Epilogue #3
He gave her a bleak stare. Was he remembering staring across the racecourse, by the Tattenham Corner, right where the cart was with Lady Metcalfe about to roll her out to be trampled to death in front of him?
He would not want to see any gentle pity in her eyes, nor any tears on his behalf, but her heart bled for him.
He was quiet for a moment before he said, “I never told you I went to see Lady Metcalfe whilst you recovered from your concussion.”
This surprised her. “Why did you see her?” Darcy was not a man to triumph over another, no matter how much they wronged him.
“I thought since I could not see you, the next best thing would be to confront the villain who harmed you. I wanted to be sure she could never injure you again.”
“Is that the only reason?” It might have been enough, but she felt in the air there was more.
“I wanted to know if she was insane or evil,” he murmured.
“But you had no answer?”
He shook his head.
“Maybe some part of her wanted her daughter to have the man she wanted, like she never did.” Did that drive her to madness, or was it just another extension of her cruel nature?
“You give her too much credit. It was never about motherly love or even a mutual romantic one. It was a means to a selfish end. Lady Metcalfe wanted Mr Travers, unworthy though he was.”
“Did seeing her detained comfort you?” she asked, suspecting the answer.
“No.” Darcy ran his fingers through her hair. “But time did that, along with the gradual assurance that you were well.”
“And distance must have helped too, and then I brought you back to a scene of pain and misery. I am so sorry,” she whispered before kissing him. “We will leave in the morning.”
“You will think me weak.”
Did he think he had to suffer and be silent? “Does that sound like me?” she asked. “There is no one braver than you. The newspapers even said so.” This earned her a faint smile, and she felt more confident that he would be restored to his former equanimity.
“I still ought to have removed you from Epsom the moment I feared the vase did not fall on its own.”
“And I would have resented you for being suspicious and controlling. It would have made me question what sort of man was I marrying, if you had changed since Hunsford after all. Who could have guessed such a violent, irrational scheme was at play?”
“Still, I should have—”
“You should have told me you did not want to come here.”
Lady Metcalfe and her misplaced desires had wreaked quite a havoc.
She was mad to think that Darcy would switch affections from her to Julia.
Mad to believe Julia deserved to have any man she wanted.
Mad to assume Mr Travers would commit to her.
Mad to think there would be no consequences to everything she had done.
“In a way,” she began, “what happened with Lady Metcalfe happened more to you than to me.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked sceptically. “I had never heard of such brutality toward any other person than what she did to you.”
“But I suspected nothing was amiss the entire week. They were separate accidents that might have happened to anyone. You suspected it, but I never did until Lady Metcalfe attacked me. And you were poisoned in my place, and I did not even know of my near miss until later, whilst you endured agony, both physical and mental.”
“But you were attacked,” he said, pushing hair back from her face. “Viciously and with premeditation.”
“But do I remember it? Barely. I was a victim, but you had to watch her try to kill me. You felt all the burden of rescuing me. And you had to see me in an insensible, grave state, and watch my slow recovery.”
His eyes revealed the painful memories. “We all wondered how liable you would remain to suffer from the concussion thereafter.”
“Well, I had my wits about me a month later to marry you, unless you think that was done under some sort of insensibility.”
“It is too late, in any event,” he teased. “You are mine now.” In a more sombre voice, he asked, “Are you sorry to leave your sister and friends?”
“I am sorry my husband suffered an ounce of distress on my account. I can see my friends in town or invite them to stay with me whenever I like.”
“Are there not too many bad memories here for you?” he asked, searching her face. “Between Julia’s rudeness, and all the anxiety of meeting me so soon after Hunsford, and your recovery after your terrible injury?”
She could not hide the truth; no one knew her better than Darcy.
“There are many,” she admitted, “but one good memory surpasses all of those. I am blessed with the most extraordinary husband and have all the domestic happiness one can wish for because I submitted to Lady Catherine’s demands and came here. ”
“I will adopt some of your philosophy, then,” he said. “Although it will be more easily done when I am gone from Woodcote.”
He pulled her close and kissed. “I can at least say that returning made me even more sensible of the treasure I gained when I was last here.” He kissed along her neck.
“And of my own happiness in having such a wife.” Darcy kissed her deeply as he laid atop her again.
“For whom nothing can ever diminish the ardency of my love.”
The End