The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

“If you would thank me, let it be for yourself alone,” he said huskily. “I thought of nothing save keeping you safe and well.”

Oh, Good Lord, why did he have to make it so difficult to stay furious with him?

“I pray you, listen to my explanation of”—he cleared his throat— “of the past week.”

Elizabeth wanted to push him off the bench and watch him sprawl on the dirty boat’s deck. But, she grudgingly admitted, she probably owed Mr. Darcy her life. The least she could do was listen to his explanation. Once she was off this boat, she need not ever see him again.

“Very well,” she said stiffly.

Mr. Darcy held his shapeless worker’s hat, turning the rim around and around in his hands. He cleared his throat again. “When I arrived at Saint-Malo, I believed you were dead.”

Elizabeth nodded. She knew this but still did not know what to make of it.

“I wanted to find the man who caused the cutter to explode and bring him to England for justice.” Darcy glanced over his shoulder at Dreyfus huddled on the floor of the boat. “I just this minute realized that we actually accomplished that goal even though I abandoned it.”

“Why did you want to avenge me? Did you somehow believe you were responsible for my trip to Jersey?”

“It did occur to me that you would not have been on that cutter if I had made you an offer of my hand in a way that could have tempted you.” The desolation on his face took Elizabeth’s breath away. “But I had journeyed to Longbourn in the hopes of changing your opinion of me. When I learned of your…demise, I thought I had lost that opportunity. There was no further service I could render you or your family, save to avenge your death.”

Despite herself, Elizabeth felt moisture gathering in her eyes. Every time she doubted his love for her, he made such doubt impossible.

“But then I walked into a bedchamber at the Martins’ house, and you were lying in the bed—ill but quite alive. I never even dared to hope…” He swallowed, staring down at his hands. “I was so overcome by the sight that I took you into my arms….You were warm and breathing and…”

Elizabeth could not help glancing at his profile. He was staring out over the ocean, his jaw clenched and tense. Reliving these memories was clearly a kind of agony for him.

When she said nothing, Mr. Darcy continued. “The Martins were scandalized at my behavior—grabbing an unconscious woman—so I said the first thing that came into my mind: that you were my wife.” He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Oddly enough, at the time it almost did not feel like a lie. I had been so ready to make you mine—to make you another offer at Longbourn—that it almost felt like you were…mine.”

I should say something….But no words could emerge past the lump in her throat.

“I thought that when you awakened, I would induce you to play along, at least so that Mr. Martin would not be scandalized that I was in your sick room. I had no idea that you would have…”

“Forgotten everything,” she supplied.

“Yes. The Martins told you I was your husband, and how was I to correct your misapprehension without destroying your trust? You did not remember who I was; I could not confess to deception. It seemed easiest to allow you to continue to believe it.”

“Easiest?” Her voice was so loud that several of the rowers looked in their direction. “Easiest for whom?” she asked in a lower voice.

“For both of us.” He squared his shoulders and then turned to look directly at her. “Elizabeth, if I had told you that we were neither married nor engaged, and that upon our previous meeting, you told me that I was the last person on earth you would marry”—Elizabeth flinched at her harsh words—“would you have accompanied me out of Saint-Malo?”

The first days in Saint-Malo had been so disorienting, not knowing who she was or why she was in France. She could see now that her “husband” had been a source of comfort and security. “Possibly not,” she conceded. “But we have been traveling together for a week. You could have told me at any point.”

His head dropped, and his eyes fixed on his hands again. “I considered telling you upon many occasions, but I feared distracting you from the all-important tasks of recovering from your illness and reaching England. Nothing was more important than getting you home safely. I vowed I would do anything to make that happen. Even make you hate me.”

Elizabeth could not help recalling how he had charged into Adele’s house to rescue her when he easily could have escaped on his own. He had put her safety above everything else, including his own life.

“I had planned to tell you the truth once we reached England. I swear to you!” His voice now held an edge of desperation.

“The truth would have been necessary.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded cold even to her own ears. “The population of Longbourn and Meryton would hardly have cooperated with your deception.”

“I pray you, understand that I abhor falsehoods of every kind. Living such a lie felt wrong every moment of every day.”

She could sense his desperation, but she was n

ot convinced that he had no choice. “Did it truly feel wrong, Mr. Darcy, or did you get a secret thrill from pretending I was your wife? It was what you wanted after all.” Elizabeth’s rage was an ice-cold core deep in her body. Mr. Darcy’s words had melted it a little bit, but she clung to it like a piece of driftwood in the ocean. Otherwise the onslaught of fresh memories threatened to overwhelm her.

He opened his mouth quickly as if for an angry retort but then closed it again. “I will admit I enjoyed the fantasy of you as my wife,” he said with a sigh. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Even now?” she asked. He had certainly seen her at her worst.