Chapter 27 #4
Elizabeth’s afternoon was a storm of agony.
The conversation with Lady Hardwick, the suggestions and encouragement offered by the countess, and the exhilarating thought that Darcy might still have feelings and desires for a future with her were enthralling.
The extraordinary picture of a perfect match with complete happiness that Lady Hardwick drew for her was so wonderful that she feared it was unreal —even impossible.
The countess made her see the truth so clearly.
Indeed, she had never felt anything close to what she felt when she was near Darcy.
Even in the early stage of their acquaintance, when his manners were despicable and she believed him guilty of countless faults, his presence always disturbed her.
And during their dance at Netherfield, the feel of his hand holding hers aroused a sort of chill different than she had experienced with any other partner.
Even as they argued, his touch was thrilling, and only now did she understand it properly.
She still did not know what she should do —what she could do. But there was hope —reasonable and fair —that filled her heart with joy.
She joined Georgiana and Lady Hardwick at dinner and was delighted to see Mr. Slade there too. She was still restless, and she followed the conversation in silence, glancing from one to the other absently. She saw Mr. Slade and Lady Hardwick speaking animatedly while Georgiana laughed at something.
Suddenly, she rose from her seat, all the weight vanishing from her shoulders and her mind instantly freed from its blinding confusion.
“I beg you will excuse me for a moment; there is something of great importance I must do without delay. I will return shortly, but please continue with your dinner; do not wait for me.”
“Lizzy, are you unwell? Shall I come with you?”
“No, dearest, I am perfectly fine. I must write Mr. Darcy a letter.”
“A letter? Why? Is something wrong?”
“Everything is fine, my dear. I must climb the tree of my fears, and I do not have an instant to lose. I will explain later,” she replied lightly, noticing Lady Hardwick’s broad smile.
Then she hurried out, ignoring the two perplexed blue-eyed gazes that followed her and the countess’s elegant laughter.
∞∞∞
A week after he left Pemberley, Darcy arrived in London.
The journey went smoothly, but it tired him as never before. He was without purpose —isolated and lonely —and for the first time in his life, the loneliness was unbearable.
His tours of the estates proved to be useless and even ridiculous.
His appearance in the middle of winter, close to Christmas, surprised and worried the stewards and housekeepers.
He had kept close correspondence with each of them, and he already knew things to be in order. Therefore, he only stayed one night.
He had no patience to stay longer; he felt welcome nowhere.
With every mile, the distance between Elizabeth and him grew, but that brought him no peace. His thoughts remained with her —as did his heart. He wondered every moment what she was doing —how she was bearing his departure. Her presence had been a distraction, but her absence was a torment.
Added to everything else was a sharp pain that had gripped him since Lord Mowbray asked him to send Elizabeth his regards. The earl never even attempted to conceal his admiration for her —why would he? Only he, Darcy, was the fool who did that for months.
The Bingleys should arrive in Derbyshire in three days’ time.
Elizabeth would surely be happy to see her sisters again, and so would Georgiana.
They would spend Christmas in joy, he hoped.
Without him. Would Lord Mowbray visit them after all?
He passed on his question, and it depended on Elizabeth.
Lady Hardwick might easily write to him.
He felt jealous and fearful that she might become more partial to the earl.
But why would she not? She deserved to be happy.
He knew she could be happy with him —happier than with anyone else.
Because no one else would love her as he did.
If he only had a chance to tell her as much —if he could only be certain that she was willing to listen.
If only her feelings would change enough to allow him to make one more attempt to win her heart.
Darcy sat in the library that had been his refuge for months.
Memories returned of those dreadful days spent in darkness and solitude, nurturing his anger and resentment against himself and against Elizabeth.
He had come so far in only five months; his life —their lives —had changed because of her. Everything was because of her.
Town was animated, but he was in no mood to leave the house.
Yet, he would have to. He had sent a note to his uncle Lord Matlock to announce his arrival, and he immediately received a demand to join them for dinner.
He accepted it as he truly missed his relatives; even more, he hoped the time would pass more quickly in company.
He went to his apartment to change. Watts already was there, arranging his belongings.
“Sir, there is some correspondence on the desk. It arrived before we did; forgive me for intruding, but as I organised it, I noticed a letter from Miss Darcy.”
“I will look through it; would you leave me a moment, Watts? I will ring for you.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
The valet left, and he searched through the papers eagerly. He was curious to see what news Georgiana had sent him. Were there any hints, any details about Elizabeth?
Near Georgiana’s letter, he found one from Lady Hardwick. He wondered which he should open first, and while he hesitated, his eyes fell on a third one.
He touched it, then picked it up and looked at it.
He did not recognise the writing, and it was not signed outside.
His heart raced with hope while his reason told him such anticipation was absurd.
The letter could be from anyone. If she wished to tell him something, she would put a note in Georgiana’s letter.
But surely, she would not tell him anything directly —much less write to him. Then why did that piece of paper trouble him so?
“Oh, this is ridiculous; I am behaving like a lunatic,” he said furiously and quickly opened the letter. He unfolded the paper and saw the date: it was from Pemberley, five days ago. Slowly, his eyes ran down the page, and the revelation took his breath away. There were only three lines.
Mr. Darcy,
In vain have I struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how greatly your presence is missed and how ardently we await your return to Pemberley.
Elizabeth Bennet.
Three lines —more powerful than a hundred volumes, more important than all the books he had ever read.
He looked at the paper again, astounded, incredulous, his heart bursting with joy and trembling with fear of its being a dream.
Three and thirty words and her beautiful name added at the end —words that changed his life in an instant.