Chapter 17
Stark
The next few days were a blur for Elizabeth.
She would wake earlier than usual, go for a walk with paper and pencil in her reticule, sometimes find Mr. Darcy (usually near the cherry trees), and then either walk with him or write the letter for Miss Georgiana Darcy. It was the hardest thing to do.
And not just because the words would inevitably bring up strong emotions in her.
There was no knowing when Mr. Darcy would suddenly disappear. Sometimes in the middle of a sentence. Still they were plodding along and half the letter was done.
Turmoil was Elizabeth’s constant companion through it all.
If anyone had asked her a few months ago to comment on Mr. Darcy’s capacity to love or feel strong emotions, she would have probably scoffed and said disdain was the only acceptable emotion to such a man. She could never say such a thing anymore.
Not after writing his letter to his sister.
It was so full of love that Elizabeth found herself crying to sleep every night.
She could not imagine what Miss Darcy would feel on receiving such a missive. On knowing that her dear brother was dying. Or already dead.
And walking with Mr. Darcy made Elizabeth’s own heart twist in despair, knowing that he was not long for this world. It brought on tears so frequently that she had stopped feeling embarrassed about it in his company.
She wondered what she would have made of it if she had known—six months ago—all that would transpire between them. Perhaps she would have scoffed at that too.
Oh, how she loved laughing at the follies of others!
It was what made her her father’s favourite. Their shared love of catching the absurd in full display. But Elizabeth did not think she could be so flippant anymore.
…it felt like a fool’s way of dallying with the world.