Page 62 of A Stronger Impulse
Lizzy thought of little else besides Jane’s letter over the next four days, rereading it several times. She’d had to sit, so great was her surprise at this open invitation—almost a plea—to come to her.
But though she had longed for the safety and security of a home with the Bingleys, now that it was assured, she was conscious of another emotion, mixed in with real gratitude and relief. It took her some days to identify so foreign a feeling, and she instinctively shied from it. But finally, she knew: it was a sense of dread, almost, as the forced donning of an ill-fitting garment.
One night after dinner, she and Darcy sat quietly in their favourite parlour, side by side upon the settee. He did not touch her—he was very careful to ‘behave’ as he had put it. But he watched her, alert to her troubled mood.
“Liz-zy…you well?” he asked.
And because she knew he cared, truly, for her feelings, she told him what had been bothering her. “In the beginning of her letter, Jane says she cannot imagine why I do not come home and, at its end, confesses to fearing she is the cause for my absence.” Sighing, she turned to face him.
“She is not wholly correct, but she is not wrong either.” Lizzy had never voiced aloud her feelings on this subject, had never had a friend close enough, willing enough to share her burdens, to say it. Even with Charlotte, protecting her sisters had been too important—protecting herself too. “I worked so hard, all my life, to keep peace in our family. I used every wit I possessed to coax and cajole and entertain and amuse. I cared for each one of them in every illness or physical complaint. When I needed them the most, my sisters did not desert me, but neither did any of them make a stand. Lydia thought of a way to delay my punishment for a time, and Jane, under duress, promised to make a future effort, but…essentially, I was left to fend for myself.”
He shook his head in mute commiseration, his gaze sympathetic.
“Perhaps I ought to have done what Mama ordered and gone to her brother in Cheapside. But who is he? He certainly never bothered to take any notice of us. Mama is difficult enough, and I cannot imagine any brother of hers to be an improvement.”
Darcy nodded in understanding.
“I resented your opinion of Lydia, but your accusations were not baseless. With a full regiment of men in redcoats to attract her, and Kitty following in her footsteps, neither sister likely gave me a thought. Instead, they make a laughingstock of themselves and our family name whilst my parents do naught to restrain either. We are just as foolish as you worried.” She tried to smile, took a deep breath. “Thankfully, you may congratulate yourself at having successfully avoided such an inauspicious connexion.” And she buried her face in her hands.
Seconds later, she felt his tentative touch; perhaps, even, she had allowed him to see too much of her pain simply for the affection of it. She had no more pride and so little time left with him. A bit of comfort, a bit of understanding—was it asking too much?
“Jane said…missed good humour, spirits,” he said. “You, Lizzy. Kept all…” He tried to summon the word ‘together’ with his tangled tongue and was only partially successful.
Still, she understood him. She usually did now.
“But what good was it?” she questioned. “In the end, my efforts were in vain. Even now…I worry that it may be the only reason Jane wants me back—to rein in my younger sisters. But they are no longer children. I cannot persuade or distract them into good behaviour any longer, not if they are determined to do as they will.”
“Georg—”
“Georgiana. Yes.”
“Wanted…more. More atten-tion, more friend. I wanted…her stay little, stay girl. Not think about wed-dings and bed-dings. Repulse. No want. So. I did not. Gave…her to Lady Mat-lock. Approved all asked. Paid lit-tle attention. She…she gave her to…”
“Her companion, Mrs Younge!” Lizzy finished for him. “Georgiana told me the most horrible things about her. I did not think you would have hired such a person for her. She would not allow your sister to see you, and she had her maid dismissed by telling lies. By fostering dissent and disharmony amongst the household, the best servants left. Finally, she managed to completely isolate her. Georgiana grew so desperate that at one point…well, let us say she was beyond despair.” She met his gaze. “That was when I met her, actually. Upon the cliffs of Ramsgate.”
He did not misunderstand, she saw, closing his eyes briefly. Sweetly, he took her hand and kissed it in gratitude and affection; she clutched it, so pitifully grateful for the connexion.
“There was…a man,” he managed.
“A man?” Lizzy asked, surprised.
“Told you…once. Lost temper…before c-collapse. It…was him.” In fits and starts, he got out the details—the son of Pemberley’s steward, George Wickham, a beloved godson of his father’s, who had been given so much and yet who only took, only wounded, only ruined.
“An elopement?” Lizzy asked, appalled. “Surely Georgiana would never hurt or offend you in such a way. She loves you!”
“Love,” he murmured. “I showed none. I regarded her…feelings…burden. Retreated. Left alone. Vul-vulnerable. When dis-covered…with Wick…I lost temper. Lost mind. Woke…hosp-ital. More Younges.” He looked straight into her eyes. “Your sister Bing…knows. Like I know. Should have stayed close. Loved blasted better. Not lose you. Liz-zy…you…better than us all. Not run from challenges, from hard. Embrace. Conquer.”
Confusion filled her; his form grew misty within her unshed tears.
“Only you.” The words came out easily, as if he had rehearsed them. “Only you, my Lizzy.”
And suddenly, without even being aware of how it happened, she was in his arms, and for the first time, finally, she gave expression to the feelings in her heart. Her need was voracious, lightning in her blood and a fever in her soul, and she tried to withdraw, to find her restraint.
But he seemed to want no such reserve, his longing as greedy and ravenous as her own. His fingers went to the linen cap, unpinning, loosening until, at last, her hair was free, and he buried his hands within the masses.
“Liz-zy…my Liz-zy,” he said over and over, drawing her close until they were intertwined in each other’s arms. “Be…be mine, Liz-zy. Pl-please. Need you. Need you…so much.” And then his mouth, hot and strong, was on hers, and she was lost, lost to the same yearnings, to the kisses, both sweet and overwhelming. What did it matter? It was all she had ever wanted. Just him—not his name, not his wealth and properties, not the trappings of prosperity. Only his love. Only that.
Almost viciously, he tore himself away, breathing hard, his cravat ruined, his hair mussed, his desire obvious. He stared at her, his eyes wild. Moments later, she was alone in the empty parlour.