Chapter 22 #2
“That discussion must not pass beyond these walls, Elizabeth. To no one—not even to Madeleine.”
“I understand that. It is not something to be spread abroad.”
He paced the library several times, followed by Elizabeth’s reproachful gaze.
“Do not look at me like that, Elizabeth. I can feel your disdain.”
“And how should I look, sir?”
“I am sorry you were unwittingly involved in this—and that you witnessed such a horrible fight. It is not a subject for a young lady.”
“Surely, you cannot pretend my sensibility is your main concern, sir. And yes, you did involve me and many others in your story. But the painful thing is that you involved us as you pleased without giving us any choice.”
“There was no other way. I can understand that you blame me, but revenge must be taken. I have lived twenty-five years with this situation.”
“I am not debating your right to seek revenge, Mr Wilson. In fact, I was angry and appalled—as was Mr Darcy. But you cannot deny that you used us both, involving us in your deceitful scheme.”
“But it affected you in no way. I did need Darcy and the colonel’s support in inviting Catherine and Lord Matlock. And it is true that I asked Darcy to keep my identity secret. But that was all.”
“To Mr Darcy it was an affront. Can you not see how hurt he felt?”
“He is upset and acted irrationally. Once he calms down, he will see things differently.”
“He will still feel the deceit, Mr Wilson. His genuine respect and affection for you make it even harder to bear or to forget.”
“He has forgiven you, from what I saw, although you hurt him much more than I did.”
Elizabeth paled with anger. She rose and stepped aside. “That was a cruel and callous statement. And only partially true—as with most of the things you told us, Mr Wilson! You chanced upon the possession of a delicate secret, and you now use it against me?”
“No…NO—I apologize! Forgive me, I only meant that Darcy is generous enough to overcome others’ unfair behaviour towards him when he feels they deserve it. I know he cares for you, and I am glad to see you are not indifferent to him either.”
“Do not change the subject, sir, nor attempt to disguise the meaning of your words. I am not generous, I assure you. And Mr Darcy’s affection for me—if real—might not be powerful enough to overcome his grief and pain at being trapped into such a scheme by my uncle.
I am sure he has had enough of our family, and I wonder whether we shall ever see him again! ”
She spoke with anger and pain, fearing with each word that she might be right.
“I am sure that will not happen. Besides, you spent a long while alone in a small, dark room. There can hardly be a more compromising situation. You may demand that he marry you—in fact, I could do that immediately. I know his affection for you is strong, and since you now hold him in high esteem, it would be—”
Elizabeth took another step back, staring at him with ire and disbelief.
“Sir, how can you even think such a thing? You have used Mr Darcy for your scheme, threatened his family with cruel revenge, and now you want to force him into marriage based on a false scandal? That is your idea of making wrongs right—to impose your will over other people to your satisfaction? Shall I prefer Lady Catherine since you are no better? I so wish to meet the remarkable man who saved Mr Darcy’s life and gained his friendship and loyalty—that honest heart that fell in love with an unworthy woman twenty-five years ago and wished to dedicate his future to her.
What happened to him? Why did you let him die?
” She spoke so furiously that she barely recognised her own voice.
Tears fell upon her cheeks, and she held the man’s troubled gaze for a moment before she turned her back and hurried to the door.
“Elizabeth, wait! I did not mean…”
“That is another half-truth, sir. You meant it all; every word and every gesture were in earnest. My gratitude towards you and the respectful affection I carry for you will not silence me. If you want to keep this story secret, you must bear my reproach. If Aunt Madeline knew, I am sure she would support me. Consider your revenge carefully, Mr Wilson, and pay attention to those you will harm undeservedly!”
Elizabeth walked through the hall that only a night before was shining with elegant floral arrangements.
Now, the flowers were wilting, their joy turned into shrivelled sorrow.
The whole world seemed to have changed in less than a day, and Elizabeth’s heart became heavy with grief.
She searched for an empty room in which to be alone and release the pain she carried.
∞∞∞
When Darcy left the Wilson house, his uncle and aunt were waiting in the carriage. He avoided them and walked in haste, eager to find peace in the solitude of his home. He needed calm—to think, to accept, and to analyse.
Unfortunately, they followed him into his house and then into the library. He poured himself another drink but offered them nothing.
“Darcy, I understand your astonishment,” the earl began. “Terrible things were said, and I can only imagine how you must have felt.”
“You must not breathe a word of what you have heard,” Lady Catherine insisted. “Besides, most of what you heard were despicable lies!”
“Which of them were lies, Aunt?” Darcy asked coldly.
Lady Catherine was disconcerted by the question. “Many of them. We should forget everything we heard and resume our usual lives. Anne and I shall return to Rosings tomorrow.”
“I am not sure that Anne wishes to return,” Darcy replied. “Richard and I talked with her, and she seemed willing to stay in Town for some time.”
“Anne does not know her own mind. It would be much better for her to be home.”
Darcy could hardly control his anger. “Anne knows her mind quite well. As she is of age, she may do whatever she pleases. Besides, she is the heiress of Rosings and several other properties.”
Lady Catherine paled with fury. “What are you talking about? What do you imply? Besides, Anne is not your concern until you finally decide to comply with your duty and marry her as you should have years ago.”
Darcy put his glass down and threw his relatives a sharp glare.
“Aunt Catherine, Anne is my concern because I care deeply for her. I had expected, after today’s events, that you would cease imposing your will as to who will marry whom.
Neither Anne nor I want to enter into the ridiculous arrangement you pretend belonged to you and my mother.
As we all learned today, many things you told us about your past should be taken cautiously. ”
“How dare you? You ungrateful child! How dare you speak to me in such a manner? Brother, did you hear him? This is outrageous!”
Lady Catherine almost suffocated in her fury, and she paced the room frantically.
“Let us all calm ourselves. Catherine, sit down. Darcy, let us have some tea or coffee. It is too early for so much brandy.”
Darcy said nothing but rang for the footman.
“You must realise that everything that happened must be kept secret. The situation is delicate and dangerous. We must protect the family. Your aunt and cousins must never learn of this situation. I am counting on your honour and wisdom, Darcy. May I?”
Darcy glared at him. “It is not my secrecy that should concern you.”
“Yes, I know. We must do something about Wilson.”
“Why not hire someone to kill him?” Darcy offered in jest.
“Such humour is not appropriate,” the earl scolded him. “We are in danger of having our name and reputation completely ruined.”
His Aunt had many questions. “I wonder how much the others know? Would Wilson say anything to his sister or his brother-in-law? What about the Bennet girls? Or Bingley? Elizabeth Bennet seemed on friendly terms with everybody, including Darcy and Richard and even Anne. Could she be aware of the revenge? Did she help him trap us? And how did it happen that he hosted a ball precisely when Anne and I were in Town? And when did he meet Anne? All this is too much of a coincidence. It must have been a plan with many involved in it. What should we do? What can be done against this cursed man?”
Each of his aunt’s questions shattered Darcy. He did not believe that Wilson would share such a story with his family, but regarding Elizabeth, his breath caught in his throat.
He was certain she was ignorant about the story itself. She had been surprised, shocked, and pained as she listened along with him. Her hands trembling in his palms, her pallor, and her grip on his arm as she searched for support were no doubt honest.
But what if Wilson had pleaded with her to build a strong relationship with Richard and him?
What if, when he heard about Darcy’s failed proposal and love for Elizabeth, he decided to use her as a pawn in his chess game?
What if Elizabeth’s sudden change of opinion, friendliness, and apparent partiality for him were more than she really felt?
That she did not hate or despise him any longer, he could believe, and she openly declared as much earlier that day.
But what if her feelings were less than she led him to believe? What if the affection he thought he recognized in her behaviour was, once again, merely the fruit of his wishful thoughts?
“I must leave you. I need some time alone,” Darcy suddenly declared and left the room without awaiting a reply, his relatives’ dumbfounded gazes following him.
∞∞∞
The entire day, he rode in his carriage throughout London.
The discovery of his aunt’s misconduct—her wantonness in cheating her betrothed, her trifling with a young boy from a modest family and then dismissing him like a useless toy—made him nauseous.
Had his aunt been in love with the young man while being forced by her family to marry another, it would have been a heart-warming tale.
But this was not romantic, genuine, or kind.
She was only motivated by malice, arrogance, disdain, and deception.
Moreover, wickedness caused her to convince her brother she was in danger and induce him to murder an innocent man.
How could he ever face her again? How could he allow her in Anne’s presence, even if she was her mother? Had her character improved with age? Unlikely. Was Anne truly Wilson’s daughter? He might never know that, but the mere suspicion was mortifying.
And Lord Matlock—there were many disclosures about him too.
That he kept mistresses in Town, as appalling and repugnant as it was to him, did not surprise Darcy.
It happened with most men of their class, and they had argued about the matter many times in the past. But the conspiracy, his aggression, the threats against Wilson’s family, deceiving his brother-in-law George Darcy, and so many other faults overturned everything he had known and cherished since he was a child.
He knew he would never be able to trust them nor look at them again with respect and regard.
How ridiculous he felt for criticising the Bennets’ poor manners or disrespecting the people of Meryton for their lack of decorum. Nobody was worse than his own family, and he had been a pompous fool to refuse to see the truth in their polished, polite behaviour.
His life—and theirs—would be changed from that day forward, even if Wilson carried his revenge no further.
Darcy stopped for a drink at his club but left before he had time to meet any of his acquaintance, resuming his purposeless riding.
He looked through the carriage window absent-mindedly, not brave enough to allow his mind to concentrate on the serious matters that tormented him.
The memories of his time with Elizabeth in the last days were too vivid to allow them to fade or to be polluted by dark thoughts, fears, or doubts.
Their relationship, which he believed to be deep, strong, and open, must stay the same for a while.
He must hold onto the conviction that Elizabeth shared his affection—at least for a little longer.
If she was involved in Wilson’s scheme—even unwillingly—all the last weeks might be thrown away like a dream from which he had awakened. He had to fight that notion and dream a little longer until he had no choice but to confront reality.
When he returned home, it was late evening.
He refused any dinner and went directly to his bedchamber where he thought only of Elizabeth.
He did not even know what happened after he left Wilson’s house.
Did she reveal her presence? What if Wilson knew they were there from the beginning?
What if he had asked Elizabeth to meet him, take him to the library, and then hide with him so he could hear all his uncle’s despicable confessions?
He dismissed the notion, calling himself irrational. How could Elizabeth know when or whether he would call on Wilson? And how could anyone know that his uncle and aunt would arrive at the exact time the rest of the family slept?
Such a conspiracy was ridiculous, and he dismissed it angrily. But turmoil overwhelmed his reason, and he could not master his spinning mind.
He knew the best way to end the tumult was to speak to Elizabeth—just as he did before the ball. But he lacked the courage to do so. He walked past Wilson’s house several times later that night; the lights were on, but he never considered entering.
He could not bear to see Wilson—even less to speak to him.
He was still hurt and disappointed although he could easily empathise with the man’s long-lasting sorrow.
He did not blame Wilson for anything except deceiving him.
He briefly wondered what he would have done if Wilson had disclosed his secret and his revenge plans to him earlier.
But it was too soon to consider that thoroughly.
As for seeing Elizabeth, there was nothing Darcy wanted more.
Their intimacy in the secret room made him dream of what might be if they openly shared their distress about their relatives’ story, if they held hands and comforted each other, if they supported each other in carrying the secret and perhaps bringing some truce to the merciless war between their relatives.
That could only be a dream—at least for the present—a dream that followed him throughout a second sleepless night, filling his mind as he remained fully awake until dawn appeared once more.