It had come to him, at any rate, little good that it did him since she wanted nothing to do with him. Trying to reconcile the woman he left and the woman he came home to was utterly perplexing.
Whatever she might have felt before his departure was now retracted. Affection, esteem, and confidence had vanished; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown.
Elizabeth had scarcely slept.Any sort of deep rest was impossible with the consciousness of her own guilt. She had to appear more like herself to stop from giving pain to Darcy, but the threat Wickham held over her was ever-present and all-encompassing. She thought of it every time she breathed.
Her dejection had no abatement from anything passing around her, and she must somehow resolve Wickham’s threat for Darcy’s sake. But she had no solutions and no one to turn to.
Since Darcy returned, since Wickham had exploited her foolishness, there was a tension running through their every interaction, where nothing was fully enjoyed and she was never fully at ease. Darcy felt it, and he grew angrier and more impatient with her. She wished she could go back to how things were between them before he left, but it was impossible with this secret between them.
The guilt twisted her stomach every time she looked at him. When he touched her, it was a lance through her heart.
She now had to explain the missing aigrette along with getting another fifty pounds by January. Sick feelings washed over her. He would hate her if she told the truth, and all her hopes of a loving and affectionate marriage would be gone forever. But even now, how couldshe enjoy the present, enjoy Darcy, when she was in excessive trembling at all these fearful thoughts?
Elizabeth did not go down to breakfast, but in the middle of the afternoon, the housekeeper came to her door to say that the master wanted to speak to her in the library.
It took her a long while to collect herself to appear before Darcy. How she wished every laugh could be indulged, every meal a scene of ease, every conversation full of good humour. Every touch likely to lead to something like their kiss in the library.
She was quite oppressed, but Darcy deserved better from her. There could be no more appearing to be tormented, no matter how deeply she felt beleaguered.
After a steadying breath and practising her smile, she entered the library, carefully closing the door behind her. She strode toward Darcy, intending to hug him, but she stopped short. She could not say that he looked angry. Resolved, perhaps.
“If your mind is not so occupied in contemplation,” he said crisply, “would you sit down and listen to me?”
“I would always listen to you. From the moment we met, I have wanted to talk with you, and even argue,” she added lightly.
“Your loss of spirits is a great alteration, so who could presume if you would hear me now?”
His accusation hurt, but it was true, and she deserved that. “I have not been myself, but you must not think I would ever refuse to speak with you.”
Darcy threw her a contemptuous look, but said nothing. She supposed she had rebuffed him a great deal since Tuesday night. She had to do better, no matter how much her worries about Wickham oppressed her. Elizabeth primly sat, ready to hear whatever he had to say.
He paced a little, but then suppressed his agitation and steadied himself and stood before her.
“At the assembly in Ramsgate, you said you did not want a husband who would neglect you or impoverish you, or someone who would tyrannise you. But not demanding that you tell me what is the matter, not forcing you to even admit to whatever it is, has becomeimpossible for me. Therefore, if we cannot resolve this, I will gladly provide for you and not subjugate you. I even told you in Scotland that I would not break your spirit or leave you destitute, so, in a way, this will give you exactly what you want and what I promised.”
Her heart pounded wildly. “What do you mean?”
He ignored her question. “Why do you draw back from me?”
How to explain that her guilt made his affection feel undeserved? “I…I could not say.”
Darcy scoffed. “Well, since I do not want to tyrannise you, and your spirit seems completely broken by your being with me, I am sending you home.”
“To Pemberley?” she asked, breathless, hoping he did not mean what she feared he meant.
“No, to Longbourn,” he retorted, and she gasped. “I am sure you would rather be with the Gardiners, but if I send you only as far as Gracechurch Street, people will know we are living apart.”
She leapt to her feet. “You are deserting me?”
“Me?” he cried. “Madam, you have deserted me first. You may be strong enough to live alongside someone who scorns you and lies to you, but I am not.”
She had not known her silence, her evasion, had done such damage as this. Her struggles with lying, with keeping the secret, had preoccupied her, and she had not realised how deeply her distress had impacted him. “I, I want to be honest with you…”
“Then make the choice to be honest,” he entreated.
A wave of sensations crashed over her. The lurching pit in her stomach, the dry mouth, her heart beating so hard it might explode out of her chest. He would hate her forever if she told him the truth. “I cannot, but I do not want to leave you.”
Darcy threw up his hands. “This is not working!” She flinched at his raised voice, and he instantly dropped his eyes and took a breath. In a quieter tone, he said, “Respect and trust in a relationship are the foundation of a harmonious life?—”
