The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

“I think it likely that she does love you.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “In our last conversation before leaving for France, Elizabeth proclaimed I was the last man in the world she could ever be induced to marry. Then I lied to her for a week about a basic matter of her identity.”

Richard blew out a breath. “When you put it that way, I suppose it is not promising….”

Darcy could not stifle a harsh laugh as he pulled up more grass to shred.

“But you have been traveling together—alone,” Richard said. “Surely her reputation is so compromised that—”

Darcy grabbed his cousin’s arm before he could finish the sentence. “No. Do not so much as whisper a word on that account. I do not want her forced to marry me. That would be a fate far worse than never marrying.”

Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “Very well, I will not mention anything about your traveling arrangements, but it will provoke many questions when you return to England.”

Darcy’s shoulders slumped. “I know. I had hoped to persuade her to an engagement by then.” He pictured the angry rigidity in her body as she had turned her face to the canvas wall of the tent. Any type of persuasion seemed unlikely.

Richard gave a low whistle. “I thought love was supposed to make you happy.”

I did, too. Darcy glared at his cousin. “Did you not need to speak to the boat captain about taking on two passengers?”

Richard gave him a rueful smile. “Very well.” He stood. “I will be back soon.”

After his cousin’s departure, Darcy stood and circled the tent—inspecting it carefully to ensure Elizabeth was safe—but saw no signs of trouble. Returning to the tree, he shifted position until his back rested against the trunk and settled in for a long watch.

Half an hour passed before Richard returned with the welcome news that he had secured passage with the galley captain. Using the tree’s canopy to shield them from the hot midday sun, they conversed in low tones as Darcy related the story of their journey. Fortunately, this part of the camp was outside the market area, and few people passed by.

When Darcy described Dreyfus’s betrayal, his cousin swore under his breath. “Damn double agents! My superiors in the War Office will find a way to deal with him.”

“Dreyfus and his men may still be on the lookout for us,” Darcy warned.

“You will not be on French soil for much longer.”

Darcy nodded in fervent agreement. They could not leave the country quickly enough to suit him.

***

Elizabeth stared at the side of the tent. With the sun bright and high in the sky, the space was filled with a dusty yellow glow. Even if she had designs on slumber, the light would have made it impossible. However, she had a far greater need for privacy and quiet in which to order her thoughts. Already she perceived the beginning of a headache in the knotted muscles in her neck.

She had suspected William—Mr. Darcy—had not been truthful, but it had never occurred to her that he was lying about their marriage. In hindsight she should have guessed; he had been so vague about the details of the proposal and wedding. But marriage was a sacrament, a sacred bond between two people. How could he have been so cavalier about the truth of it? She had been a fool to trust him. Obviously he was completely untrustworthy and devoid of higher feelings.

What else had he lied to her about?

The moment when her memories rushed back to her had been

so disorienting. The sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam had provoked a flood of memories from Rosings Park: eating dinner, playing the pianoforte, walking in the park. Other recollections followed on the heels of the first, including the entirety of her history with Mr. Darcy. Now she was horrified at her behavior with him: her casual intimacy, the confidences she had shared, the kisses. He had seen parts of her body—although she had not been wholly naked in his presence. They had shared a bed!

Before today, the cold and distant Mr. Darcy in her dreams had been a puzzlement. Now she wondered the opposite: who was the attentive and caring Mr. Darcy she had encountered in France? Elizabeth would not have believed he possessed such qualities. Yet he had treated her with tender regard and protected her with everything in his power. She could scarcely believe this was the same man who had so casually insulted her family and separated Mr. Bingley from Jane.

He had every reason to be furious with her after her refusal of his proposal—and the egregious way she had credited Mr. Wickham’s story over his. After the incident at Hunsford, she imagined he cursed her name and would never wish to see her again. He had believed she was deceased. Why had he even come to France?

It was such a shock, as if she had been doused with cold water. Mr. Darcy is not my husband. Even now, an hour later, her mind struggled to grapple with all the ramifications. Despite the restoration of her memories, it was difficult to change her habits of mind. She had grown accustomed to seeing him as her spouse, and now she needed to adapt to viewing him as an odd and unpleasant acquaintance who had once revealed his affection for her in a shocking and insulting manner. It was most disconcerting.

She could not even articulate exactly how she felt about Mr. Darcy at this moment. When she had believed him to be her husband, she had not questioned her feelings for him. Of course, she loved him; he was her husband. Without memories, it had been impossible to form a complete understanding of the various emotions he provoked. But now she was left in limbo.

How do I feel about Mr. Darcy?

It was true that in the days following the proposal, Elizabeth had regretted the manner in which she had refused his offer, particularly after reading his letter. But that did not mean her essential feelings toward him had changed.

It was also true that before her departure for Jersey she had found Mr. Darcy often in her thoughts. To be honest, he had occupied her thoughts more than any other young man of her acquaintance. However, she attributed that to their awkward encounter at Hunsford Parsonage; it had been so unexpected and unpleasant that she could not push it from her mind.