Page 98 of Bitterness of Spirit & The Painting

Someone called to her, but she did not respond.

When she finally glanced back, she saw him talking to his friend for a few moments; then he mounted his horse and rode away, followed by his carriage. And he was gone.

∞∞∞

Although the day of Jane and Bingley’s wedding was one of celebration at Longbourn and in all of Meryton, for Elizabeth, it meant the breaking of her heart in two—one part trilling with joy for her sister’s happiness, the other falling under the weight of overwhelming disappointment.

Her darkest fears proved to be real. Darcy mistrusted her and suspected her of playing a part in the scheme for the benefit of her sister or Mr Wilson.

Her grief mingled with anger and disgust. How dare he? How could he be so wrong again? He misjudged Jane’s feelings for Bingley months before and convinced his friend to abandon Jane. Was he doing the same with her?

He did not conceal his feelings—nor did he express them clearly—but he doubted hers. Then he ran away without allowing her to properly refute his doubts. Hateful man, indeed!

He was in haste to return to Pemberley—with Anne. What could that mean? Would Lady Catherine allow him to take Anne without an understanding between them? Was he so hurt, so upset, so disappointed that he had agreed to marry his cousin?

As much as Elizabeth liked Anne, that thought cut her soul fiercely. How could she ever see him again if he married another? Would he do such a thing under the burden of bitter distress and change their lives so completely? She found no reasonable answer that day or in those that followed—just as she found no sleep or enjoyment in anything that once gave her pleasure.

Three days after the wedding, the Gardiners and Mr Wilson returned to London. Before their departure, Mr Wilson asked for a private conversation with Elizabeth and invited her to take a stroll.

“Elizabeth, I cannot leave without asking what I can do to bring the smile back to your face.”

“I am not certain what you mean, sir.”

“Yes, you are. And I can only guess the reason for your distress. I shall not apologize for anything I have done. I believe my actions were just and well deserved towards whom they were meant. But I unwittingly afflicted you in a way that I could not foresee. Your sadness pains me, and I know I am responsible for it.”

“You are not, sir. You take too much upon yourself. However circumstances might affect one’s life, it is one’s duty to behave in a way that remedies and improves the situation.”

“I tried to speak to Darcy, but it was hardly the place and time. I hoped he would stay longer.”

“As did I,” she confessed.

“What…is he…may I dare ask the cause of your obvious dissension?”

“He accused me of betrayal,” she said spitefully.

A grimace changed Wilson’s face. “Surely, that cannot be true.”

“Perhaps not in those words. But he suspected that I pretended a friendship in order to help you accomplish your plan.”

“That is witless,” Wilson uttered.

“It is more painful than witless,” she admitted. “Once he felt you had deceived him, he might easily suspect I did the same. But I hoped he would trust me more. I hoped he would sense the truth...”

Emotions overwhelmed her, and Wilson allowed her time to compose herself.

“One thing I have learned in my useless and adventurous life is that, the more a man feels and the stronger his sentiments and sensations are, the more powerful his doubts become, especially if he was proved wrong and was rejected in the past.”

Elizabeth glanced at him and said nothing.

“My dear girl, keep in mind that a man like Darcy would never propose to a woman beneath his social standing unless he held her in the highest esteem and his love was stronger than the demands of duty and family. And once he did so and was spurned, he would never want to see that woman again and never consider renewing his addresses—not ever—unless his love is stronger even than his pride. And if that is so, the only serious obstacle can be fear of another rejection and the loss of any chance at happiness. That might keep him away and induce him to act more prudently.”

He stepped closer, took her hands, kissed them affectionately, then bowed to her.

“You have every reason to trust his affection and his intentions towards you—but do you? Is there no trace of doubt or fear in your mind? He is waiting for you at Pemberley; are you certain of his meaning and intent?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I am not,” she admitted. “I am not even certain whether I should go to Pemberley.”

Wilson smiled. “You will come with us to Lambton. From there, we shall see.”