Chapter 19 #2
For a moment, she paused as if reflecting on what to say next.
“That she trusted a stranger’s word over mine has unsettled me, and I cannot forget how sharply she spoke when she warned me not to ruin things with Mr Bingley.
I still believe she likes him very much, but his indecision has made her anxious.
I wonder if Miss Bingley might have said something to her while I was not with her.
She has written to Jane twice since being sent away, which I find very odd, and in those letters she seems entirely too aware of what was happening at Netherfield—even after she had gone.
Not only has she claimed her brother is often inconstant in his…
flirtations, but also said that he is practically engaged to your sister. ”
The frown that had been on Darcy’s face immediately turned into a scowl.
“She did not!” he cried. “I will have to speak to Bingley about what he intends to do to curtail his sister more fully. We will encounter him in London, and while I am glad he has at last acted to resolve matters with his younger sister, I hope it means he is prepared to be serious with Miss Bennet. Yet he and I have not spoken of the matter, and he will need to get his sister further under control before he does anything. I hesitate to speak for him. I will look for an opportune time to tell her of Wickham. Perhaps that will mend things between you. If jealousy is at the root, then nothing I say will help, but at least we can try.”
“Thank you, William,” Elizabeth said softly. Seeing how high the sun had risen, they both agreed it was time to return. As always, Darcy dismissed the footman who had accompanied her and walked her back to Longbourn himself.
Elizabeth kept her arm linked with his, grateful for his steady presence, yet her thoughts lingered on Jane.
She longed for her sister’s confidence once more, but the distance between them weighed heavily.
The notion that Miss Bingley might have been influencing Jane against her left Elizabeth unsettled, and she wondered whether such a breach could be easily mended—or if Jane’s doubts would continue to widen the rift between them.
A few mornings later, Darcy and Elizabeth met atop Oakham Mount to watch the sunrise on the day they were to depart for London.
The air was crisp, the horizon brushed with gold, and Elizabeth’s heart fluttered with some measure of unease.
Frost clung to the grass at their feet, and when she exhaled, her breath drifted in a pale mist before disappearing into the still air.
She had long debated whether to speak now or wait until they were married, but the thought of carrying her question unanswered any longer unsettled her.
Gathering her courage, she resolved that this quiet moment, away from the noise of Longbourn and her mother’s endless plans, must be the time.
The matter had been touched upon only briefly before, but Elizabeth knew she must have an answer before they reached London.
“William, when we first spoke of a possibility for a courtship between us, you told me that your father always said that love was for courtesans and mistresses,” Elizabeth began, her voice faltering even as the words escaped her lips.
Colour rose to her cheeks, but she pressed on, unwilling to retreat now that she had begun.
“I know this is most improper to ask, but—”
She stopped, drawing a deep breath, her lashes lowering as though courage might be found in the darkness behind them.
Her fingers tightened around his hand, betraying the nerves she tried so hard to master.
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint rustle of wind through the bare branches above.
When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Will you… do you intend to do as your father recommended and seek out courtesans and mistresses after we marry? Have you—” Her colour rose still further, and she stumbled over the words—“have you had many mistresses?”
Darcy stiffened at her question, his jaw tightening as he looked away briefly, scanning the horizon as if searching for the right words among the mist. Elizabeth saw the flicker of discomfort in his eyes—the struggle between observing propriety and speaking the truth—and for a moment, discomfort pricked at her.
But she needed to know what to expect in her marriage.
Perhaps she ought to have asked sooner, but still, she felt nearly desperate to know if she would encounter any of his previous women while in London.
Darcy swallowed hard, his expression uncertain as though searching for words that might not wound her.
She could see that the subject made him uncomfortable, yet she sensed he meant to be honest with her.
He released her hand as he reflected, and Elizabeth found herself troubled by the gesture, uncertain of what he might say next.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady.
“Elizabeth, I want to tell you my history in this area, hopefully, without mortifying either of us too greatly. You know a little about relations between husband and wife, do you not? You have mentioned reading a few books that your father likely would have preferred you did not.”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes still down. He took her hand in his own once again and encouraged her to look up at him. The intensity of his gaze made her heart flutter, but she could see the sincerity there—the quiet pain of a man determined not to repeat his father’s sins.
“Elizabeth, I love you and only you. After we are married, there will never be another woman for me. I… after my father died, when his will was read, I learnt of homes he owned in both London and Derby that he had purchased for… women. I do not know how many there were, or when it started, but it was obvious…” he sighed.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch. To imagine her proud, reserved William speaking of such a past, of such humiliation within his family, made her heart twist with sympathy.
“It explained to me the sadness I sometimes saw in my mother’s eyes when I was younger.
I… I confess that I asked Mrs Reynolds about it, and spoke with Father’s valet, and learnt that he kept one or two mistresses even during their marriage and that Mother was aware of his frequent trips to their homes.
She was younger than my father and believed herself in love when they married.
I believe that lasted until after I was born; she may have become disillusioned earlier, since he stopped visiting her altogether once he learnt she was with child.
He claimed it was for her own protection, but …
” again, he trailed off. “I will not do that to my wife, Elizabeth. I would never leave her on her own to go seek my pleasure with another.”
He ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as though the admission had cost him something deeply personal. Elizabeth reached out and touched his arm, her hand warm against the fine wool of his coat, hoping to provide him with some measure of comfort.
“Thank you for the reassurance, William. I did not really think you would, but knowing what your father said, and then I heard a comment Mama made yesterday, not knowing that I could overhear, and, well, I just wanted to be certain.”
He smiled at her—a small, sad curve of his lips that tugged at her heart. “I would never hurt you in that way. Even if something happened and our love… faded somewhat one day, I would never inflict upon you the pain that my father did to my mother.”
Elizabeth moved closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. The warmth of him, steady and solid, chased away some of the morning chill. “I hope our love never fades, but I appreciate the reassurance that you will never seek another.”
“There is more to tell you, Elizabeth, if you would be willing to hear it.”
Elizabeth eyed her husband-to-be, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “You do not have to.”
“I want to… well, I think I ought to tell you more. As I said, it might mortify one or both of us, but I still want to tell you.” Their eyes caught for a moment until, finally, she nodded.
“Tell me then,” she whispered.
Elizabeth let him draw her close, resting against him as his arm came around her shoulders.
The gesture steadied her—warm and protective—but it also made her acutely aware of the gravity of what she had asked.
The position felt both intimate and safe, yet she realised, with a flutter in her chest, that he had chosen it so neither could easily see the other’s expression.
It was easier this way—easier to speak of things that might otherwise be too mortifying to face directly.
She felt the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek as he drew a long breath, gathering his thoughts.
His heartbeat was steady yet she still sensed the tension in the way his hand flexed slightly against her arm.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm.
Whatever he said, she wanted to hear it—she needed to understand him completely, even in the uncomfortable truths that most would leave unspoken.
Slowly, his voice came, low and deliberate, each word carefully chosen.