Page 10 of Yearning

But then, it seemed that people trailed off around him often.

It was not a life for certain statements, perhaps. His was now a life of tentativeness.

She took his hand in hers. “I have longed to speak to you, Fitzwilliam. I have longed for it.”

He shut his eyes, the press of her palm against his a warm sweetness. He could smell her as she leaned close, and she smelled like herself and maybe lilacs, or maybe he only imagined that. Whatever the case, she smelled to him like the achievement of everything he ever set out to achieve, like satisfaction. He opened his eyes. “I wanted to apologize to you. I should never have asked you to smother me with a pillow.”

She let go of his hand. “You were not yourself then. I know it. We never have to speak of that again.”

He looked into her eyes. “I am going to be all right, Lizzy. I am going to live. I am getting off the laudanum, and I am told that my pelvis will be healed enough in two more months that I shall be able to sit up. You said something once about a wheeled chair, I seem to remember.”

She beamed at him. “Yes. Yes, to all of that. It will be hard and it won’t be what we had thought it would be, but we shall have each other, Fitzwilliam, and I am looking forward to—”

“I don’t want you here for any of it, however,” he said.

She was startled.

He grunted. “I’ve said that wrong. I am grateful, Lizzy, for everything. You have watched over me for months, and it is well beyond anything I could have imagined you would do. But we… you and me… there is no future here. You and I both know it.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Fitzwilliam, you are not doing this. I should have expected it from you, of course, for you are entirely the sort to throw yourself on a sword—”

“I am not throwing myself on a sword,” he said, shaking his head at her.

“You most certainly are,” she said, hands on her hips.

“No,” he said. “I love you, and this is not what I had in mind when I asked you to be my wife. This is not the life I would give the woman I love. You, my darling, are the one throwing yourself on a sword.”

She squared her shoulders, but she said nothing. She had no retort to that.

It was quiet for several moments as he tried to think of how to put this. He did not want it to sound as if he were sort of handing her off to some other man without taking her feelings into consideration, but perhaps he was. And if he were honest with himself, perhaps he didn’t wish to let her be free to choose, not exactly. Perhaps it made it easier if he chose her husband.

That is despicable, he thought.

Regardless, he plowed forward. “I do not know if you are aware, but I think it is rather obvious that Colonel Fitzwilliam admires you.”

She turned to look at him, nearly crestfallen. “He told you?”

“No, he did not tell me,” said Darcy, feeling a little dizzy suddenly. “He told you?”

“He…” She wrapped her hands around her waist and turned away. “No, no, but before your proposal at Rosings, he made a few pointed comments, things like, ‘Second sons cannot marry where they choose,’ things of that nature.”

“At Rosings?” Darcy glared at the ceiling. “That blackguard. He must have known how I felt about you…” Perhaps Richard had not, though, because Darcy had never considered, back then, that there was any question that he would marry Elizabeth Bennet if he decided he wished to. The obstacle had been his own pride. Once he wrestled that out of the way, he assumed everything would line up perfectly. He had never expected her to refuse him.

It seemed so desperately funny in hindsight, especially because it was all unimportant, all those things he thought were important.

He cleared his throat. “Well, this is neither here nor there. I can tell you do not have those sorts of feelings for him, not now, but I thought, perhaps, if I can but convince you to let me go, you might consider him. I suppose you had a chance to consider him.”

“I do not see how I can marry him, even if I could consider him,” she said coldly. “He made it quite clear he needs to marry a dowry.”

“I shall give you a dowry.”

“No.” She backed away from him, horrified. “What is wrong with you, Fitzwilliam?” Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes shone. And before her tears could spill over, she ran from the room.

Darcy sighed, and it hurt all over when he sighed. That really had not gone well.

CHAPTER FIVE

ELIZABETH NEARLY COLLIDED with Colonel Fitzwilliam as she was fleeing the entire house. She could not go back there and sit with Mr. Darcy, not now, even though she usually spent all day in his room with him.