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In the spirit of nothing ventured is nothing gained, he owed it to them both to ask, did he not? He would not begrudge her decision should she refuse him. His solemn promise from the start had always been to respect her wishes.

Soon enough, they stood face to face, discussing the matter, with Darcy assuring her that time away from Hertfordshire would be of mutual benefit. He went so far as to say once Elizabeth was away from Hertfordshire, she might appreciate all the beauty in life awaiting her beyond Longbourn.

At length, Elizabeth said, “How shall you refer to me, Mr. Darcy? As your mistress?”

“No—no. If you agree to come with me, I shall invite Bingley and your sister to come too. No one would have reason to question such an arrangement.”

“No, Mr. Darcy.”

“Why are you rejecting my invitation and with so little consideration, I might add?”

“You know the answer.”

“Pray you are not using your—your engagement to that foolish man as your excuse. It is not as though he will not be here when you return.” Darcy’s tone reeked with disappointment.

“Pray, do not be angry with me. I would be lying if I said your invitation did not tempt me. I do not like the thought of being parted from you. But in light of our situation, what choice do we have? I am simply being realistic.”

“Considering all that has unfolded between us, I rather suppose you are merely being stubborn.”

Willing her spirits to playfulness, Elizabeth said, “I posit it is my stubbornness that attracts you most.”

“That among so many other things that I adore about you,” Darcy said, endeavoring to lighten his own mood. He had promised himself he would not begrudge her decision. What would have been the point?

“When shall you take your leave of Hertfordshire?”

“It will be best if I leave tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

Darcy peered at Elizabeth. He said nothing.

He would have to walk away from her. Leaving her very well meant he might never see her again, but what was he to do?

A man would be a fool to ignore the way he felt every time he laid his eyes on her. She had slowly made her way into his heart. Elizabeth had even captured a piece of it that was so immense the pain he suffered knowing she was committed to another man was palpable—so strong he would do anything for her, including, nay, especially, respecting her wishes. She was the woman of his dreams, but she was not his.

Respecting Elizabeth’s wishes proved the most frustrating trial of all. Would she truly settle for the loveless marriage that awaited her and the certainty of never having children? Leaving her with only the dreams and the memories of their time together to keep her company?

The pain of that thought almost made him shudder. If such were the case, what choice did he have other than completely walking away from Elizabeth and protecting himself from a heart broken into a thousand pieces?

The thought of never seeing her again, of never touching her again, and of never hearing the sound of her heartbeat or the playfulness in her laughter struck him like pounding fists against his chest. Elizabeth was not his.

Darcy had never felt so miserable.

The middle of the night found Darcy and Elizabeth in each other’s arms, holding on just a little bit tighter. Few words were exchanged between them. What was there to say that had not already been said? Both of them lay on top of the bedcovers, fully clothed. Clinging to each other was conversation enough.

Darcy awoke earlier than usual the next morning. Sitting beside Elizabeth, who slept soundly, he leaned closer, placed a soft kiss atop Elizabeth’s head, and spoke the words he long wanted to say.

“You, Dearest Elizabeth, are the love of my life.”

And then he was gone. Had he looked back at her, had he looked closer, he would have noticed teardrops falling down Elizabeth’s face.

Chapter 11

Mr. Darcy was always meant to go away. He was only meant to be in Hertfordshire a month.

Elizabeth told herself that a thousand times a day. But what a poor consolation for her body’s yearning for Mr. Darcy’s gentle touch and her heart’s aching to see him again. She thought of him every morning as she dressed and when she tucked herself into bed at night. She could not escape the thought of him, no matter where she went or what she did.

It was the night of the Netherfield ball. Clinging to the hope that Mr. Darcy would indeed return, Elizabeth prepared for the ball with more than usual care, despite his having made no promises that he would.