Page 18 of Losing Lizzy
He extended his hand a second time. “Trust me. I am very much alive, although there were many attempts to end my life.”
“William?” Her mouth formed the word, but no sound escaped her lips. A thousand different emotions darted acrossher features: Confusion. Fear. Anger. Defeat. Denial. Hope.
Darcy knelt before her to gather her to him. “Yes, love. William. Your William.”
Her hands searched his face—his shoulders—and his hair. “How can it be you?” She leaned into him then, nearly knocking him over. She kissed his jaw—his throat—the corner of his mouth. Her tears wet his cravat. Wet his face. Her softness. Her scent. Filled him. Returning all the pieces of his heart to where they belonged.
At length, their mouths met. Urgency. Joining. Parting. Rejoining. A reacquaintance. He ran a string of kisses over her cheeks and nose before returning to her mouth. Their tongues intertwined. Testing. Offering proof of what existed between them, while comparing this moment to all those they had known previously. For the first time since that fateful day on the docks, Darcy felt whole again.
“You have no idea how frightened I was without you. The pain on my father’s face when we parted was unbearable.”
“I did not wish to frighten you,” he said softly. His fingers renewed the memory of her as he spoke. “In truth, I was not certain you were with Sheffield.” He kissed her cheeks and forehead. “Since my first day back in England, I set my mind to finding you. I constantly prayed you had not claimed another.” He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Pray, say it is not too late for us.”
For the briefest of moments, she swayed as if she meant to fall deeper into his embrace, and then she was shoving against his chest, demanding her release. “Late!” She scrambled to her feet. “I am late!” She rushed to lock the shop door. “I must go!”
“Go where?” he asked as he trailed her through the shelving area toward the back of the store.
She turned to him, walking backward. “I must call upon Mrs. Harris, Mr. Sheffield’s particular friend.”
Darcy was thankful she was not hurrying off to meet another man, but he wondered how this Mrs. Harris superseded their need to speak of a future together. Was not their relationshipmore important than a social call? Could she not send her regrets?
She slid her hands into the sleeves of her pelisse before reaching for the door. She stopped quite suddenly, never turning around, but she said, “I would be pleased if you would accompany me. We have much to say to each other, but I am required at Mrs. Harris’s home immediately.”
For some reason her shoulders stiffened, but she smiled up at him when he joined her in the opened passageway behind the bookstore. “Would you prefer the use of my carriage?” he said when he fell in step with her. “The weather is quite cold for early September.” Darcy wished to reach for her hand to place it on his arm as a symbol of possession, but Elizabeth tightly clasped her reticule before her, evidently not wishing his touch at the moment. At least, she had not sent him away.
“It is only a few streets over,” she explained. “And you know I am an excellent walker.” Her eyebrow lifted in a natural challenge, and he breathed a bit easier. They were still on common ground.
“I recall your walking to Netherfield through the mud,” he said with a return of the easiness between them. There was so much he wished to say to her, but she bit her bottom lip as she walked, indicating her nervousness. He understood. His heart was pounding out a fast tattoo. It had been so long since he had even looked upon her, the whole situation unreal. Therefore, he chose a subject not centered on their future, thinking she must be as overwhelmed as he. He did not wish to push her too quickly. Certainly, his reappearance had to be a shock to her. “Mr. Sheffield possesses a ‘particular friend’?” he asked.
“Mrs. Harris,” she explained, although she did not look at him, a fact which perplexed Darcy, “set her sights on Sheffield when we arrived in Brighton. He has been slow to respond: I fear he worries what is to become of me if he takes up with the lady.”
Darcy thought if she would again accept the offer of his hand in marriage, Mr. Sheffield could choose whether to pursue the lady or not. He wished to voice those thoughts, but there would be time to reconnect with her later. Darcy had no otherplans for the time being, other than to win Elizabeth’s approval of their joining.
“The man in the shop,” he began, attempting to learn whether she wanted the gentleman’s attentions or not.
“Mr. Townsend,” she supplied the man’s name. “Mr. Sidney Townsend.”
“Mr. Townsend,” he repeated, all along thinking he would be soon learning all he could of the man, perhaps another job for Mr. Cowan. Seeing Townsend apparently forcing his attentions on Elizabeth reminded Darcy of the scene he had walked in on between Georgiana and George Wickham. “The man in the shop called me ‘Lieutenant Dartmore.’”
She blushed thoroughly. “Mr. Sheffield had told several in the area he had been previously in the employ of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. Before arriving in Brighton, he and I had decided I would be posing as his niece.”
She led the way along a narrow path on the outskirts of the thriving port city. When he came abreast of her again, he asked, “I appreciate Mr. Sheffield moving to protect you, but when you fainted, Sheffield told Mr. Townsend I was your husband, Lieutenant Dartmore.”
“Of His Majesty’s Royal Navy,” she confirmed. Another blush flooded her cheeks.
“I do not mind assuming the role of your husband,” he said, “but why was it necessary for you to be a married lady? Being Sheffield’s niece should have been sufficient for those about town who had a desire to know more of you.”
She ignored his question, crossing through the yard of a nicely situated cottage. “Mrs. Harris?” Elizabeth called as she rapped on the door. “It is Elizabeth.” She knocked louder. “I am grieved to be late.”
When no one answered, she moved to the window to peer inside. Tapping on the glass she called, “Mrs. Harris!” Her voice began to display her alarm. “Mrs. Harris!”
He tried the door, but it was latched. “I will goaround to the back.”
“I shall go with you,” she said as he led the way.
They found the back door wide open. “Mrs. Harris?” she called again.
Darcy placed her behind him. “Allow me to go first.”
