Elizabeth followed his gaze and gave a curt nod. She stomped through the gate, then turned to the right down a little worn dirt path toward a small wilderness at the side of the house. Once they had gained some privacy from her family’s curiosity, Darcy spoke.“I must confess, Miss Elizabeth, I am shocked at your conduct this afternoon. Here I am, come to see my soon-to-be wife, only to find her flirting with another man!”
“I was not flirting,” Elizabeth said heatedly.“Nor did Iallowhim to kiss my hand. He simply took it without permission and brought it to his lips before I could disengage it. I assure you, Mr Darcy, I did not encourage him. For better or for worse, we are engaged. I am not the sort of woman who would flirt with one man when I am betrothed to another.”
Darcy huffed.“You make it seem like you have been in this sort of situation before.” He paused as a hideous idea came to mind. Perhaps she had. Perhaps there was more reason than he knew for Mrs Bennet to so urgently desire her daughter’s marriage. What if her family had orchestrated the whole thing to entrap him in a marriage he had never intended? He took a step back as if he had been struck in the jaw by a champion boxer.
“What is it, Mr Darcy?” she asked. A twinge of concern was coupled with the annoyance in her tone.
Darcy stepped closer until their faces were inches apart.“Perhaps it was your mother who planned the accident in the library,” he said, his voice viciously cold. She gasped, but he did not give her the chance to say anything.“It is you and your parents have the most to gain from this marriage, is that not so? Your mother has made no secret of her intentions. What would not she have done to — what was her phrase? — ah, yes. To ‘throw the girls into the paths of other rich men.’”
“How dare you!” Elizabeth gasped. For a moment, Darcy thought she might slap him, but she held herself back. There was much more she seemed eager to say, but did not.“I will not dignify that accusation with a defence. Good day, Mr Darcy.” She brushed past him and stomped away toward the house. He heard the side door slam, hard enough he was half surprised that the house did not come crumbling down to the foundation.
Darcy raked a hand through his hair, angry with himself for allowing his emotions to get out of control. He strode out of the little woods, bypassed the house, and went straight out onto the lane. He had come to speak with Elizabeth because he missed her. Now, he wished he had not come at all.
∞∞∞
“How was your walk?” Bingley asked upon his return. His friend’s face immediately fell when he saw the mood Darcy was in.“My dear fellow, what has happened?”
“I went to see the Bennets,” Darcy explained, hoping that would be the end of it.
“The Bennets? Why did you not tell me? I would have gone with you.” Bingley sprang from his chair, no doubt peeved at having missed a chance to marvel at the divine Jane Bennet.
Darcy had tried to calm down on his way back to the house, but he could not forget the sight of Wickham bowing over Elizabeth’s hand, his lips touching her skin… He would have liked to beat the man bloody.
“It was not a good time,” Darcy mumbled, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Ah, I see. Well, I am sure they will be available for visitors later this afternoon. Shall we ready ourselves and go around to pay a call during tea time? I am sure your fiancée will be happy to see you,” Mr Bingley teased. He rose from his chair, eager to go and get ready, especially if it meant he could see Miss Bennet.
“No, they were in the company of some officers from Meryton. Today would not be a good day,” Darcy replied, clenching his teeth.“I only came in to tell you I will not be down for dinner, I think. I have a mass of letters to write and I fear I have a headache coming on,” Darcy said. He hated to lie to his friend, but it would be better if he had some time to untangle his thoughts and feelings. He would be better for it in the morning.
Bingley got up and came toward him.“Are you sure? Shall I call for the doctor? I would hate for you to be coming down with something.”
“Not at all. I shall be all right. I will feel better if I can get some of this work done. Please give my apologies to Miss Bingley,” he mumbled. Darcy excused himself in a hurry and went up to his guest room, closing the door firmly behind him. He called for his valet, Jameson, changed his clothes, which were distinctly muddy about the cuffs after his long walk, and instructed him he would have a tray brought up for his dinner. He would not be disturbed for the rest of the evening.
Jameson bowed after he had helped him change, and with the clothes slung over his arm, exited the room.
It was ages before dinner would be served, not that Darcy could bring himself to care. He was unsure if he could be bothered to eat, even when his tray was brought up. He was too angry to think of food. How had he allowed his conversation with Elizabeth to get so badly out of hand? Fear of what Wickham might convince her to do, desperate as she was to be let out of the engagement, was almost overwhelming.
Darcy sighed. He had done a terrible job of expressing his emotions. If he had only explained why he had reacted the way he had, perhaps she would have understood.
After a second’s hesitation, he went to his writing desk, resolving to put pen to paper. Perhaps if he could write to her, explaining everything, she would be more likely to understand.
But where to begin?
My dear Miss Elizabeth…
Perhaps that was too familiar, especially after the way he had accused her mother of being involved in trying to entrap him. He pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began again.
∞∞∞
Miss Elizabeth,
I cannot recant the accusations that were so disgusting to you. Please know that they were not brought forward to offend, but in the pursuit of the truth.
I will, however, endeavour to clear up the misunderstanding for which I believe myself to be responsible: that which concerns Mr Wickham.
You will likely have seen the cool demeanour in which I am accustomed to dealing with Mr Wickham on our rare meetings. Likely, he has already told you we grew up together. His father was steward to mine, and my father took a liking to Mr Wickham almost instantly. He thus enjoyed a place of privilege in my father’s household, being treated almost as a second son. However, as he grew older, Mr Wickham’s darker side began to be revealed. I will not bore you, nor disturb you, with the details of Mr Wickham’s many transgressions against my father — who was much too forgiving — nor those against me. I prefer to let things lie in the past rather than dredging them up.
Of two matters, however, it is necessary to speak. Before my father died, he promised Mr Wickham a valuable family living, for he hoped that Mr Wickham would join the church. I could not be sorry that Mr Wickham was never ordained, for I had long since become convinced that he ought not to be a clergyman. When my father did pass, Mr Wickham expressed his resolution of never joining the church and demanded instead the sum of three thousand pounds, which was granted. He squandered it within a year.
