Chapter Sixteen #2
“That is very like you, and—Jove.” Fitzwilliam took her in his arms again and he squeezed Elizabeth tightly against his large frame. “I am shaking. I know not if it is with fear for you or rage.”
His smell was that of safety, affection, and long, long love. The way he held her filled Elizabeth with a longing wish that she could always belong to him, and that he would always be there to keep her safe. She tried to focus on the moment, storing the impression for the long future.
“I was frightened for you,” Fitzwilliam said. “I did not know why, but the longer Jane and Papa talked, the more certain I became that I did not want you to be alone in that house with only a few servants and Wickham.”
“It was my fault. I was angry at him, and I confronted him—Oh. Poor Jane. What shall I tell her? What should I tell her?”
“I do not know. You were not harmed, and—”
“No, about the housekeeper. She is his mistress. She has been for years.” Elizabeth started crying. “You shall hate me when you hear it all.”
“Never.”
The air smelled clean and cold. Elizabeth’s hands were freezing as they’d not thought to grab her gloves as they hurried out.
Her cane likewise sat by the door. From the curves of the path Fitzwilliam took her on, Elizabeth could tell that they were nearly at Pemberley. “And your father, should he be told?”
“No,” Fitzwilliam said firmly. “He has chosen to believe entirely in Wickham, but I will not hurt him by further exposing his favorite to him. It will do no good. I made the effort once, and it did not work. My father will be dead soon in any case. And though I wish to fight Wickham, my conscience tells me that it would be wrong to kill him, and my duty tells me that I must not risk a duel.”
“A duel!”
“It would be an ordinary thing,” Fitzwilliam replied. “In such a situation—were you my…”
“Your sister?”
“Yes, if you were my sister…or wife, everyone would agree I ought to challenge him.”
That notion, that he could imagine her as his wife sent a thrill through Elizabeth that threatened to override the sensations of the past hour, even though she knew that he could not mean anything by it.
“I’d heard Wickham with that woman. Years ago, when I used to wander the halls at nights, I heard them together.
And then I remembered the day before the wedding.
I didn’t tell Jane. I didn’t tell her. I nearly did.
I went to her planning to tell her, but instead we argued about whether I should stay with her or go to live with my uncle in London, and then…
and then…I told myself that I did not need to tell her because…
because…oh it does not matter what I said to myself.
I made excuses for not doing my duty, and I failed my sister, and the guilt will always be mine.
And then I heard Wickham with Submit in the drawing room last night.
And I was so angry at myself, but I—I shouted at him.
I tried to hit him, as though that would remove my sin.
I do not know what I was thinking. Oh, this is all my fault. ”
Fitzwilliam was silent for a while. He led them to circle the house instead of entering directly, and they’d gone halfway around before he spoke again.
No part of Lizzy’s story surprised Darcy.
He was delighted that she had trusted him enough to confess something that she felt was deeply shameful, and he could not judge her harshly without hypocrisy.
The protectiveness that he felt for Lizzy at finding her struggling to escape from Mr. Wickham had created such an emotion in Darcy as he had never experienced before.
It had been the need to protect Lizzy, and to guide her away, that kept him from pummeling Wickham with his fists in that drawing room.
He realized when he saw her pushed to the floor in that room that there was nothing so important to him in the world as protecting Elizabeth.
It was a feeling that had been growing in him since he’d first stopped for half a minute to observe her on the swing when he’d come back from Russia.
He would happily pay any price to see her happy, safe, and well.
And he wanted to play some important part in the making of that happiness.
He took so long to decide how to reply because he wished to say something that would truly comfort Lizzy.
At last Darcy said, “It certainly was a mistake to not tell your sister what you knew of Wickham’s character. And perhaps she would have been saved from marriage to that man if you had told her. You must strive to learn from this, and to never make the same mistake again.”
“Do you really not think I am so terrible? Do you really not hate me?”
It is hard to state how strong the affection that Elizabeth felt towards Darcy at him saying this was—not excusing her, not pretending that she had done nothing wrong, but telling her that she was still able to learn.
“Lizzy, I could never hate you.”
“Not even if you should?”
“No, never.” Darcy felt a lump in his throat. “Never. Never, ever.”
Lizzy pressed a hand to her mouth. “It is not fair. It is not. It is not. I am free. I am unharmed. I can simply learn from my mistake—I can try to not make it again. Jane is married to him. It is unfair! I should be the one to suffer.”
“I know.” Darcy said quietly, “I also failed your sister. When I returned from university, I had determined that I must inform my father about the immoral behavior I had seen in Wickham, but before departing to Russia I never found a convenient time to speak to him. It was awkward, I knew the conversation would bring him grief, and I thought there could be no harm in delaying it for another year, since Wickham could not be given a living until he was much older.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said in a small voice. “Was this the real reason you tried to stop the marriage? That you knew Wickham’s character?”
“Why else would I have?” Darcy looked at Lizzy and saw that her face was suffused with a pink glow that seemed to not wholly come from the cold. “No, but what notion did you have?”
She flushed and did not answer.
“Perhaps I should have told Jane about what I knew of Wickham’s character directly.
Perhaps she would not have believed either of us.
She is very much the sort of person who could have been easily convinced by Wickham that he had repented of every past mistake and that she must continue to look upon him with favor and admiration. ”
“Why didn’t you speak directly to Jane when your father would not listen?”
“Wickham had been in the room, and he presented the notion to Papa that I was in love with Jane. I do not know why he believed it. It makes me wonder at his understanding of my character. There has been much that he has done in the past months that shows poor judgement. Yet…as much as I wish to attribute it all to his illness, I think many of the mistakes that he has made reflect fundamental flaws in his way of thinking. Even, sometimes, failings of character. He expects too little of the world but too much of himself.”
“Oh, it is obvious why he believed that you were in love with Jane. Everyone says that she is the most beautiful woman in the county. And you are the most prominent, handsome, and wealthy bachelor in the neighborhood. It is natural to believe that you are in love with her.”
“Is it? I do not wish to speak against your sister’s goodness. She is good, and she is sweet, and she is all that a gentlewoman is supposed to be. I believe in the strength of her character but not her…”
“Yes?” Elizabeth grinned at him. “How do you mean to insult my sister?”
Suddenly Darcy asked, “Do you think I am in love with Jane?”
“Oh, not anymore,” Lizzy replied cheerfully. “I…I was silly, and I did not think clearly when I thought you were. But I also thought that was why you tried to stop the marriage.”
Darcy took her hand and kissed it. “It was not.”
“I know.”
“Your fingers are freezing. We must go in.”
“Should I tell her? Should I tell her now?”
“I do not know. It seems likely to cause pain with no benefit, yet in general, honest communication is always better—you are shivering. We must go in now. You are not properly dressed for this cold.”
“I can’t face Jane. Not yet.”
“You can.”
Darcy took her into the main entrance of the house. He said to the footman who was waiting there to greet anyone who entered, “Have tea and chocolate brought to the sitting room over there. For both Miss Bennet and myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lizzy was still shivering as he took off her coat and hurried her to the sitting room, which had a stove kept hot so that visitors could warm themselves. She let out a sigh upon entering the room. “So warm. I was very cold.”
“Sit here. Here.” Darcy placed her next to the fire.
“I can’t go back to that house.”
“No, certainly not,” Darcy agreed. He then said what he did not particularly wish to, but what was right.
“You should go to your uncle in London. Speak with your sister first, whatever we decide to tell her. You told me that he had said he would take you. And I have read enough of his letters aloud for you to know that he is of a good character, and that you will be happy to live with him.”
“I don’t want to leave you…Or Jane.”
Darcy felt a thrill which did not match what ought to have been the soberness of the situation at the way that Elizabeht clearly had more grief at the prospect of losing his company than that of her sister. “I will be well.”
“You will not. You need someone who can hold you when you cry. You will cry when Mr. Darcy dies.”
“You will be with me in spirit.” Darcy took her hand. It was bright red as the blood flow returned in the heat of the room. “Lizzy—I…”
“Yes.”
“Take the cloth you keep over your eyes off. Please, just for a little. I wish to look at you as you are.”
She untied the knot behind her head. “Is it very ugly?”
Darcy silently shook his head. And then remembering himself he softly replied, “No. Never. Not at all.”