Page 47 of Pemberley's Imposter
Holding on to hope, the Darcys embraced for the longest time. Darcy was afraid that if he let go, she would change her mind and hurry back to her vehicle.
“Is the carriage waiting by the main road?”
“No, I sent it on its way.”
“To London?”
Elizabeth chuckled. “No, to tend the horses at the inn. Unlike you, I have no wish to stay here any longer than necessary. It reminds me of years I do not wish to relive if at all possible. It was a daily struggle, Fitzwilliam.”
“I know. I cannot fathom how you managed.”
Darcy drew a shuddering breath, relaxing his fierce hold and tucking her head under his chin.
“Every breath I drew was a waste without you in my life, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth trembled violently, sniffed and swallowed hard; her breaths came in rapid convulsive gasps. Burying her face deeper into his chest whilst her arms enveloped his waist, she cried. Tears mingled with sweat, leaving a salty trail down Darcy’s body.
“If I could change…”
Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. “Regret serves no purpose, and neither does wishing to rewrite what cannot be altered.” She drew in a deep fortifying breath and stepped back.
Darcy looked away, anxious as to why she had broken the spell they were under. Elizabeth patted her hair; it was damp from his tears. A gust of wind rattled the yellowing leaves.
“It is getting chilly. Let us go inside and discuss matters.” Darcy strode to the cottage without waiting for a reply and was relieved when Elizabeth followed.
“I have no tea to offer you, nor coffee for that matter,” he admitted with chagrin.
Elizabeth smiled. “You are thorough when you punish yourself.”
Darcy poured water into a basin and wrenched off his sweat-soaked shirt. Elizabeth turned away, and he clenched his jaw.
“I struggle to imagine how this might work if you cannot even bear to look at me,” he accused her.
“I thought you wanted privacy,” she defended herself.
If that was true, she had entirely mistaken the matter. He had endured two and a half years of tedious privacy. Not to forget the sleepless, lonely nights devoid of peace and comfort.
“I am your husband, Elizabeth. Even more than being away from you, I fear you being distant and aloof.”
There. He had revealed his concern.
“I appreciate you sharing your fears with me. I was concerned you would believe me wanton if I did not turn away while you were doing your ablutions. I also fear your response if I talk to or even smile at another man, however innocent it may be.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Mrs Darcy! Your carriage awaits you at the road,” the driver called.
“Thank you. We shall be but a moment,” she replied and turned to Darcy. “Do you have much packing to do?”
Relief flooded his veins. She expected him to return with her, and he could do nothing but comply.
“No, nothing but the clothes on my back.”
“Then may I suggest you wear them,” she replied with mirth dancing in her eyes.
“Certainly, madam. Your wish is my command.”
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