“Of course, I am out of sorts.” She wished she could have kept the bite out of her tone, but there was nothing for it. She was in love with Mr Darcy, and unlike in her novels, there was no happy ending in sight. Perhaps those only came true in fairy tales. “He knows my secret, and I doubt he will ever want to speak to me again.”
“I do not see why,” Jane argued.
Elizabeth let out a frustrated sigh and headed into the tiny kitchen, where a cheerful fire was blazing, cooking a batch of hearty stew for their supper. She brushed past and went upstairs to their shared bedroom, Jane following on her heels.
“How can you think it, Jane?” Elizabeth challenged her after the door closed behind them and they might at last speak in confidence. “No man of reasonable parentage or fortune would ever consider marrying a woman who has lowered herself as I have.”
“But surely he will forgive you, if indeed, you need his forgiveness — which I highly doubt. Mr Darcy is an understanding gentleman.”
Elizabeth was not so sure. Perhaps it was best this way. Now she would not have to give up her writing. Surely, if Mr Darcy everhadwanted her for a wife, the price would have been her promise that she would never write again. Taxing as the years of writing had been, the thought of keeping so many stories, so many ideas locked inside of her forever was all but impossible.
Elizabeth sighed and went behind the screen to change out of her damp gown. “It is better this way,” she echoed her thoughts. “There is no need for me to grovel for his acceptance.”
It may have been cold comfort, but it was all she had. She finished changing into a nightdress and came to sit on the bed with Jane. “Tell me something pleasant. You saw Mr Bingley in town yesterday, did you not?”
“Yes, indeed. Such a pleasant gentleman,” Jane said. Despite her mild words, her blush betrayed her sensibility — at least to one who knew her as well as Elizabeth did. Perhapsshe had not ruined things for her sister after all. “Mr Bingley expressed his intention to call soon, and his hope that we might attend the next assembly. He is a perfect gentleman, and so attentive. I do not think I have ever met a man like him.”
“Nor I,” Elizabeth agreed willingly. “He is a pleasant and sensible man indeed, Jane. I shall offer him an even better compliment and say that he is very nearly worthy of you.”
Jane coloured again. “We should not think of such things, surely. I have so little to offer. There is the small amount Papa left to each of us —”
“There will be more than that. Do not worry,” Elizabeth said. “I have been planning for just such an occasion.”
Jane motioned for her to turn around on the edge of the bed and went to retrieve the comb from the small vanity they all shared. “What do you mean?”
“Surely you must know I have been working to amass dowries, not just to pay the monthly expenses.” This was at least some consolation. She might not be free to marry, but her sisters certainly would be. “Not only that, but our uncle has invested them for us. When I return to London, I shall see how much the accounts have grown. As none of our sisters are near to marrying, I see no reason we should not consider a dowry for you first, and trust to my future earnings for the rest. I am certain there will be no further impediments in your way, if I am correct in Mr Bingley’s regard for you. Which I am.”
Jane brushed all the more vigorously, but Elizabeth felt no pain. All the pain was in her heart, knowing that the man she loved was lost to her forever.
Chapter 28
Darcy returned to Netherfield in spirits very different from anything he could have imagined. He had considered the dark possibility that he might return in utter dejection, his proposal rejected, and had dared to hope that he would return triumphant and elated, an engaged man. He hadnotconsidered that he might come back without having had the opportunity to propose, and having learned an astonishing secret instead.
Elizabeth’s revelation was something that he could never have imagined, and yet it all made perfect sense. Why had he not seen it before? It was humiliating to have remained so long in ignorance. He had always prided himself on being an excellent judge of character, and yet the notorious Mrs Laurence had been hiding out under his own roof undetected.
He ought to be furious, he supposed. Elizabeth had lied to him, lied again and again. She had lied to Georgiana as well, and how his sister would react upon learning that her dear friend had deceived her so profoundly, Darcy could hardly bear to consider. She was stronger now than she had been — thank goodness for that. Still, it must affect her deeply. He would have to hope that she could hold up under her disillusionment.
Disillusionment was the worst of his own pain, Darcy reflected bitterly. Disillusionment, and the fear that perhaps theElizabeth he loved had never really existed at all. Had all her charm and wit, all her sense and even wisdom, been nothing more than another part of the lie? If she had chosen to play the part of a young gentlewoman who would never dream of working for her keep, who was to say that she might not have counterfeited other parts of her identity as well?
In his heart of hearts, Darcy did not really believe it. Elizabeth had lied, yes. The pain of that lie, and of knowing that she had not trusted him enough to share the truth, were real. But Darcy felt down to his bones that if these things were real, so too was the Elizabeth Bennet to whom he had gradually given all his heart.
Only, she was not quite the woman he had thought.
As Darcy reined his horse in at the gate to Netherfield, he gave a dark chuckle. Perhaps none of his fine musings really mattered. It had not been an hour since he had left her, and already, he felt the loss of her by his side. How would he bear spending the rest of the day without her, much less the rest of his life?
Yet it would be folly of the worst kind to forget such a deception simply because his heart ached to be near her. Only a fool would still wish to propose to a woman when such painful questions remained unanswered. Was she truly not the woman he had thought her to be? Or had she only added a new dimension to the character he already adored?
Elizabeth had made a fool of him. He must be a fool in truth, for even after learning of her lies, his love for her was undiminished.
To Darcy’s relief, he managed to avoid both his host and his sister upon returning to the house. He felt greatly in need of alittle private reflection before facing the inconvenient questions with which they would surely greet him. Thankfully, the sound of Beethoven issuing from the drawing room as he slipped past told him that Georgiana was being well entertained.
He gained his own room undetected and shut the door behind him. Now, at last, he might have privacy to think. By the time supper was announced, he would attain some measure of control over himself. He would maintain his composure, whatever came of the morning’s surprises.
Darcy wrestled with his emotions, heedless of time. When the supper bell chimed, he looked up in surprise. Surely it could not already be so late.
A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece informed him it was, whatever he might think about it. It was necessary to make haste in adjusting his attire, or he would be late.
“There you are, Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana greeted him as he entered the drawing room. She frowned in concern when he did not immediately smile. She approached him and linked arms with him. “Are you well? You look a little peaked.”
