Chapter 31
Darcy closed the book room door behind him, stopping to take a deep breath.
Elizabeth thought she was free. He saw it in her eyes, the hope.
He had smiled too brightly at her, but it was impossible to prevent his reaction.
Seeing her sitting at the table with a plate of crumbs and a glass of milk gave him an image of what she must have been like as a child.
He would have loved to know her then, before her life was burdened by constraints and expectations.
She was holding nothing back as she returned his smile, increasing his joy and lightening the guilt and regret he carried…
before it clapped around him with a stinging slap.
He had fought to stay because his absence from Longbourn would feed Wickham’s plan. If he schemed what Darcy feared, if he intended to complete his treachery and woo Elizabeth, he would have to attempt it under Darcy’s watchful eye. One step too close to her, one unwanted advance…
He rubbed his hands over his face. What was he doing? How would he endure the next twelve days knowing he had given Elizabeth reason to hope? His smiles, his insistence on staying. Surely, she knew he did it for her.
Therein lay the trouble. Darcy loved her.
He was not thinking clearly. He did not trust himself near her.
His instinct was to take her hand in his, to wrap his arms around her, to protect her from those who put their own interests ahead of hers, to kiss her until her senses were as full of him as he was of her.
At times, his body trembled with the effort it took to restrain himself from succumbing to his instinctive desire to hold her.
She needed his protection, but he wanted to keep her trust; to do that, he must maintain a respectful distance. He must not allow opportunity for her to compromise her heart before she understood the truth.
Secure that Wickham would not call again that day, Darcy rode into Meryton, where he spent half an hour apprising Mr. Philips of the events since their last meeting and another half an hour convincing him not to act rashly against his least favorite brother-in-law.
At his encouragement, Mr. Philips sat down to write a detailed letter to Mr. Gardiner airing his vexation, which was how he left him.
Mr. Bennet had acted precisely as he was wont, assuming that all would end well if he did nothing.
But this problem was too big, too final.
It laid bare all his faults, leaving his family exposed to ruin.
Ignoring it had made it worse. The situation stirred Darcy’s compassion.
Mr. Bennet was a weak and selfish man, but he was not malicious or harsh.
The innkeeper greeted Darcy as he entered the tap room.
Reaching under the counter, he held up a letter.
“I kept this here for you as requested.” It was from Reynolds.
Nodding gratefully at the innkeeper for taking the extra trouble to remember not to send his letter on to Longbourn with the rest of his post, Darcy slipped him some coin, asked for a pint of his finest brew, and sat at a quiet corner table to read the latest news from Reynolds.
Evidently, Wickham’s story was as solid as reported in the newspaper.
The river police were convinced, as was Lord Matlock.
With His Lordship’s support, who would suspect that Fitzwilliam Darcy’s death had been invented?
Wickham had as good as buried him, but Reynolds was continuing his investigation until he could prove Wickham’s treachery.
He had a lead—a promising one he did not explain in detail lest his letter be intercepted.
Reynolds and Wrayburn were working closely together on the matter with Richard’s invaluable assistance.
They expected all would be resolved to Darcy’s satisfaction by the date of the reading of the will.
Until then, Reynolds begged Darcy not to do anything that might alert Wickham that they were on to him.
More plainly stated: he was to do nothing to suggest the true heir of Pemberley was, in fact, alive and well.
The letter ended with Reynolds’s promise that he would not betray Darcy’s trust. Darcy harrumphed. Trust. It all came down to that, did it not? So difficult to earn; so easily destroyed.
He took a long pull from his tankard. Spruce beer.
Sharp, crisp. If he closed his eyes, he was transported to the wilderness behind his father’s residence where he and Richard escaped for their adventures, their courage bolstered and their bodies warmed with the spruce beer they smuggled away in a borrowed flask.
The spruce beer at the inn that day neither warmed him nor bolstered his courage.
He departed to return to Longbourn, knowing what he must do, though it pained him.
As he had already concluded, the best course was for him to keep his distance from Elizabeth.
Thus resolved, he rounded the bend and saw her walking toward him along the path.
He raised his eyes heavenward. God help me!
He slowed his horse. Twelve days, he reminded himself. In only another twelve days, all would be revealed. All resolved. Darcy held on to the promise like a lifeline.
Elizabeth smiled at him in that way she had that lit him from the inside out. He cleared his throat and looked away. His horse stopped in front of her, and she reached forward to stroke the snickering animal as she arched her neck upward to address Darcy. “I admit, I had hoped to find you.”
None of the replies that immediately threatened to cross his tongue would do, so he dismounted. Once he stood beside her, he asked, “What is your intent now that you have found me?”
Her smile brightened, if such a thing were possible. “You said you had a confession to make, but you were interrupted before you could unburden yourself.”
Well, he could not tell her that now. “You are curious.”
“I wish to be helpful, to ease your conscience if I may… and I am terribly curious,” she teased. Darcy almost laughed at the irony of his situation and her honesty. What was he able to tell her? He longed to tell her something true. Something real.
They walked in the direction of Longbourn for what felt like an eternity before she spoke again.
“If it helps, perhaps I might make a confession of my own.” She peeked up at him, nervous, chewing on her bottom lip.
He walked on, marveling at how years of diplomacy and negotiations with difficult parties had done nothing to prepare him for this moment.
She tried her best to make it easier for him to confess, which only made it worse.
She sucked in a breath and spoke in a burst. “I admit I was not very sad to learn of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s…” She did not say the word. She was not heartless. “Not to say that I am happy that he is… It is only that…” She resumed chewing on her lip.
Darcy took pity on her. “Nobody would expect you to mourn a man you did not know.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. “Precisely.” Another sigh, then more chewing on her lip. Good God, Darcy wished she would stop that! It was difficult enough not to notice the plumpness of her lips without her incessant nibbling.
“If circumstances were different…” She looked askance at him, shy and vulnerable.
She was so alluring. If she only knew how dearly he wished her to say what he hoped she meant to say, he could allay her fears.
But it was too soon, and he could not encourage her affection until he could be completely honest with her.
Before she could say anything she might later regret, he spoke. “You are Elizabeth Bennet—an intelligent, capable young woman whose selflessness will be rewarded.”
Her words came out sharply. “From what I have observed, the selfish carry on without a care and without any meaningful consequence to them. For years, I worked and took risks, and for what? It is all gone, taken through no fault of my own. No, that is not true. I am to blame for placing my trust in a father who did too little to earn my confidence.” Darcy felt her disappointment, had felt that same anger eat at him for years until he had no father, no home to return to.
He had been too late; it was not too late for Elizabeth.
He took her hand in his, needing her touch to soothe the pain in his own chest. “My last words to my father were bitter and full of rebuke for his failures.” She looked down and sniffed.
“I made my disapproval clear, pointed out his errors—which were many, by my estimation—in plain, precise terms. Then I let him deal with the consequences of his behavior. I turned away from him, and I never went back.” His chest tightened.
“I worked hard to distinguish myself, to make a name in my profession, and I succeeded.” Her eyes flashed back up to his.
“And I was miserable.” When he saw her confusion, he added, “While I certainly took satisfaction in my accomplishments and grew confident in the man I had become—one distinct from my own father—I had no one with whom to share my success.” He rubbed his chest with his free hand, but the ache remained.
“By the time I returned to make amends, my father was gone. It was too late.”
“I am sorry.”
He shook his head. “It was my own doing.”
She furrowed her brow. “You miss him?”
“Yes.” His reply sounded like it was torn from his throat, rough and raw. “Not a day goes by that I do not wish I could turn back time. I would do things differently. I could have done so much better. I would try harder to make peace rather than wasting precious years trying to prove myself right.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Darcy could not tell if they were for her or for him, but it did not matter.
He stepped forward to fold her inside his arms…
and then he remembered himself. Pausing, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.
She looked at him boldly, tears trailing down her bare cheeks.
She did not try to hide them, nor did she reach for his handkerchief.
Gently, he dabbed the finely spun cotton against her skin.
Closing her eyes, she leaned into his touch.
His heart screamed at him to hold her, to make promises he could not presently fulfill, to kiss her until she forgot her woes.
But while he knew who he was—that it was proper for him to comfort her—she did not.
He would leave, and she would be consumed with guilt for what she would consider disloyalty to a man who might yet be alive and to whom she was betrothed.
With one final caress of her cheek, he tucked his handkerchief into his pocket.
His hands shook, so he crossed his arms over his chest, tangling them tightly around his body.
Twelve days more. Then he would confess everything and pray that she might forgive him.
Pray that she might love him as much as he loved her despite this deception.
If only she could read his heart, could understand his motive.
“Resentment will steal your peace if you allow it. It will alter your history, casting a shadow over your most cherished memories and twisting the good moments into a bitter version of your past.” Darcy scoffed at his own folly.
“I became convinced that my upbringing had been a miserable one when, in fact, there was so much good, so much love.” He shook his head and sighed.
The grip around his chest loosened, and he breathed deeply.
He did not know why he felt lighter for admitting this.
She watched him intently, still listening.
“I do not ignore the bad things that happened, the tension that existed between me and my father. Those things were real. They happened. But I can see now how much I allowed my life to be guided by anger, how it ruled me. You would not wish to feel the same regret I do. I have forgiven my father, but I take no solace in it. I shall always wonder if he thought kindly of me before he died.”
She squeezed his hand. “What if I do not want to forgive just yet? What if I wish to be selfish for a little bit?”
Her frankness made him chuckle. “I would urge you to choose the wiser path rather than the path of least resistance.”
She shoved him, retracting her hand. “If your intention in scolding me is to lessen my sadness at your departure in less than a fortnight, you have failed. You forget, I am a female and am therefore adept at feeling multiple emotions at once. I can be angry at you for speaking the truth and, at the same time, anticipate that I shall miss you dearly.”
Had they not been standing in the gravel path leading to Longbourn’s stables, had Johnny not run out to take Darcy’s horse at that moment, Darcy would not have been able to resist the urge to kiss her.
Stiffly, he handed the boy the reins, saw Elizabeth inside, and continued up the stairs to his room.
Once there, he doused his face with cold water and determined not to be alone with her again.