The morning was unseasonably cold, though June was at its close. A week of steady rain had altered the familiar pond beside which they sat; veiled in a thick mist, its edges were lost to sight, so that it appeared wider, deeper, almost boundless—as though beyond that grey veil lay not the accustomed landscape, but some unknown world wherein all things might yet be possible.
There was little use in answering his question aloud; the truth was already too plain within her…within them both.
“Let us go to…” Darcy hesitated to complete the sentence, though in those circumstances it was perhaps the only chance they might ever possess.
“To…?” Elizabeth whispered, and instantly a deep flush rose to her cheeks, for she comprehended the meaning of his silence. Had he utteredLet us elope away to…, she would have known at once that he spoke of Gretna Green—the place where two might be married without banns or inquiry. Yet the gentleman, in his delicacy, could not bring himself to askher to elope, though in his heart he longed for nothing more than to journey with her to Scotland and be wed, far from every constraint and expectation, even if it meant dishonour in London, Hertfordshire, or Hampstead for ever.
“The colour upon your cheeks has given me your answer,” he said, a faint smile crossing the sorrow that yet lingered in his countenance; for in all her desperation, Elizabeth placed the promises they had once made above their own happiness.
“We are not the kind of people who go away…who flee, leaving behind…the obligations,” she said softly and delicately, forobligationsimplied leaving behind a lady who had no fault, and a commitment she had taken not so long ago.
“Indeed, I know it.” His voice was grave yet tender. He loved her not only for her beauty and her many accomplishments, but no less fervently for her honesty and the quiet steadfastness of her devotion.
“But…you must leave now,” she said at length, very gently. “Georgiana is waiting for you…to depart for Pemberley.”
“Can we not remain here—just here—for ever?” he asked. “I would wish for nothing more than to sit beside you at the edge of this pond and forget all else.”
“Pray…do not speak so,” she murmured, her voice scarcely rising above the mist itself.
“Forgive me; I am the cause of our unhappiness,” he said in the same low tone. Yet somehow his words lingered in the air longer than they ought, or so it seemed to her troubled spirit.
“We both made mistakes. We must forgive one another,” she replied after a pause, her voice steadier though still touched by sorrow, “and find the strength to go on.”
“And yet I discern no path forward. Not while I am still here, beside you. The world offers no future that does not hold you in it, Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth turned her face away. She, too, could not conceive what lay ahead, save that it must proceed without him. And yet it must proceed; though here, by the shore of that mist-laden pond, no future could clearly be discerned. The anguish of parting pressed heavily upon them both.
“Fare you well,” she whispered. And as she spoke, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips—gently, reverently. Only then did she raise her eyes to his. It was a final look, clouded by tears; but when at last he turned and walked away, the tears she had so long restrained fell freely down her cheeks. The future without him had already begun, and it was empty and cold.
And again she did not feel him return, but saw him only at the last moment, from the corner of her eye, through her tears.
“I detest to see you weep,” he said, making a movement as though he would have wiped her tears, but checked himself with great effort at the last instant. He knew not what might occur if he were to touch her, and he was too honourable to allow any gesture of tenderness to insinuate itself between them.
“I promise it is the last time,” she said with a faint smile, drying her eyes; then, as if aware of the reason for his return, she turned towards him, and he towards her.
“Elizabeth,” he said, and his voice, his countenance, his whole frame seemed to tremble before her beauty. “I have not returned to prolong our suffering, but because there are two things I must tell you. Will you consent to hear me?”
She gazed into his eyes, persuaded that he had come back because he deemed those words of greater importance than the pain their nearness occasioned.
She nodded; so often the words were useless between them.
“In this life, whenever it may be—after a month or after twenty years—should you ever need a friend to aid you in any trial, in whatever place or circumstance, I beg you to come to me.Without regard for what the world may think…without regard for my wife, to whom I shall give all that I am, save only my friendship for you. Do you promise me this?”
Elizabeth paused for a few moments—those moments of thought which might have saved them both, had they come that day in Kent—and she realised that she would indeed do as he asked. She would seek him, she would ask for his help; for when love between them would have softened, there would still remain a great and faithful friendship.
“I promise, Fitzwilliam,” she said calmly and with resolve. Her beauty seemed to gather the very light about her, and he perceived that the few rays of sun which had broken through the clouds seemed to fall solely upon her.
“And the second thing?” she asked.
“The second is only between us. A promise—”
She smiled again, for she knew what he wished to say, and she felt the same.
“Then allow me to make it first.”
He looked at her in astonishment, wondering whether she truly knew his thought, and bowed in assent.
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment; then, opening them with her face radiant with love, she looked deep into his eyes and said, “I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and from this moment I shall never again sayI love youto any other man in this world.”
