Chapter 16 The Depth of Love
Elizabeth strolled the path she had walked so often, approaching the cottage she had resided in for two and a half years.
The sound of chopping reached her long before she caught a glimpse of the working man.
She halted to study him clandestinely as he had yet to notice her.
He was attacking the logs with his shirt open and his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, impervious to the crisp September air.
His mind was fully focused on the task before him.
Elizabeth feared that if she made herself known he would startle and hurt himself, considering the ferocious pace at which the axe kept hitting its target.
The view was rather pleasant to look upon, but she allowed her gaze to wander over the premises.
New land was being worked, allowing the resident to grow more vegetables come spring.
The roof had been mended, and the new thatching stood out with its lighter colour, though it was still a dreary place in Elizabeth’s mind.
Taxing work was required to keep warm and fed.
Elizabeth did not miss much about the days she had spent here.
It had been lovely to experience the peaceful solitude on occasion, but there was rarely any time left after the necessary jobs were done to enjoy it.
Perhaps she had been mistaken, and coming here would break her heart all over again.
#
He must have been working too hard to have conjured up such a vision. A mirage created by his mind.
Sweat ran down his face and in between his shoulder blades.
No matter how hard he worked himself, he could not erase her from his mind.
Like now, standing before him with a dreamy expression on her countenance.
Elegantly dressed, graceful in her bearing, in stark contrast to the hovel in front of her.
Unearthly still, like a ghost or an apparition.
Was he losing his mind like his dratted cousin? If he was, he was not opposed to moments like this, gazing upon the beauty before him.
He approached her stealthily. The illusion did not disappear into thin air but remained still as he moved forwards.
If he wanted, he could reach out and touch her, and those beautiful eyes would be directed at him rather than the wilderness beyond. But of course, had those eyes been fixed on him, her expression would have cooled significantly.
Darcy’s gaze dropped to the ground, and his shoulders slumped. He had no one to blame but himself; he was the master of his own misery. He deserved to live like she had, to experience the hardships he had foisted upon his love.
“He is winning. We cannot let him.”
Darcy was startled out of his guilt-ridden thoughts. The eyes he so admired robbed him of his faculties; he could not understand a single thought in his mind.
How the tables had turned. He was dishevelled, sweaty, and unkempt, whilst she stood before him, immaculately dressed. He used to believe that one’s superficial appearance mattered, that it distinguished one from the plebeians.
“He is winning, and we are letting him without a fight,” she repeated.
Darcy regarded Elizabeth. Something had changed within her; her eyes did not shoot daggers, nor did they hold contempt.
“Do you want to fight, Elizabeth?”
“I do. The colonel sought to divide and conquer, a well-known military stratagem. I resent that he has succeeded in dividing us. We are both his victims, and we both deserve leniency for transgressions instigated by a man without reason.”
“I cannot so easily forget the mistakes I have made,” Darcy declared.
“I know. I expect you to grovel at my feet on many occasions.” Elizabeth smiled as Darcy sank to his knees.
“I did not mean it literally!” Elizabeth was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but Darcy was not compelled to rise to his feet.
Elizabeth crouched before him, placing her dainty fingers under his chin and trying to lift it, but he would not allow her to. Suddenly, he was back on his feet, enveloping her in his arms, his head resting on hers.
“These past years have been a torment, but I cannot imagine how we can go back. You said so yourself.”
“No, we cannot. We were different people back then. The only route is forwards. It will require much effort from both of us to oust the past. Sometimes I shall resent you, whilst other times you will resent me. Quite natural feelings because the hurt was so profound, but I do not want to let him win. Do you?”
“No…no, I do not. Not because of Richard but because I love you beyond reason. I would never have acted so despicably if I had cared less.”
“I know. Neither would I.”
Holding on to hope, the Darcys embraced for the longest time. Darcy was afraid that if he let go, she would change her mind and hurry back to her vehicle.
“Is the carriage waiting by the main road?”
“No, I sent it on its way.”
“To London?”
Elizabeth chuckled. “No, to tend the horses at the inn. Unlike you, I have no wish to stay here any longer than necessary. It reminds me of years I do not wish to relive if at all possible. It was a daily struggle, Fitzwilliam.”
“I know. I cannot fathom how you managed.”
Darcy drew a shuddering breath, relaxing his fierce hold and tucking her head under his chin.
“Every breath I drew was a waste without you in my life, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth trembled violently, sniffed and swallowed hard; her breaths came in rapid convulsive gasps. Burying her face deeper into his chest whilst her arms enveloped his waist, she cried. Tears mingled with sweat, leaving a salty trail down Darcy’s body.
“If I could change…”
Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. “Regret serves no purpose, and neither does wishing to rewrite what cannot be altered.” She drew in a deep fortifying breath and stepped back.
Darcy looked away, anxious as to why she had broken the spell they were under. Elizabeth patted her hair; it was damp from his tears. A gust of wind rattled the yellowing leaves.
“It is getting chilly. Let us go inside and discuss matters.” Darcy strode to the cottage without waiting for a reply and was relieved when Elizabeth followed.
“I have no tea to offer you, nor coffee for that matter,” he admitted with chagrin.
Elizabeth smiled. “You are thorough when you punish yourself.”
Darcy poured water into a basin and wrenched off his sweat-soaked shirt. Elizabeth turned away, and he clenched his jaw.
“I struggle to imagine how this might work if you cannot even bear to look at me,” he accused her.
“I thought you wanted privacy,” she defended herself.
If that was true, she had entirely mistaken the matter. He had endured two and a half years of tedious privacy. Not to forget the sleepless, lonely nights devoid of peace and comfort.
“I am your husband, Elizabeth. Even more than being away from you, I fear you being distant and aloof.”
There. He had revealed his concern.
“I appreciate you sharing your fears with me. I was concerned you would believe me wanton if I did not turn away while you were doing your ablutions. I also fear your response if I talk to or even smile at another man, however innocent it may be.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Mrs Darcy! Your carriage awaits you at the road,” the driver called.
“Thank you. We shall be but a moment,” she replied and turned to Darcy. “Do you have much packing to do?”
Relief flooded his veins. She expected him to return with her, and he could do nothing but comply.
“No, nothing but the clothes on my back.”
“Then may I suggest you wear them,” she replied with mirth dancing in her eyes.
“Certainly, madam. Your wish is my command.”
#
Dusk had fallen before the Darcy carriage reached the Hursts’ townhouse. Elizabeth thought it was too late to pick up their daughter, but Darcy had insisted she was coming home with them.
The housekeeper left them in the parlour with the Bingleys while she fetched their daughter, who, despite the late hour, had not yet fallen asleep. Charlie was teething, and Ellie had stayed awake in sympathy with his plight. The nurse and Jane had tried to lull them to sleep but to no avail.
Ellie came running towards them, stamping her feet, making it sound like a herd of elephants was coming, not a two-year-old girl.
Fitzwilliam received the first embrace, as their daughter ran straight to her father. Elizabeth could not begrudge him the honour, though; it had been a long time since father and daughter had seen each other. Darcy swung his little girl up into the air to her squeals of delight.
“Ellie’s papa!” she exclaimed, grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his cheek. Her chubby arms encircled his neck, and she squeezed him fiercely.
Elizabeth watched Fitzwilliam’s eyes grow misty. The immediate bond that had formed between the two was one of the many reasons Elizabeth had reached out to her husband for a reconciliation.
“Mr Darcy! What on earth has happened to you?”
Elizabeth had forgotten about Mrs Caroline Elliot, or more likely eradicated her from her memory.
Her nasal voice was the last sound she wanted to hear when all was going so well.
The woman was completely lost to every civility and was eyeing Mr Darcy’s attire with a wrinkled nose before she remembered her manners.
Her sycophantic smile returned, and she laced her arm round Mr Darcy’s.
“How good it to see you. It has been too long for such good friends. And how lovely to see the two of you together in the same room. Why, it must be close to three years since I last had the pleasure,” Mrs Elliot said, simpering at Mr Darcy before she smirked at Elizabeth.
“The pleasure is ours, Mrs Elliot,” Mr Darcy replied evenly. He detached himself from her cloying arm with a slight bow and nodded towards her husband. “Mr Elliot.”
“Ellie’s papa,” Ellie declared possessively. When it came to sharing her father, she could be proprietorial.
“I am sorry to leave you so soon, but Miss Darcy is in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Bingley.”