Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

  The situation was untenable, but she could not imagine discussing it with her husband after the debacle of their first conversation. Finally, when she retired after supper complaining of a headache, she decided to take pen to paper. At least this way she would not have to witness his reaction to her questions.

  She wrote two drafts before she was satisfied her words were

  neutral enough, then recopied it yet again after tears stained her fair copy. She crumpled the early drafts and tossed them on the fire; it would not do for Lucy or one of the chambermaids to find them. She read through the final version one last time.

  Although you said you did not want my gratitude, you have it in any case as well as my deep appreciation that you would take on the burden and mortification to help my poor sister. It was an act of charity on your part, by no means deserved by the recipients, but you have my heartfelt thanks as well as my regret and apologies to have ever brought this situation upon you.

  It was not my gratitude which caused me to be glad to see you today any more than it was gratitude that made me pray desperately for you when you were missing or that kept me by your bedside during your illness, at least until such a time as you made your wishes for my absence known. I understand fully that my late-blooming affection and admiration are unwelcome to you. I cannot say I deserve anything more after my poor judgement and unkind behaviour.

  My purpose in writing to you is to request direction as to how I may least impinge upon your peace of mind given our awkward circumstances. I have misjudged your desires in the past and have no wish to do so again, nor to force my company on you. Therefore, I would ask your guidance as to the extent to which you wish me to participate in your house hold or even if you would prefer me to absent myself from Pemberley. My only wish is for your comfort and happiness, and you may be assured I will follow your instructions in every particular.

  I will await your direction. If it is of importance to you in coming to a decision, it is my belief that I am presently with child.

  You need not be alarmed that I will make a habit of forcing my sentiments upon you, but on this one occasion, I will take the liberty to sign myself,

  Your loving wife,

  Elizabeth Darcy

  It might be better to leave out the final part, but she feared she might never have another chance to tell him of her feelings. It would likely be unwelcome to him now, but perhaps some day, he might recall it with more fondness. Or perhaps that was no more than wishful thinking.

  She folded the letter carefully and dripped hot wax to form a seal, blowing across it to cool it more quickly. If he received it tonight, it would be that much less time before she had an answer and an end to this terrible uncertainty.

  She was in luck; Darcy had not yet retired, so she was able to give the letter to Ferguson with instructions to deliver it personally to her husband when he came upstairs. Now all she could do was wait. She doubted she would sleep tonight, so she settled herself in the window seat, a book beside her which she could pretend to be reading if Lucy reappeared.

  ***

  Hours later, the candle long since burnt out, Elizabeth started when a peremptory knock sounded at the adjoining door. Without waiting for an invitation, Darcy opened the door and strode in. He stopped in the middle of the room as if allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Her letter was in his hand.

  His countenance bespoke disturbance, if not anger. He approached her as she sat in the window seat, holding her letter as if it were a weapon. "What means this, madam?"

  She looked up at him, tracing his features with her eyes. If only she had recognised her feelings for him earlier, she might have been allowed to caress them with her fingers, to feel the warmth of his skin. But it was not to be. "Exactly what it says."

  "Do you wish to establish yourself elsewhere?"

  She dropped her eyes. So it was to be exile from him. "If that is what you wish."

  He placed one booted foot on the window seat, leaning closer to her. "I asked what you wish."

  She leaned her head back against the carved wood. "If all else is equal, I would prefer to remain here."

  "And you are with child?" There was no warmth in his tone.

  "I believe so. I am not yet certain."

  He spun away and crossed to the bed, throwing the letter upon it. "Elizabeth, I will not mistreat you or indeed treat you with less than respect. You need do nothing to please me in order to earn that. I pray you, in future, do not torment me by pretending to sentiments you do not possess. I would rather have your honest dislike."

  "There was no pretence in my letter. I would never lie about my affection for someone."

  "Indeed? It seems to me you did little else during the first months of our marriage." There was a world of bitterness in his voice.

  She pressed her fingertips against the cool glass. They would leave a mark that would have to be cleaned in the morning. "I did not lie to you about my feelings. I chose not to contradict your assumptions. There is a difference."

  "To you, perhaps. Whether you deceived me or whether you allowed me to deceive myself does not change the outcome for me. Good night, madam."

  "Wait!" She rose to her feet and caught his arm. As he turned back to look at her, she caught a hint of a haunted look in his eyes. She could not resist the urge to tuck back his stray lock of hair and let her fingers rest afterwards on his cheek. It had been so long since she had touched him. "Fitzwilliam, I will not quarrel with you. It was unconscionable of me to deceive you, but I could find no other option. I will not deceive you now."

  "You cannot change your feelings as you would your gloves. Please, Elizabeth." It was as if he were torn between staying and departing.

  "If there is one thing of which you cannot accuse me, sir, it is of learning to love you too quickly." She caressed the line of his jaw.

  Her teasing tone must have gone amiss, because his counte nance turned grim again. "Do not speak to me of love, Elizabeth. If you no longer hold the past against me, I am satisfied. No more is needed."

  "So you do not believe me when I speak of caring."

  He crossed his arms. "No, madam, I do not."

  She could find no warmth in him now, no sign of love, no trace of desire, even though they were alone in her room and she wore nothing but a summer nightgown. Apparently, he had lost interest in that aspect of her as well.

  She knew then that nothing she could say would convince him, perhaps because he did not trust her or perhaps because he did not want her love. She looked into his implacably distant eyes. So, it was beyond repair. All she could do was learn to live with a love that would never be returned and the knowledge of the opportunity she had lost. Perhaps someday it would no longer hurt as it did now.

  "Then I will not trouble you with sentiments you do not wish to hear." She tried to speak lightly, but her voice began to shake. Choosing retreat over a rout, she returned to the window seat where she had an excuse to look away from him.

  The sound of the door opening and closing again told her he had departed. Exhausted, she lowered her face into her arms and wept.

  ***

  What Darcy needed was a gallop over the countryside, but unfortunately, that would have to wait until morning. Not that first light was far off; he had stayed downstairs until quite late, since he did not wish to think long before he fell asleep, not with Elizabeth in bed just beyond the sitting room. Instead, he had found her letter and confronted her, and now he prowled his room like a wounded tiger, full of rage and helplessness.

  He tried to find excuses for her behaviour. Women with child were often moody and prone to strange reasoning, were they not? He should not have spoken so coldly to her on his return, but he could not bear the happiness on her face when she saw him, knowing it was not for him. Perhaps she had sought to please him by that incomprehensible letter, not realising how much more it would hurt him to raise his hopes again.

  But was it possible she meant what she had said? He quashed the
voice inside which wanted to believe her. There was no point in even considering it. His goal was a civil friendship which would allow them both to survive this mockery of a marriage. Tonight that objective seemed a distant one.

  What had she said? That she had worried about him when he was ill? When he had finally awoken from his illness, she was nowhere to be found. Hardly the action of a devoted wife. Certainly there had been fever dreams where she had been present, placing cool cloths on his forehead and holding his hand, but that had been wishful thinking. The doubting voice spoke up again. If only he could shut his ears to it!

  Ferguson emerged from the dressing room with Darcy's night shirt and gown. The valet moved silently and efficiently as he performed the nightly rituals, turning down the bed and hanging up the topcoat and waistcoat Darcy had abandoned over the back of a chair. Darcy stopped pacing long enough to allow Ferguson to remove his boots, but his thoughts would not stop.

  "Ferguson?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "When I was ill, did Mrs. Darcy attend to me?" Here would be his proof to quiet the inner voice. Darcy stripped off his shirt and handed it to Ferguson.

  "Quite constantly, sir. She was here day and night while you were the most ill. She was a most devoted nurse." Ferguson folded the shirt with the utmost care. "Until you told her to leave, that is, sir."

  Darcy rounded on his valet with a temper not often shown to his servants. "I never told her to leave."

  "As you say, sir." Ferguson disappeared with the shirt and boots into the dressing room.

  No. It made no sense. Darcy strode to the dressing room. "What do you mean I told her to leave? Did she tell you that?"

  "No, sir; I was present on the occasion. It was the day your fever broke." Ferguson knelt and began polishing one of Darcy's boots with a soft cloth, as if there were nothing unusual about this conversation, as if nothing depended on it.

  Darcy gritted his teeth. "What did I say?"

  "I cannot recall your exact words, but it was to the effect that you wished her gone and wanted nothing further to do with her and that she should trouble you no more. You did not seem confused at the time. No doubt it is an effect of the laudanum that you do not recall it."

  "Damned laudanum. Never let them give it to me again." Darcy gripped the doorframe until his hand hurt. "What did Mrs. Darcy do?"

  "I am sure I could not say." Ferguson busied himself checking the gleam of the leather then switched to the second boot.

  "Ferguson, I am damned sure you can say and that you have been eagerly anticipating the opportunity to do so. Tell me now."

  "As you wish, sir. I believe she wept a little and asked if you meant it; then, on your affirmation, she left. She did not return for several days, although she instructed me to inform her as to your condition every few hours. She mostly kept to her rooms, except when she was visiting tenants."

  "Visiting tenants!?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Damn Ferguson and his attempts to manage him. Darcy went to his desk and hunted for Elizabeth's letter, then remembered he had left it in her room. Damn the letter, too. He needed to know exactly what it said.

  ***

  Elizabeth awoke to a sensation of movement and warmth. "What is it?" she murmured, still half-asleep.

  "Shh, Elizabeth. You fell asleep in the window seat, and I am taking you to your bed." It sounded like Darcy's voice, but it could not be, for it was gentle and calm. Perhaps it was a dream, with the warmth of his arms supporting her and her head resting on his shoulder, but it was a sweet dream.

  The warmth disappeared, replaced by the coolness of the bedsheets. She opened her eyes to see her husband, clad only in his nightshirt, leaning over her. "Fitzwilliam? What brings you here?"

  "Go back to sleep. We can talk in the morning." He bent down to kiss her lightly.

  She might be dreaming, but she did not want him to leave, not when he was being kind to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer to kiss him once more. He seemed willing to cooperate, his lips meeting hers slowly and gently. The contact was such a comfort that her arms tightened around him, and he responded by teasing her lips apart for the deep, disturbingly pleasant kisses she remembered so well.

  It was several minutes before he disentangled himself, and by that time he was breathing heavily. "Elizabeth, I am only human. You are half-asleep and know not what you do."

  She would not dream his withdrawal. Elizabeth shook her head to drive off the last vestiges of sleep. "I assure you, sir, I am quite awake. Was there something you wanted?"

  His mouth twisted and he took a moment before answering. "I came to apologise to you, both for my anger and for something I apparently said while under the influence of laudanum. It always makes me see things that are not there and confuses me as to what is real. That is why I detest it so."

  It felt like an odd reversal of his illness; this time, she was the one lying in bed while he sat on the edge beside her. "I am not certain of your meaning, sir."

  "Ferguson tells me I sent you away. I assure you, had I been in my right mind, I would never have done so."

  "Oh." She wondered whether he meant he would not have thought it or would have been too polite to say it. "I hope my presence was not disturbing to you."

  "Not at all. Ferguson tells me you were a devoted nurse."

  He was not making it easy for her to follow her promise to keep her feelings about him to herself. "I was worried about you."

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Thank you."

  Was there tenderness in his eyes, or was she only seeing what she wished to see? Shakily, she said, "I am glad you are well again and home safe."

  He hesitated. "And you are with child?"

  Her lips turned up with amusement. "My answer to that has not changed since the last time you asked me it."

  "Sometimes I am a slow learner." Slowly, as if he expected her to stop him, he placed his hand on the swell of her waist.

  Though his fingers but rested there, the heat of his touch ran deep within her. Her lips tingled. "There has not been much change as yet."

  "Not much, but perhaps a greater fullness." His consid eration of her body was oddly intimate. His eyes swung to meet hers, then, with a fluid motion, he bent down to kiss her again. His lips lingered only briefly, then he sat up again. "Sleep well, Elizabeth."

  "Good night," she whispered to his retreating back.

  Chapter 15

  LUCY HAD ALREADY REMINDED Elizabeth twice that morning to eat her breakfast, but her efforts were in vain. This time Elizabeth's difficulties were not owing to distress. Rather, it was memories of the previous night that distracted her.

  Darcy's behaviour mystified her. First quarrelsome and uninterested, then warm and apparently no longer indifferent. But even then he had made no attempt to stay with her, though he could not have thought she would object. The memory of his kiss made her lips tingle.

  As difficult as she found it to ascertain her husband's thoughts, one thing seemed clear: he was as confused as she, though by what she could not guess. Even if part of him was angry with her, another part still maintained his attachment, it seemed. The question was what she should do about it.

  She recalled the warmth of his arms around her. When they were first wed, it was an everyday occurrence. He had spent time with her then, tried to engage her interest in her new home, offered her parts of his life to share. It made her heartsick to think how little it had meant to her at the time and how much it would mean to her now! If only she had put aside her prejudices and allowed herself to see his good points sooner!

  But regret for the past would not help. What she needed to remember now was that she had seen the old look in his eye again last night. If those feelings for her still existed in him, surely there must be something she could do to strengthen them. Hiding in her room was not the answer.

  "Lucy, I believe I will have breakfast downstairs today."

  "Yes, madam." Lucy gave her a
distrusting look but picked up the tray and took it away.

  Elizabeth searched through her jewelry box and found the necklace he had given her shortly after their quarrel. She fastened it around her neck, the cold metal of the pendant warming gradually against her skin. She would wear her blue dress, the one Darcy had liked so much. In the mirror, she tried out a teasing smile.

  Yes. If it could be done, she would win his affections back.

  ***

  For at least the tenth time, Darcy tore his thoughts away from what it had felt like to carry Elizabeth in his arms, her light summer nightgown failing to disguise the fact that she wore nothing under it. His steward was saying something, and again, he had missed it completely.