Chapter 28
Elizabeth
She was staring outside the window—the one in the tiny, corner sitting room on the second floor. Staring into the inky darkness as it slowly receded to dawn.
Then, suddenly, she knew she was not alone any longer.
“Elizabeth…”
She turned.
Mr. Darcy was standing behind her.
Their eyes met, and held. And for a long while neither spoke or looked away.
“I do not… wish you to see me,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth glanced at her hands.
Her fingers had begun to twist around each other. She frowned.
“I see.”
“It is not a pleasant sight,” Mr. Darcy said.
She stared at the folds of his cravat.
His valet must have spent considerable time crafting it to refined elegance.
“Elizabeth–”
“I brought the letter to Miss Darcy with me. The rough pages,” she said.
She did not wish to think or feel what she was trying hard not to think or feel. The intensity thrumming between them was making it hard to do.
Elizabeth looked away and walked to the small table where she had left her reticule. She could not part from it these days. Then, she sat down on an armchair, drawing the partially-filled papers out from within the folds of the bag.
When Mr. Darcy did not say anything for a long while, Elizabeth looked up. He was staring at her with sadness in his eyes.
“Mr. Darcy?”
She attempted to strike a nonchalant tone, but failed. She looked away again.
“Why did you come?” he asked.
There was a strained edge to his voice.
Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat, and shrugged.
“Seemed like the thing to do.”
She could feel her eyes prickling again. She did not think she would be able to stay composed for too long.
She stared at the pencil-marked pages. The words twisted and danced before her eyes, failing to mean anything to her. They were simply a bunch of curling inscriptions in dull grey.
…and then a thought struck her.
“You were able to leave Hunsford!”
Mr. Darcy was staring at the floorboards.
“Yes.”
She bit her lip, and stared at her hands as they rested on the pages on her lap. This confirmed what she had begun to believe about their strange circumstance but had not dared to hope.
“Did you… visit yourself?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth looked up in alarm at the strangled quality in his voice. How bad was it?
Her heart tugged painfully. There was a grimness on Mr. Darcy’s face.
“Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth startled.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was standing at the partially ajar door of the room, dressed in his nightclothes with a robe thrown on top. He was eyeing the room strangely. Warily. His shrewd eyes landed on hers.
“I could not sleep,” she said quickly, even as heat rushed to her cheeks.
“Is he here? Darcy?”
There was a hesitation in the Colonel’s voice. Like he did not wish to believe… but somehow did. What had Charlotte said to him?!
Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy.
Their eyes held for a moment. She nodded.
“Ah, I see.”
Silence descended in the room as Colonel Fitzwilliam gingerly stepped in. As if he was afraid to set something off.
Elizabeth clutched the pages in her hands as she glanced between the cousins. One in flesh. The other in spirit. They both did not seem to know where to look.
“Would you like to visit Darcy right now?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. “Seeing as we are both awake.”
His eyes swept the room once more.
“I meant Darcy’s sick bed.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said.
“No,” Mr. Darcy said.
She glared at him.
“Miss Bennet, please do not…” Mr. Darcy said. His eyes beseeched her.
She looked away.
“It is Miss Bennet now, is it?”
She set down the pages on the armchair and stood up. When she looked at him again, Mr. Darcy looked embarrassed.
“Elizabeth…”
She focused on Colonel Fitzwilliam instead. The man was scrutinizing the spot where Mr. Darcy stood.
“Lead the way, sir, if you please.”