The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

by Victoria Kincaid

  William gave her a brief smile. “Indeed, which is why I also purchased a dozen bolts of silk to transport in the back of the wagon. They are quite fine quality. It is a shame we cannot take one with us.”

  He seemed confident about their plan, yet he kept his eyes averted from her. And why did he remain on the far side of the room?

  “It sounds like a good plan,” she complimented him.

  He did not respond, and the room fell silent.

  When she was not focusing on the future, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned inevitably to the past—and everything she did not know about it. “When you left England, was everyone in my family in good health?”

  “Yes, they all enjoyed excellent health.”

  “Are all of my sisters living at home? Are any married?”

  “None are yet wed, and they all remain at Longbourn with your parents.” Although his answers were reassuring, he spoke with a terseness that suggested he would rather avoid the subject. Perhaps he did dislike her family.

  Other questions about her family crowded her mind, but few were on subjects he would be familiar with. Once again the conversation faltered. William continued to peer out of the window. Perhaps he cannot bear to look upon me.

  Finally, Elizabeth could contain herself no longer. “Why are you avoiding me?” she asked plaintively.

  His head whipped around, and he regarded her with horrified eyes. “I-I-I—I am not—Well, look at yourself!” He gestured toward her shift.

  Glancing down, Elizabeth saw that the semi-transparent fabric hid little of her body and clung to her curves. But he was her husband! Did the sight of her body horrify him so? Tears pricked her eyes, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep them at bay.

  “You no longer find me attractive?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  William gaped at her, and his face paled. “Why would you think—? No! You are so lovely it makes my heart ache just to regard you. I cannot believe my good fortune that I have found a woman who is not only beautiful but also clever, well-informed, and kind-hearted.” He took several steps toward the bed. “At times I think I must have imagined you.”

  Oh…That was…His words took away her breath and obliterated her thoughts. Was it possible that anyone really felt that way about her? Was it possible that this man felt that way?

  “It is all I can do not to touch you when I see you like this.” The wave of his hand encompassed all of Elizabeth. “But I fear if I begin to touch you, I will never cease.” His voice was rough with emotion.

  Despite her misgivings about what he was concealing, despite the unease engendered by her dreams, William heated her blood. Of all the memories she had lost, the one she regretted the most was the recollection of their wedding night. Being intimate with the man…feeling his body against hers…his skin rubbing against hers. Just imagining it made her flush with heat. “I would not prevent you from touching me,” Elizabeth whispered. The thought of his hands upon her was not unpleasant.

  Although several feet still separated them, William stretched out his hands as if preparing for just such a touch. For a moment she believed he would close the distance between them, and she would feel his hands on her skin.

  But he let his arms drop with a sigh and turned back to the window. “No, you are recovering, and we are fleeing for our lives. This is neither the time nor the place.” He held himself very stiffly, grasping the edge of the windowsill as if it would buttress his self-control.

  Yet when he raised his eyes to hers, they told a different story as they blazed with desire. At times such as these, she had no difficulty believing in his love or understanding why she had accepted his offer. Such passion would be irresistible.

  Surely they could be intimate again. It would be like a second wedding night.

  She leaned forward, aware that it provided him with a tantalizing view. “Perhaps increased intimacy would help to restore my memories.”

  William swallowed, the muscles of his throat working. He was breathing more rapidly, his eyes fixed on her lips as he took two stumbling steps toward the bed. She trailed her fingers up his arm. “Music helped to restore some memories. Perhaps you could do even more…”

  He was on the bed beside her now, gathering her into his arms. His lips parted slowly and then he bent his neck, pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was long and languorous. Elizabeth lost herself in the sensations. Nothing existed except for lips touching lips, tongue sliding over tongue. Someone moaned, and Elizabeth realized the sound had emanated from her own throat.

  One of William’s hands explored her back while the other cradled her head as he imbued his kiss with greater passion. Everywhere he touched, her skin tingled. She pressed herself against him, hoping he would proceed to the next stage of intimacy.

  Instead he tore his lips from hers, sliding off the bed and whirling away with a groan of protest. She remained in the bed, bereft and untouched. “No…Elizabeth, it is not right. I am a virtual stranger to you.”

  “But if I do not object…”

  “Your trust in me is humbling. But I cannot. It would not be right until you recover your memories of our relationship.” He took great gulps of air, his chest heaving. “And I cannot get you with child,” he added as an afterthought.

  She looked at him from under her lashes. “You still desire me?”

  He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “If I were not a gentleman, I would show you how much I desire you.”

  “At the moment I wish you were not such a gentleman,” she murmured irritably.

  William breathed out a laugh. “As do I.”

  Elizabeth allowed her shoulders to slump.

  “When we are safe in England,” William promised. “If you still wish it…”

  “I will,” she whispered, a little shocked at the depth of her own desire. Proper young ladies were not supposed to have such feelings, although her brazenness did not appear to disgust her husband.

  “I hope so,” he said just as softly.

  Before she could question this peculiar response, he took a deep breath and spoke in a more normal tone. “You should get more rest.”

  “Will you hold me?” she asked shyly.

  He gave her a tender smile. “Of course.”

  With his back to her, William quickly changed into his nightshirt. Raising up the coverlet, he extended his body beside hers. He turned her onto her side, his front to her back, engulfing her as he wrapped his limbs around her.

  ***

  The following morning Darcy and Elizabeth bade the Moreaus adieu and took the road leading from Rouen. A far cry from the high-flying curricle, the wagon Darcy had purchased was worn and shabby, moving at a slow pace. The very sight of the vehicle made Darcy clench his teeth in vexation. This is a necessary part of the disguise, he reminded himself. Soldiers searching for Dreyfus’s English spy would not give the wagon a second glance.

  The streets of Rouen were crowded; departing from the city was an exercise in patience as their wagon joined a crowd of produce-laden vehicles, grand carriages, and gigs out for a morning ride. Frustrated at their speed, Darcy pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time.

  “Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her face turning quite white.

  Darcy followed her gaze to the watch. He had taken pains to keep it concealed since Mr. Martin had reminded Darcy that laborers did not own watches. However, Elizabeth was not staring at the watch itself, but something on the fob.

  The amber cross.

  Darcy had completely forgotten that he had hung her cross as a pendant from his watch fob. Now her eyes were mesmerized by the sight. He slid the cross off the chain. “I did not think to return this to you before now. It was around your neck when you washed up on shore.”

  He dropped it into her waiting hand, and her fingers closed around it. Elizabeth swayed on the bench, causing Darcy to reach out a hand to steady her. “Dearest?” Her pallor was a little alarming, and he had an irrational fear that the cross was somehow
causing her pain.

  “Memories,” she murmured through gritted teeth.

  “Oh.” Darcy swallowed, hairs rising on the nape of his neck. Was this it? Would she now remember the true state of their relationship? His palms grew damp; he was ill-prepared for such a conversation.

  She swayed alarmingly, and Darcy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his body for safety. Even if she did remember, even if she hated him, she was still his responsibility. His beloved. She might choose her own path once they arrived in England, but until then he would not leave her side.

  “What do you remember?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  She stared at the pendant in the palm of her hand. “Everything.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Darcy’s heart clenched.

  “The cross was a present from my aunt and uncle Gardiner for my nineteenth birthday. Uncle Gardiner bought it on one of his trips. Jane has one with garnets….” She fell silent, her eyes open but not seeing anything around them.

  “Everything…except…” Her brows drew together. “Except I do not remember meeting your friend Mr. Bingley…or you…or visiting—what was the name of the place? Rosings Park.” Under the brim of her hat, her free hand massaged her forehead. “What is the year?”

  “1812.” He was squeezing the reins with unnecessary force and fought to relax his hands.

  She shook her head in bewilderment. “I recall the summer of 1811, but nothing after. How strange! Everything…except for the last year.”

  Darcy had been granted a reprieve, but she had recalled so much in such a short time. The memories of the previous year could not be too far out of reach.

  And why should she recall everything except the past year? Would she prefer to forget any part of her life that concerned Fitzwilliam Darcy? The breakfast he had consumed less than an hour ago sat like a lump of lead in his stomach. “Those memories will return soon, no doubt.” He strove to keep his tone hopeful, but he feared it sounded discouraged.

  “Yes,” she said faintly.

  As the traffic lightened, Darcy urged the horse to greater speed. But the wagon was an unwieldy vehicle and simply would not allow a decent pace.

  After a long pause he ventured a new subject of conversation. “I had hoped to reach Gravelines today, but I fear this pace will have us on the road another day.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said absently, tucking the cross into her pocket.

  Just let us reach England before she remembers all, he prayed fervently. If she discovered his lies before they departed France, he could not predict the results. Darcy winced as he recalled her words at Hunsford parsonage. When she learned the truth—however she learned the truth—no doubt she would have some cutting words for him. He could only hope she confined herself to words and did not decide to separate herself from him before they reached home.

  They traveled in silence past fields of wheat and isolated farmhouses. Elizabeth stayed absorbed in her own thoughts, unaware of the scenery. Finally, she remarked, “Yesterday I felt as if my life were a book that was only half-finished. This morning I have been granted access to several more chapters—but not the ending.”

  “There is no ending,” Darcy observed. “You are still writing the book.”

  Elizabeth squinted in the bright sunlight. “Ha! I suppose you have the way of it. Still, I would give much to recall the past year. I worry that something dreadful has occurred, and my mind is suppressing the memory.”

  Darcy clenched the reins more tightly. Could I be something dreadful? Could I have caused her to suppress her memories? “I know of no tragedy that befell your family in the past year,” he said.

  Elizabeth bit her lip. “But what of my friends? Charlotte Lucas has been my good friend for my entire life.”

  “She lives in Kent now,” Darcy said absently as he steered the horse around a hole in the road.

  “Kent?”

  Darcy cursed himself silently. He could not relate to Elizabeth most of the events of the past year; it would inevitably lead to a revelation of the true state of affairs between them. “Yes, she is now wed to a Mr. Collins who is a parson in Hunsford parish.”

  What may I tell her of her friend’s life that would not reveal too much? Certainly I can say nothing about Aunt Catherine. “They live in a cozy parsonage near the grand estate of his patroness.” Too late, Darcy remembered that Collins was her cousin; would that provoke additional recollections?

  “Mr. Collins?” she said. “I do not believe I know him.”

  Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently her acquaintance with her cousin was recent.

  “But everyone in my family is well?” she asked, looking for reassurance.

  “Everyone in your family enjoys the best of health.”

  “And the Gardiners?”

  “The Gardiners?”

  “My aunt and uncle Gardiner who live in London—and their children?”

  “I am not acquainted with them.”

  “Did they not attend the wedding?”

  Damnation! He had forgotten the “wedding.” This is why he abhorred deceit; one lie begat a whole series of falsehoods. “They did not attend the wedding,” he said truthfully enough.

  “I hope nobody in the family was ill!”

  “I heard nothing of any illness,” Darcy reassured her. “You were their only source of anxiety.”

  “They believe I am lost at sea.” Elizabeth’s hands twisted in her lap. “Oh, we must hurry home so I may lighten their hearts!”

  “Indeed.”

  She pressed fingertips to her forehead. “If only I could recover the rest of my memories!”

  Darcy could only pray that she did not recover them too soon.

  ***

  Elizabeth dreamed.

  She did not recognize the place: a modest drawing room with well-worn furnishings and a blazing fire in the hearth. Several unremarkable paintings on religious themes adorned the walls.

  His face quite pale and drawn, Mr. Darcy leaned against the mantelpiece on the other side of the room. This was not the proud, distant man she recalled from previous encounters. Obviously in the grip of some strong emotion, his chest heaved with each breath. Was he angry?

  Finally, he spoke in a strained voice. “And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might perhaps wish to be informed why with so little endeavor at civility I am thus rejected.”

  Elizabeth’s entire body trembled with an unaccustomed fury. “I might as well enquire why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character! Was not this some excuse for incivility if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

  He did not deny it. In fact, he looked even more tranquil—and far haughtier. Such superciliousness further stoked her anger. “Can you deny that you have done it?”

  “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”

  Such effrontery! Calmly agreeing that he had ruined Jane’s life! Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to hurt him the way he had hurt her sister. “But it is not merely this affair on which my dislike is founded. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.”

  His face grew red. “You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.”

  “Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?”

  Mr. Darcy scoffed, “His misfortunes! His misfortunes have been great indeed!”

  Anger surged through her veins, giving her energy. “And of your infliction. You have reduced him to his present state of poverty. And yet you can treat the mention of his mi
sfortune with contempt and ridicule.”

  Abandoning the mantelpiece, Mr. Darcy took a few steps in her direction; a muscle twitched in his jaw. “And this is your opinion of me! But perhaps these offences might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. I am not ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”

  Elizabeth marveled for a moment, staring open-mouthed at the man. He actually believed she would have accepted him if he had made her the offer in a more acceptable way! Did he not understand how contemptible he had rendered himself? Well, she would correct that misapprehension. She drew herself to her full height. “You are mistaken if you supposed that the mode of your declaration affected me in any way than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you—had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.”

  He started at her words, his face a frozen mask. Had she gone too far in accusing him of being ungentlemanly? It was, to be sure, quite an insult. But he still offered no apologies or excuses. Apparently he still found his behavior acceptable.

  Well, she certainly had more to say. “You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.” His eyes widened with astonishment. “From the first moment of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

  Mr. Darcy finally moved, taking a jerky step away from her. “You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

  His face a stony mask, he strode swiftly through the door and then was gone. Elizabeth sank into the nearest chair, barely perceiving the room around her.