Page 169 of The Mistress of All & Torn

It was a good excuse for her to read the letter from Darcy with his instructions that he had offered her weeks before in London.

Her longing for him was so powerful that it turned into shame and guilt and kept her away from Lady Kendal and Philip.

Could she consider breaking her engagement? She admitted the temptation to elope with Darcy was frightening, even if it would ruin so many lives forever. She was appalled to realise that she had considered it, if only for a moment.

The following day she received no messages from either Georgiana or Anne, but she assumed they were all busy with Darcy’s journey. She took Mary to visit their family, secretly hoping she would meet Darcy again, but she was disappointed. She even wondered if she could dare call on Georgiana briefly, but she was too embarrassed to make such a bold gesture.

Eventually, she returned home, pretending she wished to take a nap. During dinner, she ate little. With every moment, she was painfully aware that it was Darcy’s last night in Brighton. Starting the next morning, he would be nowhere she would be able to see him.

She barely engaged in any conversation. Mary was in the middle of a debate with Philip and they were laughing, asking for Elizabeth’s opinion. She had to apologise for wool-gathering but was not oblivious to the meaningful glances exchanged by her betrothed and his grandmother. The evening progressed with increasing distress for Elizabeth, but she was reluctant to retire to her room before the others.

At Philip’s request, she played the pianoforte, then Mary followed her. Afterwards, they played cards. Every moment, her mind was flying to the place where Darcy was, imagining him alone in his chamber, preparing for his journey. For his escape.

Later than usual, Philip and Lady Kendal retired, so Elizabeth was free to go to her chamber. Mary said good night as well, and Elizabeth closed her door.

Once alone, she opened the balcony doors wide, then sat on a chair in front of them, staring out.

No breeze was blowing, and the air was suffocating. Elizabeth breathed deeply but the weight on her chest was as oppressive as the heat. The room seemed smaller than usual. She felt thirsty, but even two glasses of water did not quench her thirst.

Eventually, she escaped down the stairs, careful to make no noise as she closed the door behind her. Without a sound, she unlocked the door to the terrace and hurried along the path through the garden until she reached the beach. Only then, in the open air, did she feel uncaged.

The moon and the stars lit up the night sky and were mirrored in the still water. The stark beauty added further to her grief. What good was such perfection if there was nobody to share it with?

No, she was being unfair. There was someone to share it with, but not the one she desired. With him, with Darcy, she would have no chance to share anything more, to do anything, to enjoy anything. He was the only man in the world she longed for, but she had realised her desires too late.

The house was far behind her but still in sight. Elizabeth walked along the shore, then to the trees behind the beach.

She paced from the trees to the water and back, oblivious to her surroundings.

The sound of steps coming from the grove alarmed Elizabeth. The trees concealed the rider, and she considered running back to the cottage, but the moonlight revealed she had no reason to fear.

She brought her palm to her mouth, covering a cry, as he approached.

When he spied her, no words were spoken until they were only inches apart.

“You are here…” she whispered.

“I am.”

“Why? Are you not leaving?”

“I will. Tomorrow. Unless you wish otherwise.”

The statement shattered her. “How could I dare express a different wish from yesterday? It pains me to know that you came all the way here only to hear that.”

“I came hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Speak to you for only a moment.”

“But how did you know I would be here? I only left on a whim.”

“I did not know. I only wished to be somewhere near you. Perhaps I prayed you would take a night-time stroll. But it was more of a dream.”

“I am glad I have come,” she murmured.

“So am I. There is something of great importance that I must share with you.”

“Something of great importance? But why did you not come earlier to talk to me? You could have asked for me. Nobody would have denied our meeting. What if I never took this stroll?”

“I hoped. If you did not come, I would have called on you in the morning.”