Page 30 of Only Mr Darcy (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

E lizabeth was completely unsurprised to hear, via Mr Bingley and Miss Bingley calling at Longbourn the next day, that Mr Darcy had unexpectedly returned to town, and that he—with his sister—was gone without any indication whether he might come back.

It did not have the power to bruise her quite as much as it might have done a couple days earlier; however, something must have shown in her expression, for after the Bingleys departed, Jane found her alone in the little sitting room that faced the back gardens.

“Lizzy,” Jane began tentatively, and then sat beside her on the settee. “I think I have missed something. Something very important to you, which I ought not to have overlooked.”

Elizabeth did not, particularly, wish to ruminate upon Mr Darcy’s absence. Warily, she tried to answer with nonchalance. “I cannot think what it could be.”

“Mr…Mr Darcy’s leaving has affected you, has it not?”

That is one way to put it . Elizabeth gave up her attempts at indifference. “I suppose it has.”

“Do you think you might have discovered your fated love in Mr Darcy?”

At this, Elizabeth found a smile. “I am no longer looking to Fate to find a love for me. I think I shall do my best to find him myself.”

“But he was…he was special to you?”

Elizabeth thought about this. How to explain? “I think that every once in a great while, one comes across someone who is exquisitely familiar, although a stranger. There is a recognition the body cannot help but absorb, an impact he has upon the soul. It is not love, but it could, in the fertile soil of this enhanced perception, so easily grow into it. One always has a choice, however. One can nurture and care for the tiny seed of recognition, water and dig and nourish—or else ignore it, starve it out, and encourage it to die. I believe he has chosen the latter path.”

With a sigh, Jane laid her head upon her sister’s shoulder. “He is a fool. Mr Bingley said he has been much disturbed of late, but he would not speak of it.”

“His reasons are his own. But I do not feel stupid because I hoped for something different. Nor do I believe I was somehow lacking.” I was there when his sister needed me—every single time. A coincidence? Only if one believes in that sort of thing.

“You never could be,” Jane assured her forcefully.

“I also think Grandmama is looking down from heaven, cheering for us, and that she will help if she can. If that is the only good thing that came of my meeting with Fitzwilliam Darcy, at least good did come.”

Jane sat up, appearing confused, but she evidently decided against asking for clarification and laid her head once more upon Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I am sorry Grandmama did not answer your question. I wish she had.”

Elizabeth found a little laughter at this. “Perhaps Grandmama somehow ‘knew’ things. Perhaps she only saw possibilities for which she felt one ought to be prepared. I went to her because I wanted more control over my future than any of us are ever given. I thought it was a way to be safe. I have learnt that love never will make us safer, however. It is the greatest risk of all.”

Jane expressed her puzzlement at this sentiment. “How so?”

“Were not you ready to sacrifice a future with Mr Bingley for love of me, Jane? Where was the logic in that?”

“I would only see you happy, sister dear.”

“And that is the twisted, turning journey upon which love takes us. I am only happy when you are. Now, tell me everything Mr Bingley whispered to you in the few moments I was able to distract his sister, and when do we believe he will propose?”

It was a few days before Elizabeth found herself once again at the bridge where so much—and yet so little—had happened. It was cold, and a mist hung over the river—it could not have looked and felt less like her summer idyll. Still, she had determined to herself that she would no longer avoid the place; by the time spring wrought its change of seasons, she hoped it would not even be nostalgic, that it would simply once again be her peaceful fishing spot, a seldom-used bridge upon her father’s property. Naturally, she did not feel this way yet, but she was determined that she should, someday.

Perhaps her wistful mood came from the announcement of Jane’s engagement to Mr Bingley. It was happy, happy news, of course, but Jane had also told her—with a significant look—that Mr Bingley would be asking Mr Darcy to stand up with him. Elizabeth must see him again, and be prepared for it. Fortunately, she would have a few months until that day came, but coming here again was one way to begin preparing.

If only it were not so dismal out, and the sun would peek from behind the thick barrier of clouds! It would be so much easier for the memory of Mr Darcy to fade when his presence was no longer so vivid that almost it seemed as if she could reach out and touch him.

Thus, when his voice spoke out of the mist, she thought she was imagining it.

“Elizabeth.”

She answered as though it was real, and with more than a little annoyance. “Wonderful. Now your memory is haunting my bridge. Well, you may stop it this instant. I shall not allow you to ruin a perfectly good fishing spot. I will not pine.”

A tall, dark figure emerged from the foggy gloom, startling her into nearly losing her footing. He clutched her, pulling her away from the edge.

Elizabeth could only stare. “Are you a ghost?”

He grinned. “Only you would think so, my darling.”

Darling?

“I have fallen asleep, and this is a dream. I will wake, and you will be gone again.”

His expression sobered. “I am sorry I left so quickly, without speaking to you first.” His hands gripping her shoulders loosened their hold, but did not release her entirely. She felt the warmth of them, even through his gloves and her coat. “I always meant to return.”

She could not resist reaching up and touching his cheek, to feel, ever so briefly, the realness of him. His beard had grown since his last shave, leaving his jaw rough and shadowed. She forced her hand away.

“What more is there to speak of? I believe you made your position perfectly clear.”

“A hundred things. A hundred-thousand things. A lifetime’s worth of things. Please, dear Elizabeth, may a fool such as I speak them?”