Page 54 of The Difference of a Darcy
She did not move, did not wish to disturb him. She simply lay still, letting her mind drift over the events of the past few days.
Was it truly only three days since he had come to the parsonage at Rosings? Since he had made his ill-fated proposal and she had torn his pride to shreds? Since the fae—or angel, or whatever it was—had granted that terrible wish and erased him from the world?
And yet here they were, side by side in a narrow bed in a modest inn in Meryton. A false husband and wife in a world that no longer remembered them.
It ought to have been awkward.
It was not.
It felt like a lifetime—and yet, impossibly, like no time at all.
She smiled faintly and closed her eyes again, imagining what it might be like to wake like this every day. In this bed.With him.
The thought surprised her—but it did not frighten her.
He is not the man I thought him,she admitted silently.And perhaps I am no longer the woman I thought I was, either.
Their breakfast was simple—the remnants of the hamper from the Gardiners—and the time soon arrived that they could leave for Longbourn. The weather was fair enough, with gray clouds and a brisk wind, though there was nothing in the skies that appeared threatening. Elizabeth donned her gloves as they stepped out from the Boar and Barrel, and she began walking down the familiar footpath towards Longbourn.
Darcy matched her stride without comment. They walked in companionable silence, the village slowly waking around them, chimneys puffing soft trails of smoke into the sky. A few shopkeepers swept their thresholds. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
It is strange,Elizabeth thought,how natural it feels to walk beside him now. How easy.
She glanced up once to find him watching her from the corner of his eye, and they both smiled.
“I never imagined,” she said softly, “that I would one day return to Longbourn in the company of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
His mouth twitched. “Neither did I. Let us hope your family is not too shocked by your presence—or mine.”
She smiled. “As friends of the new Mrs. Collins paying their respects, I daresay we will be invited to tea.”
But as they passed the hedgerow near Lucas Lodge, the wind picked up. A low rumble of thunder growled in the distance, and within moments the sky broke open.
It was not a gentle rain, but a deluge—soaking and wild, pouring down in sheets that blurred the path and plastered Elizabeth’s cloak to her frame. She squealed and ducked her head, gripping the sides of her cloak. Darcy immediately shrugged out of his greatcoat and held it above them both, tugging her closer beneath its span as they ran.
They dashed toward the familiar iron gate of Longbourn, her half-laughing gasps rising over the roar of the rain. Her slippers slipped on the muddy path, and Darcy’s arm caught her around the waist, steadying her.
“There!” she cried, pointing to the small outbuilding that sheltered the garden tools. He nodded, and they ducked beneath its shallow overhang, breathless and dripping.
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her bonnet, which had gone thoroughly askew, and looked up at him.
He was soaked. Rain streaked through his hair, water ran down the side of his jaw, and his cravat was utterly ruined. For a moment, they simply stood there, catching their breath, rain pounding the thatched roof just inches above their heads. Their hands still clasped.
But he was grinning.
So was she.
“I believe,” she said, breath hitching, “that your greatcoat is no longer the fashionable item it once was.”
“My valet will quit in protest,” he teased. “That is, if I still employed one. Alas,Mr. Smithhas not the funds nor the station to be a man of leisure.”
They stood beneath the arch, the rain slapping down just beyond their shelter, and for a moment neither moved. As she continued looking up at him, she noticed once again just how tall he really was. The amusement on his face revealed a dimple in his cheek that she had never noticed before.
His eyes held hers, dark and full of something that made her breath catch in a different way. His hand was still at her waist. Her fingers still clutched his coat.
He was very close. Close enough that she could see the raindrops on his lashes. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, warming the space between them.
Her heart beat strangely in her chest—too fast, too full.
