Read Online Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World by Abigail Reynolds - Free Book Online
Authors: Abigail Reynolds
Tags: United States, Historical fiction, Romance, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Regency, Historical Romance, Genre Fiction
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reasonable.
"In
the dark, or if you had ... an accident?"
"You
have my apologies, sir. What further would you like?"
"I
would like ... " He paused, apparently struggling for self-control.
"I would like you to be more careful, at least until you know the park better."
She
inclined her head in agreement, thinking it best to say nothing. At least he
had not forbidden her to walk out altogether, even though it had obviously cost
him something not to do so. "If you will excuse me, then?"
"As
you wish," he said. For a moment Elizabeth thought she saw the flicker of
his old look in his eyes, but then it was gone again and replaced by
implacability.
She
thought about that look again as she sat in her bed in her nightdress, her arms
wrapped around her knees. Did it mean that some small morsel of love remained
within him? Perhaps so, but if it did, it seemed he regretted it. She found the
idea oddly painful.
She
could not continue in this manner. She needed to decide her best course of action
regarding her marriage. The simplest answer was to go on as she had been,
polite and compliant, but perhaps now with the addition of avoiding him as much
as possible, since he no longer had any desire for her company. That
would be dutiful, and no one could hold it against her.
The
harder option would be to try to give him what he claimed to want--the
laughing, smiles and teasing she had shown Colonel Fitzwilliam. She did not
know whether it was within her capability, at least when he was as forbidding
as he was now. She had done it before their engagement, though, even though she
disliked him; why should being married to him make it so much more difficult?
The
worst of it was at night, like this, when she lay awake wondering if he
intended to come to her. He had not been to her bedchamber since their quarrel,
but that would change sooner or later, she had no doubt, and she was frightened
of it. It had been difficult enough, accustoming herself to the liberties he
took with her body when he had been kind and gentle. She shuddered to think
what it would be like if he came to her in anger.
Unbeknownst
to Elizabeth, Darcy sat in his study until the rest of the household was abed,
turning a pair of torn slippers flecked with blood in his hands. What had he
done to her? Marriage to a man she disliked. He wondered what she had thought
when he kissed her, when he was in her bed. Was it repulsion, or merely
distaste? He told himself again, as he had many times in the last few days, not
to think on it, but he was as unsuccessful as he had been every other time.
How
could he keep from blaming himself? He had taken the woman he loved as if she
were a toy he wanted, and had killed the spirit in her for which he loved her.
Now he was fated to spend the rest of his life facing a simulacrum of
Elizabeth, remembering what she had been, and the joy he had felt so briefly
when he believed she cared for him. It was a fitting punishment for his selfishness
that he should lose what he valued most. But she did not deserve to suffer.
How
had he, with all the advantages of his birth and intellect, come to the point
where he could think of no better outcome than that he might die young? At
least then Elizabeth might have a chance at happiness. He ran his fingers over
the dark stains on her slippers. Perhaps it was too late even for that.
Chapter 7
At
breakfast Mr. Darcy said, "Have you written to your aunt and uncle yet,
madam?"
Elizabeth
carefully broke her toast in two parts. "No, sir, I have not."
"Why
have you not?"
"I
wished to avoid embarrassment. I believe they plan to visit nearby, in Lambton,
and I will call on them there." Seeing his frown, she added, "You
need not fear; my aunt and uncle are people of the world and understand the
situation. They will not claim a relationship with you." Did he have any
idea how much it cost her to speak of this as if it were of no matter?
She
turned her attention to buttering her toast as if the outcome of the
"In
the dark, or if you had ... an accident?"
"You
have my apologies, sir. What further would you like?"
"I
would like ... " He paused, apparently struggling for self-control.
"I would like you to be more careful, at least until you know the park better."
She
inclined her head in agreement, thinking it best to say nothing. At least he
had not forbidden her to walk out altogether, even though it had obviously cost
him something not to do so. "If you will excuse me, then?"
"As
you wish," he said. For a moment Elizabeth thought she saw the flicker of
his old look in his eyes, but then it was gone again and replaced by
implacability.
She
thought about that look again as she sat in her bed in her nightdress, her arms
wrapped around her knees. Did it mean that some small morsel of love remained
within him? Perhaps so, but if it did, it seemed he regretted it. She found the
idea oddly painful.
She
could not continue in this manner. She needed to decide her best course of action
regarding her marriage. The simplest answer was to go on as she had been,
polite and compliant, but perhaps now with the addition of avoiding him as much
as possible, since he no longer had any desire for her company. That
would be dutiful, and no one could hold it against her.
The
harder option would be to try to give him what he claimed to want--the
laughing, smiles and teasing she had shown Colonel Fitzwilliam. She did not
know whether it was within her capability, at least when he was as forbidding
as he was now. She had done it before their engagement, though, even though she
disliked him; why should being married to him make it so much more difficult?
The
worst of it was at night, like this, when she lay awake wondering if he
intended to come to her. He had not been to her bedchamber since their quarrel,
but that would change sooner or later, she had no doubt, and she was frightened
of it. It had been difficult enough, accustoming herself to the liberties he
took with her body when he had been kind and gentle. She shuddered to think
what it would be like if he came to her in anger.
Unbeknownst
to Elizabeth, Darcy sat in his study until the rest of the household was abed,
turning a pair of torn slippers flecked with blood in his hands. What had he
done to her? Marriage to a man she disliked. He wondered what she had thought
when he kissed her, when he was in her bed. Was it repulsion, or merely
distaste? He told himself again, as he had many times in the last few days, not
to think on it, but he was as unsuccessful as he had been every other time.
How
could he keep from blaming himself? He had taken the woman he loved as if she
were a toy he wanted, and had killed the spirit in her for which he loved her.
Now he was fated to spend the rest of his life facing a simulacrum of
Elizabeth, remembering what she had been, and the joy he had felt so briefly
when he believed she cared for him. It was a fitting punishment for his selfishness
that he should lose what he valued most. But she did not deserve to suffer.
How
had he, with all the advantages of his birth and intellect, come to the point
where he could think of no better outcome than that he might die young? At
least then Elizabeth might have a chance at happiness. He ran his fingers over
the dark stains on her slippers. Perhaps it was too late even for that.
Chapter 7
At
breakfast Mr. Darcy said, "Have you written to your aunt and uncle yet,
madam?"
Elizabeth
carefully broke her toast in two parts. "No, sir, I have not."
"Why
have you not?"
"I
wished to avoid embarrassment. I believe they plan to visit nearby, in Lambton,
and I will call on them there." Seeing his frown, she added, "You
need not fear; my aunt and uncle are people of the world and understand the
situation. They will not claim a relationship with you." Did he have any
idea how much it cost her to speak of this as if it were of no matter?
She
turned her attention to buttering her toast as if the outcome of the
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