Where are the beautiful moments of sweetness and pleasure, where have they gone, those vows of a deceiving tongue?
Why has everything changed into tears and pain for me?
Elizabeth’s situation with Mr Darcy was not the same as the Contessa’s with her husband, but Elizabethdidfeel that he had betrayed her. Like the fictional woman, she remembered the moments during which she and Mr Darcy had been in concord, when she had felt they perfectly understood each other and shared a beautiful love. But unlike Almaviva, Elizabeth had no thoughts of changing Mr Darcy’s mind, of attempting to make him love her again.
What would be the use, when he has proved his feelings for me are so easily set aside? Regardless of the looks he gives me, I cannot believe he truly loves me. If he did, his family’s opinion would not matter.Thatis how he has betrayed me.
Darcy knew Elizabeth was in attendance that evening. There was something in the air that assured him she was nearby, a certain lightness or rightness that told him the world was not as dour as it had seemed. He glanced at her during the performance, attempting to overlook Mr Grey’s presence. Darcy had met him but would not call him a friend; their paths had not crossed frequently.
Seeing how easy he was with Elizabeth, Darcy loathed him. It was jealousy, as he was perfectly willing to admit, but that did not change how much Darcy wished Mr Grey would be called away to the country, or say something Elizabeth would find objectionable, or really thatanythingwould happen that might disrupt their growing friendship.
I ought to wish her happy, hope she finds another man who is free to love her as I am not, but that is asking entirely too much of me.
Weeks ago, Bramwell had offered the opinion that there was no reason Darcy should not marry Elizabeth. He advised Darcy to tell her the truth of what had transpired at Ramsgate and its effect on Georgiana. What would it do to his sister if he did? The earl and countess would certainly berate him, as would Fitzwilliam, but he cared nothing for their angry words. Would it be more than Elizabeth could bear—both the ugliness of his tale and what they would have to confront to be together?
Seeing the utter dejection on her beautiful face as they looked at each other during the aria, he knew something had to change. The only way it would was if Elizabeth fully understood the situation.
As the opera ended, he used the crush of the crowd to hide his actions. Without drawing the attention of Elizabeth’s companions, Darcy approached her from behind, lightlytouched her arm, and whispered into her ear. “We must talk. Meet me tomorrow, in the park by the gate.”
She started and met his eye, shaking her head.
“I beg of you. Early—before the breakfast hour. There is much you do not understand.”
“Darcy!” Bingley called, as jovial as ever.
Darcy’s hand dropped to his side, and he hoped no one had noticed him grasping Elizabeth’s elbow.
“Bingley.” Darcy bowed to the others. “Mrs Bingley, Mr Grey.”
“You must join us for supper.” To his wife, Bingley continued, “I told him that at the interval, but I think he worries he is imposing. Tell him he is not, my dear.”
Before Mrs Bingley could be convinced to do so, Darcy spoke. “I cannot, but thank you. I am meeting some friends. It was a pleasure to see you all, but if you will excuse me, I must find them.”
Darcy gave Elizabeth an imploring look before she averted her gaze, and as he walked away, he prayed she would not leave him waiting alone the next morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Darcy reached the gate long before he expected Elizabeth would come. He feared that if she arrived first and did not see him, she would leave. He had been awake the night through, planning the words he would say to her with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. If he were exceedingly fortunate, he would leave the meeting an engaged man, or, at the very least, reconciled with Elizabeth and with an idea of how—together—they would convince Georgiana and his family that their union would harm no one, especially not his sister.
He watched her approach, her long, deep-red coat making her look even lovelier than usual. Her steps were assured, and when she saw Darcy, she said a few words to the footman trailing her, who remained where he was while she continued forwards. He led her to a quiet, out-of-the-way spot where they were unlikely to be interrupted, the servant moving slightly to keep his mistress in sight. Once they stopped, Elizabeth fixed Darcy with a look that said she waslistening. However, his words failed him, and he remained silent.
Either she was impatient or the pause was longer than he had realised, because she spoke. “I cannot remain long. Jane and Bingley will miss me, and I would rather not explain this to them.” She gestured between them, her action and tone dismissive.
Licking his lips to give them much-needed moisture, he said, “It is about why I said what I did in December. I did not tell you everything.”
Elizabeth stilled instantly, her expression wary.
“The reason why I could not, why I did not, return to Hertfordshire as expected was Georgiana. Not-not simply because she does not think you would be an appropriate wife for me but because…because it wasyou.I am explaining this very poorly. It is about that summer and Wickham.” He tasted bile just thinking of it.
Her expression eased, and she seemed attentive and curious.
“My sister suffered greatly after Ramsgate. I did not know whether she would recover, whether she would wish to…go on living or find a way to do it. My mother was the same. She felt things, difficult things, too much for her health. She was often despondent, unable to leave her bed, and she…she hurt herself.” At little more than a whisper, he added, “As does Georgiana.”
Elizabeth gasped, and a hand flew to her mouth.
“When she found out about your sister and Wickham, it was more than she could bear. I had planned to tell her gently, assure her he would never be part of our lives. I am certain I would have succeeded in convincing her there was no need for alarm. She liked you and knew I wanted to marry you. When Ireturned to town in September, she even asked me whether I had proposed.
“Instead, she learnt of it in the worst possible manner. Lady Catherine told her. Georgiana was inconsolable. She begged me not to marry you, acted as terrified as if Wickham were at the door, ready to drag her away or murder us all. Nothing eased her fear other than my family promising I would never ask her to accept you as her sister. Fitzwilliam and his parents refused to listen to any argument I offered, any suggestion for how the situation could be remedied. By the middle of November, I had given up all hope.”
