The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

by Victoria Kincaid

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  He pulled himself from his reverie. “I had initially thought to make you a formal proposal of marriage.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she very nearly stood as though about to race from the room.

  “But I do not want to make you an offer at an inn.”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed. He forged ahead with the part of the plan that had initially caused him reservations, but he no longer had any pride left when it came to Elizabeth Bennet. She knew all his secrets; there could be no shame. “I will not make a formal offer of my hand now, but you need only say the word, and a proposal of marriage will be forthcoming.”

  Elizabeth sat very still.

  “Not out of a feeling of obligation or guilt, but because I love you.”

  Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

  Darcy kept his head up, not showing that he had hoped for a different response from her. Did she understand how sincere he was? He leaned forward in his chair, focusing all his attention on her. “You may write to me from anywhere and at any time, and I will come to you.”

  He held her eyes until she gave him a solemn nod. “I will remember.”

  “Good.”

  Biting her lower lip, she looked toward the window. “Be careful what you promise, sir!” Her voice shook despite the jovial tone. “Someday when you are two and fifty, I will write to you: ‘now I am ready for my proposal’!”

  He could not join her laughter. “If that is how long it takes, then I will wait,” he said with a solemnity he hoped would convey his sincerity.

  “But, Mr. Darcy—”

  “I liked it when you called me William.”

  She nodded an acknowledgement. “Mr. Darcy, surely you will have a wife and six children by that age.”

  Darcy stared out of the window into the inn’s courtyard. “I very much doubt I will ever find someone else I would consider marrying.”

  “But—”

  “I do not need to provide an heir. The property is not entailed. Georgiana may inherit.”

  She shifted uneasily in her chair. “I see you have done much thinking on the subject.”

  “Since the minute I left Hunsford Parsonage,” he said in a low voice. Elizabeth had no response, and her face was blank. He could not guess her thoughts. Did he sound desperate to her ears? Was she eager to escape his pathetic importuning?

  “I have taken up enough of your time,” he said, standing. “You should sleep in preparation for your journey tomorrow.”

  He strode purposefully for the door, intent on an immediate exit. But he could not deprive himself of one last glimpse of her, sitting by the window, her face illuminated by the golden glow of the candle. She rose to her feet, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders.

  And he was lost.

  No one could expect him to resist the power of those curls. After all, I am only human. He closed the distance between them, plunging his hands into the dark mass of hair and tilting her head back so she could receive his kiss.

  “Elizabeth!” he moaned against her lips. They parted to admit his tongue just as her body molded itself to his. Elizabeth’s mind might be divided in her opinion of him, but her body had made a firm decision. The marital bed with Elizabeth would be…exquisite. His hands roamed around her back and shoulders, traced the soft skin of her neck. For an instant he allowed himself a brief moment of hope.

  But he quickly suppressed that feeling. This was farewell. He could taste it on her lips. Somehow he knew he would not see her again soon—if ever. He tried to savor the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin, the feel of her under his fingers—to memorize it and tattoo it upon his heart. He must stow away these memories to sustain him throughout the long, lonely months and years ahead.

  Far too soon she stepped away from him, her chest heaving. “You must leave now.”

  Darcy nodded, temporarily incapable of speech. Releasing his hold on Elizabeth’s shoulder was difficult…almost physically painful. He did not want to surrender this last point of contact with her.

  Finally, he forced his hands down to his sides and edged toward the door. “Do not lose the paper. Anytime. Anywhere. I promise.”

  She gave him a bittersweet smile. “I will not. I will not forget, William.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elizabeth’s departure from the inn in the morning was rapid and somber. Colonel Fitzwilliam bid her adieu with promises to visit should he ever be in Hertfordshire. Then he stepped away to give Mr. Darcy some private time with her, but the master of Pemberley hid his feelings behind a mask of stone. Was he embarrassed about his revelations from the night before? He merely kissed her hand and wished her a pleasant journey before handing her into the carriage.

  The journey itself was pleasant, with good weather and a well-sprung, comfortable carriage. Mr. Darcy had hired Mary from the inn to accompany Elizabeth, and she proved to be an excellent traveling companion. She kept Elizabeth entertained—and distracted—with amusing stories about the mishaps of her many brothers.

  Elizabeth was excited to see her family again but could not help missing Mr. Darcy. His absence was a sudden emptiness that brought about an almost physical ache. Again and again she thought of things she would like to share with him. Turning to tell him, she would find Mary beside her instead. It means nothing, she told herself. I am simply accustomed to his presence; I will grow accustomed to his absence. A tightness in her chest belied these words.

  Her pulse quickened when she spied the familiar sights of Meryton. She had been from home not even two months, but it felt far longer, a lifetime ago. Her life in Meryton could have been lived by a different person. She knew she looked like a different person. The inn’s mirror had shown a woman who was thinner and more tanned than the one who had embarked on the cutter. Even her hair glinted with hints of red from her time in the sun.

  Would the alterations disturb her family? What if they did not recognize her? Now I am being fanciful! I have not changed so very much. Still, I am returning from the dead, and they are not prepared.

  Her stomach fluttered nervously. Elizabeth did not know what to expect—except their joy at her return. No, she also could predict with a moderate degree of confidence that her sudden reappearance would cause her mother to take to her bed and elicit pious platitudes from Mary. Oddly enough, she was even anticipating these eventualities with pleasure. Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder.

  The carriage pulled to a halt in front of Longbourn. Elizabeth heard her sisters before she could see them.

  “La! What a fancy carriage! I wonder whose it is?”

  “Jane, did Mr. Bingley buy a carriage?”

  “Whoever it is, I hope he is unmarried!”

  From the carriage window, Elizabeth viewed her younger sisters spilling out of Longbourn’s front door, giggling.

  Jane and her parents followed at a more sedate pace.

  Elizabeth waited until the entire family was present, clustered around the carriage, before opening the door and climbing out.

  Her father staggered backward. Jane gasped. Lydia screamed, “Lizzy!”

  “But you are dead,” Mary said faintly.

  Within seconds, Mrs. Bennet’s shrieks drowned out all other sounds. “It’s a ghost! Get away! Begone, foul spirit! Haunt us no more.” She pulled Lydia with her as she backed toward the door.

  Elizabeth had to laugh. “Mama, I am no more a ghost than you are.”

  “Do ghosts arrive in carriages?” Kitty asked.

  Jane was the first to break their paralysis as she fairly flew into Elizabeth’s arms. “You are alive! Alive after all!” With her arms around her sister’s neck, the eldest Bennet daughter sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.

  “I am so sorry for what you had to suffer!” Elizabeth murmured into her sister’s hair.

  “I-It is q-quite all right,” Jane sobbed. “N-No trouble at all.” Elizabeth had to smile. Same old Jane, wanting to ensure that nobody else was uncom
fortable.

  “Lizzy.” Elizabeth left Jane’s arms for her father’s. His eyes glistened behind his spectacles, and for a long moment he was too overcome for words. “Are you indeed well, my girl?” Stepping back, he examined her from head to toe.

  “I am well,” she assured him, squeezing his hand. “I was ill, but that is at an end.”

  Her father discreetly wiped one eye. “Therein lies a tale, I am sure.”

  When he released her, Elizabeth was immediately seized by Kitty and Lydia. “Now we can stop wearing black!” Lydia exclaimed gleefully. “It does make me look so pale.”

  “True!” Kitty’s eyes shone. “Oh, but all our clothes were dyed.”

  Lydia’s eyes opened wide. “Which means we all need new frocks!” She looked beseechingly at their father. “Do we not need new gowns to celebrate Elizabeth’s return to us? It is only fitting.”

  Elizabeth exchanged a smile with Jane. Lydia was quick to turn any situation to her advantage, even her own sister’s return from death.

  Kitty bit her lower lip. “I don’t suppose you want your yellow bonnet back?” Elizabeth merely looked at her. “I did not dye it yet, but I added some orange flowers—”

  “Which are the most garish things I have ever seen, if you ask me,” Lydia said tartly.

  “They are not—!”

  “Are too!”

  Lydia and Kitty walked away, squabbling, which allowed Mary to embrace her older sister. She regarded Elizabeth solemnly. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

  Elizabeth blinked, unsure of an appropriate response. “Indeed.”

  Mary nodded soberly, and then their mother was pushing her out of the way. “Lizzy, is it really you?”

  “Of course, Mama.” Elizabeth held out her arms.

  Her mother moved cautiously into the embrace, first squeezing one of Elizabeth’s arms. “You seem real enough.”

  “I assure you I am quite real.” Elizabeth finally wrapped her arms around her mother. “The report of my death was erroneous. I was never dead.”

  Tears flowed down Mrs. Bennet’s face even as she dabbed futilely at them with a lace-edged handkerchief. “It is you, my darling daughter! You have been restored to us.” She turned to her husband. “We have been very blessed.”

  “We have indeed,” he agreed.

  “This calls for a special celebration,” Mrs. Bennet declared, releasing Elizabeth. “A ham! We shall have a ham in your honor, Lizzy!” Before Elizabeth could respond, she had turned on her heel and was rushing back into the house. “Hill! Hill! We require a ham!”

  Her father took Elizabeth’s arm to escort her into the house. “As you can see,” he observed with a wry smile, “nothing much has changed during your absence.”

  On Elizabeth’s other side, Jane asked, “Would you like some tea? You must be famished.” Dear Jane, ever watchful of others’ needs.

  “Yes, indeed. And there is a maid from the Ramsgate inn.” Elizabeth turned to see the maid standing by the carriage. “Can you make sure she receives food and a place to sleep tonight before she must return?”

  Jane nodded and hurried back to the carriage to collect the girl.

  “Ramsgate?” her father exclaimed. “What on earth were you about at Ramsgate?”

  “It is a long story, Papa”—she patted her father’s hand—“but if you ply me with tea and biscuits, perhaps I can be persuaded to relate it.”

  Soon Elizabeth was ensconced in the yellow drawing room with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits before her. The entire family had gathered around, eager to hear about her misadventures. The prospect of an exciting tale—which they could be the first to share with the gossips of Meryton—had even induced Kitty and Lydia to delay a trip into town for bonnet ribbons.

  In between bites of biscuits, Elizabeth told her story. She described how Dreyfus had taken her from the ship as a hostage and then hit her on the head before pushing her from the boat. She had clung to a piece of driftwood until she passed out, but it must have kept her afloat until she washed ashore at Saint-Malo.

  When describing her time in the town, she dwelt on the Martins’ kind offices but gave few specifics about Mr. Darcy’s role. It was a shame she could not grant him a greater share of the credit, but if her family knew of their sleeping arrangements, her father would be appalled, her mother would demand an immediate engagement, and the younger Bennet girls would spread the story about Meryton by dinnertime.

  She did describe her amnesia and the encounter with Mr. Dreyfus at the farmhouse. But even as she related how they were forced to flee to Paris and stay with Mr. Darcy’s old governess, she was careful not to mention their shared beds or how she had believed herself to be his wife. She also made light of the dangers they had encountered. Her travels were shocking enough; there was no need to burden her family with potential evils that had not befallen her.

  Lydia and Kitty hung on her every word, thrilling at every new story of danger. Apparently Elizabeth’s life was better than the best novel from the circulating library. Her mother, quite overcome by nerves, lay prostrate on the fainting sofa, although she was quick to take credit for sending Mr. Darcy to France. “He saw how I was suffering, and he knew he had to avenge your death somehow.”

  Her father’s grave expression suggested that he guessed some of the things she had avoided mentioning, but he asked for no details. She did emphasize that Mr. Darcy had been a perfect gentleman, but it did little to smooth out the worry lines around his eyes. Jane’s sympathetic smiles suggested that at least one person understood some of the complexities of Elizabeth’s situation.

  Tea time soon gave way to dinner, including the promised ham. Did her mother even recall that Elizabeth did not care much for ham?

  Elizabeth had missed Longbourn’s hubbub and chatter; every second with her family filled her with a warm glow. However, not long after dinner, her energy began to flag. Jane noticed immediately. “Lizzy, perhaps it is time for bed.”

  Elizabeth put down her book and stood, suppressing a yawn. “I believe you are right.”

  Jane also rose to her feet. “I will retire as well.”

  As Elizabeth shuffled to the door, she passed her father’s chair; he took her hand and pressed it to his heart. “It is a miracle to have you back with us, Lizzy.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before navigating out of the door and up the stairs.

  Once in her nightrail, Elizabeth was quite grateful to sink into the softness of the bed she shared with Jane. The candle on Jane’s side of the bed flickered and caused shadows to dance on the walls. Jane, not yet ready for sleep, sat beside her sister. “Mr. Darcy must be quite violently in love with you to have gone all the way to France simply to avenge you.”

  There was no point in denying the obvious truth. “Yes.”

  “He was devastated when he arrived at Longbourn and learned of your… He was quite as distressed as any of us. It was as if his entire world had ended.”

  Not having a good response, Elizabeth stared at the canopy over her bed, considering how terrible it was to cause pain for the people she cared about.

  After a long silence, Jane spoke again. “You were much thrown together in France, I believe.” Her voice did not hold even a hint of disapproval.

  “Yes, it was inevitable.”

  “But he did not make you another offer of his hand?” Jane’s brows drew together.

  “Oh yes, he did,” Elizabeth assured her. “Well, I suppose not quite. He would have, but…he knew I would not accept.”

  Jane’s head turned sharply to Elizabeth. “You do not love him?”

  Elizabeth let her head thump against the headboard. “I do not know my own heart. My feelings are so complicated…and my thoughts so muddled.”

  Jane took one of Elizabeth’s hands and squeezed it. “I pray you, tell me.”

  So Elizabeth described Mr. Darcy’s claim to be her husband and what he had revealed about his feelings. She omitted only their kisses and how they had sh
ared a bed—although Jane surely guessed.

  Jane was silent a long time when Elizabeth was finished. “What are your feelings for Mr. Darcy now?” she asked finally.

  “I was very angry when I first discovered his deceit, but now I understand it better—how it happened, why he allowed it to continue. I have forgiven him…” Her voice trailed off.

  Jane waited for Elizabeth to continue.

  “It is odd. I should be angry. I was angry about his falsehoods. But at the same time, I cannot shake the habit of seeing myself as his wife. I suppose I grew accustomed to the idea.”

  “Was he a good husband?” Jane asked with a teasing smile.

  “The best sort of husband.” Elizabeth grinned, but her expression quickly sobered. “I miss that closeness. The informality. The warmth.” She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “But it was all a lie.” Mr. Darcy had grown more formal and distant once Elizabeth had remembered everything. The absence of that intimacy was like the gap of a missing tooth.

  Jane was silent for a moment. “Well, the part about being married was a lie, but the way he felt about you was not.”

  No, but… “I do not wish to become his wife because it is familiar and comfortable.”

  “That is why you did not accept his offer?”

  “Yes…and…I…must discover how I feel about him—even when I am not in his presence. When I do not think of him as a husband. Before France I disliked him so intensely, and now he wants me to tie myself to him for life. Sometimes I want that, but do I want it because I am simply accustomed to thinking of him that way?”

  “Oh, Lizzy…”

  “It is all a muddle, Jane. I do not know my own mind. When has that ever been true before? My wit has always been the one thing I could rely upon. I suppose I grew a little vain about it. My mind has been betraying me for weeks…and it continues. I cannot decide…I do not know what I think…and I cannot understand why I feel this way.”

  Jane stroked Elizabeth’s hair with calming hands. “I am certain all you need is time. You will sort it all out given time.”

  “I wish I had your faith,” Elizabeth murmured.