Chapter 1.8 #4
“Is the house secure, do you think? It is good that Lucky is sleeping with me for protection.”
He laughed heartily. “I am here to protect you too. But I hope you have no reason to fear.”
“Oh, I would not count on that. And I would like a little more wine. This armchair is so comfortable, and the blanket is so soft. Look how lovely it is snowing. I will only stay up a moment longer…” Her voice became weaker, and she dropped her head as her eyelids drifted closed.
He smiled, and his heart melted as he saw her so young, so fragile, curled in the armchair, covered in the blanket, and falling asleep.
The fatigue and the two quick glasses of wine had overcome her completely.
He gently took her in his arms and placed her in the bed then covered her with a blanket.
She sighed and sought a better position.
He again wrapped the blanket around her then tried to rise from the bed and leave.
She suddenly opened her eyes and took his hand.
Her eyes were sparkling from the wine, and she could barely keep them open.
“You are a good man, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are not as frightening as I believed you to be.”
“You believed me to be frightening?” He was half amused and half embarrassed at taking advantage of her situation and attempted to leave, but her hold on his hand prevented it.
“Yes! Well, to be honest, the first time I saw you, I believed you were very handsome. That is—before you started to speak and offended everyone around you. And you refused to dance with me…”
“Will you ever forgive me?” he asked in jest, a large smile on his face, but she answered very seriously.
“I am sure I will, eventually. You are even more handsome when you smile. You should smile more.”
“Very well, your wish is my command. Now, we should go to sleep. You are very tired.”
“Oh, I am not tired at all…” She barely spoke, her eyes closed.
“Yes, I know you are not tired, but it is almost dawn.”
“I am a little warm. I need to take my robe off.” She rose to sit.
“Here, let me help you.” He gently opened her robe and removed it from her shoulders. Then he laid her against the pillows.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You know, Mr Darcy, we are actually spending the wedding night together, are we not?” She was barely coherent, and finally released his hand.
“Yes, we actually are.” He smiled. “Good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night, Mr Darcy…William,” she managed to reply in a low voice. Then her breathing became regular as sleep took her completely.
Darcy remained still, watching her closely.
Her face was serene, her eyes resting behind long, dark lashes, her lips slightly parted as she breathed steadily.
Her beauty was astonishing and nearly stole his breath away.
Her hair was spread out on the white skin of her shoulders, and the smooth fabric of her nightdress was moving with every breath, gently caressing her skin.
She gently sighed in her sleep, smiling at a dream known only to her.
He removed a lock of hair from her temple. She sighed.
What was it about this young woman that bewitched him so completely?
What was so different about her that his control was so easily lost?
How was it possible that he needed to struggle so to keep his own promise to her—that he was so tempted and eager to taste the softness of her lips?
How would he be able to keep his own promise, and for how long?
And what was fate doing to him? Why was it playing with his mind?
How was it possible that, of all the girls in the world, she was the one who needed to be saved by him—twice?
He gently touched her hair again, smiling. He had no doubt that she was the young girl he had saved from the sea ten years earlier—strange, frightening, extraordinary coincidence but real nevertheless. He had been in Brighton with Robert, visiting his mother, whose state of health was failing.
He vividly remembered the day Dr. Taylor told him her health was declining with every passing day and there was nothing he could do.
He ran out to walk on the beach, alone with his fear of losing his beloved mother, when he saw the little girl and the puppy taken by the waves.
He had entered the water without hesitation and taken the girl and the puppy to shore.
He did not remember the girl’s features.
He barely remembered looking at her face at all.
But he did remember her brave, small voice, thanking him—not for saving her but her puppy.
And he clearly remembered telling her that her puppy was truly lucky.
That the little girl proved to be Elizabeth and that she remembered the situation so clearly were equally amazing and disconcerting. Yes, fate was laughing at him.
He leant and gently caressed her hair again, watching her beautiful, serene face. “I am your hero from ten years ago, Elizabeth. But I cannot possibly tell you that—not now. I cannot use the past to make you accept me, but I shall be your hero again one day!”