Chapter 1.25 #2
“If there is a misunderstanding, I am sure it will soon be cleared up, sir.” Her tone was still cold, and he did not fail to notice that she had not promised to reveal the cause of her disquiet.
“Mr Wickham made that reference to the Hothfields yesterday with a very precise purpose. It was another cowardly attack against me as he knew very well that I could not respond to him as he deserved.”
“And why not? As I recall, you have done very well in defending yourself against Mr Wickham’s impertinence before. You even threw him from your carriage if I remember correctly.”
“Because it was a private matter—a very unpleasant one—that involved other people’s reputations as well as my own. I could not expose them by publicly arguing with Mr Wickham over their past affairs.”
“I see…I noticed your strong reaction at the mere mention of the matter.”
“You know me well enough to notice my discomfort. But his comment, not your question, was the reason for my displeasure. Earlier, as we walked in the park, you tried to bring up the topic in our conversation, did you not? But you did not really ask me, you merely made a reference to Wickham and his opinions.”
“I did. I apologise if my curiosity caused you discomfort. I never could have imagined that an inquiry about Lord and Lady Hothfield could give rise to your anger. Are you holding yourself personally responsible for protecting them?” It took all of her courage to hold his gaze and appear calm.
“I certainly am not responsible for them in any other way than being a close acquaintance who is considerate and willing to protect their privacy.”
“Is it only their privacy you are trying to protect or yours as well?”
He stared into her eyes, searching them in utter surprise, his brow furrowed in wonder and worry. “Elizabeth, what is it that you specifically want to ask me?”
“Apparently, nothing that you are inclined to share with me.” She lowered her eyes, swallowing violently as the lump in her throat stopped her breath. She could feel tears gathering in her eyes.
“I believe that statement is unfair. I dare say there are many things I have shared with you; in truth, I have opened myself to you as I never before have done with anyone. If I choose not to indulge your curiosity once, I do not think I deserve such censure. There are things a man may not want to discuss with his future wife. Though I promise never to lie to you, there are—and probably will be in the future—things I might not want to talk with you about.”
He gently raised her head so he could meet her eyes. He could easily see that she did not agree with him, but he could not allow her to persist in her stubbornness, either. “Elizabeth?”
“Yes, sir. You are correct, of course. You are entitled to choose what you do and do not want to keep secret from me. You may do whatever pleases you. I must beg your forgiveness. I should not have attempted to impose upon your privacy. Now would you be so kind as to allow me some privacy? I am not well.” She rose to her feet and moved away, sitting on a couch with her back to him so she could hide her face, now wet with the tears she could no longer control. She wanted him to leave.
Mr Darcy hurried towards her, surprised and irritated by her seemingly irrational behaviour and her refusal to see the justice of his statements.
Her persistence seemed childish to him. He knew that most men never shared private matters with their wives, even less with their betrothed, and most women never would have dreamed of making such demands of their intended or their husband.
He did not want to yield in this first disagreement as he was certain he was right.
She was a remarkably intelligent woman but passionate in defending her opinion even when she was in the wrong.
It was important that she learn to accept his decisions as a man and as her husband.
Carefully, he moved towards her, his heart melting at the sight of her: burdened by grief, her head down, and her hands slightly trembling in her lap. He had not seen her in such a state since the night of the ball in the Netherfield library.
A sudden icy shiver ran up his spine, and memories—both old and recent—invaded his mind.
Many small things, gestures and words from a night almost two months ago and of that same day, combined in his head.
Everything became painfully clear, and the meaning of her words struck him as he could now understand her deep, hidden grief.
How could he have been so blind and selfish in interpreting her reactions?
He had styled himself as her mind reader but had failed miserably at such an important moment.
He knelt before her and cupped her face in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.
“My love, I was such a fool not to understand the true reason for your torment. It is not Lady Hothfield, but Miss Alton who troubles you, is it not? Wickham told you about her that night at the ball; I am sure of it. Why did you not ask me before?”
His tender and comforting voice wrapped her like a melody, and she finally lifted her eyes to meet his. “You said you did not want to discuss this with me, and you were right. It was not for me to insist—”
“Elizabeth, if I had imagined what was really troubling you, I would not have said that. Pray, tell me: What story did that scoundrel recount?”
She fought to restrain her tears. “He told me about you and Miss Alton. He said that you and she had quite a story a few years ago. At the moment, it did not bother me excessively. I mean…” She felt her face burning with embarrassment and lowered her eyes, too ashamed to hold his, but she continued nonetheless.
“I know that gentlemen sometimes…meet other ladies before they get married and…I mean, I imagined that it was possible that you…”
He sketched a smile, but her embarrassment only grew.
“But, my love, if you were so rational in dealing with Wickham’s story when you first heard about it, why did you let yourself be overwhelmed with distress today?”
She stared deeply into his dark gaze, marvelling that he could not understand such a thing. Did he truly believe she would agree to share his love, caresses, and attention?
“I could accept the fact that Miss Alton was a part of your past. But I could not accept it if she were a part of your present too. I simply cannot bear it. I would rather annul our engagement than be forced to live every day with that burden.”
Darcy withdrew from her, frowning. “Elizabeth, what on earth are you talking about? Are you implying that there is currently a relationship between me and Lady Hothfield?”
“Is there not? Mr Wickham said that—”
“Mr Wickham?! Despite the fact that you know well what kind of man he is, you insist on believing him every time. Will this pattern never end?! It cannot be that you value his opinion, so your opinion of me must be exceedingly low.”
She hurried to protest, but he rose from her side and began to pace the room in a state of agitation she had witnessed before. He finally stopped in front of her, lowering his eyes so he could hold her gaze.
“What pains me most is that you distrusted not only my character but also my love for you; that is more than I can bear.”
His words drained all the blood from her face until she became as pale as he was.
“William, please do not say that. You cannot believe—”
“I do not know what to believe, Elizabeth. Every time a difficult situation arises, you seem inclined to think the worst of me. Apparently, I have not succeeded in redeeming myself in your eyes no matter how hard I have tried—quite the contrary. I now discover that you gave little consequence to everything I told you about my feelings. Have I ever given you reason to suspect that I have an interest in any other woman or that my affection lies elsewhere? Or perhaps you think that as soon as I finish kissing you, I hurry off to kiss another—behind her husband’s back, of course.
Pray tell me, of what other horrible things do you believe me capable?
And would it be useful to defend myself?
Would you believe anything I might tell you?
Is my word any good at all compared to Wickham’s? ”
His voice became stronger, and his face darkened with every word.
His eyes were searching her face with such an expression of hurt and anger that she could not bear it and lowered her gaze again; she desperately wanted to say something…
to do something…but what could be said? What could be done?
She could not fight with him any longer; she had no strength left for that.
She felt empty, tired, and alone—bereft in her loneliness.
It had served neither of them to have such a conversation; it had only pained them more.
He seemed to suffer as much as she did, and she still did not know the truth.
He had not denied or confirmed anything.
She had gained nothing but stood to lose so much.
“I…I should leave. I do not know what to say. I never meant to hurt you, William. And you must know that I never doubted your word. I never doubted what you told me. What you did not tell me pained me more than I could bear. And it is true that I tend to believe the worst…because I am so frightened that I might lose you. I…I should go now.”
Slowly, as though she suddenly aged twenty years, her steps moved to the door. Ceasing to fight the tears rolling down her cheeks, she pressed the door handle and began to open it—the door leading her from their room.