April 21, 1812 #4
“No,” she said, holding up her hand as tears began to well in her eyes.
“It is true. I am a pampered, silly girl who knows nothing of the world around her. I can scarcely hold a conversation with our tenants, let alone someone of status. How will I ever succeed in society? If there was no Georgiana Darcy, you would not carry the added burden upon your life of a juvenile charge.” Her last words were cut short by a hiccup, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Without a thought, Darcy opened his arms, and Georgiana rushed into them, weeping.
He shushed her and rocked back and forth as he did for so many years after their father died.
He allowed her sobs to subside before finally pulling away and wiping her tears.
“If you could only see yourself through my eyes. You are a marvelous young woman who will marry a good man and raise children. We have, all of us, made mistakes in our lifetime. You must put it behind you and think on it no more. Only misery can come from such thoughts.”
Her hiccups slowed, and she wiped away the tears. “I do not deserve a brother as good as you.”
“But you do. And that is why I am here, in this life. Is that not correct, Clarence?”
All eyes turned to the older man, who had sat in one of the chairs by the fire. “That is one of the reasons, Darcy. But there are others as well.”
“Such as?”
He smiled. “You are a good man. You have the power to ruin many lives, yet you do not. By your wishing not to be born, you removed the pure love and goodness from the world and allowed evil to win.”
“From the world? Clarence, that is ridiculous.”
“Is it? Think on it. With you never born, how did your sister fare? Your cousin? Mr. Bingley? And even extended further? What became of Pemberley? Of its tenants and servants? Do you not recall?”
“I was miserable, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana said, putting her head on his shoulder.
“As was I,” echoed Anne. “Although, I did enjoy the independence.” A grin spread across her lips before Darcy turned back to the doctor.
“I still do not understand.”
“Do you not recall the words of the gypsy? ‘One man’s evil will unite those with the purest love. Do not abandon your destiny for false hopes. The purest love will always recognize your soul.’”
“The purest love.”
“But why does Richard not remember anything? He certainly loves my brother.”
“He had died young. And only those who feel the purest love for him, would remember.”
“So, Wickham does not remember?”
“No.”
“And Lady Catherine?”
Clarence shook his head.
“Mama only loves what she can control. She has never been able to control you,” Anne said. “You are your own man. If it is pure love you seek, then those in this room offer it to you….” Anne’s voice lowered further as Darcy immediately turned to Elizabeth.
She had moved to the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side, and had remained quiet during the discussion. She looked up at him, her eyes still brimming with unshed tears.
“Miss Bennet. It appears the sun is beckoning us. Might I entreat you to…take that phaeton ride?”
“Yes, please.”
There was a chill slowly creeping into the valley. The winds had abated, and the clouds were far enough in the distance that Elizabeth was not concerned. But for the storm in her heart, she could not say the same.
They bounced along quietly in Miss de Bourgh’s phaeton, having not spoken since leaving Rosings.
Yet, although snuggled warmly under a blanket with a brick at their feet, she shuddered.
Elizabeth knew where he was driving. The memory of the duel became more vivid in her mind the closer they came to the grounds.
Her breathing began to increase as he brought the carriage to a halt before jumping down and helping her descend.
She walked directly to the spot and attempted to formulate the words. “It was here…where you were shot. Here is where I knelt over you unable to cease my tears.”
“Can you recall what occurred after that?”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “No. That is where it all ends.”
“And that was when I woke up in the parlor of the parsonage.” He then extended his hand to her. “Come, let us walk.”
She put her hand in his. They skirted the outside of what had once appeared to be the great hall.
“What do you remember of…of the other life?”
Her eyes remained forward as she spoke. “I remember that it just seemed to start. There was no preface. My existence seemed to stem from the day I found you, and you were brought into the parsonage.”
“Do you recall where you found me?” he asked, stepping over a small log before him.
“No. Just that I had. You were gravely injured, and I thought you would die.” She attempted to hide the catch in her throat but could not.
He squeezed her hand, which she had forgotten he was holding and stamped down the flutter of her heart.
“I remember how I felt so certain the miniature of Georgiana’s father looked so much like you. ”
“Yes.”
“Was that truly what your father and mother looked like?” she asked.
“Yes, and those were pictures I had not seen in a long time.”
“They are no longer at Pemberley?”
“Well…they are at the bottom of the lake.”
“That was the locket? The one you sank as pirate treasure?”
She released his hand and walked to what remained of a wall. Leaning against it, she could not look at him when she whispered. “You must despise me.”
“Despise you?”
“Yes. It is because of my faith in an unworthy man this all occurred.”
“It was because of my arrogance and conceit that this all occurred.”
She shook her head. “Sir, you are too kind to me, but you must see you are mistaken.”
He joined her at the wall. “Miss Bennet, you must know my ‘other life’ was one I did not wish to leave.”
“What?” Her eyes opened wide, and she asked in astonishment, “But how can that be? I did not even save you. You died.”
“No, Elizabeth,” he said, breathing her name and taking another step toward her. “Because of you, I lived. My life has been filled with sorrow, for I did not know true joy until a cloudy day in Hertfordshire where a maiden appeared—with her petticoats six inches deep in mud.”
“It was definitely not at an assembly in Meryton where this recognition took place?” She raised one single brow, attempting to go back to the familiar world of teasing.
“No one until a woman with eyes as dark as a summer storm had arched her perfectly shaped brow and shook me to my soul. You, Elizabeth, you possessed me. Unlike the vapid women at Almack’s and St. James.
Your soul crackles and burns. Its fire consumes me.
I do not understand the hold you have over me, Elizabeth Bennet, but I am unwilling to regain control.
I cannot account for what it is.” He reached to touch her cheek, and she closed her eyes and allowed his hand to cradle her face.
“At times in my life, I have felt as Odysseus. I have been many men and lived a lifetime before truly coming home to those who love me. I have had to fight for what is mine, and I will not lose it.” His thumb grazed her cheek and gently caressed her lower lip.
“I will not lose you.” His voice husky with emotion, he allowed his words to linger between them.
“Dare I hope that you feel the same and that this too is not a dream?”
Her lips pursed together, laying a soft kiss upon his thumb.
“It is not,” she replied, opening her eyes.
“I too, have lived in a world of dreams, unwilling to see reality for what it is. Allowing my foolish pride and false hopes to control my destiny. But that has changed. You say you have chosen me. Yet…Fitzwilliam…I choose you. I choose a life of joy and happiness, of love and respect, of––”
But there was nothing left to say; no words were necessary.
Darcy pulled her close and she tasted the sweetness of his lips, stemming any other thoughts.
She tentatively returned his kisses, fueling Darcy’s response.
His hands rested on her hips as he slowly pulled back, leaning his head against hers.
“You cannot know how I have waited to hear those words from this Elizabeth Bennet.”
She smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “And you shall hear it for many years to come, sir. For you cannot be rid of me so easily.”
“Nor do I wish to, my love. For I choose you.”