Darcy could not sleep. He paced his room.
He ached with longing for Elizabeth. He wanted to kiss her and caress her and place her in his bed. He could be at Longbourn at 7 o'clock. They might be awake that early. He could be in London before noon. He would sit in the archbishop's office and acquire a special license. Then back to Longbourn.
They could marry tomorrow evening.
He would do it.
She would be so happy.
Darcy smiled and smiled as he walked about imagining her joy and surprise when he walked into her drawing room. Tomorrow night his aching need to be impossibly close to her would be relieved when he buried his body in hers. She would hold him and whisper sweet things in his ears. He would control himself so as not to hurt her.
They would breakfast together the next day, laughing and kissing freely. She would make him smile, and he would never be lonely again.
What would Mr. Bennet think? He might dislike the speed Darcy would demand for the marriage. Elizabeth would not object, not when she looked at him with those smoldering eyes. She wanted to consummate their love.
Elizabeth was not yet of age. He needed Mr. Bennet's permission. He knew there were rumors about his impending bankruptcy, and Mr. Bennet might demand Darcy provide papers to prove he had sufficient wealth to support his daughter. The real records were all in Derbyshire, but Mr. Hoare could provide enough documents to prove his income was substantial.
If that was necessary, he would travel to London tomorrow and retrieve the papers. Then they would get an ordinary license and marry at eight in the morning the day after. He could wait that long.
Something was wrong with Darcy's chest. It hurt.
He continued to pace. Was there anything else which could go wrong? He would bring Bingley with him when he spoke to Mr. Bennet. If Bingley vouched for him, Mr. Bennet would believe he had enough money.
What was wrong with his chest? He was going to marry Elizabeth, why did it hurt?
He was not his father.
Oh God, no. He had to leave. Tomorrow, he had to leave. No. He didn't wish to. There was some jagged tear in his soul.
He would leave Netherfield tomorrow morning. Bingley was to travel to London for a day, and Darcy would go with him. Then he'd take a post carriage in London and travel with it north.
He had toyed with Elizabeth's affections again. He was a sick, disgusting creature. He had destroyed his sister, and he hurt Elizabeth. He was his father's son. A person who harmed those he loved most.
Be friendly but distant. Ha! He had been a fool to trust himself.
He must never let himself see her again.
Darcy rested his forehead against the frosted glass of his window.
He had never wanted anything so much. This was different than every other temptation he had faced. Clothes and gambling were not important. Nothing mattered more than Elizabeth. He could marry her, and he would never act imprudently ever again.
It was foolish to treat marriage as solely a matter of financial gain or loss. That was why he'd nearly married Miss Bingley. Elizabeth had saved him from that.
Her eyes would sparkle when she saw him walk into her drawing room. He would smile and beg for an audience. And she would look at him with that sweet gaze.
Life would be happier. Everything would be happier. Even if Matlock cut off his loans, he'd be happy. Forget Pemberley, forget the land, forget everything. Elizabeth was worth it. Everything else could work itself out.
Tomorrow night, after they married by special license, he'd bring her to this room. She would be in that bed, and she would smile at him. Those eyelashes and her smooth skin. Her bosom uncovered.
Darcy felt sick and freezing.
He had decided to leave, and his mind changed itself.
That had never happened to him.
He might not manage to leave Hertfordshire without promising himself. If he let himself sleep, he would wake and no longer remember he was to go to London. He'd be in her drawing room before he recalled he could not marry her, and then it would be too late.
Oh, God.
Darcy was scared. He was a rational creature. He was not his father. He could control himself. He would control himself.
He could not let himself sleep. He could not wait for Bingley. Darcy pulled out a piece of stationary and wrote a note to Bingley which barely explained anything. He left it on his desk.
Then he dressed himself in riding breeches and a warm overcoat.
It was four am; it would be light enough to ride in another hour. Darcy went down to Bingley's stables, and accidentally woke the stable boy. With his help Darcy saddled and prepared his horse.
The night was cold and dark. Darcy was scared of himself.
For a moment he wasn't sure if he would ride the horse towards Longbourn or Derbyshire. The road to London passed next to Longbourn. Darcy decided he would take a long circuitous path to keep himself far from her home.
At last the first tendrils of light gleamed against the clouds in the east. Darcy smiled at the stable boy and gave him a half shilling.
He set off for Pemberley.