“Continue with your story, please, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bennet said.
“After I left Rosings, I did not see you again. As I said, it took some time for me to accept the justice of your reproofs. But once I did, I began to pay close attention to how I treated others, how I felt about others. I did not like the man I had become, and so I began to change my behaviour.”
“And that is the biggest reason I believe Darcy’s vision,” Bingley interjected. “I have known Darcy for several years now, and nothing has altered him as much as he has changed in the time we have been in Hertfordshire. Nor was it a gradual transformation. It was as he said: one night he went to bed, the man I had known for so long, and the next morning he had changed.”
“You too must have noticed the difference, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said. “It was not many days prior to my vision that we met at the Lucases, and you took me to task for listening to your conversation with Colonel Forster and refused to dance with me.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “Difference?”
“Have I not spoken to you directly? Have I not made my feelings for you plain rather than fighting them or hiding them? Have we not established a friendship between us? My prior self could not have done such a thing: I did not even know how to be a true friend to another, and I was too much in the habit of avoiding even the appearance of interest lest I become entrapped in a marriage to imagine becoming friends with a woman.”
Elizabeth frowned.
Darcy considered pressing the point, but decided to leave it for now.
“I did not encounter news of your family until late in September of that year,” he continued. “Bingley had decided to visit Netherfield once more with a view towards determining if he wished to retain the lease, something I wholeheartedly endorsed as I was hopeful of working my way into your good graces.” He swallowed hard. “I was to join him after completing some last-minute business in London. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He returned precipitously and informed me of the circumstances which had befallen you and your family.”
Darcy stood, unable to face Elizabeth. He deserved her recriminations. He deserved to see the light of friendship die entirely from her eyes and to be replaced with hatred, but he could not bear to watch. He began to pace, his breath coming in rapid chuffs.
“Wickham had run off with your youngest sister. They were never found.”
Both ladies gasped, Miss Bennet putting a hand over her mouth.
“Your father died not long after that of a heart condition. Miss Bennet married a clerk in your uncle’s law office, I assume in an attempt to sacrifice herself for her family’s security. Your mother and Miss Kitty lived with her sister, Mrs. Philips.” Darcy’s chest tightened as though a giant hand were squeezing him, preventing him from breathing, stealing the life from him just as the carriage accident had stolen Elizabeth’s life.
“And Lizzy?” Miss Bennet asked, tears in her voice.
Darcy halted and his eyes slid closed. He shook his head, then dragged in air through the pain in his chest, gasping as though he were drowning. “Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth were sent to London to live with relatives there. Miss Elizabeth died in a carriage accident on the way.” His eyes stung as tears threatened to break free, the image of Elizabeth’s lifeless body once more pasted across the inside of his eyelids.
His eyes flew open as a hand touched his arm. Elizabeth stood in front of him. He clung to her fingers as though she were a lifeline in the midst of a stormy sea.
“Mr. Darcy, I—you are distraught, but there is no need for such distress.”
Darcy looked down at her, several tears breaking free despite his best efforts. “I could not—I did not know how to go on without you. I had convinced myself that I could survive without you if I knew you were well—I could even live with you thinking poorly of me as long as I knew I was working to become a better man. I had never envisioned losing you though. I could not bear it,” he finished in a hoarse whisper.
Elizabeth’s eyes searched his, and he held her gaze, unafraid of her discovering a lie.
“I know that you have no reason to believe me, but these events occurred in my vision, as real as though I had lived them—indeed, they were so real that when I awoke on November 13th at Netherfield, I was convinced I had somehow moved forward six weeks in time and had forgotten those weeks rather than that I was nearly a year in the past.”
“I no longer doubt your sincerity,” Elizabeth said gently. “But can you not see that even such a vision may not be true to life? You are in love with this figment of your imagination, and—”
“No,” Darcy said, shaking his head, his fingers now caressing hers. “You are yourself, whether you are in a vision or standing here in front of me. I once thought as you do, but my valet—who has been a close friend for many years and knows all these particulars—reminded me of the truth: though events change us, there is a part of us that remains the same; regardless of what events you may or may not have lived through, you are still the same person.”
Elizabeth stepped back, and Darcy let her fingers slip from his. She turned away. “You must admit, Mr. Darcy, that you have given me much to think about.”
Darcy nodded. “Do you desire clarification on any points?”
Elizabeth shook her head, her arms wrapping around her middle. “I just need—I require time to contemplate the information you have imparted.”
“Fitzwilliam can also attest to the truth of my vision,” Darcy said, “should you desire another character witness.”
Elizabeth looked up. “I shall consider it.”
“Perhaps you need to go lie down again, Lizzy,” Miss Bennet said. “You look as though your headache has gotten worse.”
Elizabeth nodded and began walking back towards the house without another word.
“If you have any questions, any desire to speak of this, you know where to find Apollo and me,” Darcy called after her.
Elizabeth hesitated but did not turn around, and before long, she rushed into the house as though he had transformed into a ravening wolf.
Darcy suppressed a groan.
Bingley clapped him on the shoulder. “You did your best,” he said comfortingly. “You just have to give her some time now.”
“I believe you, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bennet said in her sweet voice.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
Miss Bennet smiled at him. “Lizzy will come around, I think.”
Darcy did not know what to say as Miss Bennet’s tone was not full of confidence, and, even if it were, she seemed incapable of seeing any negative outcomes. So he returned her sweet expression with a forced smile of his own and remained silent.
He turned back to the house, his eyes tracing the path Elizabeth had fled down. For a moment, he considered running away, trying to escape the pain that seemed inevitable as he watched Elizabeth grow colder towards him, even as Bingley and Miss Bennet’s romance blossomed. But then he remembered that he could not outrun his love for Elizabeth—he had tried that before and failed spectacularly. No, he could only wait and pray that she would give him a chance to prove himself.
As Darcy watched the house, Fitzwilliam exited and strode over. Unwilling to bare himself once more in front of Miss Bennet (and assuming that Bingley would not object to a few moments alone with his beloved), Darcy hurried to intercept Fitzwilliam.
“So?” his cousin asked the moment they were close enough.
Darcy shook his head, his throat too clogged to give a verbal response.
Fitzwilliam clasped his shoulder. “Maybe she’ll come around. You’ve dropped quite a bombshell. Believing in fairy tales doesn’t come easily—especially to one as intelligent as Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “I—I told her that you could vouch for me as well.”
“And I will! Where is she?”
“Inside already. I do not think she will come down again today.”
“Well, then I shall just return on Monday to speak with h
er,” Fitzwilliam said stoutly.
Or perhaps, if some miracle occurred, Elizabeth would meet him tomorrow morning as she had every other time they had walked to Oakham Mount. Or perhaps not as it would be the Sabbath—she had not walked with him the previous Sabbath.
“Now, I doubt you desire to endure Mrs. Bennet’s small talk. Shall we return to Netherfield?” Fitzwilliam paused. “On second thought, I doubt you desire to endure Miss Bingley either. Let us take a nice long ride. You can show me the countryside.”
“I must take my leave of the Bennets,” Darcy said woodenly.
Bingley and Miss Bennet walked towards them, both wreathed in radiant smiles, their joy sending a pang of anguish through Darcy. No, he could not stay. Bingley must have spoken to Miss Bennet as he had intended to do, and now Darcy wanted only to run from their incandescent happiness.
Darcy tried to smile at Bingley. “Fitzwilliam has requested to see some of the local sights.”
Bingley looked from Miss Bennet to Darcy, indecision apparent in every shift.
“I do not think the Bennets would object if you were to remain for longer,” Fitzwilliam said jovially.
“No,” Bingley shook his head resolutely. “I will not begin with such poor manners. I must take my leave of the rest of the Bennets and then I will join you.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh, but agreed. If Bingley continued to radiate happiness, he did not know how to tell his friend to go elsewhere. He did not wish to dampen his friend’s joy—not when it was so richly deserved. With that, they went inside, Darcy trying to see through the layers of the house to where Elizabeth was hiding and willing her to believe the truth and to welcome his friendship once more.
Chapter 34
Impatience clawed at Darcy, leaving him unable to settle to anything. He had already tried reading and working on various estate matters, but nothing held his attention. Nearly an hour and a half ago, Fitzwilliam had left for Longbourn to speak to Elizabeth.
Darcy was desperate for news of Elizabeth, as two days had now passed since he had told her of his vision. The Sabbath had gone much as Darcy had feared. Elizabeth had not appeared for her morning walk, a fact he desperately tried to rationalise. Her continued absence this morning had been infinitely harder to gloss over as anything other than a desire to reject him. At church, Miss Bennet had lingered to speak to Bingley, but Elizabeth had immediately hailed someone on the opposite side of the church and managed to avoid Darcy for the entirety of the morning. Bingley had been invited to a family dinner at Longbourn that night, and Darcy had not even tried to secure an invitation for himself. Pushing Elizabeth seemed like a recipe for disaster. She had asked for time to consider his tale, and he would honour her wishes even though his chest would not stop aching as though he had ripped his heart out and given it to her, leaving him empty and bleeding without her.
When Elizabeth had failed to appear after two hours of waiting this morning, Darcy had ridden a grumpy and restless Apollo around aimlessly for another hour, retracing the path to Oakham Mount, wishing he had done something differently—there must have been some combination of words he could have spoken that would have convinced Elizabeth that he was in earnest. What was the use of having future knowledge if he still lost the woman he loved?
Fitzwilliam had taken one look at Darcy’s face when he arrived back at Netherfield, and had immediately set off for Longbourn as though he couldn’t stand to see his usually unflappable cousin looking so heartsick and forlorn.
Darcy continued to pace the length of his small room, stopping every turn to look out the window, hoping to see a sign of Fitzwilliam’s return. Unfortunately, he could not leave the small confines. Bingley had informed his family of his courtship yesterday after returning from the Bennets, and Miss Bingley had been opposed—vocally opposed—to his decision. Despite repeated statements that he would support Bingley, she continued to harass Darcy, alternately pleading for his intervention and screeching like a fishwife that he would be party to bringing her family to ruin. She had not scrupled to follow him everywhere except to his room, and so he was forced to confine his pacing to the small space.
Bingley had accompanied Fitzwilliam—his friend would have a difficult time tearing himself from his beloved, Darcy reminded himself. That could explain why Fitzwilliam was taking so long.
If only Elizabeth would look at him the way Miss Bennet looked at Bingley, rather than with the confusion and distress that had filled her gaze when last Darcy had seen her.
She loved him. Darcy clung to the thought, hoping it would bring a renewal of their friendship and the advent of something more, just as nature’s processes brought a return of spring even when winter seemed to have a choke hold on the land.
But would she listen to Fitzwilliam? And what would he do if she would not?
An eternity of agony later, a patterned knock sounded on Darcy’s door.
“Come in,” Darcy called back hoarsely, recognising his valet’s knock, but wishing it were Fitzwilliam.
Darcy had told all to Penn on Saturday night, unable to prevent his anguish from spilling over in the face of his friend’s gentle inquiry. As usual, his valet’s good sense had steadied him, allowing him to meet Sunday’s service with relative equanimity and a resolve to give Elizabeth the space she had requested.
“Is all well?” Darcy asked as his valet entered.
Penn inclined his head. “The stables have sent word that Colonel Fitzwilliam has just arrived. I believed you would desire to be informed immediately. Also, Miss Bingley requests your presence for a cold collation.”
Darcy shuddered. “Tell her I am unwell.”
“Very good, sir. Did you wish a light repast served up here while you speak to Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy’s stomach jumped and shivered at the thought of trying to eat. He shook his head.
“Very well, sir. Is there aught else you require?” Penn asked compassionately.
Darcy gave his friend a rueful smile. “Unless you can convince Miss Elizabeth of my vision, I do not believe so.”
“I am afraid that is beyond my capability, however, I do believe the young lady will eventually see the truth. She is not unreasonable, and you are willing to prove yourself to her. I believe your continuing presence will do much to assuage her concerns.”
Darcy sighed. “I suppose there is nothing to do but be patient and follow her lead.”
“Wise words.”
Darcy sighed again. “That does not make them easy to apply.”
“What is worthwhile is rarely easy,” Penn replied.
“True.”
“If you require anything else, I am available.”
Darcy nodded. “Thank you, Penn.”
After his valet left, Darcy waited with increasing agitation for Fitzwilliam to appear. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Where was Fitzwilliam?
A thousand scenarios flickered through his mind as Darcy swung between hope and defeat. Was Fitzwilliam avoiding telling him bad news?
Darcy jumped as a knock sounded at the door. “Come.”
The door swung open, revealing his long-overdue cousin. “You look terrible,” Fitzwilliam said as he closed the door behind him.
“I have been going half mad waiting for you!” Darcy snapped.
Fitzwilliam looked sympathetic. “It was not a conversation I desired to rush, nor did Bingley wish to leave. I think if he did not know you were waiting for me, he would have happily spent the day at the Bennets with or without an invitation.”
“Well?” Darcy prodded.
“I don’t know,” Fitzwilliam said, throwing himself into a chair. “Your Miss Elizabeth seems as confused as one might expect to be after being told that the man she thought she knew is actually a future version of himself.”
“Pardon?”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “That’s how she put it. You’ve lived a year more than the rest of us, even if it was only in a vision. That’s why your character is so different.”
; “I suppose so. But what did she say? And what did you tell her? Does she believe me?”
Fitzwilliam frowned. “I don’t know if she believes you or not. I told her that I’ve never known you to lose touch with reality and that I believe you.”
Visions of Fitzwilliam earnestly assuring Elizabeth that insanity did not run in their family filled Darcy’s mind, and he suppressed a shudder. Hopefully, his cousin had not made things even worse.
“She asked me why I believed you, and I told her about your predictions.”
“You told her what?” Darcy exclaimed.
“I told her about your predictions—how everything you had predicted regarding her family’s behaviour at the Netherfield ball had come true.”
Darcy groaned. Reminding Elizabeth of things she wished to forget seemed like a poor way to convince her of things she desired to disbelieve. “What did she say?” he asked, scrubbing a hand across his face.
“She seemed offended by your predictions until I pointed out that if we were trying to lie to her, we could have contrived predictions about a less fraught subject—not to mention that said predictions were given to me, not her. “ Fitzwilliam’s lips curved up. “In hindsight, your predictions were masterful, Cousin. You convinced me, and they are not the sort of things anyone would bother lying about—least of all someone who is pursuing a Bennet. Even your Miss Elizabeth had to admit that they were not designed to gain her favour.”
Darcy raked a hand through his hair. “It was unintentional, I assure you. I merely blurted out the first concrete predictions I could recall that were entirely outside of my control.” He hesitated. “Was Miss Elizabeth swayed by that reasoning?”
Fitzwilliam looked away as though carefully considering his answer. “I do not know. She seemed deep in thought. I am not familiar enough with her to know if that’s a good thing or not.”
Darcy moved to the window. “Unfortunately, neither am I.”
“I also told her that you have changed more in your time in Hertfordshire than any time since I have known you.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “You have known me our entire lives.”
A Vision of the Path Before Him Page 36
