Page 33 of The Difference of a Darcy
He glanced sideways. “I do not know. It is difficult to tell what laws govern this… place.”
She gave a sharp little laugh. “I am not certain if there areanylaws that govern it.”
Darcy shook his head. “This morning, I had plans to write you an apology. To explain myself better. I thought I had simply made a poor proposal.”
“You did,” she said dryly. Then, a moment later, “But… not so poor as Mr. Collins did the morning after the Netherfield ball.”
His lips quirked again, briefly. “I suppose I should take that as comfort.”
Another few minutes passed. The trees thickened. Their breath clouded before them, and Elizabeth’s pace slowed slightly. He offered his arm without comment; she took it without protest.
At last, the hunting lodge appeared through the branches: a small, weathered structure of gray stone and shuttered windows, half hidden beneath an overgrown pine. The door stood crooked on its hinges, but it opened easily enough with a firm shove.
Inside, it was dim and chill. But it was dry.
Darcy went to the hearth and began clearing out the old ashes while Elizabeth crossed to the single bench along the wall and sank onto it.
“I do not suppose you have matches in your coat pocket?” she asked hopefully.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, pulling a small tin from his inner pocket, “I do.”
She blinked. “Why on earth do you carry matches?”
“I am a man. I have pockets. If you had pockets, you would carry necessities as well.”
She gave a soft, reluctant laugh.
Darcy struck one and set it to the old kindling, fanning it gently until the fire began to take. It would not burn long—there was only a small stack of split logs inside, and he doubted anyone had replenished it in years—but the light was steady and the heat blessedly real.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the flames.
Then Elizabeth said, almost idly, “So… you wished you had never been born. And now we are here.”
He did not answer right away.
At last, he said, “It was said in despair. But it was meant.”
She looked over at him.
He did not meet her eyes. “I realized… I realized that I have done nothing but bring harm. To Bingley. To Georgiana. To you.”
“You did not harm me,” she said softly. “Not really.”
He glanced at her, startled. But she was watching the fire.
“You offended me,” she added, “but you did notruinme or my life. Not like this… this world has done.”
“If this world even exists,” he said. She looked at him questioningly, and he smirked. “It is entirely possible that we have simply gone mad.”
“If we are mad, then at least we are not alone in our lunacy. I would much prefer being unrecognized and with you than actually having married Mr. Collins.”
“What other explanation is there?”
She was silent. “The fae. He told you that you had been removed. Perhaps… perhaps he somehow had the power to actually do it.”
He turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “Removed from what? Time? Memory? My family does not know me, you are apparently married, and that—that—was not Rosings as it should be.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. “Then we are somewhere else entirely. Some… other version of our lives.”
