Chapter Eleven #2
He stared at her, willing her to understand that he was serious.
He could hardly explain to her why he wished to do this, because he did not know himself.
He only knew that he did not want the world.
..his world...to become a place where he could not always know that she was well, and that she was happy.
He also wished to always have her near to talk to, for his own sake.
She stared back at him.
“Elizabeth, it is not a matter of—I wish this. And it would always protect you from want, and the necessity to work.”
“I do not think I am at much risk of ever facing starvation, nor my children. I have seen too much to consider anything else under the august heading of ‘want’.”
“Please, I do not—” Darcy did not even understand why she did not simply agree.
He knew that he was considered an excellent catch.
Except, he had murdered her first husband.
That might be what made her hesitate. “Please, I promised my father when he was dying that I would take care of Mr. Wickham. This way I can fulfil that promise.”
“Ah, of course,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said cheerfully. “Though I would note that you took good care of him already.”
Everyone in the room turned to stare at him. Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned sunnily.
Elizabeth giggled into their shocked expressions.
Seeing Darcy and Georgiana’s expressions she said, “I am his widow, it is my right to be amused by such gallows humor.”
“Cousin,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “if your concern is only making sure that she is cared for, give Mrs. Wickham a pile of cash.”
“I cannot expiate my guilt with money!”
“That is what this is about?” Elizabeth had a serious expression on her face.
“You have some pagan notion that you must marry the widow of the man you killed, and that will let you face the ancestral spirits. Mr. Darcy, I have already told you this many times: You cannot undo what you have done. You can only live for the future.”
“And this is a future that I want.”
“Marrying me would change nothing. You still will have shot your childhood friend through the heart. I expect nothing of this sort. I don’t have any pagan notions.”
Darcy stared at her. He felt queer, almost panicked.
It was like when she had nearly left after Colonel Fitzwilliam first arrived. He could not let her ever leave. “I must, I must do something for you.”
“Fine, then pay for George’s education, and give me a thousand pounds for Emily’s dowry.
I hate the idea of being the recipient of charity, but if that is what it takes to salve your conscience, I will suffer it to help you.
You need not worry about the respectability of the matter—your guilty conscience will explain your motive to everyone. ”
“I have said it already; I cannot expiate my guilt with money.”
“You cannot remove it with marriage either.” Elizabeth threw up her hands. She turned away from him. She opened and closed her fists repeatedly. “Lord! My mother would murder me—she would hunt me down and kill me in hot blood if she knew that I was refusing such an offer as you have made.”
“Please, look at me, Elizabeth. I see that you are upset. I imagine that you think I mean to offer you charity, but this is not a matter of charity.”
She turned around, “Mr. Darcy, you are not in your right senses. Can you not see how absurd it would be?”
“I would gain a wife whose competence and capability I trust. Someone who has proven to be a true sister and companion to Georgiana, a woman whose character is unquestionable, and—”
“It is not,” Elizabeth replied. “Anyone would assume I am a fortune hunter. And also the sort of woman who would elope at fifteen.”
Georgiana took Elizabeth’s hand. “Lizzy, my brother is serious. I would love if you were my sister. If you would have me as your sister. You know that I have done terrible things.”
Elizabeth looked between Georgiana and Darcy quickly three times.
Her expression made him think of a cornered rabbit.
He suddenly realized that she was scared. He did not know what she feared. But he’d seen enough of her to know that much of her facade of confidence and vibrancy was just that, a facade.
Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth several times.
“Have you any objection,” Darcy asked, “but your belief that I am not speaking from considered good judgement? I assure you that I will not repent this decision.”
“Yes! Yes. That as well. How can I trust that? I have seen men aplenty who swore solemnly to never be unhappy about a choice that they heartily regretted afterwards.” She paused.
Closed her eyes. Opened them again. “No. I do not expect that. You are not the sort of man to be changeable in such a thing. Even if you came to regret it, your honor would drive you to keep me from ever having reason to regret marrying you—You are in fact serious.”
“Wholly. I mean to marry you.”
She pressed her hand against her temple. That fear in her eyes was greater than before. “This is a choice. If I say ‘yes’, you really will marry me?”
“Elizabeth, I tell you that I will.”
“Because you wish to expiate your guilt. Is that all? Is that your purpose?”
“And because I wish to be a father to George and Emily. I believe that a man who raises a child with love, with consideration, and with a full commitment to their welfare becomes their father. Perhaps I would not expiate my guilt by marrying you, but by becoming a father to your children, even you can agree that it would give me reason to think about myself with less…less of that unhappiness towards myself. Though the regret would always remain.”
“George loves you…” she said slowly.
“I adore him.”
She pressed her hand against her mouth.
After a while Elizabeth closed her eyes.
She took several long deep breaths and then opened them.
“Mr. Darcy, I must beg leave to think in privacy. I cannot order my thoughts so quickly, and you must understand that this application was wholly unexpected. I had difficulties enough in my first trial of the married state that I shall certainly not embark upon another without at least two hours of serious thought.”
Darcy felt an odd piercing of disappointment that she was not joyously agreeing to the proposal. He had always imagined that when he asked a woman to marry him, that she would be simply happy at having gained the favor of such a superior man.
But then, the last time he had imagined any such thing had been before he had murdered a man. And he had never imagined that he would ask a person of such superior character as Elizabeth.
She would be right to distrust his temper, to distrust him, and to refuse.
Darcy needed, needed, needed her.