirty-Three
Darcy
D arcy stood at the window of his study in Darcy House, his gaze fixed upon the busy road outside. Elizabeth had been gone a fortnight, and the house felt empty. He had received only one letter from her, and its words haunted him more than he cared to admit.
Her letter had been direct, expressing the depth of her hurt over his interference. She had written with clarity and grace, but every line revealed the pain his actions had caused. She’d wanted him to understand, so they could avoid such troubles in the future—and those words had given him hope. She spoke of a future—a future for them together. Still, her words had made him understand how wrong he’d been.
He had read it countless times, each word carving deeper into his heart. He had replied promptly, admitting his mistake and vowing never to act against her wishes again.
Yet since then—nothing. No word, no reply. The silence gnawed at him. Was she still angry? Had he irreparably damaged what they had begun to build?
Darcy turned from the window, crossing the room with restless energy. He sank into the chair by the hearth, but even the warmth of the fire could not ease the chill that had settled within him. His thoughts were consumed by Elizabeth—her wit, her laughter, her fierce independence. He missed her more than he thought possible. The fear that he might have lost her for ever loomed over him, dark and oppressive.
He pressed his hands to his temples, sighing deeply.
Why did I act so rashly?
His intentions had been noble, but his execution had been disastrous. He had wanted to shield Elizabeth from potential harm, to spare her the pain of betrayal. Yet in doing so, he had betrayed her trust. He had hoped to clear Mrs Collins but instead, he’d found more signs of her guilt.
The sound of horses’ hooves outside the house drew his attention. Darcy rose swiftly and moved back to the window, a carriage was approaching. His heart leapt with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could it be?
Without waiting for confirmation, he strode from the study, his pulse quickening. By the time he reached the front hall, the carriage had stopped, and his butler was already admitting the visitor. Though she was cloaked against the chill, he recognised her at once.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed, the word barely audible.
She looked up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of hesitancy and relief. In an instant, he closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, as though afraid she might vanish if he let go.
“I thought I had lost you,” he murmured against her hair. His voice was thick with emotion, his usually composed demeanour shattered by the weight of his feelings.
Elizabeth pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes shining. “I could not bear for us to part in anger, not after reading your letter in reply. I missed you, despite my frustration. I do not want us to argue anymore, nor merely to be civil. I want more than that.”
Darcy searched her face, his heart aching with both regret and affection. “I missed you too, Elizabeth. More than words can express. Every day without you has been an endless torment.” He hesitated, gathering his thoughts, “I only acted as I did because I wished to protect you. But I was also angry—angry at Charlotte. The thought that she could betray you, it was unbearable. I could not stand by and do nothing.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened. “I understand why you acted thus, though it hurt me. You acted out of love and concern, but you must understand that I need to be your equal in such matters, not someone you protect from the truth.”
Darcy felt a pang of guilt but also a surge of relief. “You are correct. I see that now. I was wrong to act without your consent. But I must confess, my anger at Charlotte was only part of it.” He hesitated again, his heart pounding. “The truth is, I love you so much, Elizabeth, I… I could not bear the thought of anyone or anything hurting you.”
His voice faltered, but the words hung between them, raw and unguarded. For a moment, he feared her reaction, but Elizabeth’s gaze softened further, and a smile curved her lips.
“You are infuriating,” she said with a teasing lilt, “but I love you too, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His heart raced as he realised this was the first time that Elizabeth had uttered his Christian name. He cupped her face gently, their eyes locked, and then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he kissed her. The kiss was tender yet filled with all the longing, regret, and love they had both held back.
When they finally broke apart, Elizabeth rested her forehead against his, her hands still clasped in his. “There is something I must tell you,” she said softly.
Darcy drew back slightly, his brow furrowing. “What is it?”
Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed with determination. “I have a plan concerning Charlotte. Jane and Charles are hosting a masquerade ball at Netherfield in December. I intend to invite Charlotte and Mr Collins. It will be the perfect opportunity to observe her without raising suspicion and, perhaps, to confront her if necessary.”
Darcy considered this for a moment, then nodded. “A masquerade ball, it is a clever idea. She will be unable to refuse such an invitation, and it will give you the chance to uncover the truth in a controlled setting.”
Elizabeth smiled, her confidence returning. “Yes, and I hope that with time, we can resolve this without further harm. But no more secrets between us. We must face whatever comes together.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “No more secrets,” he vowed. “Whatever happens, we face it side by side.”
As they stood together Darcy felt the weight of the past weeks lift. Though challenges remained, they would meet them together—with trust, love, and unwavering resolve.