Chapter Forty #3
Elizabeth hesitated, for the thought had troubled her more than once since Julia's return.
“Had you sent that letter, matters between us would certainly have been simpler. But perhaps you would never have come to Hertfordshire with any particular wish to meet me. We might never have known one another as we do now, and you might never have had reason to ask Colonel Fitzwilliam to search for Julia.”
“That does not excuse what I did.”
“No, and I am not trying to excuse it.” Elizabeth looked up at him. “I only mean that I cannot wish the past altered without also wishing away everything which came from it. And I find I do not wish that.”
Darcy's expression softened.
“You have given me far too much to be angry with you for,” she added, a faint smile touching her lips. “But somehow, Mr. Darcy, you have also helped give me Julia back.”
“Elizabeth…”
“I know you did not do it for my forgiveness.” She stopped and faced him. “That matters more than you seem to understand.”
Darcy said nothing.
Elizabeth looked at the man before her and found that the anger which had seemed so enormous a month ago had diminished until it could no longer obscure everything else she knew of him.
She remembered Julia beside her at Longbourn, Darcy’s first unsent letter and the apology which followed, but she remembered other things too: their walks and arguments, the conversations which had somehow continued long after either had intended them to end, the laughter she had learnt to coax from him and the quiet attentions by which he had made his affection known.
There had been too many happy moments between them, too much kindness and understanding, for the worst thing he had done to remain the only measure by which she judged him.
And, perhaps most inconveniently of all, she had missed him terribly.
“I missed you.”
Darcy's brows lifted slightly. “Did you?”
“Do not look so pleased. It was exceedingly inconvenient.”
“I am sorry.”
“No, you are not.”
His composure finally broke into a smile. “No. I am not.”
Elizabeth laughed. There it was again, the ease she had feared they might never recover, altered perhaps by what had passed between them, but not destroyed by it.
“I was miserable too,” Darcy said.
The simple admission quieted her laughter. Elizabeth knew it already, particularly after meeting Georgiana, but hearing him say it made something inside her settle.
She drew a breath. “Then perhaps we have both suffered enough.”
Darcy looked at her. “I am deeply sorry, Elizabeth. I never intended to hurt you, but I know that does not lessen the hurt I caused. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, and I shall always regret that I allowed my own selfishness and fear of losing you to prevent me from doing so.” His expression tightened slightly.
“You trusted me, and I gave you reason to doubt whether that trust had been deserved. For that, I am more sorry than I can properly express.”
“I forgive you.” Elizabeth said with a smile.
Fitzwilliam Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Elizabeth had expected surprise, perhaps even relief, but the stunned silence which followed suggested that forgiveness, offered so plainly and perhaps so soon, was the one answer for which he had not prepared himself.
Elizabeth raised her brows. “You might acknowledge it, sir. I have been angry with you for nearly a month. The words were not entirely easy to surrender.”
“I scarcely know what to say.” Darcy finally recovered.
“That must be a novel experience.”
He laughed softly, though his eyes remained fixed upon hers. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You are welcome.”
They resumed walking, and Darcy offered his arm. Elizabeth took it without hesitation, settling her hand there with a familiarity which brought back memories of other walks, before secrets had made something difficult of what had once seemed so easy.
“I cannot promise never to be angry about it again,” she said. “And if you ever read another letter belonging to me without permission, I reserve the right to reconsider the whole matter.”
“You shall never have cause.”
“Good.”
They had gone several steps before Darcy spoke again. “Your father has no objection to my renewing my attentions to you.”
Elizabeth turned towards him. So that was what had taken him to the library.
“And what makes you suppose I have no objection?”
Darcy stopped.
Elizabeth maintained her expression for perhaps two seconds before his alarm defeated her. “Mr. Darcy, I sent a letter to Somerset to bring you back to Hertfordshire. Surely even you cannot require greater encouragement than that.”
Relief gave way to amusement. “I was attempting not to presume.”
“So you have said.”
“And you object to my caution?”
“I object to excessive quantities of almost everything.”
“I shall remember it.”
“You had better.”
His arm shifted slightly beneath her hand as they continued towards Longbourn.
Nothing had returned precisely to what it had been before, and Elizabeth found that she no longer wished it to.
What came next would have to be built with greater honesty than what had come before, but for the first time she believed they might manage it.
Darcy was beside her again, and she had chosen to have him there.
For Christmas Day, that was enough.