Inspiration by Maria Grace

Inspiration by Maria Grace

Author:Maria Grace [Grace, Maria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780692530955
Publisher: White Soup Press
Published: 2019-02-26T05:00:00+00:00


Chapter 4

Usually on the return journey to Pemberley, he took the opportunity to ride alongside the coach at least several hours a day. Little could compare to experiencing the countryside atop a fine horse. But he could find no such solace this time. The entire distance, some one hundred and eighty miles, was spent shuttered in the coach with the drapes drawn closed.

How could he look out upon a landscape that had turned grey and drab? Even the sunshine lost its warmth, its life-giving essence and the wind all traces of hope. It was all gone.

Behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner… the last man in the world…

When he closed his eyes, he saw nothing. Absolutely nothing, and he probably never would again. Until that fateful interview, when he shut his eyes, images took shape: drawings, paintings, colors, and forms. Boredom had made little sense to him then; neither had loneliness. His muse had always stood sufficient company to stave off both.

But now he was alone. More alone than he had ever been. Without his muse. Without her. Empty. Cold. Sterile.

Surely, he would never create again. How could he hold a brush or crayon or pencil now? The only image he could call upon was that look she had given him when she crushed his fondest dream. Though her justice was incomplete and not all her accusations were true, there was enough righteousness in them that he could not bear to hear them again.

Perhaps it would be better this way. He would miss the ecstasy of the creative impulses, but being free of its torment was no small thing. The relief might be worth the dull dreariness that was his world now.

At least there would be peace. At least after a fashion.

Would it be so bad to live as other men did? They survived it well enough. Certainly, he could learn, too. He had to.

Pemberley, as always, welcomed him with open arms. She was never so happy as when her only son was in residence. Or at least Mrs. Reynolds told him so when he returned. It was difficult to argue with her kindly smile.

He dove into the work of the estate with a fervor that rivaled some of his most creative periods. Perhaps his beloved estate would take the place of his muse, soothing his soul with useful, if mundane, employ.

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana both insisted that he was working too hard. But how could they understand? While Georgiana was indeed proficient on her instrument, she was proficient, not inspired. It was work and effort for her, not the joyous release that it might have been. She did not repine her situation, not knowing her art in any other way. If she had, she would have understood Darcy’s aching need to fill the vacancy in his being with busyness.

∞∞∞



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