I was in some consternation about this. Positively nothing about this letter made anything approaching sense.
“Well?” said my aunt again. “What does it say?”
I merely shook my head, speechless. I handed the letter over to her. My uncle put his head close to hers. They both read it.
When they were done, they fixed me with quite confused expressions.
“Lady Catherine is getting on in years,” I said. “Perhaps she is not quite all there these days?”
“Hmm,” said my uncle, looking at the letter. “It seems so. Let’s see that watch, then.”
I reached down for it.
But it had disappeared from my lap.
We looked for it in and around the table for nearly a quarter hour, but it was nowhere to be seen.
After, we talked of nothing but the strange letter and the watch for the entire morning, and all the way to see and tour Pemberley, for that was where we were bound today.
It was at least a distraction from wondering about Mr. Darcy himself, and wondering if I would, in fact, see him today.
Presently, we arrived at Pemberley. After disembarking from our carriage, we began to make our way towards the front door, walking along the lawn, the river at our backs.
I turned and I caught sight of him. There he was, coming up the road from the stables.
We were within twenty yards of each other, and we both stopped, staring at each other, as if we had just been struck by some force.
I had a wave pass through me, a wave of force, and I blinked hard as I staggered forward, because, as I did, memories assailed me. Memories and memories and—oh!
I wavered, hardly able to keep my balance, and I might have swayed over and fallen, but he was there, having rushed to me, and he caught me, steadying me with his strong arms.
I toppled into him, pressing my palms flat into his chest, and I looked up at him, my eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Will,” I breathed.
His eyed widened. “You have just… you called me…?”
I pushed backwards, gesturing behind me nonsensically, as if this mattered. “Just there, when I saw you, it all came back like the rush of a summer storm. I remember.”
“Do you?” he breathed.
I nodded. “I do.”
“You remember all of it?”
“Every single moment,” I said, gasping. “We nearly drowned in the English Channel together, and you have left me alone for months, you blackguard! How could you?” I slammed my palms against him for emphasis.
His expression dissolved into a wondering smile. “Oh, Lizzy, my Lizzy, itisyou.”
“You left me all alone!”
“I… that is not exactly the way of it,” he said.
“What do you mean, yes it is!”
But he was prevented from answering me, for—at that moment—my aunt and uncle intruded upon the conversation in a state of some anxiety, both at my having nearly collapsed and the way that I was still in the circle of Mr. Darcy’s arms with my hands all over his chest. It was necessary then that we break apart for the sake of propriety.
Mr. Darcy, the maddening sort of man he is, started up some conversation with my uncle about fishing of all things, and my aunt was left whispering questions to me about what it was exactly that I had left out in my account of what might have passed between myself and Mr. Darcy when we had both been in Kent, and I sputtered out that he might have proposed to me, and she was aghast.
Then Mr. Darcy asked where we were staying and said he would send for servants to collect our belongings, for we were to stay at Pemberley, with him, as his guests, and he would hear of no protests to the contrary.
