Chapter 1.15 #3
Her mind reeled with the words: she was worth nothing more than to provide an heir for him, and the entire family considered her just that.
After all, did not Lady Stafford say the same thing?
It seemed the most rational explanation for his insisting on marrying her—only she had been a fool to not see it.
For a moment, her reason shyly recollected Georgiana’s words, but she abruptly banished such favourable thoughts, angry with herself for being so easily deceived.
She lay on the bed, staring at the fire, frozen and pale, while tears fell freely down her face, painfully missing someone to really care for her, to hold her hands, and to comfort her turmoil.
∞∞∞
Darcy had spent the entire afternoon in his library, attempting to read though he could not put away the feeling that something troubled Elizabeth greatly.
He questioned Georgiana, but she pretended ignorance of his meaning.
He was not deceived by his young sister but decided not to insist further as he was content to see her protecting Elizabeth’s privacy.
As the afternoon progressed, Mrs Annesley informed him that his sister would stay in her room and read for a few days, and that Mrs Darcy was keeping her company—and he had inquired no further.
Mrs Annesley also announced that she would have dinner with Georgiana in her room, and he felt a strange sense of excitement at the idea of being for the first time alone with Elizabeth for dinner one week since they wed.
He wondered whether he should ask for a special arrangement, but he discarded the idea immediately. Surely, she would be made uncomfortable by such a spectacle in front of the servants. However, he could invite her to have a glass of wine and talk a little more, only the two of them, after dinner.
He knocked at her door and stopped as he received no answer. Lucky was barking, and he knocked again—then slowly opened the door.
The room was dark, and he first believed that Elizabeth was sleeping, so he attempted to withdraw, closing the door in silence. But Lucky ran to the bed and licked her hand, receiving a caress on his head from his mistress.
Darcy was impelled to step closer. “Elizabeth, forgive me for disturbing you. I was wondering whether you are ready for dinner. Are you well?”
“I am well,” she replied with a weak yet sharp voice. “I am resting a moment longer, and I shall prepare for dinner soon.” He looked at her through the darkness, lit only by the fire. She did not move from the bed as she continued to pet the dog.
Darcy froze, recognising the distress she tried so hard to conceal and wondering what could have happened to put her in such a state.
He knew she had been in a poor mood when she returned home, but she seemed to be much worse now.
She turned her back to him. He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to see her face, hidden against the pillow.
“Elizabeth, what happened? You are not well. Please tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing happened; everything is as it is. I am just… I shall ring for Molly.”
She rose from the bed, avoiding his gaze. He was ready to leave, giving her the privacy she seemed to desire, when his eyes dropped to a piece of paper fallen on the carpet.
“Here—you dropped something. I think it is a letter.”
He took it, handed it to Elizabeth, and startled when she cried, “Give it to me. Do not read it!”
Elizabeth’s reaction disturbed Darcy greatly, and the reason for her distress was obvious.
He was uncertain how to proceed. He did not see well, but he thought the writing seemed familiar.
His heart nearly stopped beating, imagining the letter might have been from Wickham, and he tried to dismiss that troubling thought while speaking further.
“You are so troubled by that letter that you can barely hold your tears. I shall not invade your privacy if the letter is of a personal nature and completely unrelated to me. Is it?”
She remained silent then moved to the window, hiding the letter in her fist.
“So it is related to me. You cannot expect me to ignore it since it affected you so.”
She finally faced him, and the effort of fighting her tears was painful to watch.
“It is from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but I do not want you read it. It is so…”
Elizabeth saw him pale, his eyes and lips narrowing in an anger that twisted his features. He took her hand gently. Her grip was tight, and he slowly opened her hand. She resisted a moment longer but soon gave up and allowed him to take the paper, then sat on the bed, turning away from him.
After a time that seemed like hours, she heard him whispering.
“Oh, Lord, I am so deeply sorry. Please forgive me. I am so very sorry…”
Her tearful eyes turned to him, and with disbelief, she saw him kneel to the floor near the bed. “I do not even know what to say. This is… I never imagined that…”