Chapter 4
Elizabeth
Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanied us to the fork that led to the parsonage. Mr. Darcy had to return to Rosings on business with the steward and took his leave with a reluctance that might have flattered me had I not been so occupied with concealing my distress.
He looked at me before walking away.
“Until this evening.”
Only two words, yet their intimacy lingered as he disappeared among the trees.
The colonel fell into step beside me.
“You seem surprised by my cousin.”
“Mr. Darcy has had that talent since our first meeting.”
“I have rarely seen him so happy.”
Guilt gnawed at me. I lowered my eyes to the path.
“He told me he hesitated a great deal.”
“Then he has told you more than he has told me. Darcy keeps his emotions under lock and key, then wonders why no one knows where he has put them.”
“Yet it seems to me he acts decisively enough when he believes he knows what is best.”
“That is true. He is the best of friends—and sometimes the most tyrannical.”
I smiled.
“Do you have an example?”
“Several. Just last year, he saved a close friend from a marriage he deemed imprudent.”
I slowed.
“Saved?”
“That is the word he would probably use. His friend was in love with a young woman whose family presented… certain difficulties. Darcy also had reason to believe the lady’s affection less ardent than his friend’s. He convinced him to quit the place before committing a folly.”
The world around me seemed to drain of color.
A friend. A young woman from an embarrassing family. A sudden departure.
Jane at Netherfield. Mr. Bingley in London.
I stopped so abruptly that the colonel took two more steps before turning around.
“Miss Bennet?”
“This friend… Was it Mr. Bingley?”
His expression changed. He had spoken carelessly and realized too late what he had revealed.
“I should not…”
“Was it him?”
“Darcy gave me no name.”
“But you knew.”
He hesitated. That hesitation was enough.
I thought of Jane, of her letters from London, of the gentleness with which she had made excuses for Caroline Bingley, of the pallor she believed she hid from us.
Mr. Darcy had observed her composure and decided she did not love.
He had condemned her family, separated two hearts, and then presented himself before me to explain how much it cost him to marry a Bennet.
Anger left me almost dizzy.
“Forgive me,” said the colonel. “I did not know you were acquainted with the parties involved.”
“I know them.”
“Darcy believed he was acting for his friend’s good.”
“Men who are very sure of their judgment always find a way to christen their decisions with the name of benevolence.”
I left him as soon as politeness permitted. At the parsonage, Charlotte tried to stop me, but I claimed a headache and went up to my room.
Jane’s letter awaited me on the table.
The day before, I had thought my marriage might repair what Bingley’s departure had taken from our family. Now I learned that the man I had accepted was the very one who had caused that loss.
I could not marry him.
The conclusion formed with absolute clarity. I could not bind my life to a man who arrogated to himself the right to decide the happiness of others. I could not look at Jane and hide the truth from her. I could not accept Darcy’s fortune as a remedy for a harm his pride had helped to cause.
Then another thought arose.
If I broke off the engagement, what would become of the Bennets?
I rose and paced the room. I could not wait. Mr. Darcy was to come to dinner, but I could not bear the civilities, Charlotte’s glances, Mr. Collins’s conversation. I went downstairs, asked that a note be carried to Rosings, and wrote with a steady hand:
Sir,
I must speak with you before this evening. I will walk in the wood near the old beech tree in half an hour.
E. Bennet
He was already there when I arrived.
His face lit up when he saw me, then his expression closed off when he noticed mine.
“What happened?”
“I spoke with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Silence fell.
“I see.”
“Then you know what he told me.”
“I can imagine.”
His composure irritated me further.
“Did you separate Mr. Bingley from my sister?”
“I advised Bingley to leave Netherfield.”
“And you kept from him that Jane was in London.”
He shifted almost imperceptibly.
“Yes.”
“You deny nothing.”
“I will not lie to you.”
“How noble, after deceiving your best friend.”
He paled.
“I took no pleasure in it.”
“No, naturally. You acted because you were convinced you knew better than he did who should be his wife, and better than my sister what was in her own heart.”
“I believed your sister indifferent.”
“You observed her for a few weeks and concluded that her reserve canceled out her feelings. Did you even try to speak with her?”
“That would have been improper.”
“But controlling her life without her knowledge seemed perfectly proper to you.”
His gaze darkened.
“Bingley is easily influenced. His affection was strong, but I did not know if it would last. Your sister gave nothing away. As for your family…”
“Say it. You did so yesterday with such eloquence.”
“The conduct of certain members of your family exposed my friend to ridicule.”
I felt my cheeks burn.
“And that is why you separated him from Jane.”
“It is one of the reasons.”
“The other being her supposed lack of love. How fortunate for her that you came today to show me how poorly you understand Bennet women.”
He turned his face away for a moment. When he looked at me again, something softer had entered his eyes.
“If I was mistaken about your sister, I will regret it.”
“You were mistaken.”
“Then I will do what can be done to repair my error.”
This immediate response unsettled me, but my anger did not waver.
“And Wickham?” I asked. “Am I to believe as well that all his accusations are merely the product of your benevolence?”
The name made him stiffen.
“I will write you everything I cannot tell you here without betraying my sister’s confidence.”
“Your sister?”
Real pain crossed his face.
“Yes.”
I understood that this subject touched a wound I knew nothing of. Yet it was too late for caution.
“You see, Mr. Darcy, how little we know each other. Yesterday, you asked me to become your wife. Today, I learn that you destroyed Jane’s happiness and that your history with Wickham contains secrets you cannot share. I accepted in ignorance.”
His eyes fixed on me.
“Do you wish to end our engagement?”
The directness of the question nearly robbed me of my voice.
“Yes.”
He did not protest. He remained motionless, his face drained of all expression.
“Very well.”
I should have felt relief. Instead, this calm acceptance wounded me in some absurd way.
“You accept so easily.”
“What would you have me do? Use your word from yesterday to hold you to it today?”
“You could at least try to defend yourself.”
“I will do so in writing. But if, after hearing me, you no longer wish to marry me, I will not hold you.”
Jane’s letter suddenly seemed to burn in my pocket. My family. The debt. I had spoken the word yes thinking to save them, and I had just destroyed that possibility in a matter of minutes.
Mr. Darcy noticed my distress.
“There is something else.”
“No.”
“Elizabeth.”
It was the first time he had used my given name without the shield of a formal declaration. His voice held a gentleness that made lying impossible.
“Is your family’s difficulty the reason you accepted me?”
I did not answer.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I see.”
“You see nothing.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I cannot without betraying my father.”
“You were going to marry me to protect him.”
It was no longer a question. The humiliation written on his features shamed me, but I refused to lower my head.
“I told you I did not love you.”
“You also spoke of esteem and possible affection.”
“I did not lie.”
“No. You carefully chose the only truths that allowed you to consent.”
I stepped back as if he had struck me.
He saw it and ran a hand over his face.
“Forgive me. That accusation is unjust. You have been more honest than I was in my proposal.”
“I should not have accepted.”
“Perhaps not.”
His voice nearly broke on the words. He straightened immediately.
“You are free, Miss Bennet. I will consider our engagement broken as soon as you confirm it after reading my letter.”
“And my family?”
The question escaped me.
He looked at me for a long time.
“Only tell me what threatens them.”
“I cannot ask you to…”
“You are asking me nothing. I offer my help regardless of your answer.”
“Why?”
He gave a joyless smile.
“Because I love you. That truth did not vanish the moment you ceased to be my fiancée.”
He bowed and left me.
I remained alone beneath the trees, unable to decide whether I had just escaped a terrible marriage or rejected the first man who had ever loved me enough to give me back my freedom.