Page 35 of You Willfully Misunderstand Me

Perhaps then… He stopped the thought. There was little purpose in dwelling upon what could not be changed. And yet, he could not prevent himself from imagining. Elizabeth at Pemberley. Elizabeth walking through the gardens. Elizabeth laughing freely among his family and friends. Elizabeth making a place in a home that had always felt too large and too quiet.

The image was so natural that it pained him. Because he knew now, more clearly than ever, that what he desired was not merely her affection. He wanted her companionship, and conversation, and laughter to himself. He wanted the simple comfort of knowing she was near.

He turned his head toward the communicating door. Beyond it was Elizabeth. She was only a few steps away, but stillimpossibly distant because she was not his wife. And he had no right to ask or wish for more. Darcy exhaled slowly.

He had once believed marriage was a matter of duty, suitability, and mutual respect. And, he had once believed affection would grow where circumstances allowed. Now he knew better. He loved her because she was Elizabeth. Kind when she had no reason to be, courageous when circumstances frightened her, and honest even when honesty wounded her.

A faint, almost sorrowful smile touched his face. What a strange punishment it was to be given a glimpse of the life he wanted most while knowing he had no claim to it. Outside, the sea continued its steady rhythm against the shore. And, inside, Fitzwilliam Darcy lay awake in a narrow bed, separated from the woman he loved by only a single door. And for the first time in his life, all his wealth, all his influence, and all his accomplishments felt entirely insufficient.

Because the one thing he wanted most could not be purchased, arranged, or commanded. Love could only be freely given, by her.

CHAPTER 18

That morning, after breakfast, Darcy accompanied Mr. Kewley toward the harbor once again. The repairs had progressed steadily, and within a day or two, vessels could safely depart. Darcy had grown accustomed to the islanders' surprise at his willingness to work alongside them. He found their gratitude unnecessary and their admiration uncomfortable. He was not doing anything extraordinary, but was merely doing what any man ought to do when he possessed the ability to help.

It was only when he had stepped away from the harbor to inspect a damaged storage building that he encountered Mr. Callow. The old fisherman was known throughout the village. His back was bent with age, and his hands bore the unmistakable marks of a lifetime spent at sea, yet his eyes remained sharp.

The man called to him gruffly, "Mistah Darcy, sir."

Darcy turned, "Mr. Callow, good morning."

The old man glanced toward the harbor before lowering his voice, "I've been meaning to speak wit' ye, sir."

Something in his tone caused Darcy's attention to sharpen, "Is something wrong?"

Mr. Callow hesitated, "Perhaps not." He paused. "But I have lived on this island for seventy years, sir. And I have learned to pay attention when something does not belong." The old man looked around to ensure they were not overheard, "There were strangers here before the storm."

Darcy's expression changed subtly, "Strangers?"

"Aye, two men. English.” The story came quickly. "At least one of them was. The other spoke little."

Darcy's mind immediately began sorting possibilities, "What did they want?"

Mr. Callow frowned, "Questions about visitors. Travelers from England."

A silence followed, "What kind of travelers?"

Mr. Callow studied him, "Men of wealth."

Darcy's face remained composed, but inwardly his thoughts moved quickly, "And what made you think they were asking about wealthy travelers?"

"Because they did not ask about travelers generally." The old fisherman lowered his voice. "They asked about estates. Families. Names. They asked whether anyone important had recently arrived."

His jaw tightened, "What else did they ask?"

Mr. Callow looked troubled, "They wanted to know whether any gentlemen were traveling with a lady.”

Darcy went still.

The old man watched his reaction carefully, "You know nothing of these men?"

"No." Darcy looked toward the sea. The water stretched endlessly before him, calm now, almost deceptively peaceful.

Mr. Callow removed his cap, running a hand through his grey hair, "I thought you ought to know."

Mr. Darcy turned to the old sailor and nodded, "You did right to tell me."

The old man studied him, "Is the lady safe?"