Chapter 16

Pemberley added another layer to their interactions. No longer flitting about from one engagement to another, the Darcys had much time on their hands, together with little distractions.

It was not awkward but their previous intimacy was gone. They interacted with ease if not warmth. Darcy had thought Pemberley would have made them more in tune but instead, it made him conscious of the distance that still lingered between. The remedy quite escaped him... Not was he eloquent, neither was he apt in wooing a lady. Not that wooing necessarily would send the right signal.

For each day that passed, the realisation of what they had lost sunk in. Despairing of ever being able to atone for his mistakes, desperate measures must be taken.

He had shown her every civility, even left her, to spare her from the burden of his company. He had paraded her around town in token of the pride he held for having Elizabeth for wife, he had made sure that every comfort was made available for her, yet he could not break the abstract barrier that had formed between them on the blasted day in the library.

He would write her a letter, he could express himself better on paper than in person. The previous letters he had written had been received well. Not wonderfully but well and it had been a valuable means of changing her opinion of him. Yes, a letter would do.

Dearest Elizabeth

I am half agony, half hope. Parts of me believe I do not deserve it while

the other part insists that you do.

There is nothing I would not sacrifice for the chance to act differently at

the moment that drove us apart but I cannot.

The mistakes are carved in stone, insurmountable obstacles that have been

lodged between us as we go around our daily routines as both strangers and

friends.

If it takes one day or a thousand years, I will never give up hope that

one day this wall will crumble and my soul will reunite with yours.

Is this a part your hopes and dreams too? Do you yearn for the essence

that once were us, Elizabeth?

Do you lay awake long into the night, wondering if I am sleeping

comfortably or are you tossing and turning until the sun yet again

forces her way over the hill?

Do you remember, Elizabeth, the brief moment in time when we could

hardly bear an instant apart from each other?

The pull never left me, I am still drawn to you like water in the

desert or the single candle glowing in the dead of night.

If you were the sea, I would like to be the wind caressing you.

If you were the wind, I wish for wings to glide on the breeze.

Still ardently in love and

eternally yours FD

Fitzwilliam folded the letter and hastily walked to Elizabeth's room and pushed the letter under her door. He could hear it gliding across the floor until it hit an uneven floorboard with a muffled smack.

It was done, there was no turning back now. He padded back to bed but sleep still eluded him. His first letter was written in anger, the next in anguish while his last was written in melancholy. He could not decide which was worse... He groaned and drove his hand down his face. What would Elizabeth think when she found such a maudlin letter, scattered on the floor? Or heaven forfends, a nosy maid found it... He had not sealed it, the wax was in his study and he had not bothered with it.

Mr Darcy padded back to his bed and sank into the downy mattress.

The floorboards creaked like it was want to do when the chill of the night made the wood contract. The sounds of the house soothingly familiar, his eyes grew too heavy and closed on their own volition.

He drifted into a state between awake and asleep, he felt like he was falling but he could not be bothered flail. He knew it was sleep coming to claim him, wetness touched his cheek in an unfamiliar way. A heaviness draped over him but it was a comfortable cover.

"We are two wretched beings, are we not, Mr Darcy?"

His eyes slowly opened to an apparition of loveliness. Her hair curtained her cheeks and cast long shadows across her countenance but those dark eyes that had captivated him, almost at first glance. Those eyes shimmered in the obscure light from the single candle on his nightstand. Arresting his thoughts and compelling him into action.

He reached for her hand and pulled her to him, she did not resist his tug but blanketed him with her self. He held on, clutched her to his person. A light linen cloth segregated the union from being complete but it did not matter. Elizabeth was in his arms, wetting his chest with her tears, it was cleansing... His cheeks were equally moistened.

Darcy woke at dawn, feeling rejuvenated. No words had been spoken but peace pervaded his essence. Elizabeth lay in the crook of his arm, a leg draped across his lower extremity while an arm was tightly woven around his torso. He kissed the top of her head, her arm tightened, she was awake.

Indecision ruled until he decided to be brave. He lifted her countenance with a finger under her chin and touched her lips tentatively with his. Soft and tenderly he kissed her once more, revelling at her not pulling back from him.

She never did pull back nor flinch at his touch. A new delicate beginning was blooming. A late spring after a particular harsh winter that would make Pemberley prosper for the next generations to come.

By the next summer, the Darcys had another daughter. Three years later they had a son, Ellie finally got her baby brother.

The End