Page 25 of Mistress of Pemberley
“What shall I do, Papa?” Elizabeth asked the night before her departure for Pemberley, and Mr Bennet could feel how deeply unsettled she was.
“Elizabeth,” he began, with a hesitation she sensed almost painfully. “Darcy told me he offered you…a position when it became clear that he could not be your husband…in every sense of the word.”
Elizabeth blushed violently, for although they had spoken of all matters under the sun, what passed between a man and a woman remained that one unbreachable topic.
“Can you imagine what torment a man like him must endure, knowing he cannot be your husband?”
“I know,” Elizabeth whispered, averting her eyes from her father’s, for she was confident he would read in them the truth—that she, too, suffered terribly as a woman for being unable to truly be his wife. Her pain was like nothing she had known before, a torment so visceral it seemed her body rebelled against the reality of their situation. Each time she was near him, she felt an overwhelming need to touch him, and only with immense effort did she restrain herself. It had taken her time to understand that the love in her heart had awakened in her the womanly yearning to be cherished not only in spirit but in the flesh too.
“You cannot imagine the magnitude of his suffering, my dear. What you feel is but a fraction of what he endures. For you, it is an unknown longing. For him, it would have been a fulfilment that only true love can bestow upon a man. And he knows precisely what he has lost. I advise you not to tell him about your feelings yourself. If you agree, I shall do so after you have gone.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, feeling at once disappointed and relieved.
The night before, she had done something she had never done before. Standing before the great mirror in her chamber, she had undressed, and with the most tentative of touches, she had run her hands over her own body, imagining that they were his. The memory of it burned within her, though it did not shame her in the least. He was undoubtedly in despair when he thought of her in such a way.
“I shall spend the night in his room…to say goodbye,” she said, her voice overwhelmed by pain; it could be the last time she saw him.
“So you will,” her father replied, and they stood in silence for a long time, enough for her to recover a part of her calm, and her face appeared serene again when he next spoke. “And you would do well to remember the pleasant and amusing moments you shared. I believe you have plenty from your time in Hertfordshire,” he added, and the hint of sarcasm in his voice signalled that their conversation had ended.