Chapter Fifteen #2
He grimaced. “I do not know what you mean, madam.”
Elizabeth would have pressed her hands into her face if she were not holding Emily.
“But what else can you think? You are not even wrong. I am mercenary. I ought to despise myself like you despise me. I do despise myself. You are right to not trust me. What have I ever done with respect to you that is worthy of trust?”
She sat down without looking at anyone, unwilling to face either Mr. Darcy or her sister. She pulled Emily close.
“This was a mistake,” Elizabeth said softly.
Poor, poor Emily.
But Elizabeth also knew that she could not bring herself to encourage Mr. Collins to renew his attentions.
“I do not know what you mean,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. “We must speak privately together. No—Papa, stay here. We can go out to the garden to speak. And—”
Mr. Bennet was already struggling to push himself up, and Mr. Bingley instantly hurried to help him.
“I shall see what the rest of the house is doing.” Her father’s face was grave. “Lizzy, I can give you no advice. I only tell you to trust your own judgment and understanding.”
Elizabeth nodded. Her lips were numb. Her hands did not seem quite real. Everything was distant and quite odd.
“Miss Emily, can we play draughts again?” Mr. Bennet said to her. “I would very much like to play another game with you.”
Emily squeezed Elizabeth tighter.
“Please,” Elizabeth said to the girl. “I must talk with your papa for a little, and then—” Her voice caught. She had no business making promises of future happiness to the child. “And then we shall have another tea party with Mr. Nananoo. I shall be a guest, and your papa too.”
The girl grabbed Elizabeth’s face to look directly into her eyes. “You promise?”
“I can at least promise that.”
Emily ran off after Mr. Bennet, who had reached the door. Mr. Darcy helped Jane to rise and follow them.
His face was wan and his movements slow.
Once they were alone, he collapsed into her father’s chair, like his legs could not support him.
“What do you—” He paused. Swallowed. “Elizabeth, I beg you, I spoke in anger. And from fear. I was surprised to see Wickham here, but I should not have spoken with such mistrust. I only wished to know, to be certain, that you had nothing to do with him.”
“You can never have certainty,” Elizabeth replied. “You know that.”
It was a good thing for her to hear herself. She also could never have certainty as to whether she was making the right decision or not.
Mr. Darcy looked different from usual. He had transformed from the violent male animal who had demanded satisfaction from Mr. Wickham and who had promised to put a bullet through his heart. He now was smaller, wounded, and weaker.
Elizabeth forced herself to speak. “It cannot be right to marry without great affection between the parties. It cannot be. I have meant to…sacrifice myself for Jane’s happiness and well-being, but I…you also deserve a marriage in which you love and trust your wife.”
She tried to make her voice tell Mr. Darcy clearly that she would end the engagement. But she could not make the sounds come out.
Mr. Darcy stared at his lap. At the leather document case he had come into the room holding, and that he still held.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Mr. Darcy, you have not said anything. You see that we should not—”
“No.” He looked up at her now, directly. There was something firmer in his eyes again. He looked more like himself. “No.”
She could not meet his gaze, and she looked down.
“Elizabeth, look at me.”
Elizabeth did.
They stared into each other’s eyes. Elizabeth’s heart thumped. It was like it was beginning to beat again. His eyes were warm; they seemed approving. There was a slight smile around the edges.
“I do not think ill of you,” he said. “There are few women who are less mercenary than you are—you insisted on understanding my character before you accepted my proposal. I do not distrust you, not when I am in sound mind—I apologise that the sight of Mr. Wickham made me forget myself. I do not think it will happen again. We will have no discussion of ending this engagement. Marriage to you is what will be best for me, and it is what will be best for you. It will be my duty to care for you and those who belong to you, and I am glad to take on that duty.”
Elizabeth let out a little sigh.
She could not argue with him. She was being stupid, but she desperately did not want to cast herself off from him into the cold world, and it had taken all her strength to say as much as she already had.
She relaxed into her chair. The numbness began to dissolve away.
She pressed a shaky hand against her mouth, and a few tears leaked out.
“You truly do not wish to end the engagement?”
“No. Not at all. We shall marry this evening. And it is wholly reasonable for you to be concerned as to how your future support will be secured if I die. Only a fool would not put some thought towards that, and I am happy that you are not a fool.”
“I did not!” The tears came fast. “I only thought about poor Georgiana and Emily. Especially Emily! You cannot fulfil your duty to your daughter and sister if you die. You see how Emily needs you. I may lose my father today, tomorrow, soon. But I can never lose the twenty years that he raised me and loved me. I have viciousness enough in my soul that I liked the thought that you might kill that scoundrel, but it is not worth the risk.”
He pressed his lips together. He shuddered. “But I must. Surely you see that I must meet him. I have no choice.”
“You heard what my sister said. There is always a choice.”
Mr. Darcy’s face was frozen for a time.
Then he looked deliberately at her and said quietly, “I swear to never punish one of our children because they insist too strongly upon being close to one of us. No matter how much frustration may result from the situation.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth half laughed. “I had forgotten that.”
“I had not. You were right to challenge my pique. I was not in my right mind, and I would have done wrong if I had acted on that anger. And you were correct—Emily does need me. Jove! Why did I need to see Wickham’s face today? I had been so eager to see you.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I would have greatly preferred that he had not visited as well.”
He smiled. “You really were throwing him from the house?”
“That man would not listen. I had already threatened to call a footman to drag him away and had near reached the point when I would have rung for one. He is only a coward when speaking to other men, not with women.”
“I imagine you were then relieved when I arrived.”
“Exceedingly—though matters then became serious in a way that I would have preferred to avoid.”
“I can scarce believe I said so much. Or that Wickham said what he did… Do you wonder at all…?”
Elizabeth blinked. “What? Do I wonder whether you killed Mrs. Darcy? No. Certainly not on his word. But satisfy yourself by bringing suit against him for slander.”
“It is my place to punish him for what he did with Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth, you must tell me when you are frightened, and you must…I know that I am not a man whom you can feel great affection for. I know that I am too reserved, too harsh, and I have learned today that there is violence in me. I know that you would never have chosen to marry me if you had been in a situation where your choice was wholly free. But I shall do what I can. Your well-being is amongst my chief concerns.”
“Why do you think so ill of yourself?” Elizabeth asked.
“You can show ill temper. You were suspicious. You have little patience or regard for social niceties. You are arrogant and you do not like to dance—though you dance elegantly when compelled. But none of that is a reason for you to think that no woman could be fond of you.”
He did not reply.
There was something in his eyes.
Like a wounded animal.
Elizabeth’s heart went out to him. She wanted to embrace him and promise that he was admirable and that he was loved.
She was too shy to reach out and take his hand.
They sat quietly for two minutes.
He said nothing. He gripped the document case tightly with both hands. His knuckles were white.
Elizabeth at last reached out and took his hand.
She squeezed his strong fingers.
He looked at her.
She smiled. “I hold myself to be an excellent judge of character, and I shall trust my own portrait of you, rather than taking the one that you have given to me as the entirety of what ought to be known. You have spoken of your own flaws with as much honesty as you can manage, and you have let me see you as you see yourself, warts and all. That is amongst your chief traits—compulsive honesty.”
“I despise disguise. You do not like it either.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened.
Their eyes held.
A shiver ran down her back; it was a mix of pleasant and terrifying. It was of a wholly different nature from the other wild and unfamiliar sensations that she had experienced in the last hour.
“We ought to return to the others,” she said softly, but her eyes did not turn away from his at all.
“Yes.”
They both rose. As they walked around the desk, their bodies brushed against each other. This was not wholly by accident on Elizabeth’s part, as she had been driven to step closer to him by an impulse she could not understand.
“Oh.” She stepped a little away.
He put a hand on her cheek, and his serious glowing eyes studied hers again.
She leaned into the hand, pressing her face against his warmth.
There was a strong feeling of comfort at his touch, and it drove away the last of the numbness she had felt earlier.
His eyes were so deep.
He kissed her in a soft, exploring way. But this kiss lasted longer than the last.
A soft involuntary little sound came from deep in her throat.
He pressed his soft lips more strongly against hers—and then he pulled away.
His eyes clung to her, and his expression was half confused and half serious.
She smiled at him, suddenly filled with confidence, and she pressed a hand against her lips.