Page 23 of You Willfully Misunderstand Me

He closed the communicating door with gentle care, as the soft click of the latch had become strangely familiar.

***

Elizabeth lingered beside the dying fire on the third night.

She had already brushed out her hair and stood for several moments looking through the rain-streaked windows toward a sea she could not see.

Beyond the glass lay only darkness. But, somewhere beyond that darkness was England. And Longbourn, and Jane.

She wondered what explanation they would receive for her prolonged absence, and whether Anne's letters had continued to arrive in Hertfordshire unanswered.

The idea of the forged invitation returned with unbidden embarrassment.Who had written it, and why had they chosen her?

Almost against her will, other reflections had begun intruding upon them.

She found herself recalling Darcy's patience with Mr. Kewley's endless stories, the ease with which he accepted the steward's opinions, and the ready willingness with which he undertook every unpleasant task about the cottage.

He was showing an entirely new Mr. Darcy, and she felt he was not the man she believed she had known. Perhaps, she admitted reluctantly, she had never known him at all.

What must he think of me?The thought returned with painful persistence.Deceived by his cousin, unable to see the truth until it was placed before me, and now entirely alone in my own humiliation.She had accused him of pride, and he had shown nothing but patience. She had called him ungentlemanly,but every action before her had been marked by kindness, restraint, and consideration. How easily she had mistaken reservation for arrogance and silence for disdain.

He must despise me for it. How could he not?She lowered her eyes, feeling the weight of every harsh judgment she had once delivered.He has been everything a gentleman ought to be, while I have been so determined to believe him otherwise. How he must wish to be anywhere but near me.

Elizabeth pondered these thoughts, wrestling over them before she finally fell asleep.

***

In the adjoining chamber, Darcy's reflections were no less troublesome. Each night, as he extinguished the candle, he became aware of the cruel proximity of the woman separated from him by little more than an oak door.

It was a circumstance he had once imagined under vastly different conditions. He had, countless times, pictured Elizabeth as his wife by her own choosing, in the mistress's room of his home. Instead, Providence, or perhaps some unknown hand, had granted him something infinitely more difficult.

He smiled bitterly at the irony.It is my punishment,he supposed,and it was an unkind one. She is all things lovely and delightful, and she is not mine, well not in any way that mattered, he thought grimly. The island might call her his wife, but she was anything but that.

How her presence tormented him. Every kindness she offered reminded him of what he could not claim. Every moment of ease between them tempted him to hope, only for reason to remind him that her acceptance had not been freely given. Hehad wanted Elizabeth as his wife, his companion, his helpmate, his beloved, and now she was his wife, and yet none of those things.

“Blast this storm,” he said quietly, exhaling into the darkness. The rain continued against the window, the wind howled through the land, and he felt, perhaps for the first time, the full weight of the strange fate that had brought them together. He had spent months believing he would never have Elizabeth Bennet, only to discover that having her near and not truly having her was a far greater trial.

CHAPTER 13

The following morning, the storm finally departed, some would say as dramatically as it had arrived.

For three days, the Isle of Man had been held beneath a relentless assault of wind and water. The sea had roared, the skies had darkened, and every inhabitant had waited with the patience of those who knew there was little value in resisting nature's command.

Then, on the fourth morning, the outside world grew quiet. The wind no longer battered the cottage walls, and the rain had ceased its endless striking against the windows. In its place came the unfamiliar sounds of ordinary life returning; birds calling from their pelagic travels, heavy footsteps trodding on wet ground, and the distant voices of men already beginning the work of repairing what the storm had taken.

That morning, Elizabeth stood near the window, looking out upon a landscape she scarcely recognized. She noticed the sky was pale and clear, though heavy clouds still lingered beyond the horizon. However, one noticeable improvement was the sea, while calmer, it remained somewhat unsettled, its grey waters rolling heavily beneath the morning light. Branches lay scatteredacross the fields, fences had fallen, and several small structures near the shoreline had suffered visible damage.

As she surveyed the outside world through her cozy window, she was relieved to see that the island had survived.

Darcy had warned her that he would announce his entrance rather than simply cross the threshold, a small courtesy that she had come to appreciate more than she cared to admit. Even within the strange circumstances that had placed them together, he never allowed familiarity to replace propriety. She crossed the room and opened the door only enough to indicate that he might enter.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet," he said quietly.

Before Elizabeth could answer, a second knock sounded. This time it came from the door opening into the main passage, and they both turned towards the door.

Elizabeth stepped away as Darcy opened the corridor door. Almost immediately, Mrs. Kewley's cheerful voice filled the passage.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I am here to see to Mrs. Darcy.” The greeting was delivered with such confidence that Elizabeth could not help but smile.