Chapter 71
It was two days later, and Elizabeth sat with her husband in the Pemberley library for the second day in succession.
She had a small pile of books on the table beside her and felt safely enclosed in one of the vast library chairs with its high wingback shielding her from the draughts, and cocooning her in the warmth from the fire.
Opposite, Mr Darcy sat in the other of the pair, an open book on his lap, although she noticed that his gaze often rose to her as they sat in quiet companionship.
She dropped her own eyes to the open book she had leaning on the arm of the chair, but she could not say with any certainty what she had just read.
He was having the same difficulty, she noticed, with some little amusement, and then that amusement vanished as she saw his fingers rise absently to his watch chain and begin to rub the gold ring suspended near the seal.
Gold, polished to a bright yellow, so he must reach for it often, and what looked like a central row of tiny stones. Were they diamonds?
Elizabeth swallowed heavily. Her mind flew back to that last day here at Pemberley.
Her twenty-first birthday; and that walk along the terrace when she had first seen that very ring on his watch chain.
She remembered her understanding then. He had another lady he had wanted to marry.
And it was then she had known she must leave.
A sob burst from her before she could contain it, and within a moment he was kneeling before her. “Elizabeth!” His concern was evident.
She turned her head away, and blinked furiously. She must get control of herself. She wanted to say ‘it is nothing’, but that might shatter the fragile accord they were building — and Aunt Gardiner had been insistent that the way together would need many honest conversations.
She turned back to him, and forced a smile, shaking her head. “I am sorry. I was just … just reminded of … something.” Although how could she start that conversation?
“Something?” His voice was impossibly gentle.
“Yes. I need … I do need to ask you.” She knew she sounded hesitant.
Mr Darcy reached for her hands. “Here, or shall we take the sofa in the small parlour?”
She glanced around. Of course, it was a very masculine library. Many chairs, but none where you could sit close to another, and no sofa.
“Perhaps the parlour would be better.” She swallowed. “For your knees.” But would the moment have passed by the time they had got there?
But she had underestimated his efficient manner. Within a few moments, he sat beside her on the sofa, not too close, there was a fresh tray of tea on the table, and the door was closed.
Mr Darcy — Mr Darcy! — poured her tea. “Should I add sugar just this once, Elizabeth?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.” He handed her the cup of tea and waited patiently until she had taken a few sips and returned the cup to the table.
“What happened, dearest Elizabeth? I would not have you distressed a single moment.”
She allowed a slight smile. She had sat beside him three days together in the coach journey to Pemberley, but this, sitting beside him on the sofa, seemed extraordinarily intimate. And, with a sudden knowledge, she knew she wanted this.
No. There was a ring; another lady. She must know. Taking a deep breath, she began the words that might forever ruin everything for her.
“I just saw … saw you touching the ring. The one on your watch chain. I … I saw it that day. On the terrace. My birthday. I think — thought there must be another lady you had intended to marry, and marrying me had prevented you from being happy, and so I had to leave, you would never want to make it … make us … work.” She was sobbing now, and somehow in his embrace.
How had she come to be in his arms? But she knew it was where she was meant to be.
His hand came up and stroked her hair, quietly, soothingly, infinitely patient, until she could control herself, nestled safely close to him. Eventually, she pushed herself upright, rather unsteadily, and instantly he dropped his arms from her … those bothersome promises!
“Feel a little better?” His eyes were very sad. She nodded.
“Thank you, yes.”
Beside her, he reached for his watch and chain and took it from the securing buttonhole. For the first time she could see that as well as his seal and that ring, there was another ring beside it. A cheap, brassy gold ring, familiar from months on her finger. She could not lift her eyes to his face.
“Elizabeth. There has never been another woman that I wished to marry. Never.”
“Never?” she breathed.
“Never,” he said firmly. “This was my mother’s wedding ring, and I kept it safely, always intending it for my bride.
” He reached for her hand. “I am angry on your behalf that my temper got the better of me, having to marry because of the scandal, and I could not bring myself to make my vows with my mother’s ring.
I shall never forgive myself for the disrespect I showed you by using the cheap one. ”
She could look up at him now, hope in her heart.
“One day, Elizabeth, one day, when you are ready, I will make those vows to you again — alone here with you, or in church, whichever you want. And I will place this ring on your finger, and mean every word of those vows for as long as I live.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “And this one?” She touched the plain, brassy ring.
“That one will stay right here, near my heart, and remind me what I did to you, and what I owe you, dearest Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth reached shakily for her teacup and sipped the lukewarm drink, while she tried to calm herself to think properly. Then she leaned over and rested her head against his shoulder, knowing he needed this sign that she was not set against him. “Thank you. For explaining.”
“Might I show you one thing more?”
She nodded, wondering what might be so important. He opened his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, opening the left side. She saw a pocket, sewn onto the inside.
“I have a special pocket sewn into all my waistcoats now, Elizabeth. It is so I may keep one or two precious or important items next to my heart. The rings are on my watch chain, but in here — in here, I keep the letter you wrote. It reminds me to never again be the cause of such anguish to you.”
He reached into the pocket. “And also …” he drew out a folded white item.
Elizabeth frowned. It looked like a lady’s handkerchief.
Then she recognised it, and her hand went to her mouth. It was a folded lady’s handkerchief, a sprig of lavender tucked within the folds. And a faint stain. She reached out and he surrendered it to her.
“It was the only part of you that I had to sustain me after Netherfield up until now; the handkerchief you used on my wound. Richard has told me that, even in those first, confused hours, I would not settle unless I was holding it. Even then, Elizabeth, even then, some part of me must have known.” He wrapped his hands around hers, which held the scrap of fabric.
“And that handkerchief has accompanied me ever since. It has helped me never lose hope that one day, we should be together again.” He leaned forward and his forehead touched hers. “And here we are.”
Elizabeth attempted to calm her racing thoughts and tried to settle on the right words to use.
“I am happy it has helped you. I think I might … no, I believe I should return to the dower house and have a quiet evening.” She needed that time to think.
“Of course, Elizabeth. I will call the gig for you, the dusk is drawing in.”