Chapter 2.23 #2
“Sir, Georgiana confessed to me that she felt she had slowly lost your affection. Since last winter, she has noticed you spend less time with her. She thought her company was no longer pleasant to you. And then, last April you removed yourself from her presence permanently. She was certain you were still ashamed of her behaviour…of her attempt to elope. You refused to be seen with her at the opera or theatre; you never kept her company when visiting your relatives. Forgive me; I do not want to pain you, and I would not dare to assume anything, but…I fear there might be some misunderstanding here. I feel that she might have misinterpreted the reason for your…distraction, as I find it difficult to believe that you would maintain any grudge against a sister you love and cherish. But somehow, this is what she feels and…I would not dare to tell you all this, but she is uncertain of your feelings. She does know you love her, and she hopes you have forgiven her, but she is still concerned that the disappointment and shame are not forgotten. It pains me to see her suffering, and I would do anything to release her pain…”
He stopped in front of her; she was sitting, and he was standing —tall, dark, unmoved, struggling to breathe.
Her own breathing was irregular, and she clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. She licked her dry lips and spoke hesitantly.
“Perhaps she should know the truth…about the reason for your distress…to be told it is not her fault. Her suffering should be stopped without delay. She confided so much to me that I feel pained and helpless to keep such a secret from her. If the secret were only mine, I would have confessed it to her while we were still at Longbourn’ but I did not imagine… how could I have?”
Her voice became weaker, and his pacing resumed.
“And pray tell me, Miss Bennet, do you believe my sister would feel better if she knew that her brother offered the the most wretched marriage proposal in the world, was refused in the worst possible manner, and then spent the next month behaving like the most ridiculous fool who ever existed? And that her closest friend was involved? Can you be certain that such an endeavour would be successful?”
His voice bore equal anger and bitterness, and Elizabeth was reminded of the day she appeared at his house, asking for help in finding Lydia.
“I am the last man in the world to share such a story with his sister —or any living creature. I wish nothing more than to forget that day and its consequences. How could I possibly relate it to anyone else? And can you imagine what Georgiana might think of you —how this might harm her and make her lose her barely found tranquillity?”
“Mr. Darcy, I was only suggesting that…I do not know, I might be wrong. I did not think of all this. You might be right. I might have only made things worse. I apologise…I should leave now.”
Elizabeth slowly stepped towards the door, unsteady on her feet.
Her intervention had done more harm than good.
She had betrayed Georgiana and only revived tormenting memories for Darcy —and for her.
His reaction was stronger —in a different and painful way —than she ever imagined.
He had not forgotten or forgiven anything; Georgiana was right about that.
Except for the identity of the event that seemed to remain forever vivid in his mind —on that, the girl’s assumption was wrong.
Elizabeth climbed the stairs to her room and walked along the hall, barely supporting herself, so heavy was the burden his words had put on her shoulders.
How could she free herself from it? His torment was still so strong, so overwhelming, that she was certain he still hated her; she could sense his resentment.
She did not miss his reference to “the last man in the world” that she had thrown in his face.
She closed the door to her chamber and sat by the window, staring outside absently.
Why could he not just put aside what had happened?
She did not expect him to forgive her but to forget or dismiss the memories for his own peace of mind.
What kept his anger alive after six months?
Would it only disappear after six years?
Perhaps not. If nothing else, it was his ego, his pride that did not allow him to move forward.
As these thoughts spun in her mind, she grew angry with herself. How dare she judge him?
It was impertinent to question his reaction when she herself could not forget —for six months —his calling her “tolerable” and refusing to dance with her.
When they met in Kent, she still held a grudge against him.
Yes, there had been other things that contributed to her low opinion, but she had never let go of the recollection from that evening.
She had felt offended and slighted, and her ego and pride had been hurt.
What was she to do now? She raised his ire, but he still refused to make any amends to Georgiana.
She wished to help her friend but only made things worse.
Surely, from now on, he would be even less desirous of seeing her, and he would avoid being in her company —and consequently in his sister’s —as long as she remained at Pemberley.
Might it be better if she returned to Longbourn?