Page 103 of Roses from Pemberley
Epilogue Summer 1813, A Meadow in Derbyshire
They walked along the high meadow and Elizabeth noted the cooler air, despite the abundance of sunshine. She walked slightly ahead of him and ran her hands along the tops of the wildflowers. If she ran fast enough then perhaps their scent would imprint themselves on her hand.
She began to run and saw that he was running after her.
She wore only a thin muslin dress while he wore only a loose white shirt over his breeches. They did not appear like the wealthy master and mistress of a large estate. Rather, they appeared only as a couple in love, perhaps of a much lower station in life, enjoying the summer air.
Eventually she stopped and opened her arms to him. He came forward and enveloped her, then spun her around. She spun and spun, locked in his arms and becoming dizzy.
It seemed so familiar to her - to be here, with him. Had she been here before? Or dreamed this before?
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said as he put her down and stared into her eyes. “Even if you’d never accepted me, I shall always love you.”
She grew still, having suddenly remembered those words. She had heard them before. But they were not real, were they? She had been in the snowy wilderness of her fevered dream and a man with Darcy’s voice had spoken them. She looked at her husband and saw that he was looking curiously at her.
“What is it, Elizabeth?”
“Did you…did you ever say those words to me…before?”
“What words, my love?”
“That even if I never accept you, you would always love me.”
He stared into the distance and was quiet. When he eventually spoke, his voice was low, just above a whisper. “Yes…I did say that.”
“When? When did you say that?”
“It was when you were ill. When you almost died. I could not help it, you see. I had to tell you.”
“They let you into my room, then?”
He nodded.
“You held me in your arms, and spooned broth into my mouth and held tea to my lips when I could barely move…”
“I did…”
“And when I shook so violently that I could not stop myself from crying, it was you who wiped away my tears?”
“Yes…it was.”
She recalled, with great clarity, the feeling of being cherished - wherein the sensation of his warm arms around her was the only source of comfort in the unremitting coldness.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Because I thought, in light of what you said when we last spoke, that you still despised me.”
She impulsively kissed his hand and looked plaintively at him. “But I regretted those words that very evening, and how viciously I refused you! I was angry that you insulted me and that was why I spoke as I did. But I regretted it - that very night.”
“I never would have expected it.”
“And yet I did,” she responded. “In fact, there was something you said that stayed with me and affected me only a few seconds later. That you would have loved me with all the ardency and depth of one who’s never loved before…”
“It is true,” he said softly, “I never loved anyone before I loved you.”
“Nor have I.”
He chuckled. “So, my words affected you?”
