Page 44 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

Chapter Twenty-Three

He was more nervous than he could ever recall.

There remained every possibility that Elizabeth would listen—and then walk away.

The thought made his heart ache, and he once more cursed the pride and wounded sensibility that had driven him from Netherfield.

With considerable impatience, he forced himself to hold still while his valet shaved him and assisted him with his attire.

At last, he quitted his chambers and hastened from the house.

He knew the path to the bluebell wood. Indeed, it had been a favorite place to play when he was young. Though it was only March, the first blossoms would be emerging; April brought its true splendor.

Darcy walked at speed. The familiar route took him through Rosings’ gardens and into the woods that bordered the estate.

He had trodden this trail often as a boy, roaming the grounds whenever he and his parents visited Lady Catherine and Cousin Anne.

This day, he scarcely registered the beauty about him, nor the song of birds dancing on the air, as he strode briskly down the dirt path.

When the trees opened into a clearing, he froze in place—his breath caught at the loveliest sight he had ever beheld.

Elizabeth strolled leisurely among the early blooms, a small posy of white and purple crocuses gently clutched in her hand.

Her blush-pink gown flattered her light and pleasing figure, and she wore neither bonnet nor spencer.

He espied both lying upon a nearby log. Though the air was warm for March, he wondered if she might be cold.

Stepping forward, a twig cracked beneath his boot. Elizabeth turned sharply, her body tense and gaze wary.

“Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed, hoping he did not appear as rigid as he felt. “Good day to you.” Straightening, he smiled, hoping the depth of his sentiment was plain to see his eyes. Stepping nearer, he asked, “May I walk with you?”

She nodded, the posy of flowers still clasped in her hand. Darcy offered his arm, and she took it. They walked in silence for some time, until at last he cleared his throat.

“I owe you a most profound apology,” he began.

“I-I overheard your conversation with Miss Lucas at the ball. Richard—my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—eventually persuaded me that I misunderstood, that I had acted on false assumptions. He pointed to the possible errors in my reasoning and understanding of what I had heard. Even if your words had concerned me , I ought to have met the matter with honor and ended our acquaintance respectfully—not vanished without explanation.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “My honor was engaged—of that there can be no doubt. Yet at the first trial of affection, I failed you. Rather than trust in the lady I had come to know, I allowed shadows of the past to haunt me. Doubt prevailed, fed by long-held humiliations I had never fully cast off—and I fled. It was the gravest mistake of my life, and I fear I have forfeited my happiness—perhaps forever.” He halted and turned to face her.

“You are superior to me in every way—in spirit, in wit, in heart. Pray tell me I have not lost you. I would spend a lifetime atoning for the wrong I have done you.”

Elizabeth’s gaze searched his face, yet she said nothing. With each passing moment, his unease deepened. Finally, she spoke.

“That was a very pretty speech, sir. I confess, I do not yet feel entirely confident in your words. Will there always be some question—on your part or mine? One cannot simply withdraw when life proves difficult.” She slipped her arm free, turning away from him.

“Neither of us is blameless in this. But I would have welcomed the chance to explain myself—whatever I had done—before you vanished without so much as a word.”

She whirled to face him then, her inflection rising, anger flashing in her eyes.

“You left me! Without a word! My hopes and dreams…shattered! I questioned everything: what I had done to deserve such treatment, whether I had misunderstood you, whether I had misjudged our understanding. I wept, sir, and I fumed—yet for all my anguish and indignation, I could not bring myself to hate you.”

Her words struck deep, and his remorse grew sharper with every syllable. What pain he had caused her!

“You do not speak too harshly—I have earned your censure. Every word you speak is justified, and I cannot defend my behavior, nor would I try. You have every right to be angry with me.”

He rubbed the marred side of his face, as if hoping to erase it. “Any account I offer must sound like an excuse. But the truth is, I have long been subjected to cruel remarks and empty flatteries—ladies feigning admiration while privately recoiling from my…affliction.”

“Do not call it that!” Elizabeth snapped, whirling to face him.

“I never saw it as anything more than a mother’s mark.

Yes, I am aware of what people say about those marked in such a way.

Mr. Darcy, I believe I once mentioned that my father taught me to look on the heart, and that is what I have always endeavored to do—though I failed, on the very occasion of which we speak.

I-I made certain to apologize to Charlotte for my words regarding Mr. Collins—”

“Mr. Collins?” Darcy’s brow furrowed, then his eyes widened. “Him. It was him you spoke of. Oh.”

It all fell into place. He replayed the conversation, now engraved upon his memory. With a long sigh, he sank down on a nearby log. Elizabeth’s bonnet and spencer sat beside him.

“I am the worst of fools!”

To his surprise, Elizabeth began to laugh. He lifted his eyes. Her hands, one still clutching the crushed flowers, were pressed to her mouth, but she could not suppress the sound. Mirth overtook her.

“If I do not laugh, I shall weep!” she exclaimed. “The one time I judged someone unfairly, and it caused such chaos. What a tangled mess!” She came and seated herself beside him, as they once had on Oakham Mount.

“I cannot entirely excuse your behavior, however understandable it was. It was Mr. Bingley who helped me piece together what may have occurred. I admit to being furious that you had not come to me for an explanation—that you thought so little of my character, or my regard, to believe me capable of such duplicity. It was badly done, sir.”

“I am sorry.” He reached out and placed a hand over hers. The one holding the flowers now rested in her lap. The blooms were limp, their petals rumpled by their careless handling. “Will you forgive me?”

His eyes sought hers, hesitant but hopeful. The hand in her lap rose and cupped his cheek, her thumb lightly tracing the edge of the mark upon his face.

“Yes.”

One simple word, and his heart soared. “Truly?” he asked, clearly astonished.

“Well,” she said with a grin, her fine eyes twinkling merrily. “I suppose I shall require you to find the golden fleece first—or perhaps slay a gorgon.”

Darcy laughed. “The first I cannot help with, but I fear there is a gorgon who must be dealt with ere long.” Thoughts of his aunt clouded his mind, and he frowned.

“You mean Lady Catherine, do you not? I could scarce believe a woman would speak so of her own daughter and nephew. How can you endure it?” She huffed, withdrawing her hand to her lap. “Miss de Bourgh seems a lovely woman. It is a shame so few men cannot see beyond her outward features.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam has expressed a desire to pursue our cousin’s hand. I wish him success and will support him. Anne has been made to suffer far too long…she deserves joy.”

They fell silent, both staring out across the little meadow. The early bluebells were few, which made their scattered blooms all the more dear. The song of birds surrounded them, joined now and then by chatter of some unseen creature.

A few minutes later, a doe and her fawn stepped delicately into view, ambling through the grass. Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath but otherwise remained silent. When the pair had passed, she turned to Darcy.

“I have never been so close to a living deer before. Longbourn’s woods are not large—I do not believe there are many there.”

“I am pleased to have shared this event with you.” Darcy turned toward her and squeezed her hand as it rested on the log. “Is it too much to ask that we begin where we left off—only now with a clearer understanding and a promise that I shall reform my pig-headed ways entirely?”

She smiled, just as he had hoped. “It is not too much to ask. Perhaps we might renew our morning walks. Does your aunt lay claim to much of your time while you are at Rosings?” Her foot scuffed the earth in front of them, stirring memories of Oakham Mount.

“I attend to estate affairs in the afternoons,” he replied. “My mornings are my own. My aunt believes I am inspecting tenant cottages. I do so on occasion but not every day.”

“Then there is time for a morning stroll. I am pleased.” She gave him a mischievous grin. “Will your cousin be joining us? I liked him very much.” The twinkle in her eye left no doubt she meant to tease, and he responded by adopting an air of mock offense.

“Better than me? I am wounded! Dear Elizabeth, must I challenge my cousin to a duel for your hand?”

“Never! Besides, I have lately learned the good colonel’s affections lie elsewhere. My poor heart shall bear the loss—it is full of another anyhow.” The fondness in her gaze made his heart falter.

He longed to speak, to fall to one knee and beg her to become his wife. It is too soon, he reasoned. Ten days past, she likely despised me. Instead, he cleared his throat.

“Bingley is to marry your sister. Miss Bingley will be delighted to learn her dearest wish will be fulfilled—that her brother wed a gentlewoman.”