Page 34 of The Difference of a Darcy
“No.” Darcy shook his head. “Not ours. Mine.”
She looked at him sharply. This time, he met and held her gaze. “This… whatever this is… it began withmywish.”
“Do you truly wish you had never been born?”
When he did not answer, she asked, “Why?”
“Why?” The word burst from his lips. “Becauseyousaid it! The woman I love told me she wished I had never lived.”
“But you were angry, not distraught.”
His shoulders slumped. “Only at first. But when I awoke this morning, my heart was broken. I realized then that my actionshad done the same to my friend, and to your sister—and even to mine. All I could think was how much better their lives might have been without me.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “You truly believe that?”
He stared into the fire. “I did. At the stream I believed it with all my heart.”
A log shifted, sending a small shower of sparks up the chimney. The light flickered across her face, softening her expression.
“And now?” she asked quietly.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “Part of me still thinks it must be true. And yet…” He glanced at her, then quickly away. “And yet here you are. You could have walked away. But you did not.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly—though it was not quite a smile. “Well, it was that or freeze to death. My options were limited.”
Her face grew serious, and she leaned over and placed her hand on top of his. “I spoke in anger yesterday, Mr. Darcy. I was offended, and my pride was wounded. I apologize.”
He let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, though it caught in his throat. “You are far more forgiving than I deserve.”
For a moment neither spoke. The wind whispered against the shuttered windows. Somewhere in the distance a branch cracked beneath the weight of snow.
Then Elizabeth straightened a little. “If your wish brought us here,” she said slowly, “then perhaps it can also return us.”
Darcy looked at her, startled.
“Or at least,” she went on, “we can learn what must be done. If this is a glimpse of the world without you, then perhaps you were meant to see it.”
“To what end?” he asked hoarsely. “To punish me?”
“Or to teach you,” she said softly, “and as I have been included in this magic, to teach me as well.”
Darcy stared at her for a long moment, the firelight catching in his dark eyes. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe this nightmare might have a purpose. But outside the snow continued to fall, soft and relentless, and the world beyond their little fire felt cold and strange and vast.
At length, he noticed Elizabeth smother a yawn—and a shiver. The fire had burned lower, casting longer shadows on the stone floor. Darcy glanced around the small hunting lodge, dismayed by how little comfort it afforded. One cot, narrow and worn, occupied the corner. A simple bench, where Elizabeth sat, lined the opposite wall. That was all.
He stood with a sigh and reached for the door. “I shall fetch more wood.”
She did not protest, though he noticed her huddling deeper into her shawl.
Darcy stepped out into the cold and returned quickly with as much dry timber as he could find in the lean-to behind the lodge. He stoked the hearth into a more vigorous blaze and dusted his hands off before turning to her.
“You should take the bed.”
Elizabeth looked up from where she sat on the bench, her expression unreadable. “It is hardly large enough for you to stretch your legs across,” she pointed out. “I shall be quite comfortable here.”
“You will not,” he said firmly. “You are tired, and chilled, and you are a lady. I am not so far gone as to forget the dictates of civility.”
She tilted her head. “You would be most uncomfortable.”
