Page 15 of Until My Last Breath

Darcy could not speak another word or continue to stare at her back — a physical proof of her rejection.

Not only she did not care for him; she hated him. And now he would live knowing it.

Gathering the little dignity that was still left in him, he added, “I am sorry for having taken so much of your time.”

Then he left.

Chapter 5

11th April 1816

“Mr Darcy!”

Elizabeth opened her eyes again, sitting up on her bed. It had been just a dream, had it not?

Even with the dim light of dawn timidly peeking through the curtains, she saw she was still wearing the same dress from last night.

It had not been a dream. It had been real. All of it.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

Forcing her mind into some distraction, she poured water into the bowl, washed her face and rinsed her mouth in a desperate attempt to remove the bitter taste of their confrontation.

The mirror in front of her reflected someone she could not recognise. Someone cruel and selfish.

The need to be alone prompted her to change her clothes without any help; she would choose a dress that did not have a hundred of those blasted buttons.

Braiding her hair and planning to go for a very long walk before anybody in the house was awake, she left her room.

Mr Darcy’s face, hurt by her abusive words, appeared before her again.

Shaking her head to dissipate that painful memory, Elizabeth hurried downstairs, reaching the kitchen where she grabbed some pastries before leaving. Seeing Cook, she did not stop to chat, but offered instead a quicknod, running through the door before anyone else could ask after her. She decided that after a long walk and with a clearer mind, she would think about the whole situation again.

Once outside, and with a safe distance between her and the house, Elizabeth could not avoid thinking about Mr Darcy and their dreadful confrontation the night before. Still struggling with her conscience after an agonising night, she forced herself to believe that Mr Darcy probably had received what he deserved.

But, then, why this ache in her chest? She remembered the pain in his eyes as she turned from him.

She was still considering those things when the strange sight of somebody, a man lying, no, slumped against a tree, caught her attention. By his clothes it seemed…

She gasped. “Oh, no. Mr Darcy.” Without thinking further, she ran towards him.

What if he had suffered an accident after their argument?

Had he spent the night outside?

Was he… dead?

~ ♥ ~

Dawn found Darcy still seated in his chair, trying to finish a letter, which he hoped would explain in writing what he had not been able to explain in words.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his painful temples. The battle he had fought against feelings of rage and bitter resentment towards Elizabeth, Richard — somewhere in the middle of the night, Darcy had understood his cousin’s silent warning — and God — for allowing him such deep disappointment when he had finally surrendered himself to his love for Elizabeth — had drained him, physically and emotionally. He would have howled like a wounded animal if only it could have appeased his aching heart.

Yet, good sense prevailed. After many hours of struggle, Darcy had finally been able to understand what her disturbing words meant.

How could she know about his feelings or even believe them after what he had said and done? How could she have known how enchanted he was by her beauty and kindness if he had never said a word? Instead, he had acted like a brute, offending her and giving attention to silly behaviours.

What was really important in life?

---