When he came back to me to demand more money, I refused. We had not seen him for some time after that until he suddenly re-entered our lives under the most unhappy circumstances.
Darcy stopped for a moment, wiping his brow. He wrote feverishly, allowing the words to flow freely out of his pent-up frustration.
He then turned his eyes on my sister Georgiana. After leaving school, she had gone to Ramsgate with a paid companion, in whose character I was most unhappily deceived. It was only in the nick of time that I discovered his plot to elope with Georgiana. I was able to stop them before she threw her life away, but not before he was able to throw her into guilt and remorse of the most painful kind. His object was, of course, her fortune. Of the natural care that a man ought to feel for a young woman he knew as a child, a woman scarcely out of the years of childhood, he seemed to think not at all.
Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, but when I saw him with you this afternoon, it was as if I relived the past. Seeing him with you brought up all the times he had come to Pemberley to visit my sister. I had been uneasy about him coming back into our lives and wished to think he had turned over a new leaf. But it was not to be.
Now you know why I can never trust him. He is incapable of change, and to think that he would try to weasel his way into your heart is unbearable, especially when I have come to the realisation of how deep my feelings are for you…
Darcy left off writing, surprised by what had come out of him. Surely he could not go on. Did he dare write the words,“I love you”? To lay himself open in front of a woman who now seemed to loath him was surely folly of the most acute kind. He could not very well send the letter now.
In a moment of sudden decision, Darcy crumpled the letter into a tight ball. He rose and tossed it into the fire, watching until it burned to ash. If he would have destroyed the knowledge of his feelings as easily, the temptation might have been too much to resist. The sudden knowledge was nearly as disturbing as finding Wickham and Elizabeth together at the gate.
He was falling in love with her, perhaps had been for a long while without realising it. But to admit that when his heart had been afflicted with the acutest of pain — the thought of losing her to Wickham — no. That he could not do.
Darcy uttered a long sigh, wishing he could turn his back on Meryton and leave all his troubling feelings behind for the peace and comfort of Pemberley. That simple life was over now. No matter how he wished he could have it back.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth went straight to her room without acknowledging her mother or answering the many questions peppered at her by her sisters. For a moment, all she could hear was her footsteps on the stairs and the blood pounding in her ears. She held back a sob, tears blurring her eyes.
Once in her room, she slammed the door and locked it, pacing for a few moments. She bit her lower lip, running the conversation over and over in her mind. Mr Darcy had no right to accuse her family of orchestrating the events that had brought them together.
Or did he?
She halted, taking several deep breaths and going to the window seat. She looked out, spotting Mr Darcy walking across the fields on his return to Netherfield. He even walked angrily, or so it seemed to her.
Guilt overwhelmed her. Had she been unfair? After all, he had stumbled upon her and Mr Wickham outside the gate, and he had kissed her hand, although she had not invited the gesture. But what was Mr Darcy to think coming upon such a scene? It was true that she and her family had the most to gain from the marriage. She would never have hoped to make such a match. And upon unbiased consideration, she had to admit that her mother – if not her father – could have gone to such lengths as setting her and Mr Darcy up in the library. To secure a man with ten thousand pounds a year, Mrs Bennet would be capable of doing anything, and not considering the consequences until it was too late.
It made her stomach turn just thinking about the possibility that her mother had planned the whole ordeal. She sat down with a huff, turning her back against the wall to hold her weight. She could no longer see Mr Darcy, hidden by the tree branches now that he was so far away. Elizabeth bent and took off her boots, then pulled her feet up under her on the window seat. She wanted to curl up and disappear for the rest of her days. If her mother had orchestrated the whole thing, she would never be able to face Mr Darcy again.
Her mind lurched as she continued to replay their fight through her mind. Even through it all, Mr Darcy had never threatened to break off their betrothal. What did it mean? Surely, if it could be proved that her parents had anything to do with that fateful night, he would not want to continue with the engagement. But he had not threatened her. He had fought nobly and had not used fear to cow her. How many other men would have resorted to such means?
Elizabeth sat back, chewing on her fingernail in her nervousness. She could not help but respect and admire such restraint. For better and for worse, Elizabeth could not help thinking that Mr Darcy was unlike any man she had ever met.
There was still the dilemma of her mother’s possible involvement in the plot. If she had anything to do with it, she could not very well hold Mr Darcy to the engagement. Honour would demand that she release him from his promise, no matter the consequences. Her heart sank. It would be the right thing to do, and yet, she knew the ruin that would await her and her family. She would likely never marry, and her sisters would be fortunate indeed to find husbands, tied to a desolate sister such as she. Could she do it to them? They all had such high hopes, especially Jane with Mr Bingley.
She stood, still chewing on the nail. She turned to look out the window toward Netherfield. No, she could not ruin her sisters, not without trying to make things right. She would have to humble herself and go to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth was unsure if her mother had done anything to aid in the plot, but she would have to find out.
∞∞∞
The next days passed in agony. Elizabeth knew what she should do if she were to make things right between her and Mr Darcy. But for the life of her, she could not muster her courage. It was a blessing that the rains returned, and she could not get to Netherfield. Her mother had tried to pester her into taking the coach, nagging that “One should not leave one’s fiancé alone for too long. He will forget his honour and break off the engagement if you are not attentive to him, Lizzy dear.”
Her mother’s advice did little to allay her anxiety. She wanted Mr Darcy to break the engagement, and yet she did not. Elizabeth felt as if she were caught in an impossible dilemma.
When the skies cleared on the afternoon of the second day, she took the opportunity to take some fresh air and try to clear her head. She made it out the back door and was nearly across the yard when she heard her name being called.“Wait! Lizzy!”
Jane stood on the back stoop, tying a bonnet over her hair. Elizabeth smiled and waited for her to gingerly make her way over the boards that the servants had set out to aid in traversing the mud pit that was the yard. Jane was breathless by the time she made it to Elizabeth on the other side. They stood under the brick archway that led into the yard from the dirt lane beyond.“Where are you going?”
“Out for a walk. Why, where are you going?” Elizabeth asked. She started walking, knowing that she ought to call for the carriage and go to Netherfield. But no matter how deeply Elizabeth felt she had to go and see Mr Darcy, she simply was not ready.
“I am going wherever you are going,” Jane said. She linked arms with Elizabeth and said nothing more as they started down the lonely country lane. Elizabeth let out a sigh, looking up at the sky. Bare tree branches obscured her view of the wispy white clouds, the sun pouring through in patches over her face.
“You are not yourself, Lizzy. What has been troubling you the last few days?” Jane asked gently.
Elizabeth had been very quiet about the fight. Indeed, her mother had asked her to explain several times after she had finally come out of their room the day they had fought, but she would reveal nothing. It hurt too much to say aloud what Mr Darcy really thought of her parents. Elizabeth hated to think that Mr Darcy had been right, but he was. Her mother was wholly obsessed with marrying off all her daughters, making sure they found protection and provision for their future lives. Elizabeth could not disagree with the goal. Only the fact that the means her mother used were not always sensible, or strictly within the bounds of propriety.
“I have made a mess of things with Mr Darcy, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth finally responded. She sighed. It felt odd to say anything aloud — both a relief and a transgression. Practically, at least, there was nothing to fear. She knew that anything she said to Jane would be kept in the strictest confidence.
