Saying that made Elizabeth think of the time. Kissing Georgiana’s hand, she bid her goodbye and promised to see her again in the morning.
When she looked up, Georgiana’s eyes were fixed on her.
Chapter 23
Darcy walked along the muddy track between two farms. Five miles ahead was a stone farmhouse belonging to Mr. Grint. Behind him, nestled in the trees on the edge of Pemberley, was Mr. Barber’s dairy farm.
The farmers had a dispute which had to be resolved before the thaw turned miles of farmland into a quagmire. They refused to let any works be done on their fields until the ‘masters’ picked a side.
Mr. Grint refused to let Mr. Barber use a cool, clear brook for his cattle to drink in the summer, when Barber’s pond dried up. In response, Barber refused to let Grint cross his land for any reason. Unfortunately, Grint’s only trail to the main road crossed Barber’s lower field. There had been some waving of pitchforks, Darcy heard. The issue was that Barber was on the Pemberley estate, and Grint was not. Darcy could not simply wade in and force a compromise, and neither could Mr. Eddard.
Their borders twisted and turned along the path of an ancient, dried up river. Disputes between farmers were common, solutions hard to come by alone. That waswithoutthe added issue with the drainage, which turned out to be far more complicated than either Darcy or Eddard had realised.
Today was a petty dispute, and with Eddard’s approval Darcy had come with a firm resolution. He knew himself to be far more stubborn than his neighbour and had offered to be the one to bring the news to the farmers. Eddard would have felt uncomfortable with the inevitable shouting, but Darcy did not mind. It was a simple battle, and he knew he would win.
He could have ridden his horse. Darcy realised that after his boot caught on a frozen clump of mud which sent him sprawling. He would have been there half an hour ago, and possibly already heading back to Satie House. Why hadn’t he?
The wind made the tree branches click and rustle overhead. Darcy looked up and thought of gentle snowflakes. He thought of Elizabeth, her sweet smile and her cold pink cheeks. He thought about the way he had seen her breaths in the icy air, and the way she had laughed when she slipped on a puddle.
He thought about kissing her.
Thatwas why he was walking. It made him feel closer to Elizabeth. He could remember every step they had taken together. A thousand, perhaps, when they were strangers. A few thousand more as awkward companions. There were only a few hundred steps in his favourite walk, but when he closed his eyes, he could remember every one of them.
It was not wise to close his eyes on this road. Darcy shook himself out of his reverie and forced himself to speed up. The sooner he finished sorting things out with Eddard, the sooner he could go home.
Darcy had thought he might have a chance to go home for a night. He longed to see the expression on Elizabeth’s face when he surprised her. It was impossible. Even though the estates were not so very far apart as to prevent travel, his work wastaking up every hour from sunrise until sunset. He always returned home in the evenings chilled to the bone and irritable. It was his own fault, he knew: many of the issues were ones which he missed because he was away for so long. Small cracks had become deep chasms, and they needed a lot more work than he anticipated.
The point in hand was that a cold, tired, cranky Fitzwilliam Darcy was terrible company, and that Elizabeth deserved better.
Darcy also suspected that his wife would be made uneasy by an abrupt, fleeting visit. It would put a certain amount of pressure on her shoulders, and he hated the idea of making her uncomfortable.
He had asked to speak to her on their return. She had agreed, and the husky note in her voice had made his blood heat in his veins. Shemusthave known what she was doing to him. Hadn’t her eyes sought him out all evening? And she had worn that dress (that dress!)which made her look like a summer morning and a stolen embrace and a sweet smile all at the same time.
Darcy was not much given to poetry but thought of unsettling things as a series of images. These were often incomprehensible, even to himself. When first meeting Caroline Bingley, his mind had helpfully shown him a sour lemon, a portion of oysters and a yipping terrier wearing a fashionable hat. Elizabeth, while just as unsettling, produced much more pleasant thoughts.
Elizabeth did itdeliberately.
Curse Eddard and his lamentable timing! And curse his own efficiency! He could have easily delayed his visit for a few days. Even a few morehours…
Darcy shook himself out of that thought as well, for it wasn’t fair. He could not work out his frustration at Eddard’s expense. Theman was shy and sometimes unobliging, but Darcy knew him to be a good sort. The work needed to be done, and Darcy was glad to do it. He had long felt guilty for neglecting the farms and knew that he needed to rebuild his relationship with Eddard, too. The old man had been surly when Darcy inherited Pemberley and had slowly warmed to him over the years. It was nice to return and see that his drunkenness had not completely eroded that spindly bridge.
What good would a few more hours in Pemberley have done? Or even a few days?
He would have taken Elizabeth into his bed that night. Darcy was sure of it. Another hour in her presence and he would have been hopelessly lost. Every minute that passed made his body coil more, like a spring aching to be loosed. He had taken her hands at the end of the meal to tell her that he was going away, and by God he didn’t want to let go. He wanted to pull her into his arms. To take her that night, in his room where they were so happy, or in her room, or perhaps even right there, on the dining room table. His thoughts ran wild.
Had Elizabeth felt his heartbeat thudding in his hands?
I was hoping we could talk tonight.
That was nearly his undoing. She said it so innocently, and Darcy was feeling anything but.
Yes, he could go home. Eddard could go hang. If he risked the icy roads, he could be in Pemberley in a few hours. He could sweep Elizabeth into his arms and make her his true wife again and again until the fire in his blood was finally sated.
For a few indulgent nights Darcy allowed himself that daydream, but in the daylight, he thought himself a selfish fool.
He did not want a few stolen hours. He did not just long for Elizabeth, helovedher. The contradictory urge to protect herfromhis love was both baffling and irrefutable to Darcy. He knew himself to be stubborn and implacable - both qualities which did not befit a husband trying to love his innocent wife. It was vital that they spend time together - a great deal of time - and that he was patient and gentle, for Darcy thought himself likely to scare her. Elizabeth shrank away from his angry outbursts when they fought; how much more would she fear his passion?
Darcy had promised not to seduce Elizabeth. She had not made the same promise to him. Darcy had never been seduced before by anyone who was not simply flattering him, and had no notion of how being teased fit into it, but he had to admit that her approach was effective.
