Chapter 39 #3
Having caught her ladyship’s attention, Elizabeth was then questioned on her upbringing, her accomplishments, her sisters, and even her age.
Her father offered no assistance, being too busy, Elizabeth suspected, collecting some of the more ridiculous comments in his head to laugh at later.
Colonel Fitzwilliam offered a few pleasant comments in support of her replies, all of which were met with sour looks from his family members.
Mr. Wickham ceased speaking for her, to Elizabeth’s relief, though his attempts to soften their companions’ opinion of her fell on unreceptive ears.
Through all of it, Elizabeth answered clearly, without apology, and without the excessive deference they were no doubt accustomed to and which she had decided she had no intention of providing.
The evening ended at last. After hours enduring insults and intrusive questioning, Elizabeth was exhausted and grateful to retire.
She and Charlotte had no sooner gained the corridor than she heard her name. She turned to see Mr. Wickham looking as though he had something he very much wished to say. Charlotte moved down the hall and stationed herself at a distance that was both discreet and entirely unambiguous.
“How Lady Catherine spoke to you this evening…” began Mr. Wickham. “It was unconscionable.”
“I have survived worse.”
“You should not have to survive any of it. As master of Pemberley, I could ensure that you are treated with the respect you deserve. That is what I am offering you, Miss Elizabeth. Protection. Security. A position most would envy.”
“The will has not been read,” Elizabeth said. “I do not yet know whether I am free to receive any offer.”
He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “A formality. If Darcy were alive, he would be here with the rest of his family. You saw how Wrayburn sat at dinner. He knows the matter is settled.”
“Mr. Wrayburn maintained professional discretion. That is rather different from settled.”
He stepped closer, his ease gone and replaced with something that made Elizabeth uneasy. “Miss Elizabeth, I have been patient. I have given you time and consideration and every comfort I could provide. By tomorrow evening everything will be decided, and I must know—will you have me?”
How many times must she repeat herself? “I cannot answer until I know what the will contains.”
“It contains nothing that can help you, and everything that requires you to rely on the goodwill of people who have spent this entire evening demonstrating that they have little kindness among themselves, much less any to spare for you. Marry me, and I can protect you from all of it. I think only of your welfare, of securing your happiness.”
“How would you do that?” Elizabeth asked.
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“How would you make me happy?”
“By making you mistress of Pemberley, of course.”
“While I will agree that Pemberley represents security, my happiness does not depend on living here.”
He spread his hands. “I would see that you have every comfort. Gowns, jewels, as many books as you can read in a lifetime.”
Elizabeth frowned. “You believe happiness can be purchased?”
“How else can it be acquired?” he said, his smile fading when she did not return it. More seriously, he added, “I believe comfort can be purchased, and comfort is a very good foundation for happiness.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I believe happiness must be built on something that cannot be bought. And I do not believe you and I could build it. I told you this when you proposed marriage to me at Longbourn.”
His smile thinned. He stepped closer and, with a trembling hand, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
She flinched but did not yield. “You are overwhelmed,” he said, his voice dropping to an urgency that contradicted the casual gesture entirely.
“You will think more clearly in the morning. We will speak again then.”
“We will not,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Wickham, I have no intention of marrying you. I would be obliged to you if you would hear that answer and consider it final.” He was very still for a moment.
“Pray do not press me further on the matter. My answer will not change.” She took a step toward Charlotte.
Mr. Wickham reached out and held her arm, halting her motion.
“Your father's situation is not as settled as you imagine. The damage to your family’s reputation is done.
And a gentleman's daughter with a disgraced father and four unmarried sisters is not, I think, in a position to be refusing offers.” His threat was so plainly stated that it almost did not register as one.
Elizabeth met his gaze with a wilting intensity, waiting until he removed his hand until she spoke. “I would rather face whatever comes next on my own terms than bind myself to a man I can neither love nor respect. I will never marry you, Mr. Wickham, not if you were the last man on earth.”
“You will regret this.”
“Perhaps. Nonetheless, I stand by it.” She held his gaze for one long, steady moment. “Good night.” She turned and walked to Charlotte, looped her arm through hers, and started up the stairs.
“If you would loosen your grip on my arm,” Charlotte said presently, “I would applaud your firmness.”
Elizabeth’s hands shook. She needed distance. Space to breathe. She climbed the stairs one at a time, telling herself that she must only endure one more night of this agony. She did not know what tomorrow would bring, but she was decided, more than ever before, to choose freedom.