Chapter 1.22
The clock had long since struck midnight, but Darcy paced his room, wondering what to do and blaming himself for the day’s events.
He could not imagine what Lady Matlock had told Georgiana, but he trusted his aunt, and his gratitude towards her increased at her gesture of inviting Elizabeth to join them.
Impatiently, an hour after his aunt had ushered him out of the room, he approached the door and opened it a few inches—only to listen to the tone of the conversion.
To his utter amazement, he could hear his sister asking questions in a carefree voice as though nothing had happened.
Relieved, he had closed the door and returned to his room.
Everything seemed to be fine again but not due to his efforts.
He had done nothing to correct the situation—quite the contrary.
Lady Matlock knew what was appropriate in any circumstance while he only pretended to make things right—largely due to his pride and selfishness.
He felt painfully that, in character, he was too much like his uncle the earl and his Aunt Catherine. His temper and manners had offended people in the past too—albeit unintentionally. He was not able to give sufficient attention to others’ feelings, not even to those he loved deeply.
Lady Matlock had left some time ago, and her look towards him as she departed clearly demonstrated that she was displeased with him and deservedly so.
She had said earlier in the library that she would slap him if necessary.
At that moment, he had been furious with her for humiliating him in front of the servants and Elizabeth.
Nobody had ever slapped him in his life or dared to address him in such a manner.
However, when Miles related to him every detail of his aunt’s accusations and Elizabeth’s reactions to them, his anger grew exponentially against Lady Catherine and himself.
He concluded that, though he deserved any humiliation that came his way, it would still not be sufficient punishment for his despicable behaviour.
Each minute that passed made his feelings of guilt stronger.
Elizabeth… He had not talked to her since she left him hours earlier.
He remembered taking her hand in Georgiana’s room and her lack of response to his touch.
He was grateful she did not withdraw it.
She understood his grief and did not want to increase it.
She generously allowed him the comfort he needed, despite the fact that he had offended her so undeservedly.
Miles’s words and the admiration in his voice as he spoke of the manner in which Elizabeth reacted to Lady Catherine’s attack made him even more proud of her and ashamed of himself.
He had been an arrogant fool, and only that night—spending the last few hours alone in his room—had he fully understood that.
Now, he could not cease asking himself whether he deserved her love and devotion.
Her simple gesture of remaining loyal to Georgiana after she had been so abominably abused by his aunt and unfairly censured by him hurt him more than any harsh words she might toss his way.
Any other woman would have left the house instantly if she had been so grossly insulted.
Instead, Elizabeth had verbally ‘slapped’ him in the library—an elegant though more painful punishment—and then simply returned to her duties.
Georgiana needed her, and that was more important to her than her own pride.
Darcy realised that, as much as he presumed to love and admire her, every moment with Elizabeth confirmed to him that he was doing her a great injustice; she deserved more. Not only was she worthy of him and his name, she was superior to him in many ways.
Darcy knew he could not hope to obtain Elizabeth’s forgiveness easily.
He even considered that she might postpone the wedding because of his arrogance.
Only a few days before, she had expressed her fears about the wedding date being too soon.
Now, he only proved to her that her doubts were justified.
He was not the man she believed him to be.
He left his room and went in search of her. He entered Georgiana’s apartment quietly so as not to disturb her, his intention to inquire of the maid after Elizabeth and be certain she was well.
An acute pain twisted his heart when he saw Elizabeth fast asleep in a chair by Georgiana’s bed, her head lying near the pillows.
Nodding to Mrs Annesley, who was resting in another armchair, he lifted Elizabeth into his arms, fearful that she might awaken and reject him.
He wanted nothing more than to take her to the comfort of her room, as he could imagine how exhausted she was.
Carrying her with great care so as not to wake her, he felt her arms encircle his neck and her head nestle against his shoulder.
Obviously, she was doing this in her sleep and was clearly not aware of her actions.
He shivered at the thought that she might open her eyes, and he would see disdain and anger in her expression.
He knew he deserved it, but he also knew he could not bear to see it.
Lowering his head as he walked down the hall to her room, he placed light kisses in her hair and on her forehead. He heard her murmur contentedly and felt her tighten the grip around his neck; whether it was a reaction to him or only a dream, he could not tell.
Darcy entered the room she had been given—one of the family apartments—and gently put her on the bed, wanting to ease his arms from around her without disturbing her; but she seemed unwilling to let him go, instead drawing him closer.
Not needing much encouragement, he yielded to her desire.
He knelt near her bed, wrapping her closely in his embrace.
His right arm was now under her neck and around her shoulders, but his left was still under her legs as he had been carrying her.
He removed his arm—for its position was most improper—and simply rested it at her side.
Full of remorse for everything she had endured that day and overwhelmed with the love that was melting his heart and the happiness of holding her closely, he simply remained still and gazed at her beautiful, sleeping face.
A few moments later, her long lashes moved slightly, and his eyes were suddenly mirrored in hers. No words were spoken; no words were needed for each to understand the other.
His grief increased at the sight of her eyes—usually vivid, joyful, and ready to express any emotion—searching his face gravely. Then her right hand rose and gently stroked his face. She smiled.
“How is Georgiana? We must not leave her alone.”
“Georgiana is fine, Elizabeth. She is sleeping soundly. Mrs Annesley is with her now. She will not be alone for a moment; do not worry.”
“And you? How are you, William? Are you feeling well?”
He looked at her incredulously. “You ask me how I am?”
“Should I not?”
“No, you should not. I do not deserve your concern. You should be furious with my family and me. When I think of the mortification you have suffered from my own aunt… And I was not here to protect you as I should have been. Even worse, I behaved unforgivably and offended you further.”
As his words increased in vehemence, her hand continuously stroked his cheek and temple, until it found its way to his hair. Her caresses gently pulled him closer. He could see the light of the candles reflecting as sparkles in her eyes and a smile spreading on her lips.
His words sounded so childish—and completely honest—that Elizabeth felt the deepest tenderness towards him.
“I was and I still am angry, William. I am angry with your aunt for the distress she caused Georgiana. She offended me in front of your sister, Mrs Hamilton, and Miles, and her voice could be heard in Cheapside.”
She paused, her countenance solemn and her voice tentative as she continued, her gaze deepening in the darkness of his eyes.
“I was also hurt by your presumption and lack of trust. I might not be accustomed to running a household such as yours; but I can confront anyone who would threaten me or those I care about. Or I used to think I could until your words prompted my doubts.”
“Elizabeth—”
“No, please, let me finish. I do not blame you for saying or believing that; in fact, I am grateful the occasion arose so you could voice your opinion. Now I wonder whether we are doing the right thing in marrying so soon. Perhaps we should wait until we know each other better and any doubts are assuaged.”
“Elizabeth, I have no doubts. I never have been more certain of anything than my love for you. I have never wanted anything more than for you to be my wife.”
“William, neither your love nor your desire to marry me is what concerns me—of that I am certain. But without your trust, will love be enough for us to have a strong marriage? Would it not be wiser to wait until you are certain that I shall be able to honour your name and the position as your wife?”
Her words cut his heart more painfully than a sword. She spoke without passion or anger but in earnest and with a calmness that frightened him. Only at that moment did he understand how deeply his foolish reproaches had affected her and what torment she felt because of it.
She had behaved faultlessly, but he had made her doubt her own abilities and their future compatibility. He was still grateful for one thing: now that she had expressed her own fears, he knew how to comfort her.
He took her hand in his as he caressed the line of her jaw, gliding his fingers over the skin of her shoulder. He could feel her shiver under his touch, but her eyes never lost their sadness.