Chapter 1.25
Elizabeth was not prepared for that answer, just as she was not prepared for the vice-like sensation that instantly gripped her heart. Her head was spinning so fast that everything seemed to swirl around her.
So it was true. She must have been the actress Mr Wickham spoke about in Hertfordshire.
As if in a dream, she heard Lady Matlock say something, but the meaning of the words did not reach her. Then there was the sound of Becky’s little voice, and then Darcy’s—strong, deep, and harsh.
“Apparently, Mr Wickham is not the only one curious about the Hothfields, Miss Elizabeth.”
She lifted her eyes and met his, only to confirm that he was upset. He is more than upset—he is angry.
She pursed her lips and silently held his gaze, but for the first time she could not read what she saw in his eyes.
However, she did not need more proof; everything made sense at that moment.
The story was real; she was real—real and so close to him all that time, all those years.
She was married to an earl older than herself and a friend of the Darcys.
How convenient! What else had Mr Wickham said the day before?
“Mr Darcy is as fond of them as they are of him.” And he did not deny it.
Fond of them! So fond that the mere mention of her name distresses him deeply, and a simple question from his intended makes him angry!
They were now in front of Mr Darcy’s house, and Lady Matlock entered with Becky.
Elizabeth did not want to talk to or see anyone.
She wanted nothing more than to run as far as she could.
She had to think. Yet, what was she to think about?
She felt him guiding her inside the house and then upstairs.
Becky’s voice could be heard, full of joy, and then other voices.
They were in Georgiana’s apartments: Jane, Mr Bingley—when had he come?
—Lady Matlock. She sat in the first chair she encountered, grateful for the support, for she feared her weak knees would betray her.
Lady Matlock spoke to Jane and then asked Elizabeth something she did not hear. She only nodded, and she felt Mr Darcy staring at her. Her eyes desperately needed to meet his, but she could not bear to see his angry face again.
“Elizabeth, are you unwell?” She started violently when Jane touched her arm to catch her attention.
“I…I have a headache, Jane, nothing serious.”
“You look so pale! Can we get you something?”
“No, there is no need; and pray, let us not worry the others. It will pass soon.”
It was too late though, as Lady Matlock joined in their concern, and Mr Darcy was already moving towards her chair. “Elizabeth, what is the matter, dear? You do not look well at all.”
“Lady Ellen, please, there is no reason to be concerned. I am just a little tired, and a slight headache is bothering me.”
“Of course you are exhausted with everything that has happened in the last fortnight. All the talk about the ball—I am afraid you have given it much more importance than it deserves. We have all been too demanding of you. We must take better care of you and allow you to rest more.”
Elizabeth could not protest as everyone surrounded her.
“Mrs Hamilton, would you please show Miss Elizabeth to the room she previously occupied? She is not well and needs rest.”
Mr Darcy’s voice was heard above the others, and the housekeeper hurried to obey, but Elizabeth would not have it.
She did not want to be imposed on, and he had no right to decide what was good for her.
She started to protest but found no support, not even from her sister.
Not willing to be the centre of a conflict, she reluctantly agreed, casting a quick glance at Darcy; her displeasure was so obvious on her face that he could not fail to notice it.
Jane and Mrs Hamilton accompanied her to her room and insisted that she drink some tea. Then they nestled her into bed; she had to pretend she was asleep before they finally left the room.
As soon as the heavy door closed behind them, she opened her eyes and remained still, staring into the fire.
It was burning steadily, warming the room, but the room was already warm and pleasant.
The fire evidently had not been recently made as was usually the case in a guest room.
The air smelled…alive, as though someone usually inhabited it.
He had told her no one resided there except her.
Then how was it that a fire was laid? Who else stayed in this room?
Was it that woman? Could he do such a thing?
Was she a regular guest in his house? Could he be that kind of man, to be involved with a married woman, the wife of a family friend?
She had heard previously about such situations, but she never would have believed him capable of such a thing.
He was the best of men: honourable and honest. If nothing else, he would never expose his sister and his family to such a scandal.
His sense of duty would forbid it, but what of his heart?
Was that lady still in his heart? She might have been, considering his reaction when her name was mentioned.
Elizabeth knew only too well that Mr Darcy must have been closely acquainted with other women before meeting her.
Moreover, she knew that many gentlemen kept mistresses or visited ‘special places’ on occasion.
Though she did not want to allow her imagination to picture Mr Darcy doing so, she realised that it was a strong possibility.
The thought of another woman in his arms hurt more than she could have imagined; the pain of it was unbearable.
The thought of another woman in his heart, in his thoughts, or in his dreams was even worse.
She did not doubt his love or his desire to marry her. All his words, embraces, caresses, and kisses made her believe with all her heart and beyond any doubt that she was the only one who mattered to him—the only woman he had ever loved or wanted.
‘My heart never spoke until I met you.’
‘I never desired to kiss a woman before.’
He never would have said those words if he had not meant them. His professions of love were true; her own heart could testify to his sincerity. But what was this other woman to him?
She closed her eyes, trying to remember the former Miss Alton when she still performed.
She had made a stunning debut. She took possession of the stage from the first moment she set foot on it.
Every performance brought ovations, and after each performance, there were throngs of people waiting for her.
How could a man not admire such a woman?
Could a man—could Mr Darcy—love two women at the same time?
She wrapped the covers around her and hugged her knees to her chest, but the pain would not go away.
Her soul had fallen into a deep, dark hole.
She was alone, and she was afraid of remaining alone without what mattered most to her.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting her pillow, until she finally fell asleep.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly and looked around the room, trying to understand where she was. She recognised the surroundings, and the memory struck her. The pain instantly returned. She climbed out of bed, keeping the counterpane wrapped around her.
Without the support of the pillow, her head began to spin, and she felt herself fall for what seemed like forever, finally landing, not on the floor, but in his arms.
“Elizabeth!”
Still not certain whether she was dreaming, she let him guide her to the armchair near the fire. His arms withdrew from around her, and he settled himself on a chair in front of her.
“Elizabeth, what is the matter? Are you still unwell? I shall call for the doctor.”
“No! No…there is no need. There is nothing wrong with me except that I am tired. I must return home. Where are Lady Ellen and Jane? And Becky?”
“Lady Matlock returned to her house. Your sister is having tea with Mr Bingley and Mrs Annesley. Becky amused herself for a while and fell asleep half an hour ago on Georgiana’s pillow. I suspect they will both sleep for a couple of hours.”
“Are Jane and Mr Bingley aware that you are here?”
“Yes.”
“Yes? What must Mr Bingley think of me? What about Mrs Annesley?” She attempted to get to her feet, but he pressed her arm gently.
“Do not worry about that, Elizabeth. I only informed Mr Bingley and your sister about my whereabouts. Mrs Annesley knows you are sleeping and that I had to attend to some important letters. I have settled everything.”
“Yes, so it seems. Then again, I am not surprised, sir. You are accustomed to settling things to your liking. It must be very convenient for one to be able to do so anytime he pleases.”
“I do not understand your meaning, but I can see you are angry with me.”
“How very perceptive you are, sir. You astonish me.”
“Elizabeth, please tell me what is bothering you instead of trying to offend me.”
“I would rather not talk about anything at the moment, sir. I think I am entitled to that. After all, you preferred not to talk to me earlier. Indeed, you became very angry because I asked your aunt a simple question.” She bit her lips after the words escaped.
She did not want to provoke that kind of conversation.
She did not feel strong enough to handle such a confrontation.
“I see… So I was correct in my assumption.” His voice was so low that she could barely understand his words. “I was not angry with you. I confess I was displeased but certainly not because you had asked my aunt a question. Then again, I am convinced you know well enough why I was displeased.”
“Indeed I do not, sir. You give me far too much credit.”
He watched her silently for a moment. She was not talking to him; she was fighting with him as she had in their early days.
“Very well then, I shall trust your word and explain to you what upset me. I hope you will then tell me the cause of your distress? I cannot bear to have this misunderstanding between us.”