He caught her hand and spun her back—his eyes haunted and brimming. His look was ominous, his intent clear—he would cast reason and sense aside if she but gave him a sliver of encouragement.
“Please, William,” she whispered. “I beg you not to ask me.”
“How can I not?” he hissed. The door to the room beyond opened, and he dropped her hand; both composing themselves before the dowager’s departing maid could see anything amiss.
“I intend to sit with him an hour,” she informed him, in a voice that was strange and flat, even to her own ears. “I presume you will wish to take your turn later?”
He tightened his lips and waited until Sarah was gone, then pulled her close again. “I wish you would not. He is not himself. What are you hoping to prove?”
“Prove?” She shook her head. “No, William, it is not that.”
“Then what is it? You cannot deny the truth, Elizabeth. It is before you every moment.”
“I know. That is why I must go to him.” She placed her palm on his cheek, felt how his emotions simmered and foamed just below the thin surface of his self-control. “What is here—this—it must be laid to rest.”
He hungrily captured her hand and pressed his lips against it. “You speak of duty, of honour, but my soul groans for life. I could no sooner walk away from you than—-”
“Than what?” she interrupted. Angry tears spilt down her cheeks, and she clenched her teeth in a fearful grimace. “Than cut out your own heart? Dash every wish and dream you ever had and resign yourself to a shadow of what you once hoped? Do you think I feel less?”
“No—” he released her hand. “But how is it you seem to suffer less for your feelings?”
“Oh, William! If only you could know how my very soul is crumbling—but you do! I have never needed to tell you. You always knew me.”
“Then, you admit it! Everything in you recoils, does it not? This is a violence upon us all, and we can either endure half a life in silence or we can—”
“Do what? Wreck everyone else for our own selfishness? Will, it is not fair—you must not look at me so! I cannot bear it.”
“Mustn’t I?” He reached for her hand once more and gently caressed each slim finger as he leaned low, his breath urgent against her ear. “It is all I have left. Please, Elizabeth. I cannot—Iwillnot lose you!”
A great shudder racked her. She closed her eyes, trembling as it passed. When she looked up again, defeat had darkened that spark; had cast a pall over them both.
“It seems, Mr Darcy, that I was never yours to lose.”
Chapter 43
“Hewilldowellenough.”
Elizabeth jerked her head up to look at the dowager. They had been watching a sleeping Richard in silence for half an hour, with hardly a word exchanged even when Elizabeth had come into the room. “I hope it is so, my lady. I am glad to see him resting quietly.”
“Not my son,” the dowager corrected. “I mean your other young man.”
Elizabeth’s gaze fell. “I am afraid he is notmy...” She cleared her throat. Her very soul ached. William might not be hers, but she could not say she was nothis.
“Of course, he is. Anyone with eyes can see the poor man’s heart is split open. And why should it not be so? It is not wrong to pity him, my dear, nor yourself, but give it time. He will mend well enough, you will see. So will you—though I dare not suggest you will forget, you will, indeed, survive. ‘Tis not the end of all things, my dear.”
Elizabeth stared sullenly at her feet. Just now, the last thing she wished to think of was William “mending.” That would mean putting her aside, moving on, perhaps even seeking love elsewhere. Or, worse yet, settling once more for the idea of a marriage without love... and she would be forced to watch it all.
“And what of yourself, child?” the dowager enquired. “Your heart is torn as well.”
Her lip trembled, and she considered not replying at all, but she could not hold back the truth. “Shredded, my lady,” she gasped.
The older woman nodded slowly. “Better to start again with shattered fragments grown anew, than to try to piece together something only slightly cracked.”
Elizabeth laughed wryly. “I do not see how that makes any sense. Your words come at a bitter time, my lady.”
The dowager leaned towards her with a whisper. “How is your faith?”
“Very weak, I am afraid.”Weak. Weak was not the half of it. Her throat was utterly strangled at each breath, and it was all she could do not to heave herself against the door, cry out, and run after the one who made her world whole again. Instead, she just sat, with tear-drenched eyes and trembling body, trying with the last ounces of her strength to listen instead of collapsing into a mournful heap.
