B00CO8L910 EBOK (32 page)

Although Elizabeth was worried about his reaction, her mind began to formulate how she might signal to Mr. Darcy her true feelings while allowing him to decide whether he still wanted her and her connections. Leaving her bed, Elizabeth went in search of the first thing she would need to accomplish her task — a needle.

Chapter 19

Darcy was at his desk, attempting to keep his attention on the business before him. He would not allow himself to think of Elizabeth, though it took great effort. When Richard had burst into his bedchamber a few days prior and berated Darcy for what his cousin believed were misinterpretations regarding Elizabeth’s feelings, he had at least succeeded in getting Darcy to leave his room. His heart still ached, but to everyone else he was a master under good regulation. If he dedicated more time than was usual to estate business usually left to his stewards, then so be it. Most of the time, these distractions succeeded in keeping him from losing himself in regret.

Darcy rubbed his eyes and shook his head to return his thoughts to the paper before him. When he heard a knock at the door, he was grateful for the interruption. “Enter.”

Georgiana walked in with a skip to her step. His eyes narrowed a little to see her looking so mischievously playful. In the past couple of days since he left his chambers, his sister had taken to avoiding him and his mercurial moods. He worried as she seemed to be on edge herself. Darcy noted she had not received any letters from Elizabeth and knew he was responsible. Suddenly he was sorry for his sister. Placing his pen in its stand, Darcy attempted to return his sister’s smile. She held something behind her back and he was then curious as to her reason for visiting his study.

“Is there some way I can oblige you, Georgiana?”

Unbeknownst to Darcy, she had asked Mr. Carroll to see that all her letters came directly to her rather than the silver salver in the hall with the rest of the correspondence. Georgiana smiled, thinking of the letter she had just received.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” she said with winsome appeal.

Darcy’s smile returned, this time more genuinely. He loved his sister, and before him stood his only family. He sat back and laced his hands behind his head. “Of course not, my dear. Would you like me to accompany you on a walk in the park? Or is there something else?”

She smiled and shook her head. Georgiana seemed to vibrate with excitement. “No, thank you. I came here to give you this.” She pulled a small tissue wrapped parcel from behind her back and placed it before him on his desk. He looked at her intently before reaching for the package.

“Georgiana, this is very good of you. What is the occasion that warrants giving me a gift?” he asked as his hands closed around the small package.

“Oh it is not from me, William.”

Darcy looked up at her. “Oh?”

“It is from Elizabeth.”

Darcy fumbled upon hearing her name, and the package slipped through his fingers to his desk. His heart began to beat violently as he considered what Elizabeth could have sent him and, more importantly, why. His mind was flying. He could think of no circumstance for Elizabeth to send him anything. He realized he had not said a word when his sister spoke.

“Well? Are you not going to open it?” Her eagerness was transparent.

Darcy lifted his eyes from the package to her ardent face. He swallowed and looked down at the package again.

“Eliz . . . Miss Bennet sent this to you, you say?”

Georgiana almost whimpered with impatience. “Yes . . . well, no.” Giggling then, she continued, “I mean she sent it to me, but I do not know what it is, for her letter said it was for you.”

“I see.” Only he did not at all. He dared not hope that Elizabeth had forgiven him.

“William! Open it! I cannot wait a moment longer!” Georgiana was mad with curiosity. Elizabeth’s letter had indicated that she did not hold her brother accountable at all and never had.
That is good news, is it not?
She thought so at the time she read it. Furthermore, her letter had been full of all the right sentiments of understanding and compassion, and Georgiana no longer worried that her friend may think poorly of her for being deceived by Wickham.

Darcy laughed at his sister’s impatience. Her levity and the budding hope springing in his chest lifted his own spirits in a way he had thought never to experience again. “Very well then, I will.”

His fingers trembled only slightly as he reached again for the package. He carefully pulled at the cords binding the tissue together. His heart beat loudly in his ears. Hesitating only a moment, he pulled back the tissue paper and immediately recognized his own handkerchief. He did not even need to turn it over to see his initials. He was sure it was the one he gave Elizabeth at Oakham Mount when he saw her last. With that realization, his heart sank.

“Leave me, Georgiana,” he said more gruffly than he had intended. Nevertheless, the pain of having his hopes dashed in such a way made it nearly impossible for him to control the emotion in his voice.

“But what is it?” Georgiana started, concerned as a sudden dark shadow crossed her brother’s countenance.

“It is nothing but my handkerchief being returned. Now leave me, Georgiana.” His voice was low but obviously pained.

Georgiana stood there a moment, confused. Elizabeth’s letter was so positive and full of allusion as to her own dreams and wishes. She had said she was not angry with her brother and had indicated that she held him in the highest esteem.
There has to be more to it than just returning his handkerchief!
Elizabeth could not have been so cruel as to say such things to her in the letter, giving such hope, and then coldly return the handkerchief. Thinking there must be a note or something else hidden in the package, Georgiana reached for it.

“That cannot be all there is!” she said with heightened emotion. “There must be something else in there!”

Darcy slammed his hand on top of the opened package atop the desk, preventing her from taking it. “I said leave me, Georgiana!” His anguished voice bellowed through his study, startling her, her hand frozen in place, extended towards the package.

She blinked, having never been chastised in such a manner by her brother — by anyone, for that matter. Slowly she backed away, her arm still numbly extended in front of her.

“Please.” His voice was softer then but full of pain. Georgiana lifted her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry and quickly ran out of the room. Darcy watched her leave and then lowered his head to the desk, defeated.

He had not meant to speak in such a way to his sister, but he could not bear to hold back his feelings a moment longer. The infinitesimal bit of hope that he had allowed to creep into his heart because of his sister’s excitement had left him falling farther and harder when he saw his returned handkerchief.
Why could she not have simply kept it?
If she did not wish to have anything as a reminder of him, then could she not have considered his feelings and burned the cloth? But to return it felt like a slap in the face. It was cruel, and he was mortified to have been so exposed in front of his sister.

Sighing, he rolled his head to the side, unwittingly onto the handkerchief. He heard a crunching sound. Unnerved, his head shot up, and he immediately pulled the cloth away to reveal a small note hidden underneath the linen. Darcy swallowed as he looked at the note, his name written in her beautiful script. He did not know how long he stared at the note, his handkerchief in his hand. He conceded he was ill prepared to read whatever she might wish to convey. He had not the least bit of hope the letter contained anything more than a carefully worded thank you for the loan of the handkerchief, and he was not interested in her empty sentiments just then.

Placing the folded square back on top of her missive where he could not see it anymore, Darcy then slid the package to the corner of his desk and pulled the letter from his solicitor back into place in front of him.

He read the first lines of the correspondence three times, each time struggling to comprehend even a word. His thoughts and eventually his traitorous eyes harassed him to read her note. Bringing his hand to his face in a fist, Darcy drew in a ragged breath. He closed his eyes and counted to five before trying again to concentrate on his business.

Inevitably, his gaze returned to the opened package, and his eyes bored through that cloth to where he knew his name had been written — written in her beautiful script by her beautiful, slender fingers. Shaking off those treacherous thoughts, Darcy stood and walked towards the window; if he were to continue down that mental path, he was certain it would lead him to visions of her beautiful arms, neck, face, lips . . . It was too much for any man to bear.

Placing his hands on either side of the window, he looked out onto the square. It was a scene he had often looked upon without really seeing it. As was his habit, he often stood there when he was too full of thoughts. He bit his top lip and looked over his shoulder again, contemplating the package. Cursing, he crossed to the decanter on the sideboard to pour himself a bit of liquid courage. He knew he would get no work done until he could put it all behind him once and for all.

Resuming his seat, Darcy nursed his drink, all the while eyeing the package. In his distraction, he spilled a splash of brandy onto his waistcoat.

“Blast!” He instinctively reached for the handkerchief to daub at his coat, stopping himself only when it was inches from his chest. He returned the linen and grabbed the one from his pocket instead. He felt the sentimental fool. Although he accepted he must give up Elizabeth, he was not about to stain the one item he knew was last in her possession.

Rigorously dabbing at the brandy until it had long been soaked up, Darcy laughed at himself for being such a coward.
Quit stalling man
. He drew in a breath; with one hand, he picked up the handkerchief and, with the other, the note. Unfolding it slowly, he looked down and began to read her words.

Dear sir,

I hope this gives you as much comfort as it has given me, and I hope that you do not mind the alterations I have made.

As ever,
Elizabeth

Darcy chewed over her words, undecided whether he should be further distressed by the ‘sir’ or encouraged by the ‘As ever, Elizabeth’. Reading it quickly, he was intrigued by her hopes it would bring him comfort. However, he could not understand how that could be as it brought him no comfort that she had not wished to keep it. The reference to the alterations confused him further. Putting the note down, Darcy opened the folded square for the first time, turning it over in his hand.

A slow smile began to grow at the edges of his mouth and his heart came alive in his chest as he saw the ‘alterations’ she had made. His initials, before so elegantly alone, were now surrounded by dozens of tiny whimsical bluebells. Bluebells were her favorite wildflower, he remembered, and more significantly, they were the flowers that surrounded them at Pemberley when they shared their first kiss — their only kiss.

Darcy all but wept with relief, and his hand began to shake with the feelings that were coursing through him. He looked at his other handkerchief, the one soiled with brandy stains, and compared his decorous initials with the one he held in his hand. He rather preferred this decidedly feminine alteration.

He was astounded by what he thought she was intimating by embroidering the bluebells.
Could she really still love me? Could she really have forgiven me?
The thought was so delicious to Darcy that he laughed out loud and cried out a prayer of thanks.

He seized the short note and read it again, smiling so widely that his face began to hurt. She wished to give him comfort. It was more than he deserved, but he was not fool enough to let such an opportunity pass him by if indeed she was offering him another chance. Springing up from his desk, he placed the now cherished note into his pocket, and while still holding the returned linen, Darcy hastened out the door to find his sister.

He found her sitting in the music room at her piano. Her hands were at her face, and he could hear her quietly weeping. Immediately, he felt terrible remorse for the way he had spoken to her, forcing her to flee the room. Joining her directly at the instrument, Darcy lifted her chin with his finger until she looked at him.

“I am so sorry, Georgiana. Please say you will forgive me for my abominable behavior just now. I should not have spoken to you as I did.”

Georgiana sniffled. “It is all right, William. I am more disappointed in Elizabeth’s package than I am upset with you. Her response to my letter made me think that she wished for . . . for something else,” Georgiana stammered, realizing she did not wish to upset her brother further by expressing what she had hoped.

“You wrote Eliz . . . Elizabeth a letter?” She had been Elizabeth to him for so long, and now with his renewed hope, he cared not what it suggested to his sister.

Georgiana’s eyes twitched when he used Elizabeth’s Christian name, unsure whether she should proceed. “I wrote to her when Richard told me why you had been so distressed. I told her all about my past with Wickham, hoping she would not blame you.”

Darcy reached for his sister’s hand and squeezed it. “I am sure you found her to be a sympathetic and understanding friend.” His heart soared again, thinking of how lovely and good Elizabeth was and that there was still a chance he might convince her to be his.