They soon reached a corner, where the lane turned and the wheat was already cut. It was not a private spot, but there was no one who could overhear them. They were amid a hive of activity. The scythes were swinging, women were binding sheathes together, children were collecting stray bits of straw. Some parts of the field were stubble, while others were carpets of golden stalks, topped with braided heads bobbing in the light breeze.
She waited for Mr. Darcy to speak, her apprehension increasing with every moment. What did he want to say? If he meant to rebuke her, she wished he would do so and finish with it. He had been free in his criticisms before. Why was he holding back now?
Perhaps she ought to have begun herself, after all, but it was too late now. She tried to resign herself to waiting, but Mr. Darcy’s silence unnerved her. Why did he not speak?
“I owe you an apology.”
She stopped walking to stare at him. This was unexpected.
He continued walking, his gaze still fixed on that clump of trees in the distance, and she hurried to catch up. She was thrown completely off guard.
“Whenever I think of our last conversation, I am mortified. I can only imagine your confusion and your anger at my sudden lack of civility.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. The last time they had spoken, he had given Elizabeth permission to go to her uncle’s house. It had turned out to be a mistake. Was he mortified because he gave her permission to take Miss Darcy with her?
“I am sorry, but I do not understand. The last time we met, we talked about visiting my uncle.”
He was taken aback. “I am referring to our conversation in the library.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Though I could hardly grace it with the word ‘conversation’. I may as well have given you your marching orders, though I did not know it at the time. My behavior towards you was unpardonable.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, not knowing what to say, her mind reeling. How could this be? Mr. Darcy suspected nothing. He knew nothing. Miss Darcy had not told her brother about Mr. Wickham.
After all her agony, all her self-recrimination, it turned out Mr. Darcy was completely unaware of the situation. Thank heavens she had allowed him to speak first, before spewing out the whole story and making a fool of herself.
“You are silent, Miss Bennet. I can hardly blame you. Your hasty departure speaks for itself. I have been going over it inmy mind these past weeks, and I cannot forgive myself. I have wronged you at every turn. I was on my way to Longbourn because I owe it to my sister. It is not fair for her to suffer because of my ungentlemanly behavior. I came to see you, to make things right.”
Elizabeth had heard enough. She could not continue to let him apologize based on the mistaken assumption that she had gone because of him. Her conscience would not allow it. He had to know the truth.
“Before you go any further, Mr. Darcy, allow me to say something. When we agreed to a truce when I first came to London, we promised each other to be honest.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you accusing me of being dishonest?”
“Not at all, Mr. Darcy. I am telling you that I cannot let you blame yourself for what happened. I could simply accept your apology and say nothing more, but I cannot.”
It was his turn to stop and face her. “What are you saying, Miss Bennet?”
“I am saying I did not leave because of our meeting, although I will admit that it was exceedingly unpleasant, and that Iwastempted to pack my bags afterwards. But I would not have abandoned your sister simply because I was angry atyou.”
He was no longer staring at the trees. His gaze was fixed on her face, his eyes searching. She felt the blood flood her cheeks in acute embarrassment.
He was going to be dumbfounded once he knew her reason for leaving.
“My explanation will take a while,” she said, starting to walk again. “In order to relate it fully, I must go back to our first encounter in Pemberley.”
She gave her account as briefly as she could, telling him about her meeting with a young gentleman who had helped her, but who was never introduced to her.
They walked onwards, with Mr. Darcy listening closely, interrupting only twice to ask a question. As she approached the end of the sorry tale, she was overcome with emotion. Her voice shook as she related how she discovered the gentleman at the inn was Mr. Wickham, and how he had befriended her uncle. When she came to the part where Miss Darcy threw her out of the house, she was moved to tears. Even now, it stung that someone she considered a friend had never allowed her to defend herself.
“Now you know everything,” she said, trying to get some clue from his expression about his emotions. She shut her eyes, waiting for the sword to fall, her stomach knotted with dread.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, finally. “I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I have misjudged you at every point in our acquaintance. Despite knowing now – and I have known it for a long time – that you are a generous, thoughtful, rational person, I have continued to jump to conclusions that contradict that knowledge. It was not long after our acquaintance that I reached the conclusion that you were not the kind of person who would ever conspire with someone like Wickham. I knew you would never harm my sister.”
He shook his head. “I have something of my own to disclose. It will help you understand some of my initial hesitations.”
Mr. Darcy then told her about what had happened at the inn, and how Wickham had tricked him into believing he was acquainted with her.
She gawked at him. So this was the reason for his suspicions! No wonder he could not bring himself to trust her!
“So, you see,” he said, stopping and turning to look at her, “we have all been taken in by Wickham. You, me, my sister, your aunt and uncle. All of us have a part to play in this farce.”
