by Emma East
When had she become something more to him than a brief affair? Was it when she had the audacity to appear in his dreams or when he had refused to let her disappear from his life like she had attempted? Calling her Miss Bennet seemed so wrong to Darcy. She was his kitten, his Elizabeth. The wind died. The flames vanished. He was not enough for Elizabeth. Not strong enough to stay and fight in Hertfordshire, not strong enough to escape Honeyfield’s grasp. He was weak, and Elizabeth deserved someone who could protect her. Not a coward who couldn’t even face his own emotions, who lost his friends and betrayed her trust. “I do not wish to speak on this nonsense any further,” Darcy whispered. He stood in front of the door, his knuckles white as he squeezed the doorknob. He swallowed down the pain in his throat, the bitter fire that wanted to escape. “Now, please. Let us now join the others with no more discussion on this topic. If you hope to pursue Miss Bennet, then you have my… you have my goodwill.”
“And your blessing?” Fitzwilliam’s question was designed to hurt, and it did. Darcy flinched, but there was no one to see it.
“No,” he murmured. “No, you do not have that.”
* * *
“Correspondence for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Adams.”
Darcy, drinking his morning tea in the quiet of the empty breakfast room, scanned the envelopes. Only a few, most pertaining to his investments or Pemberley. A letter from Honeyfield caught his eye and he set it to the side. She likely wrote to query after his presence in town.
Then the final letter attracted his attention. He furrowed his brow. It had been some time since he had seen that careless, chaotic penmanship. Ignoring the letter opener Adams provided, he tore into it.
Darcy—
I write to recognize your apology and to accept it formally. I will admit to being a mite stubborn in how long it has taken to come to terms with everything that happened and accept that even you can make mistakes.
Darcy winced. Yes, and many more besides. He continued reading, eager to see what else his friend said. Hope clutched his chest.
It was not long after you left that I married Mrs. Bingley, and we will reside permanently in Netherfield once we return from our honeymoon tour. It is she who has encouraged me to reach out to you, with all of her usual sweetness and kindness. She has shown me how foolish I am to hold this grudge—though I will admit that, for her peace of mind, I refused to inform her of the reason behind our break. Please respect that decision.
To further extend the olive branch, I would invite you to Netherfield in July. You are sure to be tired of town by then, and you can then freely advise me on how to deal with the few tenants I have. I fear that I am out of my depth, and Mr. Bennet’s comments thus far do not reassure me.
I hope all is well with you and Georgiana. My sisters send their best wishes; only Caroline will be in residence this summer as my brother-in-law has important business in town to attend.
With friendship,
Charles Bingley
Darcy put down the letter in a better frame of mind than the one he had woken up to. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps he had not completely bungled his affairs. He had sent a letter renewing his apologies only a week after leaving Netherfield in the fall and had accepted the lack of reply for what it was. Now it appeared Bingley wished to renew their friendship.
Of course, it would be initiated by the kindhearted, forgiving Bingley, led on by his equally sweet new wife. That did not surprise Darcy in the least. It only surprised him that they could direct such forgiveness at him.
A desire to speak about this came to him, and there was only one person he wished to speak to about this news.
He found her returning to the parsonage from the village with Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas. The sunlight glowed against her skin and her smile would have turned any dour man’s heart. They spoke amicably about the weather for a few minutes before Mrs. Collins excused herself and her sister to the parsonage to ready that morning’s tea for Mr. Collins. Darcy did not imagine the significant look Mrs. Collins directed toward Elizabeth before they left.
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at him when the other women were out of hearing distance. “I fear dear Charlotte has some curious ideas about my friendships lately. I hope you aren’t offended.”
“No, not at all,” he said, admiring the blush painted on her cheeks. He bounced on the balls of his feet, imagining how he could have only dreamt of this day months ago. “I received a letter today.”
“Oh, yes? And is that an unusual occurrence, Mr. Darcy?”
A smile tugged his lips at her teasing. “From this quarter, yes. Netherfield, Miss Bennet.”
Her eyes lit up. “Mr. Bingley has written to you?”
“He has… forgiven me,” Darcy said, happiness catching his words. “He has written to invite me to Netherfield.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news,” Elizabeth said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Her smile was filled with unselfish joy for him. A pang hit him when she released him. She brushed an errant wisp of hair out of her smiling eyes. “He has been distraught by the fracture between the two of you, sending Jane to near distraction more than once with her worry. It’s a relief that he has finally reached out. I feared—well. It is of no matter.”
Darcy wondered at this. But it wouldn’t do to be too direct with Elizabeth. He held out his arm. “Can I walk you the rest of the way to the parsonage? I will even hold your basket, if you allow me.”
“Thank you.” She gratefully released it to him, explaining that it was bread that one of the villagers had gifted the parson’s family. “It is one of the best breads I’ve ever had, though I would ask you not to tell Hill that.”
“The secret will remain as such,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth laughed quietly. “Oh, Hertfordshire! It has been on my mind so often as of yet that I was only a little surprised that you brought such news today.”
“You are homesick?”
“Nothing is the same here: not the air, the clouds or sky. Everything lacks in comparison to Longbourn. I even miss my silly younger sisters.”
Darcy had a hard time looking away from her smile, but he managed it. “When do you expect to return?”
“Soon—next Tuesday.”
“Ah, so that is what Lady Catherine spoke of last night.” To Elizabeth’s enquiring gaze, he explained. “She stated she expected you and Miss Lucas to remain through the summer, at least, until she could escort you on some of the journey. She made it seem as if you would be leaving quite soon.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Unfortunately not. It is a study in patience, certainly.”
“And it will bring you joy to see your eldest sister, will it not?”
“Very much,” Elizabeth said, warmth in her voice. No two sisters could have as much love and friendship between them as Elizabeth and Jane.
“What of your new brother-in-law? You must find him the epitome of brotherly affection.”
“Naturally,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Bingley has not one unkind bone in his body. He even forgave me when I had no right to expect any consideration from him.”
Darcy’s surprise made him scrape his foot on the ground. He looked down at Elizabeth. “Forgive you? What for?”
Elizabeth’s eyelashes swept her cheeks as she looked down. “For… you know.”
Darcy glanced around the lane, but the surroundings offered him no answers. How could she think any of this was her fault? Blowing out his cheeks, he considered how he could answer.
“Miss Bennet… you know that it is my shortcomings that led to what happened. Not yours. You bear no responsibility for my offenses.”
Elizabeth glanced up at him, her lips pursing, and then faced ahead with narrowed eyes. “I pride myself on having a fair opinion of myself, Darcy. There were two people involved in every moment we were together. I bear equal culpability, if not more since my parents educated me from a young age not to engage in those sorts of indiscretions.”
“Implying
I was not taught likewise?” Darcy scoffed. “Elizabeth, if not for me, you would have left the mansion on the night we met. It was me who convinced you to stay.”
“Am I to have no say in my actions, whether good or bad?” She laughed, but there was a distinct lack of humor to it. “No, Darcy, I am no simple creature to allow others to bear all the guilt while I pretend to be proper. It is me who climbed into your lap in the garden, and who met you in the woods, and wh—”
“Only by my encouragement, and by my express persuasion,” Darcy said. “But I understand your point. If you wish to feel guilty, you may do so, just know that I do not hold you responsible, especially where it concerns my friendship with Bingley.”
“But it is—” She paused and then blew out an irritated breath when he held up his hand. “Fine. We must agree to disagree on the portions of guilt we must bear, and what the other thinks is a fair amount of guilt.”
“Good,” Darcy said. “Because I will never agree.”
“Well, many have told me what a disagreeable person you can be,” she said, and her arch tone made him chuckle.
They reached the parsonage and they stopped at the front gate. Elizabeth faced him, flicking a trailing vine away from the top of the post. In her eyes was a warmth that Darcy had never expected to have directed his way again.
“I would like to shake your hand in friendship,” Elizabeth said. Ridiculously, she held out her hand to him, but it was endearing the way her eyes gleamed with playful humor. “I want us to go forward as friends, beginning anew.”
“Friends,” Darcy said, the smile forming on his lips freezing at his surprise. He looked down at the hand stretched out to him. “What do you mean by anew?”
“Let us unburden ourselves of our guilt, both of us,” she said. Her smile was winning in the bright spring day. “It seems a shame to hold on to this guilt when you are starting fresh with Mr. Bingley. We should put the past firmly behind us and begin again.”
“You are recommending we forget the past?… Everything between us?”
“A fresh start, Mr. Darcy. What do you think?”
He thought of many possible answers, but none seemed to want to form on his lips. His mind went to Fitzwilliam, to his visit to the parsonage yesterday after their conversation the day before. Had he made his intentions clear to Elizabeth? Was this Elizabeth’s way of reconciling her past with Darcy so she could begin anew with Fitzwilliam?
His stomach churned. He began to regret what little breakfast he had indulged in that morning. It was stupid of him to forget that conversation or Fitzwilliam’s intentions. Or perhaps he had assumed, wrongly, that Fitzwilliam would wait before pursuing Elizabeth. But he had been to the parsonage only the day before. It followed that Fitzwilliam would seize the opportunity while she was still in close proximity.
He could see no sign of her motives in her expression. And he hardly expected her to tell him, especially if Fitzwilliam had not yet asked her father’s permission.
“If that is your wish, Miss Bennet,” he said, and swept her a bow. The ache of loneliness pressed at his chest, but he ignored it. He would continue to ignore it. He would no longer burden her when she had the possibility of a bright future ahead of her. A bright future without him. But he refused to stay here and pretend he felt good about it. He straightened, touched his hat, and wished her a good day before he turned around.
“Mr. Darcy? Mr. Darcy!”
She called toward his retreating form, but Darcy did not look back. He could not lie, not to her. He would not do that—he refused to lie to his friends, after all.
Chapter Thirteen
What… what had just happened?
Tearing away the strings of her bonnet, Elizabeth yanked it off her head when she stormed into the parsonage. She’d had enough of Darcy and his unpredictable moods. What could have offended him about starting fresh? Starting as friends, rebuilding the relationship between them, without as much focus on the ugliness that existed now?
The ugliness that stemmed from him, she wanted to add. Was it not Darcy who made love to her before tossing her away so he could focus on Honeyfield? She still remembered the look in his eye when he had first told her about the blackmail. Irritation at her. It had irritated Darcy that she insisted on knowing why they could not be together. He had treated her like a child who needed minding, trying to push her into his carriage and rid himself of her presence. Seen, but not heard. Kissed, but not loved.
Well, no more.
She hurried to her room upstairs, unable to bear the idea of even seeing Charlotte right then. She closed the door and bolted it against her best friend’s perceptive eyes. Oh, how she wished for home! Where she could safely hide in the chaos her sisters created, where she could escape and dwell on the pain shredding her chest. She had only wanted a fresh start, a new beginning.
I feel the honor of your affection deeply, his letter had told her. But not deeply enough to reveal their relationship to the public. Not deeply enough to stay in Hertfordshire and fight for her. Then, at Honeyfield’s manor, he had turned her away after she had made herself vulnerable to him. She had thrown herself at him with wild abandon, losing all sense of propriety, and he had taken her and then thrown her aside. Pushed her away for another day. Her father had said to always believe a man’s actions, no matter his words, and Darcy’s actions surely spoke of a man who did not intend to open his life to Elizabeth.
Now, here, he was hot and cold. Attempting to kiss her one day and the next content to hold her hand. And now… now spurning her friendship. Why? Because it wasn’t on his strange and unpredictable terms? Because she refused to be a lover he could lock away when he chose to hide her from the world?
Darcy had said that he hoped they would one day share their thoughts with each other in a spirit of companionship and honesty. Companionship… it had been a strange word for Darcy to use, and Elizabeth remembered being struck by it at the moment. Then, her heart had fluttered at the thought that Darcy might mean something more. Now, her heart knew the truth.
That must be it. It made sense now. She was a fool to have not seen it before. He did not love her—could not love her—when she was meant to be his mistress. After all, what respectable gentleman could love a woman so loose with her affections, her virtue?
She threw herself onto her bed and huddled there. All the terrible warnings she had given her younger sisters, all the terrible stories her mother had told her daughters, and Elizabeth had fallen headlong in love with a man who could only ever appreciate her body, never her mind.
“What a fool mama has raised,” she whispered into her pillow, tears thick in her throat. The truth was one Elizabeth had been too blind to recognize. She had wanted him so much, so deeply, that she hadn’t allowed herself to see the truth.
He cannot love me—he will never love me.
Her mind spinning with this terrible truth, cold clarity washed over her. If Darcy did not love her, if he would only ever see her as a lover, then this gave her a sort of freedom. She could unlock the chains of loyalty and need he had secured around her heart. She could throw off the chains meant to wrap her to him, to all of his unpredictable ways, and she could… she could…
She could live again.
Oh, it would be a different sort of life than the one she’d had before. She was no longer the innocent Elizabeth Bennet. But neither was she the naïve Elizabeth Bennet either. She could never be fooled by Darcy again, that was certain, or others of his ilk who attempted to use her.
No, she wouldn’t let anyone get as close as Darcy had. Never again.
But for that day, she wept for what could have been, and promised herself that when she finally went downstairs, she would begin her life as the new Elizabeth Bennet. She stayed true to herself, too. When she appeared downstairs at lunch, she appeared with a fresher, healthier outlook. Charlotte stared at Elizabeth longer than warranted, but otherwise made no comment. When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived near mid-afternoon, even Charlotte could
n’t tell anything had been amiss given Elizabeth’s pleasant manners.
“Did you see Darcy this morning, then? Well, it may be the last time you do. Darcy’s shortened his stay. He had to—he received a letter from London that spoke of urgent business.”
“Did he? Well, I hope it isn’t too serious,” Charlotte said, glancing at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth sipped her tea. “Hm. He doesn’t expect to return?”
“No, unfortunately,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.
She lifted her brows, a playful tone in her voice. “At least we still have your company to enjoy, Colonel. Unless you are to follow him to London?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled, his teacup clattering on its saucer as he set it down. “Have no fear, Miss Bennet. I will be here for some time yet.”
And when Elizabeth expressed her delight at the news, Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared to search her expression, puzzling Elizabeth greatly. Whatever he searched for, he did not find, for he sat back in his seat with a mildly troubled expression. He did not explain and Elizabeth did not pry, but she was not displeased when, soon after, Colonel Fitzwilliam took his leave.
“Well, that is unpleasant news about Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte said when they were cleaning up. “I wonder what could have sent him back to London. I hope everything is well.”
“We may never know unless the papers find out and print it. Why ever do you look at me so queerly, Charlotte?”
“It is only… it’s nothing. Are you sure you’re well? You were acting differently this morning, and then you disappeared off to your room after your walk with Mr. Darcy. I thought maybe his leaving had changed your mood.”
Her eagle eyes read every minute expression from Elizabeth’s face, she knew. Elizabeth could not prevent that, nor entirely restrain her instinctive reaction. However, she could control her words and ensure that Charlotte knew that the morning’s absence had little to do with Darcy.
“I feel I may have alarmed you by taking to my room this morning, but it was innocently done. My head hurt, you see, and I wished for a lie down. Poor Mr. Darcy had to put up with me being quite unsociable this morning—I’m afraid it is I who has chased him off to London!”
