Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elizabeth woke to the knowledge that Darcy had not returned last night.
The grief of what her confession cost her darkened her comfort in telling Darcy the truth.
Darcy’s respect was certainly gone, and whatever fondness he had for her was gone with it.
And she knew she deserved it. Was he too angry with her to even reside in the same house?
She had a breakfast tray brought in, but could not choke down more than toast, and stayed in her dressing gown in her own chamber.
Elizabeth knew she should exert herself; she could not keep to her room forever.
And eventually, when Darcy returned and she had to appear before him, she must be dressed and calm to face her fate.
With a weary heart, Elizabeth curled up on the bed.
Darcy would either divorce her if Wickham made his claims public, or Darcy would send her home for lying to him.
He must think her capable of all manner of deceptive arts now.
How would he trust her again? Would he be willing to try or simply send her away?
There was a knock, and then the door opened. This ill-timed intruder must be the housemaids. They would see it was occupied and turn around and leave. She would have to get up at some point to let the maids do their work, but for now, she wanted solitude.
However, the footsteps across the room were swift and heavier than a maid’s, and Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy come around the foot of the bed. He wore the same clothes as yesterday and a sombre expression.
She watched him for a moment, but he said nothing. He must have come in to tell her he was back, or perhaps to say something to drive her guilt further into her bones. She braced herself to hear what he thought of her deception.
Her eyes closed, expecting his resentment, until the soft thud of something hitting the bedclothes startled her. Her journal was lightly tossed on the bed, and then her diamond aigrette was tossed on top of it.
Elizabeth gasped as she touched each item as she sat up, and then flipped to the last page of the journal to be certain it had not been torn out. Tears of relief formed in her eyes as she stared up at Darcy in disbelief.
“How did you do this?” she asked, amazed. “How did you even find him?” A thought struck her. “It must have cost you Georgiana’s fortune to get these back.”
“No,” he said plainly. “It cost me three thousand pounds and the use of my common sense and knowledge of the world.”
He turned to leave, and she said, “There must be more to the story than that.”
“No, only that Wickham is rather stupid and selfish, and I am clever.”
Darcy must have seen the pleading in her eyes, and came back toward her, saying, “If Wickham exposed you to be an adulteress, claiming you were unfaithful with him, then he is announcing he is an adulterer. His wife could sue him for a divorce because they wed in Scotland, where divorce for adultery and desertion is available on equal terms to both men and women.”
Elizabeth had forgotten, and now she felt foolish for not thinking of that. “But would Georgiana ever do that? Whenever we spoke, she was loyal to him, regardless of how he treated her.”
“She threatened to divorce him at that moment. Whether she had the resolve to carry it through if it came to it, I do not know. But she never wanted to disgrace you. She thought the threat of it would force me to give her the thirty thousand pounds, which she wanted because she thinks that will keep her husband from gaming and philandering.”
Elizabeth sighed. Money only emphasised who a person was. More money in the hands of a generous person would create more good in the world. More money in the hands of an unprincipled man would be squandered.
If Wickham exposed her to be an adulteress, that would have been Darcy’s way out.
He might have used the opportunity to divorce her and marry elsewhere for wealth and connexions and affection, and thereby also get a divorce for Georgiana.
Did that mean Darcy wanted to stay married to her, or did it only mean he wanted to preserve his dignity in the eyes of society?
“In the end,” he went on, “three thousand and their travel expenses to Scotland sufficed.”
That surprised her. “I am sorry she will be so far from you.”
Darcy scoffed, shaking his head. “Seeing her fawn over Wickham, blind to his faults, not realising what her ploy could have cost you if it came to light, was painful to me.”
“That still must have hurt you deeply, to fund their life and send her away.”
He blew out a breath and went to the door again. “Just because it hurts does not mean it is not the right choice.”
Her self-reproach at not telling Darcy the truth immediately was oppressive. That would have been the right choice. Would the right choice for him now be living apart from her?
“Please, stay for a moment, so I can tell you how sorry I am.” Darcy turned back, but stood by the door.
“I am exceedingly sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by not telling you. I wanted to protect you from further hurt. And I dislike using my husband’s position to get me out of trouble of my own making. ”
There was a sharpness to his voice when he retorted, “You should trust me to remove you from it when you are in trouble.”
“And if I was too afraid you would not respect me? Not believe me? Hate me?”
He paled. “Hate you? I do not hate you.” He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes on the floor. He might not hate her, but he did not look as though he wanted to be married to her.
What hope did she have left that her marriage could be saved? “You cannot stand to look at me, so tell me at once if you are sending me away.”
He dropped his arms and stepped toward where she sat on the bed. “I was only going to send you away because you seemed miserable with me.”
She shook her head. “I was never miserable with you, but if you will hold me in contempt for giving them money when I should not have, then I may as well go home.” She would never feel like she was at home at Longbourn.
Home was wherever Darcy was, little good that did her if he never forgave her, even if he did not hate her enough to shame her and divorce her.
“It is not about finding you contemptible or wanting to send you away,” he breathed. “I condemn everything spoken with a view to deceive, and your omission of these circumstances…your declarations that all was well when clearly you were distraught…”
“So I have alienated your affections, your respect?” she whispered. She had no more tears to cry. “I could not allow Wickham to blacken your good name and destroy our marriage. We have worked too hard for me to be accepted and show that at least one Darcy union was not a mistake.”
“You need not do that alone! I am far angrier at being kept from the secret than you being entangled. You lied.” She flinched, but he was right. He collected himself, and in a gentler voice said, “I would have helped you.”
“Why would I assume you would believe me, let alone help me?”
“If my beloved wife was threatened? I would move heaven and earth to help her.”
“I am not a beloved wife.” Her voice cracked. “I am respected, or at least I was. I am not loved. I have not earned that, so how could I assume you would support me when faced with such evidence?”
“I do—” He opened his mouth again, but then changed his mind about what to say.
“Respect must be earned. To pretend to respect someone before you do creates a lie between you that cannot be overcome. But love is not like that.” He gave her a long look then asked, “Did you think you had to restore my sister to me, convince her to leave Wickham like we failed to do in Scotland, for me to love you?”
“It would help.”
“Love is not a finite resource to be parcelled out,” said Darcy, as he walked with quick steps back and forth past the foot of her bed.
“But it is earned.”
He shook his head. “I do not believe that, but if that is the case, what must I do to earn yours? Is there a list of tasks I can complete?”
“You already have.” He stopped pacing and stared.
He was being sarcastic, and had not expected her answer.
This was not how she wanted to tell Darcy she had fallen in love with him.
“You offered to rescue Lydia. You married me to protect my good name. You provided for my financial well-being. You have been kind to me and never blamed me for our forced marriage.”
Her declaration, such as it was, seemed to baffle him. “You do not owe me love for doing what any decent man would do.”
“I love you all the same.” He gaped at her in open-mouthed surprise.
Was her love unwanted? “You are clever and generous and serious and amiable and proud and humorous. You are exactly the person best suited to make me happy. And you have integrity. And you would hate me forever if I allowed Wickham to ruin you.”
Darcy threw up his hands. “He is a scoundrel not worth listening to! He would have made his accusations, and I would have stood by you and weathered the storm.”
“You never chose to marry me,” she murmured, “so why would I assume you would stand by me when I faced public punishment?”
“I choose you every day since, and is that not better?” he cried.
“I choose to be happy with you, to honour and keep you. I have entwined my life with yours when we might have simply shuffled through life on parallel paths. Have I not shown you that, far from regretting marrying you, I am delighted that I found you?”
“I was just so ashamed,” she admitted in a whisper.
“I offered to help Georgiana after you said any money through our hands would just give Wickham funds to drink and game—and I let him believe he could get more. It does not matter that I did it to protect you. I gave her my own money twice. I invited her into the house. I stole household money. I lied to you. I am so sorry.”