Even twelve hours separation was too much for Darcy’s liking. Not for one moment since taking his leave of her yesterday had Elizabeth left his thoughts, and he was too impatient to see her this morning to wait for Bingley to finish his meeting with Mr Philips. Leaving a message with the butler that he had gone ahead, he set out for Longbourn as early as good manners allowed.
Before he even reached the house, he caught sight of Elizabeth walking towards the hermitage at the far end of the garden. His heart leapt—then began to pound with the immediate recognition that something was terribly wrong. He dismounted, threw the reins to the nearest stable boy and hastened after her. He found her pacing the full width of the retreat, her countenance stained with high emotion and her eyes flashing fire.
“Elizabeth, what is the matter?”
She whirled to face him, whispering his name in apparent dismay. Her eyes darted to a letter held in her hand.
“Who has written to you?”
In answer, she only sighed and let her shoulders drop.
He moved to stand directly before her and reached for the hand in which she held her letter. His anger flared when he felt the tremble in her fingers. “May I?”
She nodded, relinquishing it to his grip. He had meant to keep hold of her hand, but the moment he espied the letter’s seal, all good intentions were forgotten.
Rosings Park
16thJune
To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
You probably think yourself terribly clever, persuading my nephew to refuse any communication from me. You ought to know that I am not in the habit of submitting to any person’s whims, least of all those of presumptuous upstarts such as yourself. I shall make my sentiments known after all, for my nephew did not forbid me from writing to you.
Never have I met a more reckless, unreasonable creature. Your schemes have won you my nephew’s hand, but at what cost? Eitheryou do not truly comprehend the consequences of your actions, in which case you are ignorant and obtuse, or you do, in which case you are an unprincipled self-seeker. Neither much recommends you to me.
Consider this if you are able. In acting so wilfully against the inclinations of his family, you disgrace not only Mr Darcy, but all of us. All his relations, everyone associated with him, must be discredited by such a connection. My daughter and I shall be ridiculed as a result of his defection. Miss Darcy’s chances of finding a suitable match are ruined, for with such a sister, it is doubtful she will ever marry. Even his relatives long-deceased are not immune from your inflictions. Regardless of his mother’s wishes, you have obstinately pursued your goal, and in so doing, sullied her memory.
As to my nephew, he will be universally despised for having such a wife. Everything he has worked for, everything he represents—his noble and ancient heritage, his triumphant achievements at Pemberley, his unblemished reputation in the very highest circles—will be reduced to nothing when he marries you. If the objectionable situation of your mother’s family and your own wild, ungoverned upbringing were not proof enough, your impudent, wilful comportment announces to everybody your unsuitability for polished society. Your alliance will be a disgrace. You are a disgrace.
I do not recognise you at all.
Lady C. de Bourgh
Elizabeth could only imagine Darcy’s pain to be thus abused by his own relation and did not blame him for his fury. “Do try not to let it distress you, Fitzwilliam. ’Tis but one person’s opinion. It does not matter.”
“Of course it matters!” he replied with glacial severity. “I was afoolto think we might elude such censure.”
She stilled. She had expected him to be wounded by Lady Catherine’s predictions, not to agree with them. “It would not concern me if our marrying excited the censure of the whole world. I thought you had decided it would not concern you, either.”
He regarded her incredulously. “You well comprehend my feelings. You must understand I will tolerate reproach from no quarter.”
“I see.” His pride was not all gone then. “But I suppose what you and I considertolerablehas ever been at odds.”
Displeasure gathered like a storm over Darcy’s countenance, and she began to feel its force as the tenor of his voice sharpened. “Do you expect me to stand by and permit derision because you are able to tolerate it? I assure you I shall not! It is my responsibility—myright—to act however is necessary to protect my family.”
Elizabeth’s chest emptied of air. “You would forsake me now?”
Darcy stepped backwards as though she had struck him. “Forsakeyou? I wouldprotectyou!”
“No, sir, you would protect yourself! Nothing has changed. You are still ashamed of me!”
Darcy stared at her in evident, mortified confusion. “Elizabeth,” he said very gravely, “never in the whole course of our acquaintance have I been ashamed of you. I beg you would explain what on earth I have said that has made you believe I am.”
The necessity of fighting her tears stoked Elizabeth’s indignation, and she responded heatedly. “You have just informed me that you consider yourself a fool for believing you could avoid censure for marrying me, declared that I ought to understand your intolerance for it, and impressed upon me the importance of protecting your family from it—from me! Pray, tell me what, in all that, wouldnotmake me believe you are ashamed of me?”
“Nay,you have mistaken me entirely!” he exclaimed, aghast. “My concern is not for myself but for you! I was a fool not to have foreseen Lady Catherine’s determination to have her say or shielded you from her insults. I will tolerate no censure ofyou.My God, you know what I feel for you! How could you ever think I meant to say I was ashamed of you?”
Overcome with relief yet paralysed by the ugliness of their quarrel, Elizabeth struggled to find her voice. “It would not be the first time you have said as much,” she whispered. Then, against her every inclination, she burst into tears.
