“You were protecting yourself from the pain of my grief whilst condemning an innocent young woman to doubt her own sanity!” Mr Wickham struggled to his feet despite his frailty, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. “How could you be so selfish?”
“I have wrestled with my decision for weeks,” Darcy said desperately. “But I cannot tell Elizabeth the truth now. She would never forgive me.”
“She deserves to know the truth regardless of your comfort. You are her husband solely because you chose to shield my worthless son rather than defend her honour properly. Her entire life has been altered. Oh Fitzwilliam… George’s arrest would have upset me but this upsets me more. Two lives ruined because of George.” He paused, then patted Darcy’s hand. “I didnot mean to be harsh. I love you like a son, you know this. I only hate to see you be unhappy because of something you thought you were doing for me. I am stronger than you think.”
He wanted to protest but got no chance to.
“You must tell her. Tonight. This very hour.”
“I fear what she will say when she learns—”
“What she will say,” Elizabeth’s voice cut through their argument like a sword, “is that you are a contemptible wretch who has lied to me and made me question my own sanity for months.”
Both men turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face white with shock and blazing with fury. The devastation in her eyes revealed she had heard far more than anyone intended.
“Elizabeth, please—” Darcy rose and stepped towards her, his hands extended in supplication.
“Do not dare touch me.” Her voice shook with rage so profound it seemed to fill the small room. “Do not dare speak my name after what you have done.”
“If you would only let me explain—”
“Explain what? How you allowed me to believe I was losing my mind? How you watched me doubt my own memory whilst knowing the truth all along? How you married me under false pretences whilst protecting the man who attempted to trick me into marriage? The way you have done?”
“I was trying to protect—”
“You were protecting everyone except the one person who deserved your protection most.” Elizabeth’s voice broke on thewords. “Your silence has made me complicit in my own ruin. Every moment I have spent doubting myself, every night I have lain awake questioning my own perceptions—all unnecessary torment you could have ended with a single word.”
She stepped back towards the door, her decision crystallising with terrible clarity. “I am leaving. Tonight. Immediately.”
“Elizabeth, wait—you cannot travel alone in darkness—”
But she was already moving, already gathering her resolve like armour around her wounded heart. “I will not spend another moment under the same roof as a man who has betrayed me so thoroughly.”
“Please, just listen—”
The cottage door slammed behind her with finality that echoed through the sudden silence. Darcy stood motionless, watching through the window as Elizabeth’s figure disappeared into the night, taking with it any hope of redemption he might have harboured.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elizabeth
10th December 1811
The leather-bound volume of poetry lay open before Elizabeth, but the words might as well have been written in a foreign tongue for all the attention she paid them. Two weeks had passed since that terrible night at Matlock, since she had overheard Darcy’s confession to Mr Wickham, since her world had crumbled around the awful truth of his deception.
She had fled immediately. The journey had passed in a blur of rage and devastation, her mind reeling with the magnitude of Darcy’s betrayal. He had known. He had always known. Every moment she had spent doubting her own memory, questioning her sanity, torturing herself with uncertainty—all of it unnecessary suffering.
Now she sat in Netherfield’s library, staring at pages she could not read, wondering what her future held. The familiar surroundings offered little comfort. Everything reminded her of the life she had built, the marriage she had almost begun to treasure, and the man she had been foolish enough to grow to love.
“Lizzy?”
She looked up to see her father in the doorway. Lord Hartford had said little since learning of the reason for her return beyond ensuring she was comfortable and had everything she required. The rest of the family seemed to sense her need forsolitude, though she caught them casting worried glances in her direction.
“Papa.”
He entered the room and settled into the chair across from her, his movements deliberate as though approaching a wounded animal. “How are you managing?”
“I hardly know.” The admission surprised her with its honesty. “I have not quite known what to feel since I returned.”
