Chapter 21
During the ride to their homes, neither Lady Catherine nor Lord Matlock said anything about the reason for their hasty departure although their family inquired repeatedly.
Darcy entered his house, uncertain whether his anger was due to his relatives’ disdainful manners or to his disappointment in separating from Elizabeth so abruptly.
She was due to return to Hertfordshire three days after the ball.
With Bingley’s wedding and his own travel to Pemberley, he probably would be unable to speak to her until they met again in Derbyshire.
He was equally astounded and intrigued by his uncle and aunt’s reaction. Why were they concerned that Wilson lived in Lambton twenty-five years ago? Yes, Wilson was his father’s friend, but that should mean nothing to Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock, who were not Darcys after all.
What was the significance of the man’s identity that they would behave in such a strange and reprehensible manner?
He recollected everything Wilson told him, his relative’s responses during their previous conversation about Wilson, and all that was revealed that night.
Regardless of what might have been, Anne, Lady Matlock, the colonel, and the viscount were certainly ignorant on the subject, and the forced departure was disturbing to them too.
Mr Wilson, however, was well aware of his words’ impact on certain people.
Of that, Darcy had no doubt. He even appeared to have chosen the moment of disclosure carefully in the presence of his most important guests.
Along with his family, only Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth were in the audience at the time, and none of them seemed aware of any connection between Mr Wilson and the Fitzwilliams. What was the truth behind their acquaintance?
Something of consequence had likely happened long ago, or else they would have taken everything in jest or simply dismissed his words. Certainly, they would not conceal it from the family.
Dawn came and Darcy still found no rest. He poured himself some coffee, tried to read without success, and lay in his bed with his eyes closed for a while. The thoughts spinning in his head finally found some peace when Elizabeth’s enchanting image invaded his mind.
He was amazed at the significance that a glance, a smile, and the touch of innocent hands could evoke.
He had been in women’s company many times—even in an intimate way. Still, the feelings stirred inside him by anything related to Elizabeth had been frightening, new, and disturbingly powerful for months. As he had no hope of her returning his affection, the effect on him was even more powerful.
The sun rose, and as London’s streets became animated, Darcy’s restlessness grew.
He delayed for a while, avoiding another confrontation, but then his curiosity rejected the rules. He had to apply for the truth to the only man who could provide him with straight answers.
∞∞∞
It was barely nine o’clock in the morning when Darcy knocked decidedly on Wilson’s door. A puzzled doorman opened it.
“I would like to speak to Mr Wilson,” he declared.
“The master is not yet available. The entire family is still resting after the ball,” the servant explained politely but firmly.
“Can you ask him whether he will speak to me?”
“I would gladly do so, Mr Darcy, but he specifically demanded not to be disturbed until he rings for us. I shall let him know you called, sir. Would you like to leave a note?”
“No. No note. I shall return later.”
“As you wish.”
Darcy turned to leave when a voice startled him. “I shall receive Mr Darcy until Mr Wilson is ready for visitors. Elizabeth stepped forward. He looked back at her, and their eyes met.
“Miss Bennet…” He bowed.
“Good morning, sir. Please, do come in. This is a fortunate coincidence as I wanted to speak to you too,” she said as she dismissed the servant.
“I believe the library would be the perfect place for us to wait,” she invited as she led the way.
“Mr Wilson is an early morning person; I am sure he will awaken soon.”
“Thank you, Miss Bennet. I am glad you are up so early.” He followed her in silence, admiring her handsome figure.
He was delighted by the notion of spending even a few minutes with her alone in the library.
She said she wished to speak to him too, and he looked forward to it as eagerly as a schoolboy.
Elizabeth opened the library door then closed it behind them.
“I did not sleep much,” she finally disclosed.
“I did not sleep at all,” he confessed.
They shared a smile.
“Shall I ring for something?” she inquired.
“Not for me, thank you. I wish to speak to Mr Wilson; I shall not stay long.”
She sat on the couch while he chose a chair. Being too close to her in a closed room was unwise.
“I hope you enjoyed the ball,” she said.
“Very much so—until the end when Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock insisted we leave.”
“I noticed. They are well, I hope?”
“I am not certain. They were very secretive and did not speak a word about the reason for their departure, but I hope you noticed it was not pure rudeness.”
“I did notice. Something bothered them…”
“I hope you were not offended by my hasty departure,” he said, glancing at her.
She felt her cheeks burning. “Offended? Not at all. I just wondered whether you were upset or—”
“No…I was surprised…but I would not have left if my uncle and aunt had not insisted. They were quite distressed. Apparently, they both knew Mr Wilson long ago…and neither of them seems to have cordial memories about the other. I must discover the meaning of all this. I hope Mr Wilson will be honest with me.”
Elizabeth nodded. “He is usually a rather straightforward man. If he has something to say, he will.”
“But I wonder why he invited them to the ball. Do you think…could it have been a scheme from the beginning?” he asked with growing concern. “Did he use me to convince my uncle and aunt to attend the ball only to reveal his identity? Should I feel like a puppet on a string?”
She felt his torment and increasing anger. “I am not certain…I do not know what to say. But why would he?”
“I cannot be sure, and I feel troubled. Forgive me…” he said while pacing the room. “I do not want to be impolite, but…the more I think about it, the more I sense there is much more to this story…”
He moved to the far side of the library, leaning against the wooden shelves. He brushed his hand over the books then stared at the cold fireplace with a frown.
“Am I such a fool that I misjudge everybody and everything? Do I allow myself to be deceived by my own wishes? Do I see only what I want to? Was I wrong to trust Mr Wilson?”
He spoke to her, but his eyes were fixed on the mantelpiece. His distress was genuine and profound. She hesitantly moved towards him and stopped just inches away. They were now facing one another, so close that they could hear each other’s breathing as their eyes met.
“Mr Wilson knows about my proposal and your rejection,” he said in a low voice.
She paled. “What do you mean? But how? When?”
His gaze became darker and heavier. “It was a mistake…my mistake…when I first met him. He came to my house impetuously that day we met in Hyde Park for the first time. Miss Lucas told him that she found us in Kent and that you were crying…and I thought you had sent him to call me out. I spoke before I could think…”
“You thought I sent him to call you out? Why would I have done that?” she asked, puzzled and slightly hurt.
“I do not know…I was still wounded…and I thought you still hated and despised me, as you did in Kent. We started to argue and I mentioned the proposal. I blamed you for sending him and risking his life. I assumed the worst. I was wrong again as usual…”
“Oh…”
“He was shocked, of course. He could not believe that I proposed. We eventually cleared up the misunderstanding. That night, he told me he was my father’s best friend, the friend who disappeared a long time ago.
We spoke until dawn, and he asked me to keep his secret for the present. The rest you know.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. Their closeness made them both dizzy. They could barely speak coherently in such proximity, but neither moved.
“I never hated nor despised you,” she murmured, lost in his dark gaze.
“I accused you of ruining Jane’s happiness, but I held Mr Bingley equally responsible.
And I blamed you for mistreating Mr Wickham because I believed his claims; I thought you were cold and arrogant, haughty and unpleasant.
I did not sketch your character rightly, so I found it repugnant.
But I never despised you. I always appreciated your knowledge and understating, and I admired your loyalty to your family and friends. I just thought I was not among them.”
“It is good to know that. I am relieved that your poor opinion was not quite as strong as I feared. Thank you for telling me,” he mirrored her earlier words.
She smiled bitterly, and his eyes narrowed with a trace of amusement. The distance between them seemed to lessen with every moment. She wondered what she should do and what she wished him to do.
Then suddenly the doorknob was turned, and with a heavy sound, the door was pushed open, and the angry voices of two men could be heard.
Elizabeth and Darcy easily recognized the voices and they panicked, as though they had been caught doing something improper.
They looked around in anguish; then Elizabeth abruptly grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the corner, opening the secret door.
She put a finger to her lips, pushed him inside, and then closed the door.
Within the little chamber, it was darker than in the library.
The door left only a narrow slit, enough to hear the angry voices of two furious men.