One breath. Elizabeth fought her body to draw in a second, but it had betrayed her. “I—I am… happy, Jane.”Oh!There was nothing more painful than offering praise and glory on behalf of another, when the cost to oneself was so dear! She gasped softly, a silent rest between the rhythmic lines of her empty hymn. “It is wonderful, such a surprise. Charles must be so proud. I am delighted for you, Jane.”
“I hoped you would be!” Jane gushed in relief. “You really are the truest, dearest sister, Lizzy. Oh, but we must speak no more of it!” Jane tilted her head and Elizabeth raised her eyes to the door.
Mr Bingley was the first of the gentleman to enter, his tender expression immediately searching out his wife. Some shared intimacy passed in their look, and he casually wandered in their direction. Beside him followed John Lucas, who seemed glad enough of the opportunity to make a foursome with the Bingleys and Elizabeth by the fire. Elizabeth’s attention, however, was reserved for her father.
Mr Bennet looked her way, but did not deign to interrupt the quiet group. He offered a kindly smile, then responded to a jest between Mr Gray and Mr Purvis—a local widower who was working very hard to attract Kitty’s notice. Elizabeth watched as the larger group settled in at cards, and her father retired to a corner with a book.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, then resolutely turned her head. John Lucas sat to her left, and if she kept her gaze steadily on his face, she could no longer see the writing desk.
Elizabethwaslatetobed that evening—later even than the rest of the family, who had all returned home in the long hours of the night. Lydia’s spirits had been her first concern, for she truly had begged off spending the evening in the company of Jane’s guests, fearing extreme discomfort when her marital status must be explained to the gentlemen. Elizabeth had tried gentle persuasion and promised to stand near for the whole of the evening, but Lydia had bluntly refused to meet the curious stares of the other guests and Jane Bingley’s pitying words.
Children, however, with their innocent affections and playful ways, seemed to work a magic in her. Elizabeth had hurried in from the carriage, still regretting that she had left Lydia to her own devices, but she had found her sister laughing riotously with their young Gardiner cousins. It seemed that the littlest had found one of the kittens from the barn and tied a bright ribbon round its short little tail, amusing them all for the better part of the evening. Clearly, her sisterly comfort was not required on this festive night.
Perhaps it was that very lack of purpose which troubled her at her toilette before she retired to bed. She gazed blankly through the flame of her candle, her face so close that she could smell its warmth fanning through the curls at her temples. Was she really so morose of late that even her father worried over her? Had she not just recently sported merrily with him over one of his favourite novels, and pointedly charmed each caller to attend the Bennet drawing room? Could the hollow sound of her laughter be heard by anyone but herself?
The mirror, staring back at her, gave answer enough. She was adrift, without direction or inspiration. And for what? For the loss of something that had never been hers? For envy of her beloved Jane, or disappointment over Lydia? A flash of anger rose in her eyes—the only life to spark back from her mirror. No! She swiped her hand over the flame, quenching it with a quick, stinging pinch of her fingers.There must be more.
Rubbing her eyes, Elizabeth tiptoed to the bed that was now hers alone and slid between her cold sheets. She shivered. It had never been absolutely necessary that she and Jane should share a room. Longbourn was large enough for the family and two guest rooms, after all, and seldom were both needed when company came. When they were still very small, however, she and Jane had found delight in long talks into the night, well after they were supposed to have been asleep. They had shared warmth and secrets, and never had the typical disagreements of sisters troubled their happy little arrangement.
Elizabeth burrowed more deeply under the counterpane, staring at the mound of Jane’s old pillow in the moonlight. It seemed so strange now, with no sounds of breathing, no second body dipping that side of the bed. So many times, when her feet and hands were cold, Jane and she would have snuggled close, giggling and tugging at the blankets. Hunching her shoulders, she tried to recall that sweet fellowship as she nestled her head into the pillow.
She tucked herself tightly all round and found that if she strained at the blanket just so, she could almost imagine that she was not alone—that her back rested securely against solid warmth, with a firm weight draped round her waist. She arched her neck, pulling back her shoulder to bare yet more of her skin as a breath of tepid air tickled below her ear.
The weight tightened over her stomach, rolling her close and cradling her head as a shiver thrilled up the back of her neck. “Elizabeth.”
Was it a voice she had heard, carried on the wind, or merely the creaks and groans of the old house as it cooled and settled for the night? She inhaled deeply, catching a tendril of sandalwood fragrance with undertones of something more earthy. Her fingers touched the bare space of her neck—a warmth kissing her skin, grazing delicately over that sensitive place.
“I have thought only of you.”
Elizabeth turned her head languidly. Surely, she had heard the words spoken aloud! The prickles along her arms testified to the whispered breath over her flesh, the deep hum of masculine tones.I am going mad!she chided herself, but she could not desire to shatter the dream with the truth. There could be no one there! Yet, some intuition compelled her to raise up, to meet the eyes that had long since been dimmed from memory.
He smiled and lifted gentle fingers to touch her cheek. “My dearest Elizabeth, how I have missed you!”
A tear spilled over his fingertips. She could not speak, could not even answer with a smile. Her lips parted, but her throat was so choked that she was capable of no more than a garbled sob. She bit her lips together, trying to nod, to speak—something!
“It is all right, my love,” he soothed. Those deep eyes, like sweet warm chocolate, searched lovingly over her face. “You have been too much alone, as have I.”
Her breast heaved. She wetted her lips, swallowing. “You cannot be real!” she whispered into the darkness.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I am not one given to fantasy or madness. You know that I detest all forms of pretense, yet you see me before you.”
She shook her head. “I have been seeing you everywhere! No, it is not you. My mind—I must be deceiving myself.”
His warm fingers brushed her chin. “Then you have longed to see me, my love, as I have you. You cannot know what comfort that gives me.”
A strangled cry trembled from her. “Oh, Mr Darcy, it is all my fault! I shall never overcome my grief! If I had only been gentler, forgiven more easily—”
“Do not linger over your regrets, my Elizabeth,” he murmured. “We must take what little we are given—do not let us return to the past.”
She bowed her head, trembling with tears, and felt his hand hesitantly rest upon her tousled curls. She leaned willingly into him, longing to feel more. He drew her to his chest, wrapping an arm about her, and simply held her. Shaking, Elizabeth at last dared to reach for him. Her fingers slipped over the smooth linen of his shirt, touching and testing and, at last, trusting.
She pressed her face into his chest, her hand fisting the material of his clothing and kneading the firm muscle of his shoulder. “Oh, my love! How shall I go on, knowing that what we share in our hearts, all that which might have been, can never be!”
“We have our small moments,” answered he. “All of life’s treasures may be stored up and accounted in moments such as these. My dearest Elizabeth, I have been a broken, lonely man in a dark place—from where I may never return. I have nothing left but these dreams of you.” His throat worked, his eloquent eyes imploring her to understand. “My Elizabeth,” he whispered, “forgive me for trying to invoke you into that darkness to be with me!”
She clenched her arm about his neck, greedily pressing her burning eyes to the thrumming warmth of his flesh. “I would rather face darkness with you than a world of comfort alone!”
His breath sighed through her hair, and his hands clasped her shoulders in fevered relief. “It is more than I can bear, Elizabeth! To never see you, to have no hope of such a life as I had always expected—it is too bitter!” His fingers traced up her neck, to her jaw, and he gently lifted her head to look into her eyes. “May I leave with you my heart for safekeeping? How I need you, my Elizabeth!”
