Eventually, that control would slip. Eventually, he would no longer be able to maintain the pretence. And when that moment came, Elizabeth would have to face the full force of his contempt.
She could not bear it. Could not bear to watch his kind face crack and reveal the loathing beneath. Or stand to see disgust replace the mirth in his eyes and hear accusation replace the gentle teasing in his voice.
She had to leave and escape before that moment arrived, before she had to witness the destruction of everything she had foolishly believed was growing between them.
Elizabeth shuffled ahead on unsteady legs, her vision blurred by tears. She did not know exactly where she would go—anywhere but here, where she would have to face Fitzwilliam's gradual fury.
She stumbled past Lady Catherine and went on to the entrance hall, passing startled servants who called after her in concern. She wrenched open the front door and fled into the cold afternoon air, running without direction or purpose, driven only by the desperate need to escape.
Behind her, Pemberley stood solid and unchanging. But now it served as a foreboding symbol, a testament to the inevitable moment when Fitzwilliam’s restraint would fail, and his true feelings would emerge.
She ran from that future, tears streaming down her face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sound of raised voices pulled Darcy from his study. He had been attempting to focus on a few estate calculations, but his thoughts kept drifting to Elizabeth and the conversation she had seemed so anxious to start before she left for her walk.
He reached the entrance hall just in time to see the front door standing open, a flash of dark fabric disappearing down the drive. Elizabeth.
His chest tightened with alarm. Something was wrong.
"—nothing but a scheming fortune hunter who manipulated circumstances to secure a position far above her natural station."
His aunt's voice was sharp and venomous, and it came from the hallway leading into the entrance hall.
He moved swiftly ahead, arriving in time to overhear Lady Catherine muttering to no one in particular: "I have done my duty in exposing her for what she is. If Darcy chooses to continue this despite knowing the truth, that is his choice. But she will never be accepted by his true family, and she will live the rest of her days knowing she is despised by all who matter."
Rage—white-hot and absolute—flooded through Darcy with such intensity that for a moment he could not speak. His aunt stood with her posture rigid with self-righteous satisfaction, completely unaware of his presence behind her.
"What," he said, his voice deadly quiet, "have you done?"
Lady Catherine whirled in surprise. "Darcy! I did not hear you approach."
"What have you done? What did you say to my wife?"
"Only what needed to be said." His aunt lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Someone had to make her understand the consequences of her deception. Since you seemed unwilling to address the matter yourself, I took it upon myself to resolve it."
"You took it upon yourself? You came into my home and attacked my wife with lies and accusations?"
"They are not lies!" Lady Catherine's voice sharpened. "Miss Rochford wrote to me explaining everything. That girl—that scheming creature you married—she wrote the letters, Darcy. She pretended to be Miss Rochford, manipulated you into believing—"
"I don't care about the letters." The words cut through his aunt's tirade like a blade.
Lady Catherine's mouth flew open. "You... You don't care?”
"I don't. What did you tell Elizabeth?"
"Only the truth. That you knew about her deception. And you were maintaining a facade of civility out of duty rather than affection. That eventually your restraint would fail and she would face your disgust."
"Lady Catherine, I suggest you leave Pemberley immediately.”
The words emerged low and dangerous. His aunt stared at him like he had struck her.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Get. Out.”
"Darcy, you cannot be serious—"
