MORNING LIGHT STREAMED through the casement windows in Darcy’s study, illuminating the single letter on the silver tray. Leaning against the back of his chair, Darcy lifted a hand to massage his temple. He had not slept well. Images of Elizabeth and their near-kiss in the library kept him awake late into the night, and when he did finally slumber, his dreams offered little relief.
Rising early, he had attempted to clear his head with a morning ride, but returning to find the letter had done nothing to improve his mood. Picking it up now, he stared at the name inscribed upon the heavy parchment. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. A gentleman’s hand, Darcy was sure of it. He turned the letter over, examining the unfamiliar seal pressed into the deep red wax. Of course, it could be from Elizabeth’s father, but somehow the handwriting did not seem to be that of an older gentleman. It was certainly not from Bingley, as this was not his seal, nor did the precise penmanship match his friend’s unruly scrawl.
Unbidden, Grant’s image once again found purchase in Darcy’s mind. He had not missed the look of repressed longing the physician had directed at Elizabeth before taking his leave. Dropping the folded paper, Darcy’s fingers clenched. No. It was impossible. No single gentleman would have the audacity to pen a letter to an unmarried young lady. His conscience prickled. Of course, he had done it… But that had been a totally different situation! And he had not sent his letter by post. He had placed it directly and discreetly into Elizabeth’s hands.
Before he could consider the matter further, soft footsteps diverted his attention and he glanced up to see Elizabeth and her maid crossing the front hall. Setting the letter back upon the salver he rose and made his way to the open door.
“Miss Bennet!” Elizabeth turned and Darcy continued, “I was just on my way to seek you out. A letter arrived for you a short while ago.”
Elizabeth quickened her steps, hurrying in his direction. Her maid, Polly, followed a few paces behind. The two women entered his study and Darcy turned over the letter. “I hope it is not bad news,” he said, watching as Elizabeth broke the seal.
“I do not know. I thought it might be from Jane, but the handwriting is my uncle’s.”
To Darcy’s embarrassment, relief flooded through him as Elizabeth turned her attention to the letter, quickly scanning the single page.
“Oh! My uncle has been called back to Town. He writes to tell me that they have had to curtail their travels. He and my aunt will return to collect me within the next few days.”
The solace Darcy had felt only moments before instantly turned to dread and he struggled to disguise his distress. “I see.” Darcy paused. “Could you not wait and travel with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley? I am certain they would wish to spend some time with you after such a long journey.”
Elizabeth looked up, slowly shaking her head. “I would like that, but I am afraid my aunt and uncle will expect me to return with them.”
“Of course.” Darcy nodded, fighting against the rising panic that twisted his stomach.
Still gripping the letter, Elizabeth sank into one of the chairs before the wide mahogany desk. Her shoulders trembled, and Darcy drew closer to where she sat.
“You are chilled,” he murmured. “Let me get a servant to make up the fire.”
Elizabeth stared back at him, an unreadable expression in her eyes. “No, I thank you but there is no need. In any case, I should let you return to your work.”
She rose slowly to her feet, but Darcy held up his hand. “No, stay.” Shifting his gaze, Darcy turned to the maid who still hovered near the door. “Polly, pray, go and fetch a wrap for Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth looked like she might object but returned to her seat, fixing her attention on the maid. “Thank you, Polly. I believe I left my shawl in the music room.”
The maid curtsied but remained where she was.
Propping one hip on the corner of his desk, Darcy smiled. “It is all right, Polly. I believe Miss Bennet will be safe enough for a few moments while you retrieve her shawl.”
Blushing furiously, the maid dropped another brisk curtsy, darting from the room. Darcy followed her to the door, closing it just enough to give them a small degree of privacy.
Behind him, Elizabeth folded her letter, reaching to place it upon the tray in the center of the desk. Her sharp inhalation caused Darcy to turn, his own breath freezing in his chest.
Elizabeth’s stared back at him. “Mr. Darcy, is this not my book?”
Darcy’s gaze fixed on the worn volume in Elizabeth’s hands. How could he have been so careless? To have left the book on his desk, in plain sight! Well, there was nothing to be done for it now.
Slowly, he retraced his steps. “It is.”
Elizabeth pulled her eyes away from his face, flipping through the pages. “But… Did you not say that it was ruined?”
“It is ruined, Miss Bennet, as you see.”
“And yet you kept it…”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I…” Darcy paused, rubbing his face. “Initially I thought to have it repaired, but the damage was too great, so I purchased a replacement. But you are correct. I should have returned the original.”
Clutching the book tightly to her chest, Elizabeth stood, making her way around the desk. “You needn’t apologize. I do not mind that you kept it, I only wish to know why.”
Gazing into Elizabeth’s upturned face, Darcy’s chest contracted as the words he longed to say swirled inside his head. Because every time I see it, I am reminded of you. Because when I hold it, I feel your joy. Because I love you.
A noise from the vestibule caused them to jump apart and they turned in tandem to find Elizabeth’s maid standing in the doorway.
“Your wrap, miss.”
Coming forward, the maid presented the Indian shawl, and Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. “I thank you, Polly.”
The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour and Darcy stepped away, clearing his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I find I am late for an appointment with my steward.” Crossing in front of Elizabeth he bent to murmur softly as he passed, “Take the book, it belongs to you.”
Elizabeth watched him go before turning her attention to the worn volume in her hand. She remained in that position for several moments before returning the book to its place on Mr. Darcy’s desk and following him from the room.
***
Elizabeth stopped at the door to her chambers. Twisting the handle, she slipped inside, making her way across the Aubusson carpet. A small fire crackled in the hearth, chasing off the morning chill. Draping her shawl upon a nearby chair, she paced to the far corner of the room. Stooping beside her trunk, Elizabeth loosened the straps, tipping back the lid and deftly running her fingers along the smooth bottom.
Her thumb bumped against the tiny lever and she pressed down, causing the door to the hidden compartment to spring open. Reaching into the small space, she pulled out the familiar envelope with its red wax seal. The once crisp vellum had softened to a supple buttery-texture, and Elizabeth was careful not to cause any further damage as she extracted the two sheets of parchment, written through in a very close hand. Rising to her feet, she returned to the comforting warmth of the fire before glancing down at the words she had long ago committed to memory.
Her eyes skimmed the page, phrases leaping out at her to once again wreak havoc with her heart.
Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter…
… I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten…
… pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly…
… ignorant as you previously were… detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination…
… I will only add, God bless you. FITZWILLIAM DARCY
Swallowing back a swell of emotion, Elizabeth turned to stare out the adjacent window. However, when she gazed through the mullioned glass, it was not Pemberley’s rolling hills she saw, but Mr. Darcy’s countenance—the serious expression in his dark eyes the day he had handed her his letter.
… I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself…
And yet he had humbled himself. Not only in penning this missive—laying his heart bare and confiding his deepest family secrets—but in all the months that had followed, with his every courtesy to her and her family, despite what had come before. Her throat tightened as tears prickled at the corners of her vision. Propping her elbow upon the mantelpiece, Elizabeth held the letter loosely between her fingers, her gaze coming to rest upon the final line:
I will only add, God bless you…
After the word add, she could just make out a splotch of ink upon the fine linen parchment, as if he had held the tip of his pen there overlong before completing the valediction. Had he intended to write some other words in that space, besides his blessings? Elizabeth shook her head. If he had, she would never know. His pride and her prejudice had destroyed any hope they might have had of building a future together.
… the happiness of both…
How very different her idea of happiness was now, from what it had been then. In Hunsford, she had sworn that Mr. Darcy was the last man in the world that she could ever be prevailed on to marry. Now, she would give anything just to hear him express the sentiments she had scorned back then.
Her fingers tightened around the letter, a silent sob tickling her throat.
Heaven help her, she loved him. If only she hadn’t discovered it far too late.