Chapter 15
WHERE MR DARCY SPEAKS TO ELIZABETH OF A MATTER MOST URGENT.
“Thank you,” Darcy muttered from the shadows of the dimly lit hall as Miss Bennet pulled the door closed behind her.
He had felt Ellis’s name like a slap yet ignored the slight and executed a perfunctory bow, which Miss Bennet deigned to acknowledge with a barely discernible nod of her head.
Her entire person appeared stiff and unyielding.
Her pale blue eyes held his in a silent battle of wills.
“If you truly esteem my sister as you claim,” she warned in a low voice, “do not place her in a situation she would not desire. She has suffered enough, as have we all.”
Miss Bennet left, and Darcy expelled the breath he had been holding.
It had not been his intention to eavesdrop.
He had been on his way to his bedchamber to pen a letter to his cousin regarding Wickham.
Then Darcy heard Elizabeth’s voice, rigid with anger, from beyond a partially closed door, and froze.
Her tone was all too familiar. To say he was surprised to hear her displeasure directed at her dearest sister was an understatement.
He was shocked, especially when Elizabeth confronted Miss Bennet about the exchange that took place between them in Longbourn’s drawing room.
That was nothing compared to the astonishment Darcy then felt as Elizabeth claimed she not only considered Darcy’s conduct to be honourable, but that she counted him among the best men of her acquaintance.
Never had Darcy felt such elation!
Before such a triumphant moment could be savoured, Miss Bennet laid the blame for Bingley’s ten-month hiatus upon his shoulders. Any buoyancy he experienced from Elizabeth’s commendation of his character sank as quickly as it had risen.
For what felt like an eternity, Elizabeth was silent.
Darcy feared she would confess his involvement—she had, after all, confided in Jane regarding everything else.
But she surprised him yet again. Not only did she keep his hand in their separation a secret but pointed out Bingley’s fault in the business as well.
And then, without any warning, Elizabeth spoke eight words that made Darcy feel as though he could fly: ‘Mr Darcy’s good opinion is important to me’.
By God, hearing those words had thrilled him! For the first time in many long, bleak months his heart swelled with real hope.
Then Miss Bennet pulled the sitting room door open and discovered him lurking outside in the hall.
Instead of announcing his presence and berating him soundly for his audacity, Elizabeth’s sister did the very last thing he had anticipated.
She schooled her shocked expression into one of cold politeness, addressed him civilly, and allowed him to remain where he was.
Now Darcy was alone, free to approach Elizabeth as he had wanted to for weeks. He had bided his time and hoped for a chance exactly like this one: an opportunity to speak with her without being scrutinised under her family’s watchful eyes or overheard by her neighbours.
If there was a time for Darcy to act, it was now.
He placed his hand on the door handle, but the soft rustling of fabric, likely the rich satin of Elizabeth’s gown as she moved about the room, made him pause.
There was no guarantee his intrusion upon her privacy would be met with any degree of pleasure, or even tolerance.
Darcy laid his forehead against the door, listening to the muffled swish of her skirts.
It was strangely hypnotic. He closed his eyes and wondered what in the world he would ever say to her.
He knew what he wanted to say, but also realised it was imprudent on his part.
Elizabeth had been upset with her sister only moments before.
The possibility that any residual anger could be turned upon him in a moment of ill-timed rashness was great.
When he heard Elizabeth begin to weep Darcy knew he must act, if only to offer what consolation was within his power.
He pushed the door open and entered. The interior was dimly lit, but he could make out Elizabeth’s figure in the centre of the room, perched on a small sofa.
His long strides brought him quickly to her side.
She did not react or even appear to notice his approach, not even when he knelt before her on the carpet.
With his heart in his throat, he watched her as she wept.
Her head was bowed, her face cradled by her hands.
He did not want to add to her distress but knew he must speak, if only to let her know she was no longer alone. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said gently.
Elizabeth raised her head with a startled gasp.
A moment later she appeared to recall herself and self-consciously swiped at her tear-stained cheeks with her fingers.
She had removed her soiled gloves and Darcy noticed her hands trembled.
As if she had discerned his thoughts, Elizabeth quickly folded them upon her lap and linked her fingers so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The acuteness of her wretchedness pierced him.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said again, and covered her hands with his own in a gesture meant to express his commiseration and offer comfort.
“What can I do to bring you relief? Shall I send for your sister? Or for Mrs Gardiner? I can go directly. Or would you prefer a glass of wine? May I fetch one for you?”
Elizabeth stared at him with wide, startled eyes.
One lone curl clung to the apple of her cheek.
Darcy was enthralled by it. Despite her suffering, she looked achingly lovely.
He lifted a hand to brush the errant curl aside, but that tender action suddenly proved too much for Elizabeth.
She yanked her hands from Darcy’s, leapt from her seat, and hastened to the window.
After a full minute of excruciating silence, she raised one shaking hand to her forehead.
“Pray forgive me,” said Darcy with far more composure than he felt. “Clearly, you are in distress, and I have no right whatsoever—”
“My God,” she replied, nearly choking on her words. “How can you stand it? How can you possibly stand it!”
Darcy was on his feet at once, moving purposefully to the window to stand just behind her.
He was close enough to feel the warmth of her body.
Coupled with the heady scent of her perfume, he felt dizzy.
“Stand what?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse as he forced his feet several steps in the opposite direction, effectively increasing the distance between them to one infinitely more proper.
“All of it,” she cried, her voice catching as she turned to face him.
“My mother, my sisters, that scoundrel I must call my brother…me, sir! How can you bear to be in our company after the way we have conducted ourselves and continue to conduct ourselves, even now? After everything that has transpired in the past year to bring shame and scandal upon my family, why do you still surround yourself with us? What could you possibly gain but censure and dissatisfaction for your sacrifice? It would have been better for you to stay away!”
Darcy slowly shook his head. “It is no sacrifice to be able to spend time with you. As for staying away…you must know that is a prospect that has long been distasteful to me.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes as though pained. “I find that difficult to believe. My family—”
“Your family loves you. Despite anything you may have to say to the contrary, that much has been made obvious to me in many ways, at many times. You are not your mother. Neither are you your sisters or your father. You govern yourself, and your comportment has always been exemplary.”
“You are blind, sir. I am no different.”
“You are entirely different.”
“And you, Mr Darcy, are entirely mistaken! Can you deny that I have treated you poorly in the past? Do you recall no instance when my behaviour was no better than what you witnessed this evening? I can think of one occasion particularly when my manners and address were, in every respect, reprehensible, unfeeling, and unjust.”
“No,” he said, knowing she referred to the afternoon of his ill-fated proposal. “Not even then. You said nothing to me that day, nor any other, that I did not deserve.”
“I believe we both know that is not the case,” Elizabeth replied. Her fingertips swiped angrily at a fresh set of tears.
Darcy produced a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her.
“Your eldest sister is correct, you know. From the very beginning I gave you little incentive to like me. Your words and your anger at Hunsford were justified. As painful as your reproofs were for me to hear, you did me a service.”
“A service,” Elizabeth repeated bitterly as she accepted his handkerchief and dried her tears.
“I did not realise I was providing a service when I accused you of wronging a lying reprobate who aspired to make his way in the world by gambling and seducing young women, all the while masquerading as an officer and a gentleman.”
“Perhaps not,” Darcy replied gravely, “but you did not know then what Mr Wickham was. I did nothing to enlighten you, your family, or your neighbours. It was wrong of me, nay, irresponsible and selfish of me, to fail to act.”
Elizabeth turned aside her head. “You are generous with your absolution, but completely in the wrong on this matter. There is nothing dishonourable in shielding a loved one from society’s scorn. You were right to protect your sister from scandal.”
“I was wrong when I did nothing to protect yours from suffering a similar fate.”
“We are at an impasse.” Elizabeth bowed her head. She appeared to be studying his handkerchief. With great care, her fingertips traced the stitching of Darcy’s initials.