Chapter 6 #2
They sat in silence for a while, watching the flames.
Then Elizabeth said, almost idly, “So… you wished you had never been born. And now we are here.”
He did not answer right away.
At last, he said, “It was said in despair. But it was meant.”
She looked over at him.
He did not meet her eyes. “I realized… I realized that I have done nothing but bring harm. To Bingley. To Georgiana. To you.”
“You did not harm me,” she said softly. “Not really.”
He glanced at her, startled. But she was watching the fire.
“You offended me,” she added, “but you did not ruin me or my life. Not like this… this world has done.”
“If this world even exists,” he said. She looked at him questioningly, and he smirked. “It is entirely possible that we have simply gone mad.”
“If we are mad, then at least we are not alone in our lunacy. I would much prefer being unrecognized and with you than actually having married Mr. Collins.”
“What other explanation is there?”
She was silent. “The fae. He told you that you had been removed. Perhaps… perhaps he somehow had the power to actually do it.”
He turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “Removed from what? Time? Memory? My family does not know me, you are apparently married, and that—that—was not Rosings as it should be.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. “Then we are somewhere else entirely. Some… other version of our lives.”
“No.” Darcy shook his head. “Not ours. Mine.”
She looked at him sharply. This time, he met and held her gaze. “This… whatever this is… it began with my wish.”
“Do you truly wish you had never been born?”
When he did not answer, she asked, “Why?”
“Why?” The word burst from his lips. “Because you said it! The woman I love told me she wished I had never lived.”
“But you were angry, not distraught.”
His shoulders slumped. “Only at first. But when I awoke this morning, my heart was broken. I realized then that my actions had done the same to my friend, and to your sister—and even to mine. All I could think was how much better their lives might have been without me.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “You truly believe that?”
He stared into the fire. “I did. At the stream I believed it with all my heart.”
A log shifted, sending a small shower of sparks up the chimney. The light flickered across her face, softening her expression.
“And now?” she asked quietly.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “Part of me still thinks it must be true. And yet…” He glanced at her, then quickly away. “And yet here you are. You could have walked away. But you did not.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly—though it was not quite a smile. “Well, it was that or freeze to death. My options were limited.”
Her face grew serious, and she leaned over and placed her hand on top of his. “I spoke in anger yesterday, Mr. Darcy. I was offended, and my pride was wounded. I apologize.”
He let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, though it caught in his throat. “You are far more forgiving than I deserve.”
For a moment neither spoke. The wind whispered against the shuttered windows. Somewhere in the distance a branch cracked beneath the weight of snow.
Then Elizabeth straightened a little. “If your wish brought us here,” she said slowly, “then perhaps it can also return us.”
Darcy looked at her, startled.
“Or at least,” she went on, “we can learn what must be done. If this is a glimpse of the world without you, then perhaps you were meant to see it.”
“To what end?” he asked hoarsely. “To punish me?”
“Or to teach you,” she said softly, “and as I have been included in this magic, to teach me as well.”
Darcy stared at her for a long moment, the firelight catching in his dark eyes. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe this nightmare might have a purpose. But outside the snow continued to fall, soft and relentless, and the world beyond their little fire felt cold and strange and vast.
At length, he noticed Elizabeth smother a yawn—and a shiver.
The fire had burned lower, casting longer shadows on the stone floor.
Darcy glanced around the small hunting lodge, dismayed by how little comfort it afforded.
One cot, narrow and worn, occupied the corner.
A simple bench, where Elizabeth sat, lined the opposite wall. That was all.
He stood with a sigh and reached for the door. “I shall fetch more wood.”
She did not protest, though he noticed her huddling deeper into her shawl.
Darcy stepped out into the cold and returned quickly with as much dry timber as he could find in the lean-to behind the lodge. He stoked the hearth into a more vigorous blaze and dusted his hands off before turning to her.
“You should take the bed.”
Elizabeth looked up from where she sat on the bench, her expression unreadable. “It is hardly large enough for you to stretch your legs across,” she pointed out. “I shall be quite comfortable here.”
“You will not,” he said firmly. “You are tired, and chilled, and you are a lady. I am not so far gone as to forget the dictates of civility.”
She tilted her head. “You would be most uncomfortable.”
“I am already uncomfortable,” he said dryly. “Your comfort is more important.”
Elizabeth gave him a look. “And what of the fact that there is only one blanket?”
Darcy hesitated. The fire’s warmth would not last through the night. The stone floor would grow bitter, and frost would surely creep in through the cracks in the walls.
She drew a breath and looked away. “It is only… for warmth, of course.”
His brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
Her cheeks turned scarlet. “The bed,” she said, her voice low. “If we both used it. And the blanket. It would be far warmer than… than freezing separately.” She kept her gaze firmly on the hearth. “We need rest. And clear heads come morning.”
Darcy stared at her, stunned. “I could not—Miss Bennet, I could not possibly presume—”
“You will not be presuming anything,” she said, lifting her chin. “You may be quite certain I am not making an improper offer.”
The blush that flamed across her face belied her composed tone, but she held firm. “Besides,” she added, with a glance toward the cot, “as I am already seated here on the bench, you would have to move me bodily if you intend to lay claim to it alone.”
Darcy opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Unless,” she said calmly, folding her hands, “you intend to behave ungentlemanly after all?”
He made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. “You are a most provoking woman.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a yes?”
“It is a surrender,” he muttered, and moved to bank the fire.
They prepared in silence—Darcy moving stiffly, deliberately not looking at her as he laid the blanket flat across the narrow cot. She removed only her boots and outer layers, setting them near the hearth to dry. He did the same.
She was already curled beneath the blanket when he turned back. With great care, he lowered himself onto the other side, staying as close to the edge as possible. The cot creaked ominously.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then her elbow brushed his. “Apologies,” she murmured.
“No, forgive me,” he said at once. “I did not mean to—”
Her foot accidentally bumped his shin.
“I swear I am not doing this on purpose,” she muttered.
“It is entirely my fault,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I should have—”
She turned slightly, her shoulder touching his. He drew in a sharp breath.
“This is not how I envisioned us sharing a bed for the first time,” he muttered.
She stilled.
Darcy closed his eyes. “Forgive me. That was inappropriate.”
There was a long silence.
Then she giggled.
It was soft and unexpected and made something in his chest unclench.
“You forget,” she whispered, turning her face toward him, “that I am the woman you once declared to be only tolerable. I believe I am more surprised by this situation than you.”
He groaned. “Will I never be allowed to forget that?”
She laughed again—quiet, breathless, half-delirious with fatigue. “Can you imagine the look on Miss Bingley’s face if she could see us now?”
That did it.
Darcy barked a laugh, low and surprised, and Elizabeth stifled another giggle in the blanket.
They lay there, shaking with silent mirth, pressed shoulder to shoulder by necessity, and for a few moments—just a few—the strangeness of the world outside was forgotten.
Eventually, the laughter faded into stillness. Her breathing slowed. His eyes grew heavy.
And together, side by side, they drifted into sleep.