“Indeed. Most unfortunate.”
“Still, one must make the best of Providence’s design. You have secured an excellent situation, despite the irregularities.” Collins’ voice carried satisfaction. “I am certain all would approve of such practical arrangements.”
“Would they indeed? How gratifying to know I meet with society’s standards for managing scandal.” Before she could respond with words she would certainly regret, Jane appeared at her elbow. “Lizzy, Lady Lucas wishes to speak with you about the flowers.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be drawn away, grateful for the rescue from whatever unwelcome commentary awaited her.
“You are not yourself today,” Jane observed quietly as they moved towards the windows overlooking the garden.
“Am I not? And what self should I be, pray? The blushing bride, overcome with happiness?” Elizabeth’s voice carried an edge that made Jane flinch. “Or perhaps the grateful recipient of masculine protection, swooning with gratitude for my husband’s gallant rescue?”
“Lizzy—”
“I apologise.” Elizabeth closed her eyes, ashamed of her tone. “You do not deserve my ill humour. It is only that I feel so… lost. I no longer trust my own perceptions, Jane. That night on the terrace—was I certain of what I saw, or merely frightened into assumption?”
“What do you mean?”
“I told everyone it was Wickham who attacked me. I was so sure, so absolutely convinced. Yet Darcy claims he cannot confirm it, cannot swear to the man’s identity with certainty.” Elizabeth’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What if I was wrong?”
Jane’s expression grew troubled. “Do you truly doubt what you experienced?”
“I doubt everything now. My memory, my judgement, my very sanity some days.” Elizabeth laughed bitterly. “Perhaps this is what madness feels like—the gradual erosion of certainty until nothing remains but questions.”
“You are not mad, Lizzy. You are angry and hurt and confused, which is entirely understandable given the circumstances.”
“Am I? Or am I simply a foolish woman who allowed her imagination to create villains where none existed?”
Their conversation was interrupted by Darcy’s approach. He moved with careful formality, his expression giving nothing away.
“Might I have a word, Lady Elizabeth?”
Jane excused herself, leaving them alone near the windows. Elizabeth waited for him to speak, her jaw tight with suppressed emotion.
“I wanted to thank you,” Darcy began, “for conducting yourself with such dignity today. I know this situation is not what either of us would have chosen.”
“Dignity?” Elizabeth’s laugh held no humour. “Is that what you call seething rage barely contained? How perceptive of you.”
“Elizabeth—”
“Lady Elizabeth when we are in public,” she corrected him sharply. She was grateful that at least she would not have to carry his name as Mrs Darcy, for she would always be Lady Elizabeth as she outranked him from birth. Small mercies.
“Very well, Lady Elizabeth.” His voice remained level despite her verbal assault. “I merely wished to express my hope that we might find some measure of civility between us. For both our sakes.”
“Civility?” Elizabeth whirled to face him, her control finally fracturing. “You want civility from the woman whose reputation you destroyed through your cowardice? Whose life you have ruined with your weakness?”
She knew she ought not to strike out at him, but the doubt gnawing at her made everything worse. After all, she was no longer so certain she had seen Wickham clearly herself. And yet, a part of her could not give up the thought that she had seen him. And if not him, who else would have attacked her? There was no reason for anyone else to have done so. And Darcy held the truth. She knew it.
Her head ached and she longed to leave this place. All her belongings had been brought to Longbourn that very morning. Her maids were unpacking as they celebrated this farce of awedding. She would live away from her family now, with this stranger whom she did not know.
His face went white. “I understand your anger—”
“Do you? Do you understand what it feels like to doubt your own memory? To wonder if you are losing your mind because the one person who could provide answers chooses silence instead?” Her voice rose despite her efforts at control. “I was so certain, so absolutely sure of what I saw. Yet you—you who were there, who witnessed everything—you claim ignorance where I expected support.”
“The circumstances were confusing—”
“The circumstances were clear enough for you to strike down my attacker. Clear enough for you to chase him into the night. Yet somehow not clear enough for you to identify him with certainty?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Either you are lying, or I am mad. Which is it, Mr Darcy?”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “we should discuss this at home, rather than provide entertainment for our wedding guests.”
