Page 65 of The Difference of a Darcy
Why would he want to stay in Longbourn? Was he allowing chivalry to over-rule his own desires? Or was it something worse?
She thought back on the evening and her heart squeezed painfully. Her family had been—she knew it—exuberant. Overwhelming. Loud and ridiculous and lacking in all the refinements his own circle possessed. Her mother had spoken of marriage markets as though they were horse fairs. Kitty and Lydia had fluttered over men in red coats like moths to flame. Jane—poor Jane—had been revealed in all her heartbreak and shame.
What must he think of them? Of me?
By the time he had entered their room, she had already changed into her nightdress and lay facing the wall, curled on her side, uncertain. She listened to the rustle of fabric as he undressed, the creak of the mattress as he lay down carefully behind her, keeping that same respectful distance.
And still, she could not sleep.
Perhaps it had all become too much for him. Perhaps he had offered her the chance to stay because it spared him the discomfort of telling her that he had no wish to continue together at all. Not when her family was so clearly beneath his notice. Not when he now saw what she truly came from. He could wait until she was settled in Longbourn, perhaps even in a position in her family’s home, and then simply disappear, without any pangs of guilt or remorse.
And if Jane’s condition had appalled him... if it confirmed every prejudice he had ever held about her family’s morals...
She felt him, still tense, beneath the covers and longed to speak, but she did not know what to say.
Because she knew whatshewanted.
She wanted to be with him, whatever that meant. She wanted to remain by his side, to face whatever came next as a pair. It felt so obvious, soright—and yet now, uncertainty gnawed at her.
Had she misunderstood? Had she misread his warmth, his patience, his laughter?
What if it was all in my imagination?
The idea struck like a cold wind. That perhaps the comfort between them had been no more than kindness. That his gaze—so often steady and soft—had been only pity. That when he offered to stay in Longbourn, close to her family, it had not been out of care, but as a step towards being free of her.
She closed her eyes tightly, pressing her fingertips against her brow, trying to will the fear away, to will sleep into claiming her. But the silence between them was unbearable. It throbbed like a bruise on her heart.
She wished he would speak—say something, anything—but perhaps he already had. Perhaps his silencenowwas an answer she had no wish to hear.
So, she lay still, trying to steady her breathing, knowing he was just inches away—and fearing he might already be a world apart.
Her breath trembled. A knot formed in her chest—thick and aching.
She could not take it anymore.
Turning just slightly toward him, her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “Do you want to go on…without me?” Her next words came out in a breathless rush. “You have no obligation to me. This world, this reality, it is meant for you to understand, not for me. I do not want to hinder you.”
The silence that followed felt endless.
And then—low and ragged—came his answer.
“No.”
The word was strangled—rough with something unspoken. It cracked through the darkness like lightning and sent something sharp and bright flooding through her chest.
“No?” she asked, hopeful.
“No,” he repeated.
She turned toward him fully then, rolling onto her side to face him. He was already looking at her—his expression stark in the faint moonlight that filtered through the curtains.
“That is not what I want either,” she whispered. “I want… I want to go with you, wherever this magic takes you. I just want tobewith you.”
Please.
The words hung there between them—barely breathed, yet weighty as a vow.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Hers flicked to his.
