Chapter 17 #2
Darcy approached on silent feet. She felt the warmth of him against her back and his hesitation as he raised a hand, laying his fingers lightly on her.
“I love you…so much. I have spent two years yearning for your return and regretting my mistakes. I do not know what to do now. I only know that I want to fix this.”
She turned around to glare fiercely at him.
“Allow me be very clear on this point. I do not hold Miss Bingley or Georgiana—or anyone else at all—responsible for the destruction of our marriage. For whatever stories you were told, whatever pranks or handkerchiefs or whatever you were given, you chose to banish me. You chose to remove me without ever even asking me about any of it. It was you who did this, not anyone else, and yours is the blame.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know I ruined us, and I am so very thankful that you have agreed to permit our marriage a second chance.”
“Have I any choice?”
The instant she said it, she wished she had not. Darcy went pale, and his eyes betrayed his anguish. Elizabeth could not prevent unwanted compassion from arising, and for a moment, she reflected on how difficult it was to despise those whom you loved so deeply, no matter what they had done to you.
Reaching out, she took his hand and pressed it to her lips. She closed her eyes, savouring the feel of his skin but pained by the slight trembling she could detect. “Elizabeth,” he murmured.
She dropped his hand abruptly, cursing herself. Already, the feel of him had weakened her substantially, and she resolved that she must not allow herself this sort of touch in the future—it was far too dangerous to her equanimity. “We should go meet the others.”
Craving a woman the way he hungered for his wife was difficult. He longed for her touch; even the brief touch of her hand on his had awakened his yearning for her, but from the look she gave him, he dared not offer his arm as they walked towards the shore.
“What do people think happened to me?”
“Um…” He had to think for a moment what she meant.
“The reason why I have disappeared for two years. After all, I cannot simply appear in London with a son in tow and expect that people will not have questions.”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, well…Lady Matlock, in the early days, foresaw such a stumbling-block and put out some story about…consumption, I think, and time in the country, that sort of thing.”
“And people believed this?”
“I was very rarely in town, so I am not entirely sure, but judging from the number of letters I have received wishing you better health, it seems they did.”
“Rarely in town?” Elizabeth turned to see him around her bonnet. “Why? Where were you?”
He looked down into her dear countenance and said simply, “I was looking. Everywhere and anywhere I thought you might be—save for Weymouth. I did not imagine you should come to Weymouth.”
He would have liked to hear what led her to Weymouth. He might also have liked to smooth away the curl of hair that escaped her bonnet…or take her hand…or lay his hand against the small of her back. But he did none of these. They had reached the ladies and Bennet.
Bennet had a great enthusiasm for digging, it seemed, and he had brought with him the small soldiers that Darcy had given him.
He was determined to bury them all until Darcy, kneeling in the sand, showed him how to build trenches and hills for his soldiers to fight from.
It was surprising how engaging it was, spending time with his son thus occupied; indeed, for some moments altogether, he entirely forgot his troubles with his wife.
When the others were suitably diverted, he quietly asked her, “How long have you let the house here?”
Elizabeth’s eyes were on the sea. “I do not let the house. It is mine…ours, I guess I should say.”
“You own it?”
“Mrs Macy left it to me when she died.”
“That is extraordinary.”
Elizabeth’s gaze moved to her lap. “She was far too generous to me for the small service I rendered her.”
He rose from where he had knelt beside Bennet and joined his wife on her bench. “You will need time, no doubt, to close the house?”
He watched as she pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving their son. “A little,” she said at length, not looking at him.
For some moments, they reviewed the various members of the household and what each of them might wish to do. Of utmost concern to Elizabeth were Mr and Mrs Mercer. “At their ages, it is not likely they could find another place.”
“Shall we come here? In the summer, perhaps? They could remain in the house.”
Elizabeth disregarded the question. “They should have someone to look after them. I promised Mrs Macy I would see to them, not simply leave them here while I gallivant off to Derbyshire.”
He could hear in the strained tone of her voice that she was becoming upset, so quickly he offered, “There is a cottage at Pemberley, quite near the main house in fact. They would see us often, and Mrs Reynolds, I think, should be glad of the company.”
At last, she turned her face towards him. “How generous that you should wish to care for the servants of another house.”
“I could not do less for the people who cared so well for you and my son.”
To that, she would only nod, but her face seemed a bit less unhappy. He was glad that, for this moment at least, he was not the dastardly villain who had disappointed her.