Darcy’s expression shifted, something that looked like guilt crossing his features before he could mask it. He withdrew his hand, settling back in his chair with movements that suggested discomfort. When he spoke, his voice carried careful precision.
“I have been in love with you for so long,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to his clasped hands. “Since Hertfordshire, if Iam honest with myself. I have thought of little else but you for months. And when you accepted my proposal, when you agreed to become my wife, I was so grateful, that I did not examine too closely why your manner had changed.”
He looked up at her then, his eyes showing vulnerability she had never seen in him before. “I told myself you were nervous about the wedding. That you were perhaps having second thoughts but felt obligated to go through with it regardless. I convinced myself that once we were married, once you had time to know me better, your doubts would fade and you would come to care for me as I cared for you.”
The admission struck Elizabeth with unexpected force. She had not truly realised how deeply his feelings ran. Guilt twisted in her stomach.
“But you tried to warn me,” Darcy continued, and now his voice carried despair. “Didn’t you? When you told me that Elizabeth Bennet did not love me, that she had accepted my proposal only because she felt she had no other choice. You were trying to tell me the truth. That the woman I was about to marry was not who she claimed to be.”
His hands tightened on each other until his knuckles showed white. “I need to know, Elizabeth. Did you mean that Anne did not truly love me, or that you yourself did not?”
Elizabeth’s chest constricted, her breath catching. She saw the fear in his face, the vulnerability of someone who had risked everything on a hope that might prove false. Her hands twisted in the blanket.
“Anne did not love you,” Elizabeth said firmly. “I am quite sure of that. She saw you as a means to an end, just as she saw me, my body, as a tool she could use. You represented everything she had been denied by her failing health. Wealth, certainly, but more than that. Freedom, from Rosings and Lady Catherine’sstifling control. You were the ultimate prize that would complete her transformation.”
Darcy’s expression showed some relief, though tension remained in his shoulders. “And you? What do I represent to you?”
The question hung between them, demanding honesty Elizabeth was not certain she could provide. Her feelings were too complicated, too tangled with recent events to parse clearly.
“I think better of you now than I did before,” Elizabeth said carefully, choosing each word. “When I first tried to assess your character, I felt insulted by your manner and convinced of your arrogance. But I have seen more of your character since then. The way you are with your family, when you forget to guard yourself and simply exist as a brother, a cousin, a nephew. You showed more of your feelings to your cousin Anne than you ever did to me, I think. You told Anne how you felt about me when she asked, and perhaps I can understand that, a little.”
She paused, gathering courage. “I understand now that you are not at your best amongst strangers, or when you feel you are on display. That your reserve is not pride but discomfort with situations where you do not know the rules or feel you are being judged. That changes how I see many of your past actions, including our first meeting in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy’s face showed something that might have been hope, tentative and careful. “Then you do not hate me?”
“No,” Elizabeth replied, and found the word was true. “I do not hate you. I am not certain what I feel, to be honest. Everything has been so confused, so overwhelming. But I do not hate you, and I do not hate that we are married, even if the circumstances were far from ideal.”
Darcy leaned forwards again, his expression showing careful optimism. “That is more than I dared hope for. Given everythingthat has happened, I would not have blamed you if you wanted the marriage annulled.”
“I do not want that,” Elizabeth said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice. She met his gaze directly. “We are married now, and we must make the best of it. But I would hope we might do so honestly, without pretending feelings that do not exist or hiding truths that need to be spoken.”
“Agreed,” Darcy said quickly, relief evident. “Complete honesty between us, even when the truth is difficult.” He hesitated. “So first, I would ask you to tell me why you did not ask me for help before...” He gestured about, indicating the whole situation.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, not unkindly. “When your own cousin told you that Elizabeth Bennet did not love you, you got up and walked away with reproach in your eyes, probably thinking her jealous and lashing out in her pain. Tell me, honestly, how you would have reacted if Anne had told you that Elizabeth Bennet had stolen her body and her life?”
He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, shame washing across his features. “You are right, Elizabeth. I would have thought Anne misguided at best.”
“Mad, at worst,” Elizabeth said dryly. “I could not risk it. I could not risk telling anyone but Jane, the one person who I knew I could convince with only a few words. By the time I reached her, she already knew something was terribly wrong with the person she thought was her sister.”
His face clouded then. “Jane. That matter of your sister and Mr. Bingley. That was one of the things that confounded me most, Elizabeth. When I realised you knew of that and did not hate me. I had no right to interfere in their relationship, and you would have been well within your rights to tell me you never wanted to see my face again, far less gladly accept my courtship.”
Elizabeth felt the familiar anger stir at the mention of Jane and Bingley’s separation, but it lacked the sharp edge it had carried before. Perhaps because recent events had put such grievances in perspective.
“I am less angry about that now than I was,” Elizabeth admitted. “I understand you believed you were protecting your friend from what you saw as an unsuitable connexion. I do not agree with your assessment of my family’s worth, but I can comprehend your reasoning.”
Darcy’s expression showed surprise at this measured response. But there was another question Elizabeth had to ask, something that she could not reconcile with everything she now knew of his character.
“There is another matter, though,” Elizabeth continued. “Your treatment of Mr. Wickham. That troubled me almost as much as your interference with Bingley. But again, having come to know you better… I have had time to think, these last few days. I believe there may be more to your dealings with Mr. Wickham than I understand, and I would like you to tell me your side of the story, if you would.”
Darcy’s entire body tensed at the mention of Wickham’s name, his jaw tightening. He looked away from her, his gaze fixing on the fire with intensity. When he spoke, his voice carried carefully controlled fury.
“Wickham is not the man you believe him to be,” Darcy said, each word emerging clipped. “Though I confess my own conduct regarding him has not been above reproach. I should have exposed his true character years ago. But I was too proud to make my family’s private troubles public, and that pride allowed him to continue his predations unchecked.”
Elizabeth waited, her heart beginning to hammer with apprehension.
Darcy took a breath, still not looking at her directly. “Wickham and I grew up together at Pemberley. My father was his godfather, supported his education and took a particular interest in his upbringing. I resented the attention my father paid to him, if I am honest. Wickham had charm I lacked, an easy manner that made people like him immediately. But even as a boy, I sensed something false beneath that charm. Something calculating.”
He paused. “When my father died, he left Wickham a legacy of one thousand pounds and the living at Kympton, should he choose to take orders. Wickham claimed he had no interest in the church and asked for three thousand pounds in lieu of the living. I gave it to him gladly, hoping it would sever our connexion forever.”
