“In this last week, I have felt as if I have lived a lifetime. A lifetime of loss and discovery. I am uncertain who I am anymore.”
“I believe you are who you have always been.”
“Heaven forbid you believe that,” he said, dropping his hands and walking away with quick steps. “If that be the case, there is nothing in my power to change your opinion of me.”
“You are wrong,” she said, stopping him with her words.
“I am wrong?” he asked, turning to her, and returning to face her. “What have I to recommend myself? Insults? A taciturn disposition? An aunt who has behaved meaner than any relative I have accused you of having?”
She shook her head, and she reached into her reticule and withdrew the letter.
Upon seeing it, he lowered his head in shame. “I should not have written that,” he said. “Forgive me for the degradation of your family, and the disservice I performed to your sister. I plan on immediately writing to Bingley to make things right.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, lowering her eyes. “Although I am grateful for your words, and more so for your actions on behalf of my sister, I do not findthisletter repugnant.”
He stepped back and cocked his head at her. She could still not meet his eyes.
“I find it…impassioned.”
Confused, he said, “I do not understand. This was the most ungentlemanly lettereverwritten. After contemplation, I agree with your estimation of my person. There is nothing I did to show good character at all. You are much too generous with me.”
She extended the parchment. “Please read it aloud,” she said as she heard him unfolding the pages.
“Aloud?”
“Please, sir.”
“Very well,” he said, agitation in his voice. Clearing his throat, he began, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Be not alarmed, my love… that this letter contains any sentiments that last night were so worrisome to you…”
He gasped, and it was then she knew he realized what he held.
They walked in silence as if hesitant to say the words aloud.How can any of this be part of a dream? Or am I still dreaming?A servant met them on the steps to Rosings with news that his doctor had arrived, halting whatever conversation they might have eventually summoned. But what was he to have said to her? How was he to recover after finding her in possession ofthatletter while using thehandkerchief he had bought from Bingley’s store? Nothing made sense.
Dr. Wiley had arrived and, with him, a specialist from London who wanted to examine the patient. As he handed his hat to the footman and entered Rosings, the trusted butler said, “Sir, the doctors have been shown to their guest quarters. Colonel Fitzwilliam awaits you in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Holden.”
The old servant bowed and walked down the corridor, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone in the entryway.
“I believe I will retire to my room. With a book,” Elizabeth said, barely meeting Darcy’s eyes. She took a step toward the stairs when he reached his hand to stay her.
“Miss Bennet…Elizabeth…we must speak.”
“Yes, we must,” she said softly. Confusion was in her eyes, and he wanted to smooth the furrow between her brows.
“If these doctors deem me fit”—a small smile crept across his lips—“would you care to go for a ride in the phaeton later?”
Her answer was not immediate, and a trace of anxiety spread through him.
“I would like that very much.”
“Then I shall find you…?”
“Guess.”
He grinned at her teasing. “The library?”
“You know me well.”
