Chapter 20 #4
“No, thank you,” she replied, still avoiding his eyes. “My only plea is that, while we are waiting for the doctor, I be allowed to join your little club.”
“I do not understand your meaning. Of what club are you speaking?”
“Really? Then allow me to enlighten you, sir. I refer to the exclusive club of honourable gentlemen, whose primary objectives are the arrangement of duels and the derision of na?ve ladies like me!”
This time her eyes did meet his, and Darcy frowned as he tried in vain to formulate an answer. Silence fell upon the library.
“Elizabeth, let us discuss this calmly. It is a private matter, and we should not speak of it publicly.”
“A private matter, Mr Darcy? How is it, then, that the colonel, my father and my own uncle—perhaps even Mr Bingley—were aware of this private matter while I alone was kept in ignorance?”
“Elizabeth, you do not understand. Your father and uncle are blameless, and Bingley knew nothing until our return. I alone am at fault. I simply had no other choice than to conceal it from you. You have already suffered so dreadfully that I could not torment you further by revealing my intentions.”
“Of course you are at fault, sir! You did not want to torment me? And may I ask, should something have happened to you, how your secrecy would have spared my suffering? And what occurred with Markham? Has he been…Is he still alive?”
“He is alive,” the colonel interceded. “He only got what he deserved, and hopefully, he will be more attentive to proper behaviour in the future.”
Smiling charmingly at Elizabeth, he continued, “Miss Bennet, I am more than willing to share the blame with Darcy as I knew of his intentions from the beginning and understood them.”
“Oh, really, sir? Why does that not surprise me? Am I wrong to presume that you not only understood but supported him as well?” Elizabeth’s voice was sharp and as cold as ice.
“I confess I did! I even offered to fight Markham on his behalf, but he, of course, refused, and I accepted his decision. It was his duty and his wish to fight for your honour.”
Elizabeth rose from her seat and stepped closer to him, her eyes crackling with unleashed fury.
“Dear colonel, my honour is here with me—safe and sound—and was never affected by a drunken rake who barely knew what he was about. My only riposte to Lord Markham’s action would have been to ignore him utterly for the rest of his sorry life.
But of course, what do I know? I am only a nonsensical woman and cannot possibly understand the rules of honour among gentlemen! ”
“Elizabeth, my child, I understand your anger, but you must control your words; you should not address your betrothed and the colonel in this impertinent manner.” Mr Bennet’s tone was as severe as a father scolding a disobedient daughter, but the effect was not the one he anticipated.
Elizabeth turned to her father, and for the first time in his life, he failed to see the usually affectionate countenance that was meant only for him.
“Oh, I do apologise, Father! I shall certainly tell Mama of your displeasure. She will surely understand why you purposely agreed to put Mr Darcy in danger of losing his life.”
Mr Bennet’s mouth gaped open as he stared at his furious daughter.
“I will spare you the displeasure of seeing or hearing me any longer, gentlemen. If you would excuse me.” Suddenly her strength evaded her, and she desperately fought back tears, which again were imminent. She had to leave immediately; she had to be alone with her pain and her anger.
Gently but firmly, Darcy grasped her arm. “Elizabeth, please…” he whispered.
“Mr Darcy, please have the wisdom to distance yourself from me at the moment. I would not trust myself to behave like a lady.”
Their eyes met in silent confrontation, ignoring the others in the room.
“Elizabeth, we must talk.” His voice was more a plea than a request.
“Talk, Mr Darcy? But we did talk, sir! Even more, you held me in your arms, kissed me, and lied to me! What could we possibly have to talk about?”
Elizabeth’s reply exploded as thunder in the room. The other gentlemen desperately examined their empty glasses with unusual interest.
Darcy frowned, staring at his future father-in-law, unable to reply. Fortunately, Mr Bennet was too affected by his daughter’s reaction and too sympathetic toward Darcy’s distress to inquire further.
∞∞∞
The doctor’s report did not raise Elizabeth’s spirits.
Dr. Barrington insisted he would watch his patient —sleeping deeply from the medicine—the entire night for any change, so Elizabeth took the opportunity to retire to her room and try to rest. Her body felt so heavy that she could barely walk, but her spirit was even heavier.
However, sleep would not come to bring her release. She startled as she heard the door open softly but calmed immediately when she recognised Darcy’s steps. He had come, but she did not want to see or speak to him. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.
He moved closer and sat on the bed; she sensed his gaze caressing her face. Then his fingers brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and his lips touched her cheeks briefly. She felt the need to cry, but she remained still.
When he left, the room—and her heart—remained empty. She was glad he had gone. She was too angry to see him now. She hated him for putting himself in danger, for jeopardising their future happiness, and for not trusting her. She hated him with all her heart—she hated him with all her love!
Sleep eventually took pity and enveloped her.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth did not sleep long. The room suddenly became cold, and she knew someone had entered.
She opened her eyes and saw Markham, an evil grin on his face and a pistol in his hand pointed at Darcy’s chest. Elizabeth screamed and tried to stop him, but she was trapped, seemingly tied to the bed.
The next moment, the thundering sound of a gunshot shattered the room, and she knew Markham had shot him.
Suddenly, she could move, and she threw herself on the floor near Darcy’s fallen body.
A warm, red spot was spreading across his shirt over his heart; she touched it and felt his blood on her fingers.
She screamed again and cupped his face, crying his name, but the only reply was her name whispered by his pale lips.
He died in her arms, and she never had time to tell him how much she loved him.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth awoke, trembling with fear, and the pain in her chest left her breathless.
She looked around and saw herself in the bed—the room silent—with no one around. It had been only a nightmare her mind kept telling her, but she could not stop trembling; the recollection was so vivid—Darcy’s body on the floor, Markham’s smirk, the sensation of Darcy’s cold face on her fingers.
The window was open; that was the reason she was so cold. She closed it, put more wood on the fire, wrapped herself in a robe and settled herself on the settee near the fireplace.
It had been a nightmare, obviously, she kept repeating that to herself, demanding her mind to see reason.
Yet her heart was grieved and unable to beat regularly.
Was it merely a nightmare? Was he truly safe?
No, she would not be content unless she convinced herself of his safety.
She pulled her robe together, tied it to cover herself and exited the room. She had to be sure.
There was only one place he could be—a place she never would have dared enter. Looking around tentatively to be sure she was not seen, Elizabeth opened the door and crept in silently.
No servant was within; she stepped forward and, with infinite care, entered his bedchamber.
Oh, he sleeps quite soundly, she thought, half relieved to see him so peaceful, half irritated that he was sleeping when she could not!
She took two more steps and was now close to the bed. His hair was tousled, and his face, relaxed in sleep, seemed even more handsome. His chest was moving steadily with his breath; his neck was exposed above his nightshirt, and she blushed at the sight of it. Yes, all had been a nightmare.
“My love, what are you doing here?” His voice sounded not only tender but also obviously pleased and relieved to see her. If he was convinced she had forgiven him, he was mistaken!
“I came to…see you. I had a nightmare and wanted to be sure that…” She blushed as she spoke, her words a poor excuse even to her own ears.
“Elizabeth, please, let me explain to you…please…”
She looked straight into his eyes. “You lied to me, William.”
“I only kept the truth from you to protect you.”
“You did not trust me enough.”
“I did not trust you would understand and allow me to go.”
“Certainly not!”
“Yet, I had to do what I thought was my duty.”
“I cannot accept that. I cannot bear the thought that you will continue to put yourself in danger and conceal it from me.”
“It will not happen again; but can you not understand that I had to protect you?”
“Protect me? You wanted to protect me! Then you should have stayed with me, and nothing would have happened. What did you accomplish by fighting Markham?”
“I taught him a lesson. I warned him never to bother you again.”
She rolled her eyes, not knowing whether she should slap him or laugh at him. “How badly was he injured? What if his father raises a scandal against you?”
“I shot him in his right arm—painful but not life-threatening. However, he will not be able to handle a weapon for some time. The earl will keep his history private—no need to worry. I could have killed Markham but chose not to. The earl knew that and was grateful; he promised to take Markham on a long trip to the continent; they will likely be away for a couple of years.”
“I see…” Her voice softened, and he did not fail to notice. He placed a light kiss in her palm, and then kissed each of her fingers. She shivered.
“I can never forgive you for what you did,” she said, and he frowned.