“Have you heard from your aunt Gardiner yet?” he asked to dispel the silent awkwardness. “I know she is dear to you. You mentioned not long ago that you have been wanting a letter from her.”
She touched her pile of letters and shook her head. “I have not had a reply to my letter mentioning my marriage. The last I received was in reply to all the news of leaving Jane and returning to Longbourn this spring. I wrote to her in the middle of May, so I can expect her answer to my news soon, I hope.”
She had answered civilly, but without looking up. Darcy realised Elizabeth feared she may die before she heard from her aunt again. He wanted to reassure her, or comfort her, but he had promised not to acknowledge her weakening heart.
He noticed that she had blank sheets and two sharpened quills ready to use. She had yet to begin, and she had a faraway look. He felt desperate to distract her from whatever she was suffering from, but there seemed an embargo on every subject.
He finally settled on asking, rather dully, “May I borrow your penknife?”
She started, then stretched her arm across the table, and when he reached for the knife, their fingertips touched. Elizabeth shivered and pulled away. He wondered if it was from revulsion or, as it was on his part, a powerful flame of desire that he wanted to abandon himself over to. He could not confess that he denied them that night because he feared to strain her heart, not when all she wanted was to forget how ill she was, and certainly not when she kept her promise not to ask him any questions.
And if she forgave me enough to understand my reticence, she would argue me out of my opinion that nothing was worth straining her weak heart.
They shared a long, silent look before he thanked her for the knife. Unable to think of another subject, he mended his pen and wrote to arrange their stay at Grasmere. He knew that he wrote slowly, but Elizabeth remained at the table.
“May I ask, if it is not too forward, why do you look pensive?”How he hated to be so reserved around her again. He handed her penknife back. “Have you had news that distresses you?”
Elizabeth put the knife away, picked up a letter, and absently turned it over. “This came two days ago. My sister is in that way again.”
“Jane?” he asked—rather foolishly, he realised, since her other married sisters were already due to have children by the end of the year. She nodded and gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Shall we send her any baby clothes?”
“This child will be her fifth. She has everything that could be needed by an infant.”
Jane married at fifteen; at this rate, she would be worn out before she was thirty. Elizabeth looked miserable, but he could hardly ask if she agreed with his assessment. He and his wife may be estranged after what happened—after what hadnothappened—but he still wanted to ease her sorrows. “Mrs Darcy, what think you of her news?”
He saw the unshed tears in her eyes and how she swallowed thickly. “A new little niece or nephew is a blessing.” How he wished that had beenhisfirst thought when he learnt his sister expected a baby, rather than after he had laid eyes on his nephew and it was too late. “I admit to being surprised that she is breeding again so soon, but the good news makes me feel deeply every hour the blessings I have been granted.”
The words “in the time I have remaining” were unsaid at the end of that statement. He asked, in a soft voice, “Then why does her letter make you cry?”
She bit her lip, and a tear fell, but she did not look away from him. “Iwould like to have known the pleasure and hope in attending upon my own healthy infant.”
So did he, in that moment, for the first time in his life, and he wanted it with her. Darcy wanted to love her, and he wanted a child with her, but she would be in her grave before the summer was out. He passed her a handkerchief, and she gave him a determined look. She would accept the handkerchief, but not his comfort or his pity.She was determined to be strong and happy.
Mr Jones had made it clear she was to die regardless of exertion,but Darcy would do nothing to hasten her death. He was deeply attached to her, he ardently admired her, but the thing they both wanted was the one thing he could not grant her.
He strove to distract her from crying. “Let us walk to Meryton. I can post these letters, and you can see if a letter has arrived from the Canadas.”
She gave him a confused look. “You must feel tired; you already rode this morning.”
What he felt was that he would do anything for her, but the truth about his rank and wealth, and his inability to truly comfort her kept him from admitting that. “You are fearless and active, Mrs Darcy, but I daresay I can keep pace with you. Shall we?”
Darcy’s expressionwas that of a man accustomed to hearing the word “yes,” but he had the self-discipline to ask the question politely and await the answer. It was so at odds with a steward with a small legacy who altogether might have seven hundred a year.
She knew what he was doing. Darcy could not see her suffer without the desire of giving her relief, and was attempting to distract her from it. For weeks he had been more mindful of her feelings, and he had promised to not speak of her impending death. He clearly wished for a return to their more congenial relationship after the embarrassment of the last few days.
I must make some effort to engage with him.He was attempting to be pleasant and considerate of her, after all. “Yes, I should like to take a walk.”
In the days since his rejection, he had not come within an arm’s reach of her. When their fingers touched when he borrowed her penknife, he did not so much as blink, but Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her spine before disappointment took its place. That passion that had formerly—briefly—been so exquisite became now a punishment.
I shall resist it with my utmost force.Darcy was still a good man, one she loved—but she was only respected in return.
She could not contemplate his affectionate heart without bothpleasure and pain. That he was unmercifully handsome was bad enough. That he was devoted to his family was a further punishment. That he was a respectable man who excelled in his profession caused her vexation. That he esteemed her was terribly cruel, because Darcy did not esteem her enough to satisfy all of her feelings.
However, it was insensible to be captious because he cared for her, but not enough to love her. She did not have the luxury of time to harbour resentment and wounded feelings.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Well, you are free to move about England now,” Elizabeth said as they walked the lane to Meryton. “Do you intend to make yourself known in London and leave your card for all of your acquaintance to announce your return to society?”
