The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

Other parts of the dream also coincided with things she knew to be real. Colonel Fitzwilliam was indeed a cousin of William’s. Mr. Bingley was the man who had liked Jane at the assembly ball. She was certain that the park from this dream belonged to the house from the previous dream. Its name was— The name remained elusively out of reach.

Likewise, the William described in this most recent dream greatly resembled the one she had seen in her previous dreams, although he did not seem at all like the William she knew in France.

Therefore, she could conclude that this dream was most likely a real memory and not a fantasy. The thought was more disturbing than reassuring.

Why had Mr. Darcy—William—objected to Jane’s behavior? It was possible Jane was a terrible flirt or seemed too immature, or perhaps she simply did not like Mr. Bingley. But Elizabeth’s reaction to the colonel’s news suggested otherwise. She had felt that Jane deserved a chance for happiness with William’s friend and that it had been unjustly denied to her. Elizabeth had been furious at his interference.

William stirred, turning his head toward her as his voice emerged from the darkness of the cabin. “Elizabeth? Are you unwell?” Without awaiting a response, he sat up in bed, the covers falling around his waist.

She scrubbed her face with the heel of her hand. “Nothing but a dream.” She did not feel equal to describing its particulars to him, but perhaps he could help her ascertain their accuracy. “What is my sister Jane like?”

William hesitated before responding. “She is very pleasant and sensible. Quite pretty. I believe you are very close to her.” He finds nothing objectionable about her now? Elizabeth was beginning to feel as if she were traveling with a completely different man than the one depicted in her dreams.

“Have I met your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

William startled slightly. “You met him when visiting Rosings Park.”

Rosings Park! Yes, that was the name she could not quite recall.

He leaned closer to her, his face deeply creased with worry. “What did you remember?”

She refused to tell him the whole of her disturbing dreams until she understood them better. “Bits and pieces only. I remember he listened to me play the pianoforte.”

William’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, upon more than one occasion. Your playing is quite good.”

“Where is Jane now?”

She must have appeared anxious for William took her hand. “She was at Longbourn with your family before I left England.”

Was she still heartbroken over Mr. Bingley? “How did she seem to you?”

If William found these questions odd, he did not show it. “She was quite worried about your disappearance. All of your family was, but perhaps Miss Bennet and your father took it the hardest.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I arrived at Longbourn with my friend Charles Bingley. He stayed in Hertfordshire, and I hope his presence is a comfort to her.”

Another piece of the puzzle! Elizabeth fought to contain her excitement. “Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said slowly as if just recalling the name. “Did he court Jane?”

“Indeed.” William’s smile seemed a bit strained. “Your memory is improving.”

“Only a little.” Elizabeth shrugged. “I have a vague recollection of his face, but do not remember even the smallest detail about him.” She hesitated before saying anything else, but William was her sole source of information. “Do you believe he will make Jane an offer?”

He gave her a startled look. “He may very well. I have reason to believe he was not happy while they were apart.” So far, William had corroborated every particular in the dream. Her stomach churned; while it was exciting to regain memories, their content raised more questions than they answered.

Elizabeth scrutinized his face as much as the dim light would allow. He evinced no dissatisfaction with the idea that her sister might wed his friend. Had he changed his mind about Jane? Or had the colonel been wrong about the identity of William’s friend? Perhaps she had drawn the wrong conclusion at Rosings Park.

Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. Partial memories were nearly worse than no memories at all. She would prefer to believe the dreams were lies, fantasies spun by a mind not completely recovered from its recent ordeal. Yet she could not dismiss them completely when so many of the details were accurate.

While her mind was confused, her body had no reservations about William…kissing him or craving more of his touches. Surely that was a sign of past intimacies. Their kiss had been…

The memory alone gave her goosebumps.

“You should try to get more sleep. Lie down under the covers again, my darling. Your hands are like ice.”

She could have no doubt he cared about her as she allowed him to pull her down beside him, enjoying the feel of his warm body cradling hers. But she could not shake her misgivings. Despite his concern for her, she could not prevent her opinion of her husband from being influenced by something as insubstantial as dreams.

Chapter Fourteen

Darcy was once again admiring the view from the deck of the barge—there were few other ways to pass the time—when the captain joined him. “We will arrive in Rouen tomorrow morning. What will you do then? You are hoping to cross the Channel, are you not?”

Darcy was not surprised the man had guessed they were destined for England; no doubt he had noticed Elizabeth’s accent. He took a minute to scrutinize the captain. There was no reason to distrust the man; his hatred of Napoleon seemed genuine. “We will need to hire a carriage for Calais.”