That a woman in her situation should reject him was positively absurd! Yet, he could not help but admire her for it. For not succumbing to the temptation of all marriage to him could have offered her, for not compromising her principles. It had taken courage and integrity for her to do so. And that he admired her all the more for it was absolutely infuriating, particularly as she had been so very wrong about him. What had caused her to dislike him so intensely?  Wickham! He had poisoned her against him. It was not courage at all that had allowed her to refuse him, but foolishness and stubbornness on her part, and the credit she gave Wickham’s lies. When he thought of the great advantage that an alliance with him might have brought her, he felt how imprudent she had been by the alacrity with which she’d rejected him. But he too had been a fool, imagining her to be desiring, expecting his addresses. He had expected her to accept him with pleasure and gratitude. Oh how different was the true scene that had unfolded between them than what he had envisioned!

He tortured himself further with thoughts of how fervently she had championed Mr. Wickham. Oh what bitter irony! That the only woman who had ever captivated his heart thought well of that scoundrel and ill of himself. He could only suppose that she must be in love with him, and the very thought of it made him sick. But surely, if she’d given any credit to the content of his letter, she could no longer regard and esteem Wickham as she had on that night. But had it reversed her opinion of himself as well? Why should he care? She was nothing, and her rejection had saved him from his own damned foolishness. He was thankful he had not wasted himself on such a silly inclination and ashamed that he’d let it progress so far that he had actually proposed marriage to her! She was wholly unsuitable. As painful as her rejection had been, it had all turned out for the best. He would not regret her.

But still her words stung him, "Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."  How dare she suggest that he was no gentleman – and then to undertake the defense of Wickham! It was beyond anything he should have been forced to withstand!  "You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."  The remembrance of her expressions was inexplicably painful. How could she have had so little regard for him?  "I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."  What had caused her to hate him with such vehemence? And how could he have been so blind to it?

As these familiar thoughts whirled through his mind, he paced restlessly about his room. He could not go to bed, he could not lie still. There was no respite from the turmoil of his mind. Then, he paused in his walk across the room as the door to the adjoining chamber caught his eye. He had to admit he had already thought of ordering new furniture for her. The room had to be updated before it could be occupied again, and he had looked forward to picking out those items which he could anticipate would please her. How long had it been since he had been in there? He reached for the door and opened it slowly – as if in voluntary penance – knowing he could find no pleasure within. Taking a candle from the table, he stepped into the room. The entire chamber was veiled in an eerie darkness, the covered furnishings creating strange formations around the room. He lit a wall sconce and walked further inside.

He looked to the right, where the desk stood against the wall. It’s covering did not inhibit his imagination. He could see Elizabeth sitting there, writing her letters. He looked to the left, towards the windows, and envisioned her curled up on the window seat with a book. His eyes were finally drawn to the bed and there she was, resting in his arms, as he’d imagined so many times before the evening of his cruel awakening.

He pulled aside the bed curtains and sat on the edge of the bed. He had only ever loved one woman, with a passion that had overcome even his own unwillingness to love her. And his recompense for such devotion? Only pain, sorrow, despair and bitter disappointment. He stretched his arm across the pillow, then drew it to him, embraced it, and laid his face upon it’s softness. He closed his eyes . . . and wept.

~

Darcy awoke to a feeling of profound contentment and comfort. In his arms he felt the warm, soft body of his beloved. And he smiled.  Elizabeth.  He opened his eyes and lifted his head slightly to look upon her sleeping form. She was lovely. He ran his fingers across her exposed shoulder and kissed her cheek. Then he watched her sleep as he felt her body rise and fall with each gentle breath, and he let his mind wander.

He had dreamed of holding her in his arms so many times when there had been no hope she would ever be his. And, now that she was here, his mind was recalled to that night, so many months ago, when he had been in the most oppressive depths of despair – the night he had abandoned his anger and let himself see the justice of her reproofs. The pain he had then felt had been so great, yet it seemed trifling in comparison to the joy that was now his.

He felt her stir within his embrace and he watched her exquisite eyes flutter open and then immediately turn towards him, seeking him out. When her eyes met his, she smiled. Her expression reflected contentment, admiration . . . love. She loved him. He had known it to be so for well over three months, but he still felt that thrilling rush of joy each time she looked at him in that way. He was still a little awed by the realization that he had finally won her for his own. Placing his hand on her cheek, he leaned down and kissed her lips, gently, tenderly. This love they shared was sweeter, more satisfying than he had ever dreamed it might be.

He thought back to that lonely, painful night, when anger had given way to grief, and grief to sadness, and eventually sadness had given way to reason. He had long realized that they would not enjoy the same level of understanding as they did now if their union had been achieved in any other way. He felt her hand wind its way to the back of his neck, as she applied a gentle pressure to urge him towards her for another kiss. He could only oblige her.

FINIS

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