Page 57 of A Stronger Impulse
“Wish,” he replied. What had his mother used to say? If wishes were butter cakes, beggars might bite. “Wish,” he repeated, the only word he could manage at the moment.
He wished, too, that he had courted her properly, wished that he had shown the world his feelings instead of assaulting her with them unexpectedly, giving her no warning, seeking first neither favour nor friendship. He wished he had asked her father’s permission, wished he had offered for her with all the world’s pomp and ceremony, in a way no titled family member could ever refute or deny.
“We cannot do this,” she said, looking up at him from where she fit so perfectly within his arms. “It is only pretend.”
He nodded, tracing the supple skin of her cheek, the softness of her brow, the sweet plump of her flawless lips with a hand suddenly grown unsteady. He wanted her, wanted to kiss her, to feel the taste of her in his mouth, to ruin himself for any other. He wanted to see her clear, direct gaze grow dazed and fogged with passion, with need, with him. Her eyes, those lovely eyes, told him that the feelings of the person who once refused him were now very different; those eyes, her lovely eyes, begged him to repeat his proposal, to make the pretence real.
“Wish,” he whispered once more, all the anguish of his broken heart in that solitary word.
She nodded, her grief a living wound between them, and rested her head again upon his chest; he held her there until he knew she slept.
* * *
The next morning, Lizzy was wakened by the shout of gulls from her open window. She was alone, of course; Mr Darcy must have brought her—carried her—to her lonely bed when she slept. The room was chilly, but she left the warmth of her covers to watch the sun rise upon the horizon. She wished she had not fallen asleep, that she could recall him lifting her, holding her to his chest, tucking the blankets around her. Had he left her with a single kiss, although she could not remember it?
Too much!Too much pain, too much hurt! I must leave here, and soon! I have fallen in love, while he has only regrets.
I will do it,she thought. I will go to town, discover how and when the post runs to Hertfordshire. She wondered if Mr Darcy would agree with her decision. Not that there was any reason why he should not, other than requiring her help with his letters and with the servants’ understanding. Nevertheless, his speech was improving daily, James was growing better at interpretation, and a trusted man of business—she had written to them all now, but only Saxelby and one other were given his exact location—would certainly be arriving at any time. Very soon he would not need her for anything at all. It was utterly ridiculous to imagine him begging her to stay.
But it was too early for such errands. Instead of packing her trunk, she dressed in dull garb and linen cap, slipping out into the cold morning and down to the beach. And as it often did, the sight and sound of the ocean brought her a measure of peace. One could hardly gaze upon its mighty, vast splendour and be overly concerned by one’s own small troubles. She walked much further from the house than she usually did, trying to push away her sorrow with the exercise, and in her preoccupation, she nearly stumbled upon a small cache of men’s clothing and boots. The beach was a private one, separated from the town by rocky cliffs, and she’d never met another soul. Squinting at the waves, she saw the figure of a man stroking against the surf, swimming out towards the horizon, the sun glistening off his shoulders and strong limbs. At first, she was frightened for the unknown swimmer.
To take such risks with the vagaries of nature, the chill of the waves, and all the hidden dangers!She nearly called out in protest, though he was much too far away to hear.
But no. He turned his strokes back towards the shore, and as he neared, the man’s identity became obvious. It was wrong to watch him in his unclothed state; she knew she ought to turn away, must turn away, and leave immediately. And yet she remained where she was, entranced, as powerful muscles glinted, his broad, scarred back, shoulders, and biceps working towards his goal, every inch of his body chiselled and fit, lean and athletic, aggressively combatting the ocean itself.
Only…let me have this moment: surrounded by a magnificent sea, while a lone man pits himself against the strength of ocean waves, emerging victorious against all his battles. He never quits, never falters, never surrenders, no matter his struggles.
And she knew she would not pack, would not hurry home to Netherfield, would not protect herself from a love she would carry for the rest of her life. If these last few days are to be all I ever have, I will seize them while I can.
She tarried for only a moment longer, before making her way back to a pretend life so much better than the real one awaiting her.