“To be honest, I do not know. Three months ago, I was a different man. But I have regarded the incident as a sign that I am doing what is right—if indeed I required such a sign.”
“Do not marry,” Elizabeth said with such desperation that, in spite of his resolution, he turned and faced her. She looked splendid: elegant and beautiful, sophisticated and yet perfectly natural. Everything about her was lovely. With a tremendous effort, he turned again towards the room. “It is too late, my dear.”
And he left her, going to the lady beside the colonel who awaited him.
It was over.
After all those months of torment and sorrow, Elizabeth felt unexpectedly calm. She had lost him, but she knew with certainty that he had lost her as well. His regret had been in his last words. She did not pretend to understand why he had taken such a step, but as he went towards Anne and the life before him, Elizabeth knew he would live that life contentedly. He did not hate her, nor resent her…he had merely chosen another road…one that did not include her.
Unfortunately for her, it was not so simple. She regretted him with every part of her mind, soul, and body. Every part of her cried out after him. She felt as though she might lie upon the floor and weep for days—or years.
“You will find a man to love,” Aunt Gardiner said beside her, as she had stood beside her throughout those last months.
“To like, perhaps. Mr Darcy is the only man I shall ever love.”
“You do not know that. Very often life gives us even more after a loss.”
But Elizabeth doubted it. She was sure she would find a man—a husband—but the man made for her was even then smiling at his future wife, who had been looking at Elizabeth strangely for several minutes. It was most unusual; even Aunt Gardiner had noticed it, though she could not interpret the look.
“I hope she is not jealous of me,” Elizabeth said. “She has no reason. He is hers by his own resolve, and the man I love is not capable of duplicity.”
“Yes, it is baffling, is it not? You love the very qualities that took him from you.”
And I never even kissed him, Elizabeth thought, late that night.
One kiss would have been enough, and would have given her something to hold to in the midst of such suffering.
In the middle of the night, still unable to sleep, she thought of Jane lying beside her husband in a neighbouring room. How fulfilled she must be—how happy.
“That part is wonderful,” Jane had said only a little earlier, when she came to Elizabeth’s room to bid her good night. “We women are told only falsehoods. You will see, dear sister. And the thought that he may give me a child is so exciting that I can scarcely look at him in company, for fear I may betray my feelings.”
And that from her shy sister!
At least that night she had no nightmare. She was with Darcy in his bedchamber at Pemberley. With him, in that imagined room, she became a woman. It was so vivid and so real that she woke with a terrible sense of loss.
Resolved to go on with her life and forget him, she knew one thing with certainty: for the rest of her life, she would regret that they had never shared even a single kiss.
Chapter 14
As Darcy wished, the wedding preparations were discussed within the Matlock family, and it was decided that the wedding breakfast would be held at his uncle’s house. Lady Catherine, outraged by such an arrangement, contrived difficulties at Rosings and departed, sufficiently clever to accept these conditions for the present, in order to impose others as soon as the marriage was concluded. Darcy was an advantage she had not dared to hope for only a few months earlier. He had signed the marriage settlement, which made it impossible for him to retract his word. Almost impossible—she was obliged to admit. Men had been known to change their minds at the last moment. In such a case, many legal difficulties might arise; only marriage was irrevocable—not an engagement.
She resolved to say nothing, to let them marry, and then, a month after their arrival at Pemberley, just as winter approached, to establish herself in the country and remain there until spring. Her daughter did not know how to manage a household. She was a useless creature, fit only for one purpose—to marry Darcy and secure the fortune within the family—her family, and not that of Sir Lewis de Bourgh.
Even if the fortune passed legally into Darcy’s possession, she was now convinced that she would remain mistress of Rosings for the rest of her life.
∞∞∞
Lady Catherine’s departure for Rosings was a happy event at Matlock House. Both Lady Eleanor and Lady Wharton felt ill at ease in her presence, while they were sincerely fond of Anne, who could be a pleasant young lady when not under her mother’s influence.
“I must confess that I had some doubts at first,” Lady Eleanor said to her daughter-in-law one morning.
“I understand you perfectly. But it seems that Cousin Darcy was right. In time, she will become a proper wife for him.”
Lady Eleanor agreed, looking at her with affection, though not without some concern. Fortunately, she was expecting a child, and much of her present melancholy would soon disappear. The viscount was not the husband she would have chosen. He retained all the same faults he had before the marriage: he was fond of women and of gaming—not the qualities of an ideal husband. Unfortunately, even his father had little influence over him. Many men continued to lead a separate life after marriage; still, most did so with discretion and some regard for their family. Richard and Darcy were very different from the viscount. And, in the end, the little lady from Rosings was fortunate. She could only hope that Darcy would prove equally so.
There were still two weeks before the wedding, and the only anxiety that remained concerned Georgiana. Almost every morning she joined the ladies in their preparations. Still, sheseemed unable to enter fully into the agreeable atmosphere of Matlock House.
One morning, Lady Eleanor invited her niece into her private parlour for a more intimate conversation.
