Chapter 8
Elizabeth had tried not to stare at Darcy throughout the breakfast following the christening, but she knew she was losing time with every moment that passed. Soon he would be gone, and she didn't know when she might see him again. During the christening ceremony, Elizabeth had resolved to apologize to him for her treatment of him last April.
It was a daunting idea to dwell on—bringing to their mutual recollection that humiliating moment—but she gave herself little time to dwell upon it for precisely that very reason. She knew it would be embarrassing, but her conscience compelled her to communicate to Darcy that she had been wrong in treating him so poorly. She didn't know what he thought of her, but she assumed he detested her for treating him so horrendously during her refusal. Oh, that dastardly Wickham—who was now her wretched brother-in-law, and Elizabeth knew she deserved such an unfortunate, ironic twist of fate. It was her penance for allowing her judgment to be so clouded by her own vanity and pride.
She soon saw her moment: Darcy was standing aside, having finished a conversation with Bingley, now alone. This was her chance, she knew she may not get another; so she took a deep breath, excused herself from the conversation she was barely carrying on with Mary and Jane, and made to approach him.
"Mr. Darcy, may I speak with you?"
Upon hearing his name, Darcy looked up with a surprised expression upon his face. He nodded slowly, and they moved in tandem toward the perimeter of the room. Elizabeth was briefly reminded of Caroline Bingley's insistence on "taking a turn about the room" with her, in order to catch Darcy's attention—how Miss Bingley had even invited Darcy to join them. Elizabeth blushed to recall his answer to why he wouldn't join them: “I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.” How differently that remark landed now that she understood his admiration was not for Miss Bingley but for her instead. Elizabeth quickly shook the memory (and hopefully her blushes) away and began to speak slowly.
"There is a matter upon which I would like to speak," she began hesitantly, suddenly feeling more than just a little nervous, "The last time I saw you—"
"You needn't make mention — " Darcy interrupted, but then cut himself off abruptly. Elizabeth looked up at him for a moment and then cast her eyes downward, her face flooding with heat.
"I feel I must—what I mean to say is, the way I spoke to you last..." she trailed off, unsure how to put into words a simple apology.
For what, exactly, was she apologizing? For refusing him? Not for refusing him—no, that would imply she wished to marry him—no, no, not possibly that. Was she apologizing for the mode of refusal? For refusing him harshly?
It was at that moment she realized she had no earthly idea what she was even about.
Suddenly realizing the folly of her own scheme, Elizabeth stammered out, "Forgive me, I only meant to apologize for—for having been so—"
She cut off abruptly, feeling exceedingly awkward as they continued their turn about the room. She glanced up at him and noticed his stern, pale expression. Goodness, he was angry with her, he must be, and rightfully so—it was extremely foolish of Elizabeth to recollect such an unpleasant moment for the both of them, but especially for him, to be reminded of his humiliation yet again, and by the very woman who humiliated him in the first place.
She didn't speak, and she heard him take a breath before he abruptly came to a halt.
"I see no need to speak upon that subject here, madam," he said sharply, causing Elizabeth to wince a little as he gave a short bow and turned to walk off. She stood there staring after him, feeling like a complete fool.
And then he was gone.