“I cannot let you go alone.” Darcy was clutching at a straw. He knew, deep in his soul, that she meant to leave him forever.
Elizabeth turned on him, eyes ablaze. “How will you stop me from going alone, Fitzwilliam? Will you keep me under lock and key? Will you follow me and drag me back here against my will? If you do, I will escape again and again, and one of those times I will make it to London, and I will find a solicitor who will take my case; and although I, as a woman, cannot seek a divorce from you, I will let it be known that we never consummated our marriage.The ton will shun you, thinking you perverted in your tastes.” Elizabeth did not know why she said such awful things; she would never purposely hurt Darcy. Even with Lydia’s abduction, she, truthfully, did not blame Darcy as much as she did herself. She had let down her guard, and Wickham had swept in for the kill.
Darcy stepped away from the door, resigned. Elizabeth would never forgive him. He had lost her—lost the only woman he would ever love. “I will not stop you,” he muttered, “and not because of your threat, but because I will not see you hurt by me any longer. Send word where you choose to go, and I will have my man provide for you.Whatever you need—tell him; I will not deny you.” He stepped purposefully behind the desk, as if negotiating a business arrangement. “If you wish to leave today, I shall have the coach readied.” Deflated by his loss, Darcy sat down heavily.
Elizabeth nodded before moving to the door; yet she paused with her hand on the knob. Her voice trembled. “I am sorry, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, as if offering a caress, but she did not turn around.Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
“I will think otherwise,” he said from somewhere behind her. Elizabeth heard the emotion in his voice. “I will never be sorry for loving you, Elizabeth. Even with everything that happened, I do not regret one moment I held you in my arms. I only regret that I brought you pain. It was not a fair exchange for the joy you gave me.”
Imagining the danger in which she placed her family by being with Darcy, Elizabeth forced herself to turn the handle—made
The tap on his study door was insistent, but Darcy made no move to respond. Elizabeth had departed more than two hours earlier. He had watched her board the coach—watched as she left, never to return again. Even if he had not seen her leave, Darcy intuitively would have known Elizabeth was gone forever. The house was a crypt; all the sunlight that had filled it for the past few weeks had departed on the back of the carriage that took her away from him. He now stood leaning against his forearm, looking deeply into a fully engaged fireplace, but feeling the chill of an empty heart.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana knocked again and tried the knob before pounding with her fist. “Fitzwilliam, open the door! Elizabeth left, Fitzwilliam.Will you not go after her?”
Georgiana waited for an answer, but Darcy did not move. He had locked the door when Elizabeth walked out of it two hours and thirteen minutes earlier. He counted it off in five-minute intervals, wondering how long it would be before he died of a broken heart. How long could he survive without breathing? What had he done before Elizabeth? Was there anything prior to when Elizabeth Bennet had danced into his life?
His sister’s voice came again, but this time it was softer and more pleading.“Fitzwilliam, please. Brother, we need her.We need Elizabeth.”
“Go away, Georgiana,” he called over his shoulder.“There is no more Elizabeth.”
“But, Fitzwilliam…”She jiggled the door handle again.
“Damn it, Georgiana; I said there is no more Elizabeth!”
His sister heard the glass shatter as it hit the door and felt the wood vibrate from the impact.That was followed quickly by three thuds in close succession and then an inhuman cry of pain emanating It is so cold.Why is it so cold? before he closed his eyes and let the blackness overcome him.
As the carriage pulled away from the steps of Pemberley, Elizabeth hoped Darcy would stop her. All along the lane, she imagined his riding up like a highwayman, stopping his coach, and demanding that she return to him. Before she left, she had tried the door to his study, but found it locked. Is he behind the door? Does he not care enough to even say his farewells? Secretly, she regretted her impetuous stand in his study; she should not have accused him of causing her family’s grief. Assuredly, he had played a part in it, but so had she, and so had Lydia, and—most important—so had Mr. Wickham. It was no more Darcy’s fault than it was Lord Thomas’s fault for catching Leána’s eye two centuries earlier. Possibly Ellender D’Arcy shared some of the blame for her decision to trade Seorais Winchcombe for Arawn Benning, but as a woman in love she could easily visualize that she would go to such extremes to save Darcy’s life if faced with a similar situation.
Now, as the carriage rolled towards London, Elizabeth urgently wanted to order it to turn around.Yet how could she admit she was wrong? And how could she be sure that Darcy would welcome her return? Elizabeth wanted what he wanted—a family, even if they adopted them, and the estate, and lying in each other’s arms, legs entangled and bodies touching. She groaned in acknowledgment of her stupidity.
Where will I stay? When she left Pemberley, she had planned to return to Longbourn, but upon reflection, Elizabeth did not see how she could do so. She certainly could not share with anyone what she knew of Darcy and of Wickham. And what other reason
So where else was there? She could not stay with her aunt and uncle.Wickham might choose to strike their household also. Elizabeth would never risk the lives of her niece and nephews by returning there.
Overton House? At least, there her presence would not place a loved one in danger. Her father could stay with her while he looked for Lydia.Although Elizabeth knew his search would prove fruitless, her father would know all the comforts that Darcy’s money could provide. Plus, if he was with her at Overton, she could tend to her dear Papa and ease his pain.
Afterwards, she would go far away—a just punishment for her conceit—for being the source of so much pain—and as a way to forget Darcy, as if she ever could. It would be like trying to forget how to breathe. Being at Overton would be a constant reminder of the man who had haunted her every thought for months now. She let the misery of missing him break over her. She would have to learn to play on the safe side in the future.
Darkness crept into the carriage. Elizabeth knew that making it to London in one day was impossible, but she hated the idea of staying anywhere alone.
The coachman opened the slot in order to speak to her. “Mrs. Darcy?” he said.
“Yes, Peter?”
“There be a storm stirrin’ up the leaves. Might be best if ’n we stop at the next inn.You can seek shelter there.”
Elizabeth could hear the wind whistling through the opening. “I trust your judgment, Peter.”
“Yes, Ma’am. We should be there in a quarter hour or so.” He
Elizabeth felt the coach lunge forward with the effort. She would spend the night without Darcy—her first since they had wed. It seemed unnatural somehow, but she would learn to control her thoughts of him. She had no choice. She brushed a tear from her cheek, only to find another one to replace the one she had wiped away. Another and another followed that one. Why bother? she thought.There was no controlling how many tears she would shed over Fitzwilliam Darcy.
A little after midnight, Darcy emerged from his study.The household had slept for at least two hours. He wanted to see no one.Taking a single candle from one of those left burning in the entrance foyer, he made his way to his chambers, the ones connected to hers—to Elizabeth’s. She had been gone twelve hours and forty minutes, and unbelievably, his heart still beat and his mind still remembered. Elizabeth had left him. He had known from the first moment he desired her that this was inevitable, but he had succumbed to the hope that the outcome would be different.Yet how could he expect otherwise? He was an aberration, and he had brought evil into her life. Elizabeth was the perfection that he had held in his hands for a few precious moments. She deserved the best, and he had foolishly thought he could buy her things…and that would be enough. He had never considered the fact that Elizabeth’s goodness—her loyalty—her empathy—all those intangibles she offered in return—were priceless abstracts.