He placed one hand briefly over hers, squeezing lightly. “Another item you had correct—your dress is perfectly appropriate, and I apologise for any implication that it was not or that you were attention-seeking. I was jealous of the noticeyou paid to Bingley last night and acted possessively. I acknowledge I have no rights where you are concerned, and it was inexcusable to act as though I do. Would you forgive me?”
A light blush covered her cheeks as she nodded, seeming a little tongue-tied instead of self-possessed; she truly was an innocent, perhaps even wholly so. The impression she had given of a poised matron was an accurate one, but she also used her hard-earned dignity to cloak all the feelings with which she did not understand how to cope. He ought not to be so pleased about her inexperience, but the idea that she allowed him toknowher, to share her true self, was more thrilling than the most practised seduction.
One thing had become perfectly clear. He had, at last, met the woman who made worthwhile all that he must endure, all the pain he must cause, in order to have a wife of his own. He cleared his throat.
“Still…I cannot help but wonder whether, in time, I might earn the right to your affection? Might, one day, you accept my hand, if I prove worthy of your trust?” He asked her the question boldly, but within, he was as unsure of its reception as was possible to be.
16
NAKED TRUTHS
Elizabeth nearly fell off the sofa.
It was the very last thing she had ever expected to hear from anyone, much less Mr Darcy, who must have crowds of females—including ones of wealthy and noble birth—wishing for a crumb of his attention.Accept his hand!She could hardly believe her own hearing; her first instinct was to laugh aloud her disbelief, and she only just stopped herself. “I do not know what to say.”
“You need not say anything, not yet. You do not know me well, and what you do know is not, perhaps, particularly flattering. I only beg that you consider the idea—do not rule it out of hand. Give me an opportunity to prove that I am a better man than you currently have reason to believe.”
She looked at him; he no longer wore the look of emperor of all he surveyed. If she had to describe it, she might call it…‘anxious’. At least, it was unsure enough that she could not bear to point out that he had obviously experienced a complete loss of reason. She settled on the notion of providing it for him.
“My settlement is miniscule, and if I remarry, it stops entirely. I do not bring much of anything to a marriage.”
“You wished to live abroad, you said. How did you expect to survive?”
She glanced up at him, half expecting his smirk had returned—but it had not. He only appeared curious.
“I had investments. However, I put almost everything I had into a scheme my uncle thought unwise for me. It seems he was correct; the ship has not returned on schedule, and it may never do so. No one has heard anything in far too long, my uncle says.”
He opened his mouth to comment, then shut it again. She saw how he restrained his ‘whys’ but decided she would explain, regardless.
“I have no one to blame but myself. My uncle invests a certain amount each year in what he calls his ‘varying ventures’—those sorts of risks which have equal odds of producing great returns or a total loss. The difference between us, of course, is that he can afford to lose his entire investment, and I cannot.”
Mr Darcy only nodded. “What made you decide to do it?”
She looked away, sighing. “When I first moved into the dower house, I had my anger to keep me warm. I was angry at everyone—at Mr Ashwood for dying without leaving better protections for me, at Jane and Mr Collins, at Fanny and John for being greedy and soulless, and even at my father, for believing that the marriage with its inadequately-written settlement was a good idea in the first place. That anger carried me through that first, awful winter.”
“Why were you angry at your sister and Mr Collins?”
Elizabeth felt the sigh deep within her bones. Loyalty had kept her silent, but she had been alone so very long; she had never even told her uncle Gardiner, for fear it would damage Jane’s relationship with him. She had allowed everyone, including her uncle, to think her wildly stubborn and even foolish for no good reason, but for Mr Darcy…she could not quite bear to allow that impression of her to stand.
“After Mr Ashworth died, as soon as I could manage it, I went to Longbourn to speak with Jane…about my situation.”
“She did not come to you?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “No. But she sent a note. She was increasing at the time, you see, and feeling poorly. She lost the babe only a few weeks later.”
He nodded, although she could see the scepticism in his eyes. “I do not blame Jane for that part of it,” she quickly added. “After all, I hardly ever came to visit her that last year, when Mr Ashwood was so subject to his bad spells. The last few months, I do not think I wrote to her, even knowing she was uncomfortable and having digestive troubles.”
“Did she write toyou, knowing you were nursing a dying husband?”
“When unwell, it is difficult to feel much like putting pen to paper.” The excuse sounded weak to her own ears, but then, Jane plainly felt Mr Ashwood’s death wouldfreeElizabeth, instead of grieving her. Elizabeth had believed the same. The grief had been an unlooked-for, unwanted surprise. She shoved the feelings away, brushing memories aside.
“Regardless, I went to her, and I asked if I could return. She said that of course I could, that Longbourn would always be my home. We had what I thought was a good visit—my younger sisters and mother were not there, having gone tosee my aunt Philips in Meryton, but I did not believe they would object to my return. I left, thinking all was well with my future plans, and the coach had even started back down the drive—this was before Fanny found a means of restricting my use of Stoke’s vehicles—when I realised I had left my shawl in the drawing room. The weather was chilly, and I wanted it for the drive home, so I stopped the carriage. I had brought no servant with me—there was only our elderly coachman—but I thought nothing of fetching it myself. I bid him wait at the end of the lane, and I felt so at ease with Jane’s earlier gracious reception, that I slipped in through the back way, taking the servants’ stair just as I always used to do when I lived at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth stood, no longer able to sit, restlessly moving to the window and its view of manicured lawns and the gardens beyond. It was winter’s season now, but she could imagine how it would look in a few short months, when blossoms emerged from hibernation. She felt, rather than saw, Mr Darcy’s approach, the heat of him radiating at her back, then gentle hands upon her shoulders—as if he would add his strength to hers for the retelling of this awful moment.
“I meant to simply fetch the shawl and leave the same way I entered, but to my astonishment, Jane was still in the drawing room, crying, with Mr Collins patting her shoulder. Their backs were to me. I did not mean to eavesdrop—I meant to hurry in, rather, to discover what terrible thing had happened in the few minutes since my departure. But she wailed my name and I halted in my tracks.”
“What did she say?”
