Chapter 13
The night passed slowly for Elizabeth, and she welcomed the dawn that broke through the curtains.
Careful not to awaken Jane, she dressed and went downstairs.
She planned to have a cup of tea and then take a stroll in Hyde Park before breakfast. She momentarily thought that it was rather imprudent for a woman to walk alone in the park at such an hour, but it was already full daylight, and people could be seen on the street.
To her utter surprise, a maid informed her that Mr Wilson kindly asked to see her in the library whenever she was willing to speak to him.
She went there immediately, wondering about the gentleman’s interest in talking to her privately. She could not imagine a single subject of mutual interest that could not be shared with the others during breakfast.
The library, however, was empty. There were sounds indicating a human presence, but nobody could be seen.
“Mr Wilson?” she called, glancing around.
“I am here,” a voice responded from the right corner of the room, hidden behind a half wall. She moved in that direction and, with surprise, saw a narrow door revealing a small room with a desk, a chair, and more books.
“Miss Elizabeth, so delighted to see you. You are an early morning person, I see.”
She laughed. “Not always. But last night I slept rather poorly, and I saw no reason to stay in bed.”
“I hope you feel well. I noticed you were in low spirits even at dinner,” the gentleman said.
Her answer was delayed an instant. “I am perfectly fine, thank you. What is this room?” she asked, changing the subject.
“It is a hide-out,” he responded, much to Elizabeth’s puzzlement. “I discovered it after I rented the house. A secret room with a secret hall that continues along to one of the guest chambers.”
“A secret room! How exciting,” she replied with amusement.
Mr Wilson closed the narrow door, which suddenly became one with the wall. From the main desk, couch, or armchairs, the spot was impossible to observe.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must be surprised that I asked you to meet me here.”
“I am,” she admitted. “But would you be so kind as to call me simply Elizabeth? We are family now, and although we have not spent much time together, such a formal address feels a little bit awkward.”
“Very well, my dear. Even better, as I intend to speak with you about something of a certain delicacy. I have ordered fresh coffee and tea. There are also some biscuits on the plate.”
Elizabeth poured herself tea, and sat, waiting. With each moment, her puzzlement increased.
Mr Wilson stood by his armchair, holding a large cup of coffee.
“Yesterday evening, in rather peculiar circumstances, I met Mr Darcy,” the host said.
Elizabeth struggled to swallow her sip. “Oh…”
“Yes. I am not certain whether I mentioned it, but I knew both his father and his grandfather quite well. I was very fond of them, and I cherish their memory.”
“I was aware you knew them but not that you were closely acquainted.”
“We were. I felt reluctant to meet the new master of Pemberley since you and your family expressed such a dreadful opinion of him. I feared I would be disappointed with his behaviour and his character—even more so after I heard of his ill-treatment of that Wickham fellow.”
Elizabeth put her cup on the table. “I spoke too hastily of Mr Darcy. I did not know him well enough to sketch his character fairly, so please judge him based on what you see for yourself. Regarding Mr Wickham’s story, perhaps he was biased in relating it to us, and we were a little too eager to listen and to believe it without further proof.
It is true that Mr Darcy’s manners are not always amiable, but none of us is perfect. ”
Mr Wilson concealed his surprise behind his coffee cup. Elizabeth thought she noticed a trace of a peculiar smile on his face.
“I see. I confess I am relieved to hear that, as my opinion is quite opposite to what I expected. To me, Darcy appeared to be a worthy heir to his parents, though his manners might benefit from more amiability. But in his character, I see few faults, at least on a first encounter.”
“You must be correct, sir. I admit my opinion of Mr Darcy has changed for the better lately. I was provided with some information that helped me to see things in a different light and understand them better.”
“Interesting. And I was surprised to find that, despite what I was led to believe, Mr Darcy has an excellent opinion of you too.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning. “Mr Darcy is a man whose opinion is difficult to read or to guess.”
“Perhaps; but in this respect, he stated his opinion quite clearly. I did not need to presume.”
She blushed again and sipped some more tea.
“The reason for our conversation is related to Mr Darcy. I might meet him again in the near future, and he might come here on occasion. I want to know how you feel in regard to such a circumstance. If this is unpleasant to you, I shall find a way to avoid your meeting again.”
“No,” she answered hastily. “I mean—it is your house, sir, and you are so generous to host us all. You are entitled to invite whomever you please. Besides, I am sure Mr Darcy and I shall struggle to be civil in each other’s company.” She tried to sound as if she were in jest.
“Excellent,” Mr Wilson uttered. “Now, would you like to eat something? I am starved.”
“I shall wait for breakfast.” She smiled. “But another cup of tea would be lovely.”
∞∞∞
Darcy spent the morning in the library, restless and undecided about what to do. He read through his papers while drinking strong coffee, still dumbfounded by the astonishing visit the previous evening.
His father’s best friend, the man about whom he had heard his entire life, had returned from the dead and barged into his house and his life.
Even more, his new role as Elizabeth’s relative made the entire situation deeply disturbing.
He needed to gather more proof, but the little he was told so far, and especially the wound on the man’s chest, left few doubts.
But not even his curiosity about Wilson—although powerful enough—could calm his distress regarding Elizabeth and her present opinion of him.
He felt troubled by the thought that he had disclosed the secret of his failed proposal to a complete stranger and wondered whether Elizabeth would be upset if she knew.
To keep his mind occupied, he wrote a long letter to Georgiana and a note to his aunt Fitzwilliam, politely rejecting her invitation to dinner.
He found no pleasure in seeing other people, not even his relatives.
Staying in London was a daunting task, but he could not consider leaving as long as there were opportunities to meet Elizabeth again.
He pretended to himself that he only wished to speak to her to clarify previous misunderstandings, to prove to her that he had taken her reproaches to heart and made amends to his past errors.
But there was much more that he was willing to admit.
His desires were enhanced by new hopes aroused by a twist of fate.
In only one day, the image of a future without Elizabeth had faded and a glimmer of light brightened the dark aspect that had trapped him since that day at the Parsonage.
The silence was suddenly broken by hurried steps and a joyful voice greeting the servants. The door opened suddenly, and Bingley entered like a fresh breeze, bringing a welcome smile to Darcy’s face.
“Darcy! I am so happy you are home! I was afraid you had already left for Pemberley! How are you? I have not seen you in ages! Are you alone? Am I disturbing you?”
Darcy responded with less excitement but equal pleasure as they shook hands warmly.
“Bingley—welcome! You have been missed. Surely you must know that you never disturb me.”
“Thank you—I missed your company! I returned to Town last evening, and I intended to call on you immediately, but I confess I fell asleep.”
“Today is a better time to talk peacefully,” Darcy replied earnestly. Bingley’s presence last night would have completely ruined Wilson’s visit.
Bingley took a seat, and Darcy offered him a drink.
“Georgiana is at Pemberley?”
“Yes, with Mrs Annesley. I plan to join her sometime soon.”
“I see. I hope not too soon as I would like to spend some time with you. Will you still have us at Pemberley for the summer?”
“Of course. And no, I shall not leave too soon. I still have some unfinished business, so it will be a while.”
“Good…good…so, how have you been?”
“Fine. As usual. And you, Bingley? What did you do all these months? Did you have any novel experiences?
“No, nothing special. Hunting, parties, some balls…rather boring.”
“Really? I do not recollect your describing parties and balls as being boring.”
“Yes, well…my preferences have changed lately.”
“And how was your company?”
“Pleasant enough. Quite large in number and diversity. Sometimes tiresome. You would not have remained more than a couple of days,” Bingley mocked him.
Darcy smiled. “Probably—which is why nobody invites me to visit for more than a week.”
“Oh, come now, Darcy! That is unfair. Half of them do not invite you because your estate is more beautiful than theirs, and the other half because they know you would refuse them anyway. And also because you rarely invite anyone outside the family to Pemberley.”
“You may be right,” Darcy admitted resignedly, which only made Bingley laugh.
Despite his light disposition, Bingley’s countenance was not as serene as usual.
Darcy did not miss the change and could only suspect the reason.
The ball, the parties, and the company of others were not enough for Bingley to forget his personal disappointment, and his amiable manner could not cover it.
They spent half an hour in friendly conversation of little importance. Eventually, after amusing stories and plans for the summer, Darcy finally gathered his courage.