Chapter 14 Sorrow and Regret #2
“What I have to tell you is known to very few, save those directly involved. I believe I know you well enough to trust you, but I must have your word that this shall remain a secret.”
Elizabeth nodded before he proceeded in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “Georgiana had her heart broken this past summer. Wickham followed her to Ramsgate, conspiring with her companion, and persuaded Georgiana to elope with him.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught, imagining the young heiress deceived by a person who ought to have been looking after her.
“He convinced her that I would approve once they married, even claiming she would be doing me a favour by marrying in this manner. I arrived in time to prevent it, but I could not shield her from hearing him call her a pale, tedious creature, that her fortune was her only merit. She believed herself in love with him, and to hear him speak thus nearly broke her. She has not fully recovered.”
The poor girl. To have been deceived by Wickham’s charm, only to be crushed by his contempt, pierced Elizabeth’s compassion.
Sympathy rose swiftly—for Miss Darcy’s suffering, for Jane’s sorrow, and even, against her will, for the man before her, who now bore the weight of both.
To think that she had once considered Mr Wickham a friend, going so far as to champion him at the Netherfield ball to this very man.
Elizabeth recalled the words he had said at the ball—‘Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends; whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain’—and finally realised why he said it.
There was still the matter of Jane, which she held against him, but was he truly entirely guilty of that wrong?
Perhaps he ought not to have advised his friend as he did, but if Mr Bingley was overly dependent on Mr Darcy’s advice, was he not also partially to blame?
After all, it had been Mr Bingley who had talked to Jane almost to the exclusion of all else while he was in the neighbourhood.
Yes, Mr Darcy’s choices had wrongly inflicted pain on Jane, but Elizabeth could appreciate the sentiment.
Would she not have done the same if she were worried about her sister being taken in?
Did she not also protest when Charlotte came to tell her of her engagement to Mr Collins, knowing that her friend did not love the man?
She considered, pressing her hands together in her lap, steadying herself before she trusted her voice. Before she could respond, Mr Darcy spoke again.
“I would never knowingly inflict such heartache on anyone. I regret the pain I have caused—though it was never my intent. When I return to London, I will do what I can to make amends. Do you believe your sister would still wish to see him?”
“I think she would.” For a long moment, Elizabeth examined Mr Darcy. “Are you in earnest? You would inform your friend of my sister being in London?
“If he is in London. As soon as I may, I will do what I can to correct my errors in judgement.”
“Thank you,” she said finally. “But Mr Darcy, if we might return to your purpose for being here, I would like to make one observation.”
“Yes,” he said, looking at her with something like trepidation in his aspect.
“You mentioned earlier that you did not wish for your friend to enter into an unequal marriage, but would that not have been what you would have been entering had you married me? I do not love you, nor have you even attempted to court me. Since you so obviously think poorly of my family and me, why would you wish for the connexion?”
Mr Darcy stared at her, and she grew slightly uncomfortable as she waited for his response.
When he did speak, she had to check her astonishment.
“I thought I was courting you. Every day, when I met you on your walks, was that not a courtship? I spoke to you more than I have any other lady, and I have paid you far more attention than I would a mere acquaintance.”
Unable to contain her laughter from the absurdity of their misunderstandings, she shook her head.
“I thought you were punishing yourself for my audacity in walking these groves unchaperoned. I was certain you thought it your duty to keep me company, or some other nonsense. How could you be courting me if you did not speak to me beyond civility?”
They heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, and they came to the sudden awareness that the Collinses had arrived at home.
“Might we speak more later? Perhaps in the morning on our walk? Perhaps—” Mr Darcy twisted his gloves in his hand.
“Perhaps, we might, at the very least, endeavour to become friends.”
Elizabeth smiled at this request but only had time to nod before the Collinses and Maria Lucas entered, their astonishment evident at the sight of Mr Darcy in his home.
“Mr Darcy!” Mr Collins bowed so low as to seem in danger of losing his balance.
“What an honour, what an unexpected honour, to find you beneath my roof. Indeed, I am quite at a loss to comprehend how it is that you should be here when your esteemed aunt expressed herself most strongly upon your absence from dinner. She was, I regret to say, exceedingly displeased, and I hope that you would hasten to make your apologies to her now.”
Catching sight of Elizabeth with Mr Darcy, Mr Collins stopped short. His eyes fixed upon her, and his deportment altered. He raised his voice, as though determined that Mr Darcy should hear his contempt for the impropriety of the situation.
“But surely you knew it was unnecessary, not to mention unwise, to visit my cousin alone. Did she invite you here in some attempt to draw you in? Is that why you were absent from Lady Catherine’s house?
Whatever she has attempted, I will, of course, support your account on the matter, sir.
Lady Catherine could expect no less from me. ”
As Mr Collins moved towards Elizabeth, Mr Darcy stepped in front of her. “Miss Bennet has not drawn anyone in, and you should not speak to her thus. How dare you attempt to besmirch her character? She is a gentlewoman and deserving of your respect.”
The rebuke fell like a stone dropped in still water, and Elizabeth considered that the waves of it would be far-reaching.
But Mr Darcy was not done.
“I came to enquire after Miss Bennet’s health. Neither she nor I have acted improperly. Your cousin does not deserve to be accused of behaving in any way other than with the utmost propriety. I will not permit her character to be questioned.”
Everyone in the front entry stilled at Mr Darcy’s defence of Elizabeth.
“But Mr Darcy,” her cousin said in his typically obsequious tone, “you are destined for Miss de Bourgh, and she would not be pleased to learn you have visited my cousin this evening. She is not worthy of your attention.”
“I will not have you bandying about my private matters. I do not answer to you, someone so wholly unconnected with me,” Darcy said, drawing himself up to his full height and looking at the clergyman with as much haughtiness as only the master of Pemberley could.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet is my equal, for not only is she the daughter of a gentleman, but I believe that she is my superior in intelligence and in manners.”
So startled was Elizabeth that she thought she swooned, but when she woke on the settee, Charlotte’s sitting room was empty.
She shook her head as though to clear it.
The idea that Mr Darcy would defend her to her cousin was almost as astonishing as his words that she was his equal in status and superior in intelligence and manners.
She had not expected that, given all she had believed of him only days before.
Was it possible he dreamt of her, too? Was it possible that these odd dreams were something else entirely? Was that why, at times, it felt that one or both of them were reading from a script?
But that could not be, for she and Mr Darcy could not be sharing the same dreams or visions or whatever this odd sensation was, could they? No, more likely she was mad.
Go to sleep, Elizabeth. Think of something other than Mr Darcy. Maybe once she was rested, she could wake on the morrow able to set the whole matter aside.
She made her way to her room and saw a stack of books on the table next to her bed.
Maybe reading might help her to fall asleep.
Picking up the book on top, At the Edge of Destiny by Diane Ferguson, she opened to the first page: It is a truth universally acknowledged that no man spurned by a socially inferior woman wants to find himself bested by her in an athletic contest.
“Ha,” she murmured as she read, “perhaps the books are the problem, feeding my imagination and dreams.”