Fitzwilliam carefully lifted the headpiece from her head, and Elizabeth patted her curls into place. “Not at all. It was invigorating. I have never felt more calm or more contented. It truly is an amazing invention.” She still gripped the sides of her chair, but her motive was drastically different. She would have floated up to the ceiling otherwise, as crazy as that sounded.
Papa fiddled with his spectacles. “Do you think this battery will last a few more uses?”
Mama pushed Elizabeth out of the chair, plopping herself down. “I am next,” she declared, waving her feet in front of her to prevent Lydia from shoving her out of the chair to claim the next treatment.
Fitzwilliam stood near, watching, silent.
The colonel clapped him on the back. “Let us see if the contraption stimulated more than pleasant feelings. Do you remember the topic of your discussion with this man when you stayed in with a headache and Darcy called at Hunsford Cottage?”
Eight sets of eyes turned to her (thirteen counting the servants standing just outside the door jostling for position).
Elizabeth smiled, her gaze fixing on Fitzwilliam. “We discussed…” Like a heavy door, her mind slammed shut, leaving her in the dark. She squinted her eyes, praying her tongue would continue where her mind was unable. “We discussed…”
Her heart lurched into her throat, her stomach dropped, and she crashed to the ground, scraped, bruised, crushed.
She closed her mouth, pressing her icy fingers against her burning eyes, her disappointment cruel after the heights to which she had allowed her hope to soar.
CHAPTER 25
Darcy clutched his fist into his stomach. It was still there, churning nauseatingly.
The machine had not worked.
Pinching his eyes closed, Darcy saw a picture of Elizabeth’s emotions, displayed transparently on her beautiful face, transforming from elation to dismal disappointment. What he would give to forget that look. To turn back time and spare her another defeat.
Guilt battled with his need to comfort. He could not look at her, but he needed to offer his touch.
Her hands wrapped around his, warm and forgiving. “I will try the machine as many times as it is safe to use. Until the battery dies.”
Darcy’s chest tightened, too small for his heart. Raising her palm to his lips, he tenderly kissed her exposed flesh, felt her tremble, shared it. Her body remembered what her mind had erased, and Darcygrasped onto that small shard of gleaming hope with all the enthusiasm of an unrequited lover.
Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, he asked, “Care to join me for a stroll by the pond?”
She tugged him toward the door in reply, accompanied by the sound of Mrs. Bennet’s glee.
“Papa will thank you for introducing us to Mr. Aldini’s stimulator, if not for my sake then for my mother and sisters’,” Elizabeth teased.
HIs smile came easily. “My purpose is to please.”
She tilted her chin up, gravity overwhelming coquetry. “What if I never remember? What then?”
“You will.”
“You have said that before, but we cannot be so certain now. Too much time has gone by, and every minute that passes lessens my chances of ever recovering my memories of you … and increases the likelihood of madness.”
Her words punched him in the gut, grabbing his insides and twisting. His step faltered. He could not breathe.
Elizabeth stopped, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her fingers. “I wish to deny the possibility as much as you do, but we must think rationally. I could not burden you with such a prospect.”
“And I cannot do without you,” he turned to face her, stepping closer and closer and closer until she was in his arms and all he could smell was the rosewater in her hair. Her fingers tickled a trail from his cheeks tothe back of his neck, pulling him closer still, standing on her toes. Closer.
Darcy was powerless to resist. He captured her lips, and Elizabeth leaned into him, her fingers tangled in his hair, their hearts beating in harmony. She reciprocated his affection with an enthusiasm that left Darcy discomposed. Sky blended with grass, night seeped into day, and the only certainty was the woman he held in his arms.
They stood toe-to-toe, catching their breath, Elizabeth’s hands pressed against the lapels of his coat. “You will have to marry me now, Fitzwilliam.”
His breath caught in his throat. She had been calling him Mr. Darcy since their wedding day. If a kiss was the cure, why had he not kissed her sooner? “Elizabeth?” he asked. It was all he could ask.
She shook her head slowly, sinking down to the bench by the pond. “No memories yet, Fitzwilliam, but I consider myself most fortunate to have experienced a first kiss twice.” She pushed against him, teasing, “Do not tell me we have not kissed before, for I would not believe you.”
