So, when he knocked on the door of her bedchamber that evening, he was aware of the impropriety of it, of the perversity of it, of the intimacy of it. He felt all of those things wrap themselves around him and settle unsteadily to perch within his core, ready to unfurl at a moment’s notice.
She let him in, still wearing the dress she’d worn to dinner, complete with her gloves. “Mr. Darcy, it is you. You did say you would come to see me, I recall.”
“You had forgotten?” It was all he’d thought about, to the point that Georgiana had gotten cross with him because he wasn’t paying attention when she was speaking to him, and he had felt quite ashamed, because the point of all of this was meant to be social opportunities for his sister.
“No, no, not at all.” She smiled. “You are most welcome.” She crossed the room to the wardrobe and opened it up. “The letters are in my trunk. Have a seat at the writing desk and I shall fetch them for you to look at.”
He sat down and he did not watch her bending over to get letters from her trunk. Well, he might have seen her, but then he immediately looked away. His gaze did notlinger. “So, Richard did what? Spirit you off in the night to marry you and then simply left you there and went off to the continent?”
She straightened, holding the letters. “You don’t sound entirely approving.”
He sighed heavily. “You noticed, of course, how long it took him to get around to marrying you. I went to him straight afterour conversation, madam, and I made it very plain that I was not interested in you. I’m sure he told you what I said, and I can’t imagine it ingratiated me to you, but when I said that I thought you were soiled, I wish you to understand that I only wanted to make it very plain to him that he must marry you. I knew it was what you wished. I could see that in your gaze when we spoke.”
She swallowed. “Soiled.”
He groaned softly. “He did not tell you.”
“He tells me very little. And we did not talk overmuch on our wedding night.”
This felt like a blade going in under his ribs and twisting about. He let out a breath, and it almost sounded pained, to his chagrin.
She slapped the letters down on the writing desk in front of him. “What is it about me, sir? Why are you so interested in me?”
His jaw worked. “I am not. I have told you, that is all over between us. We are only amiable. Platonically amiable. If I thought there was something in me that still felt that way, I assure you, I would not come to your bedchamber alone.”
She regarded him, studying his face. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. You are very honorable, are you not, sir?”
“I try to be,” he breathed, and he found he could not hold her gaze. He turned to the letters. “Let us leave this subject. You are married now, and you are his.”
She said nothing.
He glanced at her again.
She was not looking at him anymore, but looking off into the distance, her expression almost pained.
He found he did not wish to speculate on any of this.Yes, you did. You wished to be near her. You found any excuse to be here with her. You cad.He turned to the letters. He pulled out the first one, and began to read it aloud. “‘Dear Eddie, I shall beindebted to you forever, and I know this.’” He looked up at her. “Eddie? That’s Larilane, then.” His name was Edouard.
“Yes, I think so,” agreed Elizabeth.
He went back to the letter. “‘I think you have it in your head that you are my savior, and it is partly my own fault, for perhaps I have seen you that way. I also have known for some time that as the duke’s child grows larger within me, it has pushed you further away.’” He raised his eyebrows. “So, she admits that her child belongs to a duke!”
“Yes, and she mentions Neithern elsewhere, in one of the other letters.” Elizabeth reached over him, her skin close, and he could smell her, and he remembered the way she smelled from being trapped close with her in that shack whilst Wickham’s body moldered outside in the rain… She tapped at the letter, which said,I regret ever informing you that I had eloped with the Duke of Neithern.
“Eloped,” he said, shaking his head. “If they were married, that would mean that you were the legitimate daughter of a duke.”
She bit down on her bottom lip.
“Obviously, you’ve thought of this,” said Mr. Darcy.
“It really wouldn’t mean anything in the end, I don’t suppose,” she said.
“You don’t know that,” said Mr. Darcy, thinking it over. “It could be that the family doesn’t know that you exist and that they might welcome you with open arms when they find you do. Your life could change materially, if so.”
She shook her head. “They know.” She reached down to sort through the letters until she found one which said,I suppose you will think that I ought to be grateful for what you have done but if you think I shall send my sweet child away to live anywhere near the reach of that dreadful man, you have lost all your wits.Then she paged back to the first letter he had been reading fromand pointed out this tidbit,But this child has never been the duke’s, and if you persist in trying to give my own sweet babe back to that monster who spawned him
It cut off there, the sentence unfinished.
Then she pointed to yet another, which read,I can tell you that from the moment I felt my babe quicken in me, I have loved the child. You may say that this is a better path for my babe, but I cannot think I can trust anyone in that family, no matter what they may say.
