She blew her nose. “Go away, Fitzwilliam. I want to be alone.”
She buried her face in her handkerchief and stifled the sobs caught in her throat.
“Elizabeth, please, I need to speak to you.”
“Leave me. I have a headache. I am going to bed.”
She rose, walked into the dressing room, and closed the door, shutting out his voice.
She kicked off her slippers and then tugged at her stockings. How was she going to live through this? She loved him. She had loved him since Ramsgate. She began to unbutton her gown. Life was cold, brutal. She dried her tears with the backs of her hands. She struggled with the last few buttons and stepped out of her gown. She hung it on a peg and then moved to a dark corner of the dressing room, sat on the floor, and cried, hunched over with her face buried in her hands.
She did not hear him when he entered.
“Elizabeth? What has happened? Why are you crying?”
“I cannot talk to you right now. Leave me alone.”
“You are alarming me. I have never seen you so, sitting on the floor in the dark, weeping. Has Jane suffered some complication in her pregnancy?”
She continued to cry noiselessly.
Darcy was at a loss. What should he do? Why was Elizabeth crying? She had been so pleased that Richard was married, and she liked Anne.
He lowered himself to the floor and sat beside her in the dark. He waited. Perhaps she would speak when she calmed.
In the silence, Darcy thought back over the past days. Had he said or done anything to wound her? She had seemed happy. She was happy. Only this morning, they had loved each other inthe hour before dawn, and she had been warm, expressive, alive. Perhaps it was not his doing. Perhaps the shock of Seton’s near drowning was now unsettling her.
He must have sat longer than he realized, for when he looked at her, she had fallen asleep, propped against the corner wall. Should he wake her? He sat with her another quarter hour, then lifted her and carried her to bed. He laid her down, covered her with a quilt, and left her to rest.
Chapter 91: Reconciliation
“You married the wrong woman.”
Elizabeth pulled away from him. “Those are the very words I heard fall from your lips, words spoken by the very man who vowed to love and honor me.” She pressed her hand to her lips; her eyes were shut tight. She sobbed. “Not only were you thinking these thoughts, but you spoke them to another, and who knows how many others have heard of it by now?”
He reached out to draw her into an embrace, to offer comfort, but she batted his arms away. “How could you, Fitzwilliam? How will I ever face Abby again, knowing that you long for her, the woman you should have married, the one you can never have because you are married to me, the wrong woman?”
Crying, she pushed herself off the bed and saw she was wearing her petticoat. She must have fallen asleep in the dressing room, and he had carried her to her bed. The thought made her cry in earnest. How would she bear the loss of Fitzwilliam? He had shown her such love and care during the months since their marriage. She paused to consider: She had been happy. She had believed him also to have been happy. Had she missed the telltale signs? What would those be exactly?
Elizabeth suddenly felt ill, ran to the water closet, and began to heave. It passed as quickly as it had begun. When she sat up, Fitzwilliam was holding a glass of water, offering it to her. She took it and rinsed her mouth, then crumpled to the floor and wept into her hands. Her life was in ruins. She was married to a man who desired another, and she was possibly with child. If itwere a boy, would he take it from her and put her away? Send her to Scotland?
She stiffened as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her from the floor. He carried her to a small couch, sat down, and held her on his lap against his breast. He laid his cheek against her hair and held her close until she was no longer crying.
Then he spoke. “Darling, I am so sorry you overheard me speaking with Richard. You must know he is no talebearer, and I spoke to him in confidence. He swore he would not repeat it to anyone. Elizabeth, I needed to unburden myself to someone, and I knew I could not speak of this matter to you because of the pain it would cause.”
He stopped, in case she wished to speak, but she remained silent, so he continued. “Please, Elizabeth, you know how often my tongue has gotten me into trouble. Have leniency. Remain with me and allow me to finish explaining before you pass judgment, or run away from me.”
She did not move or speak.
“First of all, I love you. I have loved you since I first set eyes on you. I resisted forming a connection with you because of my reservations, reservations which I learned today, along with you, were mistaken. It was my mother’s dying wish that I marry according to her expectations, but I did not know she was a proud, prejudiced woman who delighted in causing my father pain. Elizabeth, he was the best of men, and it pains me to know that she intentionally injured him and possibly took delight in it. Learning about my mother’s true character has opened my eyes. Her dying wish was hers alone. I am free to follow my own wishes and desires. I am free to live my life without guilt, with the woman of my dreams.”
He looked down at her face and saw she was crying again. “Elizabeth, I have never yearned for Miss Stanton. I do not, nor have I ever loved her, nor have I ever wished her to be my wife. I only thought of her as the woman I ought to have married because she is the granddaughter of an earl, as I am the grandson of an earl. However, after speaking with Richard this morning, before we left for the chapel, I realized that I need not feel guilty for marrying the woman my heart desired, the woman who brings me joy simply by her presence. I need never again chasten myself for turning away from the many eligible women who would have met my mother’s approval but would have made me unhappy.” He brushed his lips on her temple and lay his cheek against her hair. He held her closer.
“I recognized in Miss Stanton that she was brought up with values similar to yours, and her lively spirits resemble yours, but she is not you, Elizabeth. I would be unhappy with her too, for she is not Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, my wife and, from what I saw today, possibly the mother of my child.”
He tightened his embrace and kissed her curls. “What say you, Elizabeth? Will you give me another chance? Will you forgive me for airing my mistaken beliefs to Richard?” He kissed her ear. “Will you take me back, flaws and all?”
She hiccuped. Then nuzzled her face into his chest, and turning towards him, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
