His heart lurched at her not knowing that there was no one who mattered to him more. “Especially you.” He was truly sensible of Mrs Darcy’s great worth. He extremely liked her person, no less admired her accomplishments, intelligence, and tender goodness.
No matter how much her looks and words had lit a fire that wantoned through his veins, he had never entertained any thought, in reality, of kissing her. Idle thoughts, certainly, but never did he think in any moment that he might do it—and that she would welcome it. But now, when her expressive eyes were looking at him so tenderly, and she was standing so near, with the sun setting and a few loose curls dancing in the wind, he had never been so tempted or so hopeful that she mightwanthim to kiss her.
He was on the point of leaning down and tilting his head when she turned and said breezily, “Shall we be daring and try to walk another mile? I am pleased to find myself capable of walking so much and with so much satisfaction as I once did.”
The moment, and whatever emotions it held, was gone. Whatever she felt for him, Darcy now knew that he ardently loved her. But unless she felt more for him than respect and admiration—and gave him any hint of that same love—he had best withdraw rather than risk making her unhappy during her final days.
But still he reached for her hand, and his hand—his whole frame—trembled when she returned his grasp. “We can certainly, but please take care, my dear Mrs Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s thoughtswere still full of Mr Darcy while she readied for bed. Both his voice and looks were full of inexpressible tenderness as he spoke the words “my dear Mrs Darcy,” and at the same time, he laid gentle hold on her hand and held it for the rest of their walk. It had struck her, standing in that meadow while he looked at her with his whole attention, how necessary he had become to her.
Not simply a deep affection, or an ardent admiration, but I feel a sincere love that swells my heart and raises my spirits.
She wanted to love Mr Darcy during the short time she had left with him, and wanted him to love her in return. She had never had anyone of her own to love, someone she would not have to eventually relinquish to husbands and families. If only she could be certain that he was as willing to change their arrangement as she was. He was not the sort of man that she had thought would attract her, but with each passing day since Georgiana died, she realised how wrong she was.
He was tall and handsome with luminous dark eyes and a noble mien, and she longed to touch every inch of him. He had a subtle fire of passion and intellect that she was always eager to see push forward beyond his natural reserve. Mr Darcy was unlike any man she had known; he listened to her concerns and opinions, respected her wishes, granted her a great deal of freedom, and he wanted her to be happy in the time she had left.
While they talked in the meadow tonight, she could not precisely read his earnest gaze. It was certainly admiring, but was that as far as Mr Darcy’s interest went? She might have thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him, but he gave her no indication that he would return her embrace. Or, more importantly, her love.She might be nothing more than his sister’s friend in whom he had found an estimable companion. It would put her in such a melancholy state of mind during her final days if he told her he could not love her in return.
There was a knock at the door, and Elizabeth expected the maid. To her surprise, Mr Darcy entered wearing his shirtsleeves and with his cravat discarded, as though he had begun to undress for bed andwandered away in the middle of it. Her spirits were a little fluttered by the sight of him. In a hurried, awkward manner, he began an enquiry after her health.
“Forgive me, I had to know—you retired so soon after our walk, and it seemed quiet in here ... and I hoped you might be asleep, but I had to be certain—you walked far today, and I wanted to know...”
His countenance showed real anxiety. She remembered the evening of the Longbourn ball, the stabbing pain in her chest, the quivering in her hands, and her racing pulse, and how Mr Darcy had entered her chamber to check if she still breathed. She hated the reminder of her impending death, but she could not fault him. She wished they could both forget that she had a fatal disease.
“I have had scarcely more than a prick of pain and breathlessness since we laid Georgiana to rest.” The night they dined at Longbourn was her last paroxysm of heart pain, but it was gone well before they arrived at home. “I am—” She might have said “perfectly well” but that was not truly the case. “I am pleased to find myself capable of activity.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Mr Darcy then looked her up and down and must have noticed she was in her dressing gown, a lawn wrapper over her night shift that none but her sisters or a maid had seen her in. There was a faint hint of pink in his cheeks. “You must, of course, be ready for bed.” He bid her goodnight and turned to the door.
Elizabeth did not want to part from him yet and thought of some reason for him to stay. “I have never been to the Lakes!”
Mr Darcy turned, nonplussed. It made him look quite endearing. She gave a nervous laugh and said, “You wanted me to ask you if there was anything I might like before ... It could be costly so you need not agree, but I have never been to the Lakes.”
He came nearer, and his expression brightened. “You wish to visit the Lake District?”
“I have always wanted to go, but my father never stirred from home. I once travelled with the Gardiners to Bath, but have never been farther from London than that.”
“The Lakes are sublime. You must see them. I am fond of Grasmere, in particular. You would be happy there in the summer with thegleams of sunshine, the stirring trees, and the cheerful lake.” He gave a rueful smile. “I imagine you would spend your days traipsing the countryside and admiring every picturesque scene, and then demanding that after dinner we walk all the way to Ambleside.”
His tone about her activeness was not quite approving. While his care was appreciated, she did not want to hear a word about her heart. It seemed to validate her decision to not tell her mother or Jane and risk their feeling overwrought, and suffering their constant insistence that she rest. “You would truly allow me to go?”
His smiling countenance shuttered, and he even took a step back. “Of course. You know I am not the sort of husband to tyrannise you or restrict you. You are a married woman and can travel as you like.” He looked anywhere but at her. “Perhaps Lydia would be an amiable travel companion. I shall arrange everything to your liking.”
Mr Darcy was at the door when she realised her blunder. “Wait! You mistake me, entirely mistake me!” He stopped but did not turn. She took a few steps toward him. “I am sorry, but you misunderstand me.” He turned to face her. “I did not mean that I wish to go without you. I was surprised that you would allow me to go at all because you worry I will strain my heart and it will hasten my death.”
“You do not like my mentioning your illness, but if you want to see the Lakes, I have nothing to say against it.”
Mr Darcy’s manner was less assured than he was before, and Elizabeth was afraid that he would leave the room without understanding what he meant to her. “I also thought that you might not wish to travel because it means that you must tell people you are back in England and travelling with your wife.”
“I have no concern about that, either. I was uncertain whether you wished to spend”—he sighed—“what is likely to be your final days in only my company.”
He looked at her as though he wanted to believe her but could not bring himself to trust in it. She hoped her expression returned the same thought of affection and desire that was strengthening in her. Whatever he saw in her countenance, he came nearer, and although he stayed silent, the intensity of his gaze never wavered.
“I want to go to the Lakes withyou,” she cried. “But I want to keepwhat sense of a normal existence as far as I can, and I do not need your reminders about how short that is. An active life might hasten my end, but my end is upon me regardless. Do not speak of my heart or my death again. Promise me?” She needed Mr Darcy to see her as alive and whole. “Promise!” He managed a nod but was still silent. “I want to go to the Lake Districtwith you. I cannot imagine spending my final days with anyone but you.”
Mr Darcy’s reply, to her astonishment, was to reach his hand around her to clasp the base of her head and press a short, but eager kiss to her lips.
His hand fell away quickly, and he then took two steps backward with a look of shock on his face.His kiss was an impulse, an intimate act rising from feeling rather than rational deliberation.Elizabeth needed Darcy to know that she ardently wished for the same thing before he felt he had done wrong—that he had disrespected her—and left.
