Chapter 18 Luncheon at Netherfield #2
“When I came down from my room to meet you, she stopped me in the hall and threatened to expose us. She said she would tell all her London friends that I entrapped you. Your name will become a byword. She will drag you through the gutter.”
She held his gaze, trying to read his face, to know his thoughts, but when he remained silent, her eyes fell to the ground. She worried a dandelion with the toe of her slipper and waited for his anger, but it did not come. Gathering her courage, she raised her eyes again.
“Sir, it is still not too late for you to cry off. Mr. Bingley nearly fainted when I told him of her threat. He says it will be impossible to keep Caroline from exposing us, short of confining her.” She arched a brow.
“I imagine her confinement would be of long duration, for she cannot practice restraint, even to save herself.”
Darcy watched Elizabeth’s face closely, trying to read her expressive eyes.
She was a desirable woman, and she held his heart.
He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything, yet she was urging him to withdraw.
Was this her way of freeing herself from him?
Had she decided against him in the short week he had been away?
He pushed the thought aside and rubbed his eyes as if to banish it.
When he looked again, she was still watching him, her dark lashes trembling.
Were her eyes pleading? Was she afraid he would cry off?
Was she only trying to protect him from herself and from the humiliation Caroline threatened to bring?
He took her hands in his. She did not pull away.
“Elizabeth, what do you want me to do?”
“I do not understand what you are asking, sir. Do you mean, what do I want you to do about that harpy, or are you asking if I want you to cry off?”
“Both,” he said quietly.
She lowered her gaze. “I do not know if anything can be done about Caroline. Even if Mr. Bingley sent her to Canada, she could still write to her friends. And she would have all the more reason to, after such an exile. I have no idea what to advise you. As for the other…” She looked up, her eyes troubled.
“I do not wish for you to cry off, sir, but I would understand if you did. I would not judge you meanly or think you a jilt, for you have much to lose. Your uncle is an earl, you are wealthy, and you move in the highest circles. Your sister will be out soon, and you must find her a suitable match. You have very much to lose, and in light of that, the only kind thing I can do is offer to release you.”
He lifted her hands and pressed them to his lips. “But you do not wish to be released?”
“No, sir.” Her expression was grave. “I am selfish, though you face ruin, and though it may harm your sister’s prospects. I have already set my heart on our marriage and am hopeful that, if we both work at it, we might be happy someday.”
“Someday? Not now?”
“I do not know you yet, sir. I do not know if I shall be happy living with you. Perhaps you will continue to insult my appearance and family before your friends, or perhaps you will find me vulgar and turn away from me in disgust.”
He asked softly, “Is that what happened to your parents?”
She did not respond. As he watched her, he realized she was weeping.
“Elizabeth, are you afraid I will repent of this marriage because of some fault in you?”
She nodded in agreement and sniffed. Releasing his hands, she reached into her sleeve and drew out a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose as delicately as she could.
Without looking at him, she said, “I was already at a great disadvantage, being from a circle far below your own, with connections in trade, and a vulgar mother. But now, if rumors of entrapment surround us, I cannot help believing you will come to despise me.”
It was too much. She turned from him, buried her face in her handkerchief, and began to sob in earnest.
He said nothing. His silence felt like judgment, and she fell into despair. He must be repenting of the attachment. He would cry off. She must compose herself. How humiliating to weep before him like a spurned woman.
Some of this pain, she knew, was old. It had been buried for years, the pain she had felt when Nicholas left for university, never to return.
He had been kind. He said he loved her still, but the fact remained, he needed a wealthy wife, and she had no dowry.
She had understood, but the wound had remained.
Now that old pain broke free, and was coupled with this fresh injury.
She was losing her dream, and the man she thought of as a modern-day hero, the man who cared for all who depended upon him.
He did not love her. She was not among those he cherished.
She struggled to compose herself, and finally, managed it. She would grieve later. For now, she must be strong. She dried her cheeks and lifted her eyes.
Mr. Darcy stood before her, his dark eyes searching, and he looked pained.
Elizabeth started. Had she said or done something to injure him? She reached out and touched his arm. “Mr. Darcy, what is it? Have I said something that offends you, sir?”
He placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his arm.
“Elizabeth, I do not know why, but seeing you weep has opened a well of emotions. I once spoke to you of a woman I courted. We were not betrothed, though I intended that we should be, and then she chose another without any sign to warn me that her heart had turned. I have long wondered whether I missed some look or phrase that might have revealed her change of heart; perhaps the signs were there, and I was blind. Perhaps I do not understand women as I ought. Hearing you speak and seeing how deeply you feel has brought back old memories…and old pain.”
He paused, then continued with calm determination.
“Elizabeth, if you are willing to face whatever this threatened exposure might bring upon us, I will stand with you. I am promised to you. We are betrothed, and I would be married tomorrow morning as planned, but only if you wish it as well. We both have much to lose.”
“I am willing.” She took his hand in her own.
“One more thing I must know. Did Collins harm you, Elizabeth? Has he ever laid a hand upon you?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. He has never touched me in that manner. He has danced with me and, when he thought to comfort me, he placed his hands on my arms. I was surprised that he showed a measure of kindness that night. I did not think him capable of any degree of decency before.”
“Then why do you hate him?” he asked.
“I do not hate him, sir. I fear him. There is something wild and ungovernable in his eyes; I do not believe I would be safe with him. I cannot explain more, except that I sense in him evil propensities, and when I look into his eyes, I see it there. He once told me I must learn to hide my feelings because my eyes betray me. I think that is how I know he has these dark inclinations. His eyes betray him.”
Darcy considered her words and her expression and was convinced that Collins had not injured her or taken liberties.
Had he learned otherwise, he would make the man answer for it.
If, God forbid, Collins had forced himself upon her, Darcy knew that he would resort to deadly violence.
He knew with absolute certainty that he would call the man out and they would settle it on the field of honor.