Chapter 24 #2
His options were clear: he could leave Elizabeth to form her own conclusion and risk her ire, or he could simply tell her the truth.
It was one thing for his own stupidity to come between them, Darcy reasoned; it was quite another matter when the stupidity must be attributed to his uncle.
Lord Carlisle’s indiscretion and lack of decorum had bitten him in the leg and infuriated his wife.
Darcy would not permit it to cause discord with Elizabeth as well.
“My uncle keeps a mistress,” he said lowly, making a concerted effort to keep his contempt from his voice. “I believe my aunt suspected as much, but he admitted to it the other day. I do not believe she has spoken to him since.”
Elizabeth coloured and averted her eyes. “I can certainly understand why she would be upset.”
“She is humiliated more than anything. They do not care for each other the way your aunt and uncle Gardiner do. They have very different notions regarding what makes a marriage harmonious.”
“But still, Lady Carlisle must have cared for him once. She married him, after all.”
“Theirs was not a love match, Elizabeth. It was a union based upon wealth and sanctioned by entitlement, nothing more.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There is always something more where a lady is concerned. They may not have loved each other, but I am certain your aunt would have wanted to be admired by your uncle, even now. It must be a very painful reality for her to discover her husband’s admiration lies elsewhere and likely has for some time. ”
Darcy wondered how she continued to astound him so thoroughly with her perception. She had never met Lady Carlisle, yet Elizabeth was able to feel a compassion towards her person and situation even the countess’s family had not.
He thought of his own parents—of their love for each other and the happiness they shared—and felt discomfited and ashamed.
Because his aunt and uncle had never treated each other with the same reverence and respect, Darcy had assumed they cared little what the other thought—that they neither valued nor desired the other’s admiration.
If Elizabeth was correct, his aunt did in fact care what his uncle thought of her, and to learn Lord Carlisle barely thought of her at all must have been nothing short of devastating.
“You are quiet, sir. May I ask what you are thinking?”
“I am thinking how incredibly astute you are, and how utterly wretched my powers of perception have always been. I am ashamed to admit I did not consider my aunt might be heartbroken as well as humiliated. My uncle is the most demanding, condescending, miserable man I have ever known. I never understood how Lady Carlisle could bear being married to him. Perhaps she cares for him in her way. You are correct. She must at least care what he thinks of her.”
“I believe I would like to meet her. My curiosity is piqued. If she is horrid, then I shall take my leave of her and go in search of you, so that you can improve my mood using whatever means you see fit.”
A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I believe my means may be different than yours.”
A lovely blush appeared upon Elizabeth’s countenance, but she smiled despite it. “Perhaps we might compare our methods. I do not anticipate yours being so very different from mine, for in essentials, Mr Darcy, we are much the same.”
Darcy had stepped into the hall to order his carriage and was about to return to Elizabeth when Mrs Bingley approached him. He offered her a polite inclination of his head. “Thank you for an enjoyable evening, Mrs Bingley.”
“The pleasure is ours,” she replied softly, offering him a tentative smile. “Your friendship means the world to my husband.”
“Bingley is a dear friend. There is nothing I would not do for him.”
She bit her lip, seemingly in indecision. “Mr Darcy,” she said hesitantly, “I owe you an apology. I have not been very kind to you, and I am sorry.”
Darcy trained his eyes upon the carpet. That she had been unkind to him, he felt, was an understatement.
In Hertfordshire, she had been rude, spiteful, and even cruel.
But her manner had improved since she had married Bingley, and Darcy’s mood had certainly improved since he had become engaged to Elizabeth.
He recalled Elizabeth’s tear-stained countenance in Kent every bit as clearly as he did her anger when she berated him for ruining the happiness of her most beloved sister—the sister standing before him now.
He had done much to bring pain to both sisters, but disappointing Jane’s hopes by separating her from his friend was perhaps the lowest he had sunk.
Darcy realised he had much to atone for as well.
“I accept your apology, Mrs Bingley, and hope you will be so good as to accept mine.”
“I have no idea why you would apologise, sir.”
But Darcy could tell by the set of her shoulders and the tightness around her mouth that she did know.
“I am sincerely regretful,” he told her as he fixed her with a steady, meaningful look, “for any pain I have caused you and my friend. I have long been heartily ashamed of myself. It was poorly done. I should never have interfered.”
“Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand.
Darcy was alarmed to see tears in her eyes. “Mrs Bingley, are you unwell? You look very ill.”
“I am not,” she insisted, shaking her head emphatically. “Indeed, I am not. I am perfectly fine. For the moment I am merely overwhelmed.”
They were in the hall and he led her to a small alcove at the end of it, where there was a comfortable chair. He helped her to sit down, then offered to fetch her a glass of water, a glass of wine, a glass of brandy—whatever she desired.
Again, Jane shook her head. “I thank you, Mr Darcy, but I require nothing.”
“Are you certain? Will you not permit me to summon your husband? Indeed, you look very ill.”
“No,” she said, “please do not call for Charles. I do not want to alarm him. I am only…I did not know…that is to say, I appreciate your apology, sir. I always suspected, but I did not know for certain. Charles’s going away injured me so very much, but not nearly so much as his staying away.”
“I am sorry,” Darcy began, “exceedingly sorry—” but she interrupted him.
“Please, do not say anything further.” She closed her eyes as though pained.
“Elizabeth told me his returning to Hertfordshire was your own doing. She was adamant about it, as adamant as I have ever seen her. I did not want to believe her, Mr Darcy. It would not speak well of Charles, you see, and I love him so much. It was easier, less painful, to imagine that you kept him from me—locked away in London—and that he returned to me of his own volition. In my heart, I believe I have always known that was not the case.”
“I can well understand,” said Darcy, “how laying blame wholly upon someone else’s shoulders can make an agonising situation seem less painful.
In this instance, your blame was not entirely misplaced.
For the sake of our future happiness, and the happiness of those whom we love, I do hope you can find it within your heart to forgive my offence, if not now, then eventually.
We are to be brother and sister. I would be most grateful if we can also be friends. ”
Jane dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and offered Darcy a watery smile.
“I have tried before, but my pain was too much, my resentment too great. Now that we have spoken of it and I can see how regretful you are, sir—and how much Lizzy loves you—I believe I shall be better able to put the past behind me and move on. I thank you for your apology, and I accept it. I would like for us to be friends as well.”