Page 13 of Darcy's Disguise (The Bennet and Darcy Chronicles #3)

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E lizabeth walkedas fast as her legs would carry her. The sound ofMeryton’s bustling streets faded behind her, the murmurs of townspeople, the jostling of carriages—all of it meaningless noise.

Her heartpounded in her ears, her breathragged, but she did not slow.

She could not.

If she did, she would have to think.

And she wasnot yet readyfor that.

Not yet ready to admithow much it hurt.

Darcy.

Darcy.

The nametwisted inside her with every step.

How foolish she had been.

How utterly, ridiculously foolish.

She had trusted him. Defended him. Gone to her father about him.

She had let herselfhope.

Hope that he wasmore than what he seemed. Which he was, but now it felt like a betrayal. Had he cared at all? Was she a toy? A diversion?

Hope that, somehow,it would not be impossible between them.

Hope that hewas not lying to her.

You have made a fool of me. Her own words echoed in her mind, slicing through herstill-burning rage.

Because it was true.

She hadallowed herself to be deceived.

She hadlet herself fall for a man who did not even exist.

And she hated him for it.

She hated him.

And yet—she loved him. She loved him so much she hated him.

Elizabeth sat on theedge of her bed for nearly an hour, staring at nothing, her jaw clenched, her arms folded tightly around herself.

When Jane entered, shedid not look up.

Jane sat beside her. “Lizzy."

Elizabeth exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "If you have come to tell me that I am being unreasonable?—"

"I have not," Jane interrupted.

Elizabeth turned her head slightly.

Jane’s expression wascareful, but not without sympathy. "You are angry," she said simply. "And you have every right to be."

Elizabeth let out aharsh, breathy laugh. "Well, that is certainly refreshing to hear," she muttered. “Even though I’m the wronged one, the guilt is overwhelming.”

Jane was quiet for a long moment. Then softly, carefully she asked, "Do you think he meant to hurt you?"

Elizabeth’s fingerstightened in her lap. "Jane, I—" She hesitated,swallowing hard.

Did she?

Did she truly believe that?

She wanted to. It would beeasierto hate him. Easier to believe he had planned all of this—had made a game of deceiving her.

But then she thought of his quiet patience.

The way he hadwatched her so intently when she spoke, as if she was the only person in the world.

The way he haddefended her familywhen no one else ever had.

The way he hadtouched her hand that night outside the assembly hall, as though it meant something.

Elizabethclosed her eyes, exhaled slowly then shook her headslightly, voice raw. "I do not know what to think."

Jane reached over, taking her hand gently. "Then think about this.”

Elizabeth looked up.

"If he had been an ordinary man," Jane asked, "if he had truly been just William Dawson, would you have loved him?"

Elizabethfelt her throat close. She knew what Jane did not. What Dawson…Darcy likely suspected. She already loved him. She loved the man.

She pulled her hand away, standing abruptly. "I do not wish to talk about this anymore."

Jane noddedslowly, but Elizabeth sawthe answer in Jane’s eyes.

She knew.

For three days Elizabeth did not leave Longbourn.

Not to Meryton.

Not to the schoolhouse.

Not even for her morning walks.

She told herself it waspride. That she would nothumiliate herself furtherby appearing in town, where the whispers of her own foolishness would surely follow her.

But deep down—she knew the truth.

She could not bear to riskseeing him.

Her feelings weretoo raw.

Too angry.

Tooafraid of what she might feel.

But on thethird day, she could no longer avoid the outside world.

Because the world came to her.

Charlotte and Maria Lucas arrivedthat afternoon, sweeping into Longbourn with an air ofbarely contained excitement.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Charlotte entered the sitting room and moved straight to Lizzie. "You will not believe what has happened."

Elizabeth, curled up with a book she had not read a single word of,lowered it warily.

Mariaplopped onto the sofa beside her, all wide eyes and dramatic sighs. "Mr. Dawson is not Mr. Dawson at all," Maria declared. "He is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley!"

Elizabethfelt her stomach drop. Hearing it again brought back all her original emotions.

Charlotte nodded,looking at her carefully. "Everyone in town is talking about it," she continued. "And, Lizzy, you must prepare yourself for this?—"

Maria leaned forward eagerly. "Apparently, he is very rich."

Elizabeth’s throat tightened.

Charlotte shot her sister a look, but Maria continued on.

"They say he has ten thousand a year , and the most grand estate in Derbyshire!" Maria sighed dramatically. "No wonder he carries himself as he does!"

Elizabethpressed her hands together tightly. She could notspeak.

But Charlotte—Charlotte was watching her too closely. "That is not all," she said, her voice measured.

Elizabeth swallowed.

"He has been visiting every family in town." She placed a hand down on the sofa next to Lizzie. "Apologizing."

Apologizing?

"Every single one," Maria confirmed. "And you should have heard them, Lizzy—the women in town are half in love with him! "

Elizabeth’s chest tightened painfully.

Charlotte sighed. "You must have known he was not what he claimed, Lizzy."

Elizabethswallowed hard, looking away. "Yes," she whispered. "I suppose I did."

But knowing it as a possibility and a fact were two entirely different things.

And now—it was far, far too late.

Before Elizabeth couldcollect her thoughts, a sound outside drew her attention.

The familiarrumble of wheels. Acarriage pulling up before the house.

Charlotte turned her head toward the window. "Oh," she said,with great amusement.

Elizabethstood abruptly, heart hammering against her ribs.

Mariagasped dramatically. "It is the Bingley carriage!"

Elizabethclenched her jaw. She had spentthree days avoiding him.

And now—he was here.

Andthere was nowhere to run.

Her body moved before she even thought to run.

She slipped from the sitting roomsilently, her movements quick, careful.

Through the hall.

Past the kitchen.

Out the back door.

The cool afternoon air met her, but she did not stop.

She stepped onto the garden path, lifting the hem of her dress,hurrying toward the trees.

If she could just get away—just for a moment.

"Miss Bennet."

Elizabethfroze. Slowly, she turned.

And there, standing near the low stone wall,was Reverend Rutledge.

The reverend watched herwith quiet amusement, hands clasped before him, as though he had been expecting this.

Elizabethforced a smile, though she could not quite meet his gaze. "Good day, sir."

"A good day, indeed," the reverend said, his eyes sharp withunderstanding."Though I suspect you are not in the mood to enjoy it."

Elizabethwidened her eyes. What did he know of it all? "I only wished for a moment to think," she admitted.

The reverend tilted his head. "And what is it you hope to discover in that moment?"

Elizabethswallowed. She had no answer.

Because the truth was—she did not know.

What did she want?

To hold on to her anger?

To cling to the feeling of betrayal, because it waseasierthan the ache in her chest?

Or did she want to let it go?

The reverend watched her carefully. "Would you like to hear a story, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth let out a breathless laugh. "Sir, I do not know that I have the time?—"

"Then I will make it brief," he assured her.

She sighed,folding her arms. "Very well," she muttered.

The reverend smiled. "A long time ago there was a boy who was raised to believe that his worth lay only in what he could provide for others. In his name. In his wealth. He was taught thatif he did not meet expectations, he would never be enough."

Elizabeth’s chest tightened.

The reverend continued, his voice even, measured. "One day, that boy became a man. And for the first time, he met someone who saw him not for what he could give, but for who he was. And do you know what terrified him most?"

Elizabeth did not answer.

She only shook her head.

The reverend’s voice softened. "That she might not love him if she knew the whole of him."

Elizabeth inhaledsharply. Becausethere it was. The truth she had not wanted to face.

He had lied—yes. He had deceived her—yes.

But had he ever meant to be cruel?

Or had it beenthe only way he knew how to be loved?

The reverend let his words settle before speaking again. "You do not have to forgive him, Miss Bennet," he said. "But I ask you this—has he earned it?"

Elizabeth’s throat closed.

Because she knew.

He had.

Andeven if she did not want to admit it—She had already forgiven him.

Just as the reverend bowed as though to leave her be, her thoughts all over the place, a soft rustle of footsteps approached behind her.

Elizabeth turned.

Darcy stood just beyond the trees,breathless, as though he had been searching for her.

Her heartleapt into her throat.

The reverend glanced between them with a soft smile. "Good day, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy, still catching his breath, barely inclined his head.

The reverend turned back to Elizabeth. "My dear," he said gently, "I believe you have a guest." And with that—he left. Leaving heralone with the man who had hurt her.

For a long moment,neither of them spoke.

Then Darcy exhaled,his whole body tense with something raw, something real. "Elizabeth," he said,his voice hoarse, careful. “Miss Bennet.”

She did not move.

Did not speak.

She only waited.

Waited for him to explain.

Waited for him to make it right. Could he? She most desperately wanted it to be right.

Darcy tookone step closer, then another—slow, hesitant, afraid. "I have no defense," he said, his voice quiet. "Only regret. I have failed you terribly."

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears.

He continued, his voicethick with something she had never heard from him before. "I lied to you, and I will never forgive myself for that. I only ask that—one day—you might."

She exhaled sharply.

Darcy swallowed, taking another step closer. "When I met you, I was hiding. I wanted only to escape the life I had always known," he admitted. "I wanted to know people who didn’t know who I was. I sought the very thing we had. I wanted to meet someone who had nothing to gain from my love, but who wanted it anyway.” His face crumpled. “How utterly selfish. I’m so sorry for the unfairness of my half-baked plan. I’m so sorry for all that I asked of you. But I found so much more than I sought and now I fear I have lost it all.”

Darcy’seyes were warm, earnest, filled with something that sent her heart racing. "I found you."

Elizabethwilled him to keep talking, to make sense of everything.

Darcy inhaled slowly, shaking his head. "And if you hate me, I will deserve it," he murmured. "But please, Elizabeth—tell me I have not lost you forever."

She did notanswer. Not with words.

Only with thepainfully slow way she reached for his hand.

The way she curledher fingers lightly over his.

The way she let out asoft, breathless laugh, her eyes bright with something dangerously close to affection.

Darcyfelt his chest tighten.

"You are impossible," she whispered.

Darcy let out ashaky breath. "And you are extraordinary," he murmured.

Shebit her lip, looking down at their joined hands. Her voice was soft when she spoke. "Is it foolish?" she asked.

Darcy tilted his head. "What?"

She looked back up at him, eyesfar too warm now, far too full of something dangerously close to love. "That I forgive you."

Darcy exhaled, his shouldersslumping with relief. "If it is foolish," he said, voice thick, "then I am the greatest fool of all for asking.”

Elizabethsmiled. And that was the moment she knew for sure.

She loved him.

She forgave him.

She was his.