Chapter 16
NAKED TRUTHS
Elizabeth nearly fell off the sofa.
It was the very last thing she had ever expected to hear from anyone, much less Mr Darcy, who must have crowds of females—including ones of wealthy and noble birth—wishing for a crumb of his attention.
Accept his hand! She could hardly believe her own hearing; her first instinct was to laugh aloud her disbelief, and she only just stopped herself. “I do not know what to say.”
“You need not say anything, not yet. You do not know me well, and what you do know is not, perhaps, particularly flattering. I only beg that you consider the idea—do not rule it out of hand. Give me an opportunity to prove that I am a better man than you currently have reason to believe.”
She looked at him; he no longer wore the look of emperor of all he surveyed.
If she had to describe it, she might call it…
‘anxious’. At least, it was unsure enough that she could not bear to point out that he had obviously experienced a complete loss of reason.
She settled on the notion of providing it for him.
“My settlement is miniscule, and if I remarry, it stops entirely. I do not bring much of anything to a marriage.”
“You wished to live abroad, you said. How did you expect to survive?”
She glanced up at him, half expecting his smirk had returned—but it had not. He only appeared curious.
“I had investments. However, I put almost everything I had into a scheme my uncle thought unwise for me. It seems he was correct; the ship has not returned on schedule, and it may never do so. No one has heard anything in far too long, my uncle says.”
He opened his mouth to comment, then shut it again. She saw how he restrained his ‘whys’ but decided she would explain, regardless.
“I have no one to blame but myself. My uncle invests a certain amount each year in what he calls his ‘varying ventures’—those sorts of risks which have equal odds of producing great returns or a total loss. The difference between us, of course, is that he can afford to lose his entire investment, and I cannot.”
Mr Darcy only nodded. “What made you decide to do it?”
She looked away, sighing. “When I first moved into the dower house, I had my anger to keep me warm. I was angry at everyone—at Mr Ashwood for dying without leaving better protections for me, at Jane and Mr Collins, at Fanny and John for being greedy and soulless, and even at my father, for believing that the marriage with its inadequately-written settlement was a good idea in the first place. That anger carried me through that first, awful winter.”
“Why were you angry at your sister and Mr Collins?”
Elizabeth felt the sigh deep within her bones.
Loyalty had kept her silent, but she had been alone so very long; she had never even told her uncle Gardiner, for fear it would damage Jane’s relationship with him.
She had allowed everyone, including her uncle, to think her wildly stubborn and even foolish for no good reason, but for Mr Darcy…
she could not quite bear to allow that impression of her to stand.
“After Mr Ashworth died, as soon as I could manage it, I went to Longbourn to speak with Jane…about my situation.”
“She did not come to you?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “No. But she sent a note. She was increasing at the time, you see, and feeling poorly. She lost the babe only a few weeks later.”
He nodded, although she could see the scepticism in his eyes.
“I do not blame Jane for that part of it,” she quickly added.
“After all, I hardly ever came to visit her that last year, when Mr Ashwood was so subject to his bad spells. The last few months, I do not think I wrote to her, even knowing she was uncomfortable and having digestive troubles.”
“Did she write to you, knowing you were nursing a dying husband?”
“When unwell, it is difficult to feel much like putting pen to paper.” The excuse sounded weak to her own ears, but then, Jane plainly felt Mr Ashwood’s death would free Elizabeth, instead of grieving her.
Elizabeth had believed the same. The grief had been an unlooked-for, unwanted surprise.
She shoved the feelings away, brushing memories aside.
“Regardless, I went to her, and I asked if I could return. She said that of course I could, that Longbourn would always be my home. We had what I thought was a good visit—my younger sisters and mother were not there, having gone to see my aunt Philips in Meryton, but I did not believe they would object to my return. I left, thinking all was well with my future plans, and the coach had even started back down the drive—this was before Fanny found a means of restricting my use of Stoke’s vehicles—when I realised I had left my shawl in the drawing room.
The weather was chilly, and I wanted it for the drive home, so I stopped the carriage.
I had brought no servant with me—there was only our elderly coachman—but I thought nothing of fetching it myself.
I bid him wait at the end of the lane, and I felt so at ease with Jane’s earlier gracious reception, that I slipped in through the back way, taking the servants’ stair just as I always used to do when I lived at Longbourn. ”
Elizabeth stood, no longer able to sit, restlessly moving to the window and its view of manicured lawns and the gardens beyond.
It was winter’s season now, but she could imagine how it would look in a few short months, when blossoms emerged from hibernation.
She felt, rather than saw, Mr Darcy’s approach, the heat of him radiating at her back, then gentle hands upon her shoulders—as if he would add his strength to hers for the retelling of this awful moment.
“I meant to simply fetch the shawl and leave the same way I entered, but to my astonishment, Jane was still in the drawing room, crying, with Mr Collins patting her shoulder. Their backs were to me. I did not mean to eavesdrop—I meant to hurry in, rather, to discover what terrible thing had happened in the few minutes since my departure. But she wailed my name and I halted in my tracks.”
“What did she say?”
Jane’s despairing words were ingrained in memory.
“‘Lizzy will attempt to take over the running of Longbourn within a fortnight’ she sobbed. ‘Soon I will be mistress in name only. She will not even try to get along with Fanny; she cannot abide a new mistress of Stoke, and she seeks to rule my home instead. She hates that Fanny has been able to have children when she has not, and soon she will resent me for all the same reasons.’”
Mr Darcy’s voice was calm and grave. “How did her husband respond to such wild and absurd accusations?”
“He offered to race after my carriage and withdraw my welcome immediately.”
“Mr Collins has never impressed me as being particularly sensible.”
“No. But he adores his wife, and would do anything to please her. I was so dumbfounded; it was a few moments before my shock released me. Of course, as soon as I had command of my tongue, I interrupted. I told them that I had returned because I changed my mind and that I would remain at Stoke. I apologised for intruding upon a private moment, and departed with whatever dignity I could muster. I never did reclaim that stupid shawl.” She gave a laugh that was only halfway to a sob.
Mr Darcy drew her against him then, holding her against his solid frame.
For a moment Elizabeth stiffened in his arms, but only a moment.
The feelings from the day before cascaded into her heart once again; the release of it—of having someone to lean against, to share this burden—was exquisite.
As she allowed him to take her weight, it also seemed he took some of her remembered shock and dismay, and she was able to continue without bursting into pitiful tears.
“Of course, now I realise that Fanny had been cultivating Jane’s friendship for a long while and filling her head with this sort of nonsense, but at the time—I was… unprepared. And disappointed.”
The words were an understatement for the utter loss and betrayal of that moment, but she had already decided to forge ahead to forgiveness, and did her best to keep her composure.
“It was abominable,” he said harshly, although his hold upon her shoulders remained gentle. “She must know your character better than she knows Fanny Ashwood.”
“I blame her delicate condition at the time,” Elizabeth answered immediately.
“She was…unusually emotional. It is also true that Longbourn’s servants once turned to me, rather than her, whenever my mother’s nerves and my father’s indifference caused problems. I suppose she cannot be blamed for her fears.
You must understand that Jane is very accepting of others—she would never be able to see through someone as manipulative as Fanny, or to seriously believe a person could possess cruel or autocratic motives. ”
He made a noise that sounded very like a snort. “Except when it came to her own sister.”
She flinched. He must have felt it.
“I apologise,” he said immediately. “As I told you, my own sister is furious with me right now. Perhaps it is natural to hold our own nearest relations to a different standard than we would our neighbours. You said you have been angry at her, but now it seems you are less so. What has changed?”
It was a temptation to lean back more fully into him, but she resisted—trying to instead draw her wandering mind back to a resentment she no longer really felt towards Jane, and would not encourage if she did.
“I am not quite sure,” she answered pensively.
“Spring came, as it always does, and then the summer roses bloomed. The skies were more blue than grey. It became…tiring to dwell upon what I could not change. Fanny tells anyone who will listen that I live in the dower house because I am pig-headed, and because I hate her so much that I would rather live under its damaged roof than share a house with the new mistress of Stoke. She says I attempt to make her appear mean and grasping, while only proving my own silly stubbornness.”
Elizabeth turned to face him; his grip permitted the movement, but he did not let go, and she still did not protest his hold.
She found herself wanting him to understand what she did not really understand herself, meeting his solemn, dark-eyed gaze; in return, he gave her his utter and complete attention.
There was something enthralling about the quality of it, some part of her that responded to his notice like a morning glory to dawn’s sunrise.
“Gradually I came to recognise that Fanny was not entirely wrong. The Ashwoods are greedy—they would leave me impoverished, were I to put myself in their power. But my uncle Gardiner would welcome me into his home—pride and anger, and ‘silly stubbornness’, are my only excuses for refusal.”
“Your anger has been justified,” Mr Darcy replied, but she shook her head.
“What good does it do? How does it hurt Fanny for me to nurse it?”
“I do not say it is wise to dwell upon it, only that you cannot be blamed for feeling it in the first place. My own nature is a resentful one—when I am wronged, I do not forget easily. In this case, I would require a good deal longer than you have taken to grow past it. I honour you for it.”
Blushing, she forced herself to return to his original question.
“It was about the time of that realisation, on one of my uncle’s visits, that he told me of his latest ‘varying venture’.
He swore to me that if this investment succeeded, I must allow him to pay to mend the dower house roof and he would no longer take ‘no’ for an answer.
I could not allow it—after all, the property is only mine for my lifetime, and the expense could be of no possible benefit to him.
In that moment, I longed for only one thing—enough money to be free, free to live my life as I longed to live it.
I countered his generous offer: I promised to leave the house entirely, if I could join him in the investment and it was successful—else move to his home in Gracechurch Street if it was not.
At the time, it seemed like a compromise.
I argued that if—when—the venture paid off, he no longer need invest in a house so ramshackle and which, truly, belonged to neither of us, while I would be well on the way to independence.
He did not like me to invest, but he was willing to do anything to get me out of that house, and, as Fanny has long maintained, I am obstinate.
” She gave him a look under her lashes, to see whether he was realising how large was this character flaw she possessed; his expression remained impassive.
She resisted the urge to turn back to the window.
“It has been six months, more than enough time for the ship to return to port. My uncle has mostly given up hope, he has informed me. If the investment is truly failed, I must take it as a sign that I, too, ought to surrender hope and pride, and accept the benevolence and charity of my relations in town.”
“You do not wish to live with them?”
“They are wonderful people. I am certain I could accustom myself to a life in Cheapside, rather than the country.”
“You wish your independence more.” His expression had grown stoic.
Only yesterday she would have agreed heartily, but she found herself hesitating. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I am simply too stubborn to easily accept defeat.”
He placed his ungloved hand upon her cheek.
It felt rougher than a gentleman’s hand seemed usually to be.
“You have been fighting for a long while, Elizabeth—perhaps since before your marriage, when the extent of your father’s illness became clear.
You fought your own will, in obedience to a parent’s strictures.
You fought to find some semblance of happiness in an unhappy marriage.
You fought to keep your husband alive, and when he died, to thwart those who would remove your small freedoms. You fight, now, to assist your sister, even though she has never fought for you in return.
But Elizabeth, you need never fight me. If you say no, it means no.
I will always be your friend, no matter what answer you give. ”