“But where was her sister? Where was their companion?”
“It was only the two of us and…”
“And?” the colonel asked, chilled again.
“And nothing more, Richard. Enough of this interrogation,” Darcy replied curtly, clearly drawing a firm end to the confession.
The colonel, however, felt that more had taken place, but if Darcy did not wish to speak, he could not press him further. For the moment, his only desire was to learn more of what Darcy felt for Miss Elizabeth and to try to turn both his eyes and his heart towards her, even when he was discussing Lady Olivia or another woman.
“Do you have feelings for her?” the colonel asked.
To his surprise, his cousin’s voice was full of anger when he asked, “For whom?”
“Lady Olivia,” replied the colonel with much innocence, even though deep inside him he rejoiced, for his cousin’s love was still anchored to Miss Elizabeth’s memory, and that was obvious.
“Do not speak nonsense. One misadventure where love is concerned has been enough for a lifetime. I no longer intend to rely on sentiment—”
“You are mistaken!” the colonel exclaimed.
“No. My mistake was in Kent when I decided not to propose but failed to leave. Every day I remained near her only weakened my resolve, and in the end, I was proved wrong. She is not the woman for me.”
“One does not abandon so easily something that might lead to true happiness—happiness of a kind you would never know with an Anne or a Lady Olivia.”
“Do not be absurd. With Elizabeth, I would always have been at war.”
“And so you chose the silence of the desert instead?”
Darcy looked at him and smiled. “I did not know you had such romantic notions. Have you begun reading novels for young ladies?”
“Perhaps. Unlike you, I can only read about love—I cannot feel it. In my case, the choice of a wife will rest on motives other than love.”
“As it will in mine,” Darcy replied, and again, his face darkened with dejection.
“Please do not abandon your feelings yet, I beg you—for all those in the world like me, who cannot hope that love might lead to marriage.”
Darcy was silent, sipping his cognac. However, that silence filled the colonel with a quiet joy again, for his plea had not been dismissed with scorn. The silence meant that Darcywas still reflecting, and that hesitation to forget the past was a good sign, no matter how meagre it was.
Chapter 23
Elizabeth spent the week before their visit to the theatre in turmoil, swinging between hope and despair in a manner that was utterly uncharacteristic of her—someone who tended to hold her thoughts and convictions steady for longer than a day. At times, she counted the hours until their meeting, full of expectations and bold imaginings; at others, she was overcome by uncertainty, resolved to avoid the theatre altogether and never see him again.
“I feel nothing for him,” she declared one morning, yet the sharp pang in her heart at the mere thought of his marrying another spoke a different truth. She loved him, and her regret in refusing him deepened with every passing moment. And when she recalled her own furious words, that regret became even greater. Had she rejected him with cold politeness, their next meeting might have occurred under entirely different circumstances; but the tempestuous, wrathful woman who had sought only to wound him could be nothing to him now but an abhorrent memory.
“How am I to meet him?” she asked Mrs Gardiner or Jane, and at times, she remembered how Jane’s sorrow had cast its shadow over all those around her. She tried to smile in their presence, yet other questions soon assailed her again.
“Mr Darcy will not attend the theatre,” she lamented in the next breath. “Or if he does, Miss de Bourgh will accompany him, and he is so honest as to be dedicated to his future wife. He will have no wish to see me. I shall see hatred in his gaze. He is engaged to another woman.”
Elizabeth in love was as uncertain and uneasy as any woman might be when the object of her affection did not return her feelings. And the thought that he had once declared his own love—only for her to reject it—deepened her sorrow all the more.
Mrs Gardiner chose her words carefully and tried to make her niece see the reality: a man who had proposed less than two weeks ago would not propose to another woman for some time—the exceptional case of Mr Collins notwithstanding, of course. Nevertheless, he would likely be sad and angry, burdened with considerable resentment towards her.
“It is best to prepare yourself,” Mrs Gardiner advised. “Miss de Bourgh may be present at the theatre, but your true adversary is him. She is not yet a rival, but his wounded heart may be vulnerable to his aunt’s schemes.”
“Then there is no hope!” Elizabeth sighed. “I do not fear he might be in love with Miss de Bourgh, but London is full of beautiful ladies. I recall Mr Bingley teasing him more than once about a certain Lady Olivia, and Miss Bingley turning crimson at the mention of that name. He will not marry his cousin, who is not suited to him, but he may choose this Lady Olivia or another titled young lady he sees often in London’s elegant salons.”
“Forget Lady Olivia, my dear. Or Miss de Bourgh,” Mrs Gardiner countered. “If you find a moment to show your regret for what occurred in Kent—”
“I am not sorry for everything!” Elizabeth cried, her fiery spirit returning.
