Page 63 of The Difference of a Darcy
Yes. She was falling in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy, and no amount of rain or magic or broken timelines could undo that.
Chapter 12
The meal passed more quickly than Darcy expected, and far more pleasantly. Elizabeth had smiled, laughed, and even teased him once when he dropped his spoon, and though his retort had been mild, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners made his heart twist with something dangerously close to contentment.
But all too soon, it ended.
Hill brought back their dried clothing—wrinkled and still a touch damp, but warm from the hearth—and they changed once more before taking their leave.
Mrs. Bennet all but wrapped them in blankets for the carriage ride back to the inn, pressing leftover biscuits into Elizabeth’s hands and calling after them with cheerful insistence that theymustcome again at the end of their journey on their way back to Kent.
Darcy could not remember the last time he had been bade farewell so warmly.
He climbed into the hired carriage behind Elizabeth, settled across from her, and shut the door as the driver clicked his tongue and turned the horse into the lane.
The silence was immediate.
Elizabeth looked out the window. Her profile was blurred by the glass, which was misted from the warmth of their breath meeting the cold outside.
Darcy folded his hands and stared at them.
He wanted to speak—to say something to ease her pain, ask what she planned. Whether she would remain.
But he knew well that there was nothing he could say to calm the hopelessness in her eyes. In any case, words would not come. His chest was too tight about what she might say.
What if she turned to him, serene and resolute, and told him that she must stay at Longbourn—that her duty to her sister outweighed all else?
Could he fault her for it?
What if she says yes? What will I do if she wishes to remain here?
Could I leave her?
The thought hollowed him out. He had only just found her—truly found her—and now he might lose her again. And not to time or magic or some inexplicable twist of fate, but to choice. Her choice.
And he knew it must be hers.
So, he stared down at his hands and said nothing, watching her from the corner of his eye as she gazed out the window. The sound of hooves and wheels over gravel filled the space between them. He heard her sigh once, but she did not look up.
When they reached the Boar and Barrel, the innkeeper greeted them at the door with a genial nod. “Evenin’, sir. Will you be wantin’ the room a third night, or just this one more?”
Darcy hesitated. He glanced toward Elizabeth—but she was already climbing the stairs, her skirt gathered in one hand, her head slightly bowed.
“May I let you know in the morning?” he asked, unsure. Would Elizabeth wish to remain in Longbourn to try and finda way to help her sister in this world? Perhaps they could find work and remain in the area, but how much influence could they really have? Especially with Jane leaving so soon.
The man nodded. “Aye, that’s fine.”
Darcy gave a tight smile and handed over a coin before slowly climbing the stairs and lingering outside the door. He knew Elizabeth would need time to freshen up and change for bed.
When he finally entered their room, the fire had already been stoked and Elizabeth was lying on her side beneath the covers, her back to the door. A few stray tendrils of hair clung to her cheek. She had changed into the shift he had purchased for her in London. Her form beneath the blanket was still, her breathing steady—but not the steady rhythm of sleep.
No, she was awake.
He undressed quickly, laying his clothes out over the chair near the fire to finish drying. Then put on his nightdress and slid into the narrow bed beside her, careful not to touch her. Careful, as always.
But his mind was a roaring thing, far too loud for sleep.
Minutes passed. Her breathing did not change.
