Chapter 16 #3
Darcy looked at her and smiled. He stood up and moved the tray out of the way to a larger side table, then leaned over and gave the cat an affectionate pat. “Hey Carmen,” he said softly.
“You named them for an opera and a baseball player?” Elizabeth asked wryly as she watched the tender scene. She’d missed this, missed him, this man she’d caught glimpses of while at Pemberley.
He turned to her and smiled. “Opera? Never. Just baseball. Yogi and Carmen Berra. Surrogate great-grandparents for a lot of children.” He stood and gestured toward the sofa. “Do you mind? After last night, the window seat’s a bit of a strain on my back.”
“Oh no,” Elizabeth cried. “I’m sorry.” She stood up and moved toward the sofa. He waited for her to get comfortable.
“So—are the cushions firm?”
She looked up and found his handsome face biting back a grin, his eyes alight with mirth. “Ahem.” Elizabeth patted the cushion beside her. “Quite firm to the touch. Of course, it is a Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth reached out and pulled him down next to her.
“You are a fast learner, Mr. Darcy.” She pulled up her knees and leaned toward him.
She had so many thoughts and questions, but he kept dropping something about himself that was so dear, followed by something that was worrisome or teasing, that she could hardly respond.
She took a deep breath and met his gaze, dark and questioning.
“Are you all right?” he asked gently.
“I’m fantastic,” she said earnestly, wiggling her toes. “Just filling in all your blanks. There are a few fundamental things about you I need to know.”
She saw him looking at her toes and biting back a smile. Oops. She had her feet on his furniture. “Oh, sorry. I’m endlessly uncouth.” She shifted, moving them to the floor.
“No, no. It’s fine. Put those back up here.” He grinned, reaching for her feet. “That’s a fine shade of pink on those toes. And that ring?”
“Ahem, you. Behave.” She gave him a mock-serious look. “Now then, what’s your favorite color?”
“Orange,” he said solemnly. She smacked his arm. “All right, I favor blue. Cobalt, as on a runway’s landing lights or the cover of The Great Gatsby.” He smiled, pleased to have surprised her. “And you?
“I like periwinkle blue and dark red, but not together.” Elizabeth saw his eyes light up, and she took a breath. “Favorite food?”
“Um, Yorkshire pudding. And cheesecake.”
“I’ve already declared myself a sucker for a really good Bolognese,” she admitted. “But I love a good Nicoise salad. And this”—she gestured at her nearly empty bowl—“was so good. You’re quite the talented sandwich maker.”
“I’m glad you liked it. And that it turned out well.” Darcy eyed her carefully. “As you might recall, I’ve been known to burn a good lasagna.”
Elizabeth’s eyes rose to his. He’d opened the door. They needed to talk. There was so much to say, so many hurts to apologize for.
“Fitzwilliam…” she began before faltering, unsure how to phrase the thoughts she’d held in for so long.
His voice, earnest and soft, interrupted, “Elizabeth, I need to apologize to you. I’ve been such an idiot since we met, and I’ve said terrible things to you and—”
“Oh no, you don’t. You, Fitzwilliam Darcy, have borne the brunt of my foolish stubbornness for far too long,” she insisted in a tremulous voice. She reached for his hand. “You owe me nothing. Not an apology, not a damned thing.”
He gazed at her, the fierce emotion on his face mirroring hers.
“I owe you, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth whispered.
He began shaking his head and mouthing protestations. “No. No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. Elizabeth tightened her grip on his hand and lifted it to her heart. “Why did you help me? I mean, Reggie Jackson? Derek Jeter? You saved my book—my name.”
“Your book was always going to be wonderful. I just dropped a name or two.” His eyes bored into hers. “I wanted to protect you,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “Why? Why me?”
He looked at her for a long minute, took a deep breath, and glanced away. “Because I have to. I need to.”
That stopped her. “You need to or you choose to?” Elizabeth closed her eyes and fought back a familiar prickly pressure that always heralded tears.
She exhaled and began reciting the words she’d wanted to say for months.
“We made a choice at Netherfield, and it was stupid, and it’s been impossible to move past it.
We both said the wrong things and thought the wrong things, but—”
“I didn’t think it was stupid. I thought it was wonderful,” he said, his voice quiet and unsteady. He shifted his hand and traced his finger along her cheek. “I don’t regret what we did, Elizabeth, but I regret what’s happened since.”
They sat that way for a moment, and then Darcy dropped his hand and stood up.
He walked a few feet away and stopped, his back to her and his hands on his hips.
Elizabeth watched him, speechless and afraid to interrupt whatever he was processing.
He ran a hand through his hair and suddenly turned and came back to sit down beside her.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.
“Despite the pain you were in and the burned lasagna, bad wine, and the mistakes we both made, I don’t think I’d change a thing about that night—the first part anyway.
As for the second, I’d ask a writer to add more dialogue and force us to talk.
” He glanced up at her, a small rueful smile on his face. “Force me to talk and explain myself.”
“Would you now?” She returned his smile and wiped her eyes. We were so stupid.
“When I kissed you that night, it was overwhelming. And”—he took a deep breath—“after I talked to you, opened up, I was angry with myself. And I was angry at you for making that happen. Especially because you didn’t seem to care or remember what I’d said.
” His eyes were dark and flinty, but Elizabeth knew that didn’t mean anger.
It meant passion. She remembered that from Netherfield and from last April.
“Oh God. I’m so, so sorry,” Elizabeth murmured. She dropped her face into her hands. “It’s unforgiveable how I heard nothing, held onto nothing of what you said to me.”
“No, no, no,” he whispered. He took her hands in his own and turned them over, gently kissing her palms. “You did nothing wrong, Elizabeth. Nothing.”
She looked up at him through misty eyes.
He sighed. “I wasn’t cross with you, certainly not for the reasons you think. Being angry made it easier. Blaming you allowed me to lash out without admitting to myself how I really felt.” His voice was rough with emotion.
“Which is?” Elizabeth asked tenderly as she pulled her hand from his and caressed his face.
“You terrify me,” he said simply. He gazed at her, his eyes soft and unfathomable.
“I do what?” she asked in a faltering voice.
“You…I’m not sure how to explain it, but just looking at you or thinking about you makes me forget everything else. That’s terrifying…” His eyes dropped to the floor.
“Oh…I didn’t know.” She looked at him, suddenly aghast. “You tried to tell me, didn’t you? I never let you tell me.”
He turned, and his eyes—bright and clear—met hers.
“I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.” She felt awful, overwhelmed this time not by the size of his apartment or the thickness of his carpets but by the depth of his feelings and the fragility of his heart. “I mean, I never meant to.”
“I know that,” he whispered. “It was me.”
Elizabeth felt herself break open. “And I’m so horribly sorry, so ashamed that you opened up to me, and I listened without hearing you. I was stupid, and I didn’t remember anything but the kissing and the, um, aftermath of the kissing.”
“That’s not your fault,” Darcy insisted. He turned his face and kissed the palm she still held to his cheek. “Not at all.”
“Well, it was,” she sniffed. “And then I didn’t want to like you. I did, though, I liked you, but I tried so hard not to.” She gazed at him through blurry eyes. His hair was sticking up wildly, his eyes reddened, and his face pale. She knew she looked far worse. “You made it impossible.”
He was quiet and still for a moment. “I did?”
“Yes, you wonderful, silly man,” she breathed, her voice dripping with feeling. “You’re sweet and kind and you make good tea and you love animals and you take such good care of difficult relatives and frustrating women who refuse to admit how much they like you.”
“You really do?”
“Oh yes. So very much.” Elizabeth smiled and pulled his face to hers. His eyes, no longer sad or worried or unsure, were now filled with a happiness she was sure matched her own. “Would you please kiss me? The tension in here is unbearable.”
Darcy leaned in, his lips touching hers gently.
They kissed softly, his mouth limning hers, exploring the angles.
She pulled him down, closer, and his hand crept into her hair, as her fingers framed his neck.
Her tongue reached out tentatively to touch his.
He sighed a little sigh, and both were lost in the kiss, in each other.
She uttered a quiet gasp as his mouth pulled away and he began kissing her neck.
Darcy drew back slowly, his eyes dark and misty and boring into hers. “Elizabeth, will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She opened her eyes and gazed at him, confused. “We just had lunch.”
He smiled, and his eyes softened. “I need you to know that this time I will do things right. No misunderstandings, no confusion. I’m kissing you now, and I want to keep kissing you, and I want to see you later. And tonight and tomorrow and the next day.”
Elizabeth kissed him tenderly and nodded.
“Yes.” She could see the exhausted exhilaration in his eyes.
He was so tired; he’d opened himself up in ways that surprised them both.
It was frightening and overwhelming. It was lovely and affirming.
But he was right. Slowly, carefully. No mistakes this time.
“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tonight, Fitzwilliam, on one condition.”
He kissed her a little less gently this time, and sat back, wearing an expression of wary expectation.
“I find that I might be inclined, on occasion, to be less formal with you,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “But Fitzwilliam is a bit of a mouthful and Darcy is a bit formal. Does everyone call you Darcy or Fitzwilliam?”
“Some of my family call me William. My mother called me Will,” he said, his voice rough.
“Will. Oh, I like that. Will,” she sighed dramatically. “It’s even better than Ferdinand.”
His eyes lit up, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly. And happily, finally, kissing the smirk off her face.