Forcing a smile, Darcy turned to Bingley. “Let us not detain the vicar any longer.”
Miss Bennet accepted Bingley’s arm, and together they took their positions in front of the vicar.
Darcy sat beside Elizabeth, close but not too close,all the time hoping her memory would return to her before the ceremony began.
“We are gathered together here…” the clergyman began.
Darcy looked askance at Elizabeth.
Nothing.
His heart dropped to his toes. He wanted to enjoy Bingley’s joyous day, but he did not have it in him. He was too numb.
His seat in the front row gave him the perfect view of the two lovers peering at each other, their hearts in their eyes, their happiness written all over their faces too great to conceal.
He sat erect though heavy thoughts weighed on him. He ought to be standing there with Elizabeth. When he had seen Elizabeth enter the chapel on her father’s arm, beautiful in her cream gown and her wild brunette curls, Darcy had wondered how his heart could hold so much joy. So much tender longing.
How quickly his happiness transformed to hurt.
Quiet consumed the congregation, but Darcy’s every thought shouted his heartbreak.
CHAPTER 9
The sorrow in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, the absolute dejection in his furrowed brows and crestfallen expression, haunted Elizabeth. That she had a strong connection to the man sitting beside her was undeniable. She felt his hurt as acutely as if it were her own, so much so, she could not distinguish which emotion belonged to her and which originated from Mr. Darcy.
He was equally aware of her. She saw it in his ready posture and the way his legs were poised under him, ready to act. For her.
It pierced Elizabeth to the core. She had hurt him deeply, and still, Mr. Darcy was ready to act on her behalf. She had no doubt that if she asked him to run to London, he would do it.
She squeezed her eyes closed, shutting out the alternating whimpers and sighs of her mother, the hushedvoices of the assembled, and leaving only the image of the man who filled her awareness beside her. Peeking through her eyelashes, she glanced at him, memorizing his features, holding the picture in her mind closely in the hope it would spark a memory.
Tighter, closer. She clenched her hands. Any memory would do.
The bump on her head fought back, pounding against her concentration like a cricket bat. However, her body warmed at his nearness, feeling what her mind refused to remember.
Her mother leaned against Papa, muttering behind her handkerchief. “Mr. Bennet, you must make her marry Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth considered. What if she went through with it anyway? True, the sadness in Mr. Darcy’s eyes was undeniable, and she hated to disappoint anyone in whom she had entrusted something so important as her heart, her future, her happiness. She had always believed she would never agree to marry for anything less than the deepest, most steadfast love. Surely, she must have loved Mr. Darcy dearly. Surely.
But … a little voice whispered from the recesses of her mind … was it possible to forget someone you truly loved?
Papa whispered to Mama, “It is better for one daughter to marry than for both to remain unattached. The wedding license remains valid for three months, and you may trust that our Lizzy will recover in time.Of all her strengths, her mind has always been the strongest.”
Until today, Elizabeth thought.
Mr. Darcy looked at her fully and nodded his head slowly. The intensity in his gaze sent coils of electric shocks through her, spiraling out from her center. It was both thrilling and maddening. Why did her brain refuse to cooperate with what her body craved?
“Pray do not be troubled. I will help you. My affections and feelings have not changed,” he whispered, his voice deep and raw.
His compassion twisted like a knife in Elizabeth’s gut, and as the vicar’s droll monotone echoed in the background, she was overwhelmed by the urge to cry.
She sucked in her breath, but her emotions were too strong. One tear escaped.
Elizabeth forced herself to smile. It was a happy tear. For Mr. Bingley and Jane. This was their day, and Elizabeth would not be guilty of lessening their joy. She felt guilty enough.
Unable to gaze directly upon the happy couple, Elizabeth looked about her.
Mr. Collins listened with his face uplifted to the heavens and his eyes closed in deep meditation. William Collins, Papa’s nearest relation and Charlotte’s husband. Had he not dabbed his face so often with his handkerchief, Elizabeth might have suspected him asleep and not in a reverie.
