Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“Anne did not love you,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“I am quite sure of that. She saw you as a means to an end, just as she saw me, my body, as a tool she could use. You represented everything she had been denied by her failing health. Wealth, certainly, but more than that. Freedom, from Rosings and Lady Catherine’s stifling control.
You were the ultimate prize that would complete her transformation. ”
Darcy’s expression showed some relief, though tension remained in his shoulders. “And you? What do I represent to you?”
The question hung between them, demanding honesty Elizabeth was not certain she could provide. Her feelings were too complicated, too tangled with recent events to parse clearly.
“I think better of you now than I did before,” Elizabeth said carefully, choosing each word.
“When I first tried to assess your character, I felt insulted by your manner and convinced of your arrogance. But I have seen more of your character since then. The way you are with your family, when you forget to guard yourself and simply exist as a brother, a cousin, a nephew. You showed more of your feelings to your cousin Anne than you ever did to me, I think. You told Anne how you felt about me when she asked, and perhaps I can understand that, a little.”
She paused, gathering courage. “I understand now that you are not at your best amongst strangers, or when you feel you are on display. That your reserve is not pride but discomfort with situations where you do not know the rules or feel you are being judged. That changes how I see many of your past actions, including our first meeting in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy’s face showed something that might have been hope, tentative and careful. “Then you do not hate me?”
“No,” Elizabeth replied, and found the word was true. “I do not hate you. I am not certain what I feel, to be honest. Everything has been so confused, so overwhelming. But I do not hate you, and I do not hate that we are married, even if the circumstances were far from ideal.”
Darcy leaned forwards again, his expression showing careful optimism. “That is more than I dared hope for. Given everything that has happened, I would not have blamed you if you wanted the marriage annulled.”
“I do not want that,” Elizabeth said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice.
She met his gaze directly. “We are married now, and we must make the best of it. But I would hope we might do so honestly, without pretending feelings that do not exist or hiding truths that need to be spoken.”
“Agreed,” Darcy said quickly, relief evident. “Complete honesty between us, even when the truth is difficult.” He hesitated. “So first, I would ask you to tell me why you did not ask me for help before...” He gestured about, indicating the whole situation.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, not unkindly. “When your own cousin told you that Elizabeth Bennet did not love you, you got up and walked away with reproach in your eyes, probably thinking her jealous and lashing out in her pain. Tell me, honestly, how you would have reacted if Anne had told you that Elizabeth Bennet had stolen her body and her life?”
He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, shame washing across his features. “You are right, Elizabeth. I would have thought Anne misguided at best.”
“Mad, at worst,” Elizabeth said dryly. “I could not risk it. I could not risk telling anyone but Jane, the one person who I knew I could convince with only a few words. By the time I reached her, she already knew something was terribly wrong with the person she thought was her sister.”
His face clouded then. “Jane. That matter of your sister and Mr. Bingley. That was one of the things that confounded me most, Elizabeth. When I realised you knew of that and did not hate me. I had no right to interfere in their relationship, and you would have been well within your rights to tell me you never wanted to see my face again, far less gladly accept my courtship.”
Elizabeth felt the familiar anger stir at the mention of Jane and Bingley’s separation, but it lacked the sharp edge it had carried before. Perhaps because recent events had put such grievances in perspective.
“I am less angry about that now than I was,” Elizabeth admitted. “I understand you believed you were protecting your friend from what you saw as an unsuitable connexion. I do not agree with your assessment of my family’s worth, but I can comprehend your reasoning.”
Darcy’s expression showed surprise at this measured response. But there was another question Elizabeth had to ask, something that she could not reconcile with everything she now knew of his character.
“There is another matter, though,” Elizabeth continued.
“Your treatment of Mr. Wickham. That troubled me almost as much as your interference with Bingley. But again, having come to know you better… I have had time to think, these last few days. I believe there may be more to your dealings with Mr. Wickham than I understand, and I would like you to tell me your side of the story, if you would.”
Darcy’s entire body tensed at the mention of Wickham’s name, his jaw tightening. He looked away from her, his gaze fixing on the fire with intensity. When he spoke, his voice carried carefully controlled fury.
“Wickham is not the man you believe him to be,” Darcy said, each word emerging clipped.
“Though I confess my own conduct regarding him has not been above reproach. I should have exposed his true character years ago. But I was too proud to make my family’s private troubles public, and that pride allowed him to continue his predations unchecked. ”
Elizabeth waited, her heart beginning to hammer with apprehension.
Darcy took a breath, still not looking at her directly.
“Wickham and I grew up together at Pemberley. My father was his godfather, supported his education and took a particular interest in his upbringing. I resented the attention my father paid to him, if I am honest. Wickham had charm I lacked, an easy manner that made people like him immediately. But even as a boy, I sensed something false beneath that charm. Something calculating.”
He paused. “When my father died, he left Wickham a legacy of one thousand pounds and the living at Kympton, should he choose to take orders. Wickham claimed he had no interest in the church and asked for three thousand pounds in lieu of the living. I gave it to him gladly, hoping it would sever our connexion forever.”
“But it did not,” Elizabeth said quietly.
“No,” Darcy agreed. “He gambled away the money within three years and returned to demand the living after all, claiming I had promised it to him regardless of his decision. When I refused, having already given the living to another deserving man, Wickham threatened to make trouble. I ignored the threats, believing his slander could not touch me. He decided to take his revenge in another way.”
He finally looked at her then, his eyes showing pain.
“Last summer, Wickham went to Ramsgate, where I had sent my sister Georgiana with her companion for a holiday by the sea. He convinced Georgiana that he loved her, that they should elope together. She was fifteen years old, Elizabeth. Fifteen. He cared nothing for her feelings or her innocence. He wanted only her dowry of thirty thousand pounds.”
The words struck Elizabeth like physical blows, shock spreading through her. Georgiana. Sweet, shy Georgiana Darcy, who could barely meet a stranger’s eyes without blushing. Wickham had targeted her deliberately, had planned to ruin her for money, and perhaps to revenge himself on her brother.
“I arrived in Ramsgate the day before they planned to leave,” Darcy continued, his voice rough. “Georgiana confessed everything to me. She had convinced herself his feelings were genuine. Her heartbreak once I exposed him was the most terrible thing I have ever witnessed.”
Elizabeth’s hands flew to her mouth, horror and shame warring in her chest. She thought of all the times she had defended Wickham in her mind, had taken his side against Darcy.
Thought of how she had judged Darcy for his treatment of his supposed childhood friend, never considering that there might be excellent reasons for such enmity.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I am so terribly sorry. I believed him, Mr. Darcy. I believed every word he said about you. He told me you had cheated him of his inheritance, that you had acted out of jealousy and spite. And I accepted his account without question because it confirmed what I already believed about your character.”
She looked down at her hands, seeing them trembling.
“I was so ready to think the worst of you. So eager to find fault and assign blame. You wounded my pride at the assembly in Meryton, and I could not forgive that slight. So when Wickham offered me evidence of your supposed cruelty, I seized upon it gratefully. It justified my dislike, made it seem reasonable rather than petty.”
Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
“I prided myself on my discernment, on my ability to read character accurately. But I allowed my prejudice to blind me completely. I saw only what I wanted to see, believed only what confirmed my existing opinions. And in doing so, I misjudged you terribly.”
Darcy leaned forwards, his expression softening. “You could not have known, Elizabeth. Wickham is skilled at deception. He has fooled people far more worldly and experienced than you. And I gave you ample reason to think ill of me through my own proud behaviour and thoughtless words.”
“That does not excuse my willingness to believe the worst without evidence,” Elizabeth replied, finally meeting his gaze again.
Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling over.
“I should have questioned his account. Should have wondered why he was so ready to share such personal information with a stranger. But I was too caught up in my own certainty to see any of it.”
She reached for his hand before she could stop herself, her fingers finding his with desperate need to convey the sincerity of her remorse.
“I am truly sorry for the injustice I did you in my thoughts. For the assumptions I made about your character based on insufficient evidence and personal pique. You deserved better from me, and I failed you utterly.”
Darcy’s hand closed around hers, his grip firm and warm.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Elizabeth. The fault lies with Wickham, not with those he deceived. And I should have been more forthcoming about his character from the beginning. Let me assure you, though, that I have dealt with him. I saw him in Meryton when I went to Longbourn, speaking with your youngest sister Lydia, and realised I could not leave him free to prey on your sisters. Once news of our engagement spread, they would have been his prime targets. I went to Colonel Forster, asked him to look into Wickham’s actions, and received a letter from the good colonel yesterday.
Wickham has been dismissed from the militia for falsified references, and taken up for debt.
He’ll be in debtor’s prison for a long, long time. ”
He had done that for her sake, Elizabeth recognised at once. Because her sisters were now his sisters, and he had accepted responsibility for their welfare even before the wedding took place. He had lowered his pride to go to Colonel Forster and ensure that Wickham could cause no more harm.
Their eyes met and held, something passing between them that felt like the beginning of real understanding.
Not love, perhaps, not yet, or not from her at any rate.
But the foundation upon which love might eventually be built.
Honesty and forgiveness and the willingness to admit fault on both sides.
“I will never reproach you for thinking ill of me,” he said gently. “I deserved it, if not for the reasons that you then believed. And you have paid a terrible price for my failures. If I had only unbent my pride while still in Hertfordshire...”
“Anne would have targeted me all the sooner, perhaps,” Elizabeth said. “Or waited until after the wedding to steal my form, and then gone with you to Pemberley beyond my reach, leaving me trapped at Rosings with Lady Catherine.”
Darcy shook his head, his thumb brushing across her knuckles, the gesture tentative. Elizabeth found herself leaning slightly towards him, drawn by something she could not quite name. His free hand lifted towards her face, hovering near her cheek, waiting for permission to touch.
A knock on the door interrupted whatever moment had been building between them. Darcy leaned back and called out for whoever was there to enter.
Jane came in with Colonel Fitzwilliam close behind, both of them showing expressions that suggested the interruption was not entirely accidental.
Jane’s gaze moved between Elizabeth and Darcy with knowing assessment, taking in their joined hands and proximity with a small smile that suggested approval.
Elizabeth blushed, but she did not withdraw her hand from Darcy’s. Because despite everything that had happened, despite everything that was yet to be settled… somehow, holding his hand felt exactly right.