The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

“The view is very beautiful,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

She leaned against the railing, savoring the scenery while Darcy savored her beauty.

They had been fortunate in the weather; since departing Paris, the skies had been blue and sunny. The crew was pleasant but kept the two passengers at a wary distance. When Darcy and Elizabeth dined with Captain Moreau, he generously shared his opinion of Napoleon, the emperor’s generals, the march on Russia, the Peninsular War, taxation, the state of the roads, men’s hats, or any other subject. Indeed, he appeared to have a decided opinion about everything. Thus, conversation with the captain consisted primarily of listening.

Otherwise, Elizabeth and Darcy were left to their own devices for entertainment—a situation that would suit Darcy admirably were it not for the shadows in Elizabeth’s eyes. Even now when she had sought his company, she stared persistently at the vista and showed no inclination toward further conversation. Perhaps he should give her an opening to discuss the source of her unease. He took a deep breath and said, “Have you remembered anything else of your past?”

She hesitated and then shook her head as her hands squeezed the railing. “Nothing substantial. Just wisps of memories, images that are unconnected to specific events. Words and sounds that make no sense to me.”

How bewildering such an experience would be. Lost in a forest without any sign of a path to lead you back home. No wonder her eyes were shadowed.

“Perhaps if you describe the images, I might be able to help you recall what they are. I could put them into context.”

She pressed her lips together. “I doubt it. After all, you and I have not known each other very long.”

“True.” Why was she insisting on that point? She presented a calm façade, but underneath there seemed to lurk a great disturbance of spirit. Did she doubt his feelings for her?

Or was she questioning her feelings for him?

I am still a virtual stranger to Elizabeth, he reminded himself. Everything is disorienting. Of course, she is uncertain about the stability of our relationship. No doubt she is uncertain about the stability of her entire life.

The need to reassure her urged him to speak, but he faltered over finding the right words. He had been deliberately vague in describing their relationship, but there was nothing vague or false about his feelings for her. Recalling that emptiness following her “death” was like pressing on a bruise, yet it gave him strength. Nothing that happened now could be as painful as those days.

“As I said before, I had great difficulty convincing you to marry me.”

She bit her lower lip. “Yes, I recall. But I thought…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes?”

Her gaze touched him briefly and then returned to the water. “I thought possibly that my father wished the match and I did not.”

Tension twisted his stomach. The supposition came a little too close to the truth for his comfort, and yet he must not let her suspect.

His hand covered hers where she gripped the railing. “Elizabeth, I…” How may I reassure her without weaving additional lies into our story? “I assure you that my proposal was borne of nothing other than the deepest and most ardent affection and admiration.”

That much was the complete truth. She need not know that she had rejected the aforementioned proposal. He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

Elizabeth finally lifted her eyes to his. “It was?”

He had said this before; why did she find that hard to believe? Did she have a contrary memory? “Yes.” His voice was louder and more forceful than he had intended. “I was slow to recognize and comprehend my feelings.” He stared at their intertwined hands. “But it was irrevocable.”

“Oh.” She breathed out the word, a look of wonder on her face. After a long silence she asked the question he had been dreading. “And what of my feelings for you?”

He swallowed convulsively. “I cannot speak to your sentiments.”

“Did I not tell you I loved you?”

Darcy’s entire body stiffened as he fought to keep the panic from his face. What could he tell her that was not a lie?

“I…we did not speak much of our feelings.” That much was certainly true. “I have actually spoken more of what I feel here in France than before.” Also true. He drew her hand to his chest. “And I will always do everything in my power to make you happy.”

A few of the anxious lines on her face smoothed out at this declaration. He wanted to make all her worries disappear, but he had already told so many falsehoods… Was there another way to reassure her?

He studied her forest green eyes, absorbed by his concerns about her turmoil. I should not touch her, and I certainly should not kiss her. But Darcy would have defied any man to resist those soft eyes and slightly parted lips. Every passing day brought them closer to the restoration of her memories—when she might turn away from him forever. Every day could be his last opportunity to kiss her. Even if they managed to cross the Channel with the deception intact, the truth must be revealed the moment they set foot on English soil.

He stepped closer to her and, when she did not move away, bent his head toward hers. Still, she voiced no objections. When he enfolded her in his arms, she melted softly against him, a gesture so trusting that it took his breath away.