“Because I love you, Elizabeth,” he said more loudly than he had intended. “I want you to be my wife.”
Elizabeth could not have looked more shocked if he had told her he had found a way to go to the moon. She placed a hand on the back of a chair to steady herself. “What?”
Darcy raked a hand through his hair. “I love you, Elizabeth. Most ardently. I went away from Hertfordshire because I thought I could forget you. But I cannot. I am in agony, day and night. All I can do is think of you.” He stalled for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. But his words came rushing out in the most undignified manner possible. “When I saw you with Mr Wickham last night, I was struck to the heart. He is not safe, I tell you. There is no doubt that he only wants to use you. He is a greedy, unscrupulous, blackguard that wants nothing more than to get his hands on your inheritance.”
Elizabeth’s face was unreadable. “I…see.”
Should he even try to defend his actions? No, it didn’t matter what she thought of him, only that she knew the truth about Wickham. But even if he told Georgiana’s story, wouldElizabeth hear it, or only think he was making up stories to get her to leave off her acquaintance with Wickham? His heart thudded against his ribcage. He neared once more, and when she did not move, he took courage and took another cautious step toward her. He was so close to her now that he could have reached out and enclosed her in his arms. “I will not discuss the slights that are so offensive to you. Let me only say that I know Mr Wickham tried to convince another young lady to run away and elope with him last year, so he could get his hands on her fortune. My prime reason for coming here today was to save you from the same dishonour, should he try to convince you to do the same.”
Elizabeth turned so suddenly that Darcy stumbled back, nearly upending the chair behind him. “So you want me to marry you instead?” She shook her head. “What am I to make of this story, Mr Darcy?”
“It is not a story. It is the truth,” he said, his voice as calm as he could muster.
He could see now that she would not listen. She crossed to the other side of the room, holding the door open. “Then allow me to share one more truth. I cannot marry you. Though sensible of the compliment of your affections, the information you have shared with me makes it quite impossible.”
Darcy straightened, cut to his core. “That is your answer, then?”
“It is,” Elizabeth replied. “If what you have to offer me is love without respect, I do not want it.”
Darcy looked at her, unable to speak. It could hardly have gone worse. She did not even know the full story of Georgiana’s harrowing experience with Wickham, or how painfully personalthe man’s crimes had been. He had failed miserably, but perhaps she would give him one last chance to tell her what he knew.
At that moment, the maid entered with the tea service. Elizabeth looked away, thanking the girl. When the maid had gone, Elizabeth pinned him with a stare. “I must ask you to go, Mr Darcy. There is nothing left I have to say to you.”
“If I may just —”
“Now, please, Mr Darcy.”
To so direct a dismissal, there could be no protest. Darcy looked down at the floor. “Forgive me, madame, for taking up so much of your time.” He started toward the door, stopping just before it. Darcy turned and gave one last, longing look at the woman he loved before leaving the house without another word.
Chapter 23
Elizabeth said nothing of Mr Darcy’s visit to her aunt and uncle past the fact that she had ordered tea, and he had gone before he could have a cup. She was undone by what he had revealed. Did he truly love her? It had come as such a shock. Swept away by her anger over his treatment of Mr Wickham, she could not fully take in his shocking proposal. It had seemed nothing more than a jest, or perhaps only another insult.
Not until she was alone in her bedroom could Elizabeth begin to question and to wonder. It hardly seemed possible that Mr Darcy, the arrogant man who had so clearly shown his contempt for her at Netherfield, was really in love with her. It was almost too much for her mind to comprehend. Surely she had not misinterpreted his actions and his words. She had thought he disapproved of Mr Collin’s proposal out of doubts about herself, or perhaps at best concern over the public spectacle at Mr Bingley’s ball. But could it have really been down to jealousy, even concern for her? Surely not!
And what about Mr Wickham? Darcy had not denied refusing him the living, but what if it was not down to spite? What if Mr Wickham had tried to run away and elope with a young lady of fortune? That would make him an unprincipled fortune hunter. Albeit a very charming fortune hunter.
Elizabeth paced back and forth in her room, the window open to the unusually mild breeze. She relished the fresh air, hoping it would chase away the confusion whirling through her mind.
She had often thought there were oddities in Mr Wickham’s behaviour — even before they had met in London. And that was another thing — it would have been very difficult for a soldier to procure leave for a mere cousin. Yet he had done it. His original leave had only been granted for a week, and it had been far longer since he had arrived. Could there be anything of substance to Mr Darcy’s warnings?
She shook her head, going to the window to take in a deep draught of fresh air. Mr Wickham was so pleasant to talk to. Of course, that did not mean he was not a fortune hunter. She could not very well fault him for wanting to make an advantageous marriage. If women did it, then men were certainly free to do so as well. Before the legacy from Great-Uncle Alfie, Elizabeth would have been in the position of needing an advantageous match herself. Yet to act with calculation, perhaps even to misrepresent his intentions to her, would be a very different thing.
Elizabeth chewed on her pinkie nail, a habit that she had been chided for throughout her adolescence. But in the absence of Jane and her mother to scold her, and given the tremendous strain she had been under the last few weeks, she had fallen back into the practice. She would have said no proposal could have been more disturbing than Mr Collins’s, and yet Mr Darcy had handily proved her wrong.
Doubts assailed her. Her aunt had cautioned her about Mr Wickham, too. Mrs Gardiner’s judgement was usually unassailable. Could there be anything to what Mr Darcy had said? It hardly seemed possible, yet that he would have madeup such a story simply to discredit Mr Wickham seemed more impossible still. He had been most reticent as he had told her of the young woman. And why had he mentioned no name? It was all very odd.
She resolved she must keep a close watch on his character from that moment forward. Elizabeth could not help feeling that Mr Darcy had again ruined something for her.
Yet if heweretelling the truth, she would owe him not anger, but the deepest gratitude.
A knock sounded, and her cousin Eloise poked her head around the door. “Mr Wickham is downstairs asking after you,” she said excitedly.
Elizabeth looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror, then followed her cousin down to the foyer, where Mr Wickham waited with hat in hand. “Mr Wickham, how good of you to call. Shall we go into the drawing room?”
Mr Wickham bowed but did not move from his spot near the door. “Actually, I had hoped you would accompany me to Gunter’s Tea Shop. I have not had an ice in ever so long, and thought you might enjoy taking one with me.”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. “Of course, I should be delighted.”
