Chapter Twenty-Eight

D arcy woke up with a start. He had caught himself just in time before he tumbled from the chair to the floor of Elizabeth's cabin. Looking around, he was arrested by the same fine eyes that had tormented his soul since late summer.

It was soon to be Christmas Day, and Darcy still had no more certainty of her regard than when he had discovered Elizabeth's true opinion of him after surprising each other in the tumultuous cabin of the Jolly Sparrow . He had never accustomed himself to that feeling of doubtful helplessness.

When he sat up straight, a blanket fell down. As he ran his hand through his hair and attempted to straighten his shirt, he remembered he was still a sooty mess from the previous night's misadventures. Elizabeth watched him from her berth with a little amusement brightening her tired eyes.

"Mr Darcy, I see you decided to slumber in my chambers without my permission."

Darcy's heart shrank till it was painful. She addressed him thus only when annoyed. The more formal tone clouded his brow with disappointment. But it had been Elizabeth herself who had taught him to try the occasional jest, even in situations that were uncomfortably difficult.

"I believe, Miss Elizabeth, that it was you who first compromised me by attempting to protect me from the sinking island."

She laughed and looked down at her bandaged palms. Wincing, she used just her fingertips to twist the fabric of the top of her blanket into a tight roll. A curtain of her recently combed hair—courtesy of Clara May—covered her face to such an extent that Darcy could not read her expression.

Darcy stood and was preparing to bow and take his leave so that he could see to the running of the boat and nurse his bruised heart when her voice came to him in a whisper.

"I was in such a state last night. I cannot be certain of all that I heard. I do not intend to pry, sir, but who…who is the woman whom you spoke of? The one whom you care for so deeply? The one from England?"

Darcy sighed. He was weary beyond anything imaginable. His strength to uphold the pillars of propriety and honour drained from him. The force of his adoration for Elizabeth was the only thing that gave him the spirit to stand at all. "It is you," he said in a whisper. "It has always been you, Elizabeth."

He shifted uncomfortably in the silence, carefully clasping his hands behind his back to keep them from taking her in his arms. Torturing his heart, the quiet extended out.

Elizabeth turned her smiling face up to him, happy and luminous. Darcy stepped back, suddenly struck with the incomprehensible, unfamiliar force of pure joy. Without another word, he sat on the bed and enveloped her carefully in his arms.

Mindful of her delicate hands healing, Darcy refrained from clutching her too dearly. Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder, sighing out, "I love you, vexing man though you are."

"I have loved you since before the ball at Netherfield," Darcy hurriedly replied, concerned that some new impediment—either created by themselves or from the natural world—would extinguish this revelation of love. "Good God, that seems an age ago." He turned his face and buried it in her hair. Inhaling deeply, he brought his lips to her ear, speaking softly. "When I discovered your poor opinion of me—as we crossed the sea—I was a broken man. I endeavoured to rid myself of my love for you, but it only grew as we spent time together. Pretending to be your husband was an agony, every moment of it wishing I had no need to pretend. What an ass I was! So rude. Can you forgive me?"

"Only if you forgive the many insults that I spoke to your face."

He pulled back and gazed into her eyes. "But when? When did you begin to think well of me and when did our friendship turn into something more?"

She laughed and shook her head. "It has been coming on so gradually that I can hardly recollect. The force and depth of my love made itself known the night after we came over the Falls. Now I cannot imagine myself ever loving another. Only you."

Elizabeth reached a bandaged hand up. With the tips of her uncovered fingers, she softly caressed his hair from the scarred bump on his forehead that the whipping rope had left. Darcy saw her eyes drift down to his mouth as her teeth gently bit her own bottom lip. Reaching up, he caressed under it with his thumb, freeing her lip as he brought his own down to press her mouth in a soft kiss. Time stood still as words were no longer needed to tell one another of their true feelings. Darcy sensed Elizabeth return each wave of pressure with a tentative force of her own. The emergence of her desire for him increased his own as he opened her mouth with his to deepen their kiss. A small sound of surprised pleasure from her reached his ears, increasing his happiness tenfold.

Someone cleared their throat at the door. Clara May stood with a tray of food, with her eyes turned up towards the ceiling. Darcy and Elizabeth pulled away from each other, both flushed to their roots with embarrassment.

"I am happy that you two are so pleased to see each other after last night, but, if you don't mind my pointing out, sir, your wife must be keen with hunger."

Elizabeth nodded her head as Darcy stood and brought over their small card table. Clara May set the tray down and began arranging the plates of simple fare. Darcy leaned down and kissed Elizabeth's cheek lightly before straightening and clearing his throat.

"I will come back to check on you later. I need to walk the ship and make certain we are ready to cast off."

"And you might wish to freshen up. However, I believe that shirt is beyond hope," Elizabeth replied with a delighted giggle.

"I may keep it. For memories."

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head as he turned to leave. Darcy closed the door and faced the river, knowing that whatever disaster arose, he had the love of his life to stand by his side and strengthen him with affection, honest observations, and laughter. How could he have ever imagined a future without laughter? More specifically, her laughter. The laughter of his own, dearest Elizabeth.

Darcy gazed up, knowing the comet was there, hidden in the light of the day, just as his love for Elizabeth had been for these many weeks. Blazing and overpowering, blinding him with an unquenchable ardour that had driven him to the other side of the world.

That evening, there was no mention of cards being dealt. There were words spoken with uncertainty, hesitant in the new light of their mutual love, but gone were the doubts about the state of the heart of the other.

As Darcy lay with Elizabeth in his arms, mindful of her healing flesh, he kissed and caressed her till she slept soundly. His desire for more was overwhelming, but he wished her to be rested and healed when they came to know each other more intimately. For the first time in days, he was not restless with anxiety. Darcy was unable to calm his heart because it swelled with joy beyond its capacity to restrain it. Imaginings of rowing Elizabeth across the lake that stood just before Pemberley, introducing her to Georgiana, listening to her play at the pianoforte, one day adding her portrait to the gallery; all of these idle, waking dreams kept his eyelids from drooping till Elizabeth roused and pressed her own kisses to his lips, simultaneously soothing and igniting him till the cruel sun rose and banished the blazing comet for another day on the Mississippi River.