Page 24 of Yearning

“I do not care about that.”

“Well, I do.”

She glared at him.

“You know I’m right,” he said. “You know, you must know, that you would rather live your life than be stuck here with me.”

“I do not know that,” she said.

“You must, at least, have some doubt.”

She hesitated.

He pointed at her with his good arm. “You see?”

“But if you wanted me, we could surmount it,” she said. “If you wanted me—”

“Is that what you need to hear from me?” He held her gaze.

Her breath caught and she looked at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Don’t,” she gasped, barely audible.

“I do not want you, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said.

“Don’t,” she said again, stronger.

“I cannot do anything with you,” he said, his voice cracking. “And you are only a reminder to me of everything that I cannot be. Seeing you is nothing but agony, and I wish you would…” He licked his lips. His voice came out very, very quiet. “I wish you would go away and never come back.”

A tear trickled out over one of her cheeks, but otherwise, she remained composed. “Damn you as well, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she said, her voice steady. “Damn you to the depths of the pit.”

When she walked out of the room that day, he knew she wasn’t coming back.

And that, well, it was all for the best.

II

CHAPTER EIGHT

ELIZABETH WAS STARING out of the window in the room where she was staying for the next two weeks when there was a knock at her door.

It startled her, sending her already beating heart into further scattered patters. Taking a shaky breath, she smoothed her skirts and went to the door, opening it, and resolving not to allow the person on the other side to see that she was affected.

It was only…

How could he be here?

It was her husband on the other side of the door. “Well, there she is, a vision, the Baroness Hellig,” he said to her, his eyes twinkling in that way of his. “Every time I see you, Elizabeth, I must say, you quite take my breath away. I am the luckiest of men.”

She looked away, feeling heat come to her cheeks. He was often this way with her, and she could not say that she minded it.

“I am come to tell you some possibly upsetting news,” he said.

“Oh?” she said. What could be more upsetting than knowing that Mr. Darcy is here?

“Your, erm, your former fiancé seems to be in attendance here, and I wished you to hear it from me before you were faced with the surprise of his presence at dinner,” said her husband.

Oh, well, that was like her husband, too. He was always looking out for her. Truly, she did not talk much of Mr. Darcy, really she never spoke of him, but her husband seemed to sense that this absence of speaking of him was significant in its own way, and he was respectful of it. He was not a jealous sort of man. She was his third wife. He had no need of a wife at all, in fact, as he had made clear, so their union was only pleasure, not obligation at all. He seemed to actively look away from anything that might cause conflict between them, focusing only on what was pleasant.

This could have bothered her. It would have, had he been someone else. She might have felt as if she was not really an equal to this man, but instead only an amiable, pretty diversion, rather like a doll he enjoyed buying dresses for, if only so he could take them off of her. It was the truth of it, perhaps, but she did not mind. She only wished that all of this taking off of her dresses had led to her womb quickening, and it had not, not in over a year of marriage.