While Mr. Darcy appeared willing to refute what she said yet again, he refrained, much to Elizabeth’s relief. Confess her error though she had, she had no wish to belabor the point, sensing it would do neither any good.
“Tell me, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, his tone softer and designed to avoid being overheard, “did you credit my account at once?”
Elizabeth frowned, considering those days after she read his letter. “Perhaps not immediately,” replied she. “The parts about my sister, I will own did not please me, though after a time I understood your position.”
“Of course,” murmured Mr. Darcy. “I knew my confession on that score would provoke you.”
“Those passages referring to Mr. Wickham were both more quickly understood and harder to reconcile.” Elizabeth fixed him with a rueful smile. “In warning me about Mr. Wickham, youboth hit me in my vanity, whereas I supposed my judgment was infallible, and pointed out facts that I could not ignore. It was difficult, but by the time I returned to Meryton, I was determined to be more cautious of Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth shook her head and added: “Then, of course, it did not seem to signify, for Mr. Wickham had already departed. It is well that you warned me, for I used those arguments to persuade Anne from leaving with him.”
The gentleman nodded, yet a hint of apprehension fell over him. “Did you inform Anne of the... of George Wickham’sothersins? The attempt to secure a fortune for himself?”
Understanding what he meant, Elizabeth put her hand on his arm and nodded. “That was what finally convinced her to surrender. I would not have mentioned it had I not thought it necessary.”
With a nod, the gentleman muttered: “I hope Anne has enough sense to keep that from her mother.”
“Oh, I think you do not need to concern yourself,” replied Elizabeth, again feeling lighter. “Anne understands her mother’s character.”
Mr. Darcy regarded her, then gave her a deliberate nod. “Yes, I suppose she does. The changes in her are most astonishing.”
“I suspect, Mr. Darcy, the character Anne now displays is who she has always been. She simply never believed she could show it to the world.”
“Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Darcy, shaking his head in annoyance. “Aunt Catherine has always dictated to Anne and would not have been happy with this show of independence. I hope we can navigate these alterations, for Lady Catherine will not be sanguine.”
“I have all the confidence in the world in Anne. If you all show her a little support, she will be well.”
Had any other who was not a member of the family spoken so, Darcy might have thought it hubris. It was clear, however, that Miss Elizabeth knew Anne better now than anyone in the family, regardless of the short weeks of her acquaintance compared with the lifetime of experience of the Fitzwilliams and Darcys. She had done so much for Anne that Darcy could scarcely comprehend it. It humbled him in a way he had never thought to be humbled.
Perhaps it was this, her obvious caring for Anne, that led him to speak when he should have been silent. It may have been the evidence of her superlative character, her selfless care for others, the qualities that had so enticed him from the start. Or, it may have simply been the lingering ache to have her in his life always, the devotion he felt toward her, an adoration that had built in his mind and heart until he could not remember what his life had been like before he met her. Whatever it was, Darcy could not remain silent, was helpless to do anything but lay his heart before her, even though he understood his declaration might break it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, keeping his tone even though it threatened to tremble with suppressed emotion, “you must know that the feelings I related to you at Hunsford have not faded—if anything, they have grown stronger such that I cannot refrain from taking this opportunity to speak to you.”
As her eyes widened in shock, Darcy spoke quickly to prevent her from dashing his heart to pieces before she knew all. “I do not propose again—rest assured that I shall never do so unless there is no doubt of my success. Given our recent separation and what happened the last time, I will not provoke such awkwardness again.
“What I mean to say is that my devotion has never waned; my heart is still yours. If you decide against me, I shall be silent and never return to the subject. However, if you feel you can come toknow me better to learn if I can change your opinion, I should like the opportunity to prove myself.”
Darcy fell silent, feeling drained as if he had run a hundred miles to be by her side. Miss Elizabeth regarded him, her expression of incomprehension charming in one always so knowing and self-assured. She glanced about the room, no doubt to see if anyone had overheard them, pulling Darcy’s attention with her—it seemed they all remained oblivious, though her mother was watching them, a hint of confusion hovering about her. While it might have been a poor sign, Darcy could not find it so, for he understood her family’s condition and knew she would wish to keep any possibility of a détente between them for the moment.
When she returned her attention to him, her scrutiny had more of a searching quality, as if he had shocked her and she was trying to make him out. It was, he supposed, something that was not normally done, for when a woman rejected a man’s suit the usual practice was for the man to absent himself and avoid bringing her discomfort. Had Darcy felt less, he might have followed the custom, despite whatever pain it caused him.
“I must own that I am beyond shock, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth at length. “Having given you such a vehement rejection, I thought you would avoid me at all costs.”
“This situation did not allow that,” reminded Darcy. “The assistance you gave to Anne guaranteed we would come together, if only for a little while.”
“Yes, I suppose you must be correct.”
She fell silent then, still studying him, and Darcy refrained from begging her, from promising to do anything if she would only consent. Such a display of abasement would do nothing, he thought, for she had spoken of her determination to let affection rule her choice of a husband. If she did not feel enough for him, nothing could induce her to accept.
“Perhaps there is a chance, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth at length. Having expected a resounding negative, Darcy could summon no response, even as his heart leapt out of his chest. “I can promise nothing. But if... if there is an opportunity to begin again, I would appreciate coming to know you anew. If we begin under that understanding, I cannot predict the result.”
By this time, Darcy was grinning like a fool, caring nothing for the picture he was giving her family. Elizabeth had agreed to know him better! Her assertion of uncertainty aside, Darcy felt as if she had consented to everything he had ever wished. There was a chance—against all odds, he now had a chance!
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” replied he, keeping his comments low where he would have preferred to shout to the heavens. “Let us proceed slowly, for I wish you to know me in any way you wish. There are many things I do not know about you, and I wish to learn them more than anything else I have ever wanted.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded, her cheeks slightly pink. A moment later, they noticed the noise of wheels on gravel outside the house. Darcy joined Mr. Bennet and Colonel Fitzwilliam—both of whom shot him amused grins, proving they had not misunderstood what had happened. The constable appeared to be a capable sort of man, agreeing to hold Wickham as long as required when he understood the deeds he had committed. Soon, the stable hands brought Wickham between them, now returned to consciousness and wild with fear. Darcy ignored his pleas and saw him incarcerated in the wagon, after which the constable and his deputy took the bounder away.
To Darcy, however, this was nothing more than a distraction, such that he allowed Mr. Bennet and his cousin to deal with the matter while Darcy watched and mused. Miss Elizabeth had agreed to give him a chance. What could be more important than that?
