Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elizabeth dragged her gaze from the raw hope on Mr. Darcy’s face. With all that stood between them, could she begin anew? Did she want him to call on her? To court her in earnest? She would not raise his expectations only to crush them. “I do not know. I need time to think.”
The hope in his eyes flickered, but did not extinguish. “I will afford you any time for which you ask.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “You did not know of the threat to you or of the deception?”
“On my honor, for what that may be worth.” Bitterness touched his voice.
“And you would not have gone along with it if Mr. D—” She broke off. “You would not have gone along with the scheme if Colonel Fitzwilliam had not insisted.”
“He threatened that if I claimed to be myself, he would label me as his mad cousin and convince everyone that I was lying as some sort of unfathomable joke only a member of the peerage would make.” Mr. Darcy grimaced.
“It seemed quite likely that people would believe Richard over me. Especially with Bingley on his side.”
Elizabeth nodded, for the whole village had already known Colonel Fitzwilliam as Mr. Darcy by the time the gentleman before her arrived. Moreover, everyone liked Mr. Bingley. If he had agreed that Mr. Darcy was Colonel Fitzwilliam, none would question the matter.
But the man before her still could have confessed all to her. Saying that he cared too much for her regard to risk losing it was a poor excuse. Meeting his gaze, she asked what might be the most important question. “Would you ever have told me the truth?”
“I resolved that I would upon my return from Scotland, when I had time to properly explain. I did not know that Richard planned to ask for Miss Bingley’s hand.”
“Did you know that your uncle would browbeat my father into signing away my right to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Mr. Darcy stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“The Earl of Matlock came here and forced my father to sign papers saying that I will never marry his son. Mr. Collins took it upon himself to inform Lady Catherine, who I gather is your aunt, that both Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam risked being trapped into unsuitable unions. Lady Catherine and the earl arrived here in quite a state.”
Color drained from Mr. Darcy, leaving him nearly as gray as the November garden. “And you signed away your right to marry me?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Miss Bingley signed away her right to marry Mr. Darcy, for two and a half thousand pounds. I, foolishly apparently, refused to sign for any amount. I thought I had something more precious than money.”
Mr. Darcy closed his eyes, a relieved breath leaving him.
“But the earl forced my father to sign papers saying that I would never marry Colonel Fitzwilliam, and paid him four thousand pounds for doing so.”
His lids rising with his eyebrows, Mr. Darcy repeated, “Four thousand pounds?”
“Which brings the sum total of my worth to five thousand.” Elizabeth said it belligerently.
“Five thousand or five, I do not care.” Hands braced on the sundial, he leaned forward.
“Yes, but you should know, so there are no secrets between us.”
He shook his head. “I am trying to make amends. Can you not see that?”
“I can. I simply do not know if I can accept it.”
“What more can I do?”
The despair in his voice lodged in her chest, but she shook her head. “As I said, I need time. I must consider your words.” She needed to decide if she could trust someone who had lied to her so convincingly, for so many weeks, all while drawing her in.
“And as I said, I will give you all the time you require. I ask but one thing.”
Sudden leeriness filled her. “And that is?”
“If you have questions, please ask them of me. Please do not fall prey to speculation. I am happy to explain any of my actions.”
Relief filled her. “That is a reasonable request.”
“It bodes well for me that you think so.”
He was so earnest. Appeared so honest.
Just as he had before, while deceiving her.
“Where will you be?” she asked softly. “If I have questions.”
“I will withdraw to London to await your verdict. I believe it will be most appropriate if you apply your questions to my sister. She is staying at Darcy House as well.”
His sister… “Your trip to Scotland was on her behalf?”
“It was. I—” He broke off to glance about. “I retrieved the remaining record of her ill-conceived union and destroyed it.”
Uncertainty wriggled through Elizabeth. She and Mr. Darcy must be honest with one another if they had any hope of a future after his lies.
She also wanted to ensure he truly did know her to be trustworthy, and Miss Darcy’s revelation about the consummation of her union, or lack thereof, was not Elizabeth’s secret to tell.
Yet, for Miss Darcy’s sake, Mr. Darcy should know the truth.
Elizabeth did not think his sister would ever find the means to tell him.
She drew in a steadying breath. “You should know that their union was never consummated.” Mortified to utter such a thing to him, she dropped her gaze.
“She told you that?”
“They both did, though I did not understand Mr. Wickham’s fevered ramblings until Miss Darcy confessed as much to me as well.” Elizabeth drew in a fortifying breath to add, “He said he loved her too much to do that to her.”
Mr. Darcy rocked back on his heels, digesting that. “Then it is truly as if their union never took place.”
“If that is what your sister wants.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Why would she not want that?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I have no notion what Miss Darcy wants, but I am quite certain about her right to decide.”
Slowly, he nodded. “You are correct. I will present the issue when I reach London.”
“Gently,” Elizabeth advised.
That earned her another nod. “Yes. Gently.”
Elizabeth looked about the denuded garden, feeling suddenly empty. “Very well, then. I accept your apology, Mr. Darcy, and I will give consideration to…” Her throat closed over mention of courting. Of any future between them. “To your wishes.”
“That is all I can ask.” His gaze roamed her face, almost frantic, as if trying to capture her visage.
“Will you come in for tea?” Elizabeth asked, praying he would refuse.
“No. I believe I will depart through the garden, if I may.”
“Certainly.” Elizabeth had no notion what more to say. She knew only that while she did not want him to come in for tea, she didn’t want him to leave either. The idea of not having him as part of her life seemed unfathomable, yet trusting him felt untenable.
Mr. Darcy bowed. “It is my hope you will look upon me more favorably when next we meet.”
Elizabeth wished she could reassure him but was not cruel enough to give him hope.
After studying her for another long moment, he turned away.
She watched him take the path leading to the front of the house, but called, “Mr. Darcy?” before he’d gone more than a few steps. A question remained to which she wanted an answer. One that seemed achingly important.
He turned back, his eyes alight with expectation. “Yes?”
“Why did you insist I call you by your cousin’s surname?”
“Fitzwilliam?”
She nodded.
“Because that is my given name. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Features twisted somewhere between an abashed smile and a grimace, he added, “I could not bear to hear you address me by another man’s name.” With a tip of his hat, he once more turned away.
Elizabeth stared after him long after he disappeared around the corner of the house, arms wrapped about her body to ward off the late November chill. In the garden about her, branches rustled. Dust colored birds hopped about, turning over dead leaves in search of food.
So that had not been a lie, then. Her Fitzwilliam truly was, would always be, Fitzwilliam.
A week after Mr. Darcy’s departure, Elizabeth sat at her dressing table after a luncheon punctuated by Mr. Collins’ sanctimoniousness, staring at an empty sheet of paper.
Before he’d departed Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy had sent around a servant with Miss Darcy’s address in London, and assurance that Misses Elizabeth, Catherine, and Lydia, as well as Mary, had permission to write to her.
That had greatly pleased Mrs. Bennet, causing her to forgive Elizabeth for permitting Mr. Darcy to depart without tea.
A forgiveness Mr. Collins had spoiled, upon learning that Lady Catherine’s nephew had been present, by declaring his crossness with Elizabeth and her mother for not permitting him the opportunity to prevail upon Mr. Darcy to marry Miss de Bourgh.
Mr. Collins seemed to feel that would return him to her ladyship’s good graces.
Elizabeth imagined persuading Mr. Darcy to bow to Lady Catherine’s demand would, indeed, restore Mr. Collins to his former position, but deemed the likelihood of success in that area miniscule at best. She did not know Miss de Bourgh, but she was beginning to believe she did know Mr. Darcy, despite having come to know him under a false name.
The intensity with which he looked at her, the earnestness of his request to court her, all spoke of a man who would not be quick to wed another.
Especially not at the urging of Mr. Collins.
As such, it behooved Elizabeth to accept the opportunity Mr. Darcy had given her. She should write to him via his sister and ask any questions she had. Address anything that kept her from accepting his courtship.
But not only couldn’t Elizabeth think of anything to ask Mr. Darcy, she could think of nothing with which to fill a letter to his sister.
She and Miss Darcy had not spoken often, and when they had, their topics were not fit bridges from conversation to correspondence.
She could hardly ask how Miss Darcy fared in the wake of all that had taken place with Mr. Wickham.
It would not do to bring up such private matters or to ever put them down on paper.