“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”
He had seen Elizabeth in a wide variety of social dynamics. He had witnessed her patience and kindness—which he had the utmost reliance upon—strained by the treatment of Miss Bingley and even her own mother. Darcy had never seen Elizabeth speak or act with such intent to wound.
“I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations.”
Darcy remained silent. He could think of nothing that would deserve such treatment. For a fraction of a second, a sudden fear that she knew the truth of his birth danced through his mind. But no, Elizabeth would have no way of knowing and he had previously felt sure she would not care. Of course, that was before he found out how much he had misunderstood her.
“You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you— had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”
Relief filled Darcy as he caught Elizabeth’s words. Her grievance came from his actions to separate her sister from Bingley. He wondered how she could know but then she had always been clever, and he had not been secretive. Now that she was not to be his wife, he was most anxious to keep it concealed from her.
For the next ten or fifteen minutes—Darcy had lost all track of time—their argument continued. He learned how vastly he had misjudged her. All these months he had thought of her with tenderness and love, she had hated his very existence. She blamed him for Bingley not marrying her sister. Elizabeth had listened to Wickham’s lies. Considering what else the man might have told her filled Darcy with dread. He might have probed or told her the truth of that man’s character had she given him an opportunity.
To illustrate that no change in his approach, no well-rehearsed speech would have earned her hand, Elizabeth filleted him with her sharp tongue. “I had not known you a month before I felt you were the last man in the world I could be prevailed upon to marry.”
“You have said,” he began to shout before she had even finished, “quite enough, madam.”
Elizabeth silenced but stared at him defiantly.
“I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been.” He had never said truer words.
Despite his anger, Darcy loved her still. That, combining with his growing shame at his utter misunderstanding of Elizabeth’s estimation of him and the piercing pain of her rejection, pulled him in so many different directions, he did not know whether to yell or bolt. One glance at Elizabeth, however, sealed his actions. Tears shimmered in her eyes. The night had not only affected him. His poor Elizabeth had not desired his attention, and he came barging in and flinging insults mixed with words of love. This on top of her not knowing his real character, because I have hidden my true self, he acknowledged, must be more than even she could bear.
Darcy took a step forward, and Elizabeth’s eyes widened followed by firming her frame. Drawn up to her full height her head could still nestle against his chest. Darcy dropped his voice, “Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
Leaving the parlour and returning to Rosings passed in a daze. Ignoring the calls of his aunt and the others who had noted his entrance, Darcy swiftly sought his chambers. He rang the bell immediately and rifled through his escritoire while he awaited his valet.
“I shall require a supper tray and more writing supplies,” Darcy said when the man appeared.
Although he hardly touched the food, he wrote long into the night making alterations and corrections to his letter. When he had finished, he laid it aside to write a fresh copy in the morning. Stumbling to his bed, he collapsed on it and prayed for no nightmares while knowing he could have no pleasant dreams. Any he had ever had were crushed forever.
Chapter Seven
A little after half past eight the following morning, Darcy walked the grove at Rosings, lashing himself with memories of the last week. He had thought he was courting Elizabeth well. He had believed she perceived his regard and returned it.
Instead of gratitude and embraces last night, he was met with a harsh refusal and unjust accusations. The pain of her rejection would come later. Instead, he used his anger to defend his character. Elizabeth assaulted his honour, and while he had no hopes of earning her love or hand, he would not allow her to think ill of him due to false understanding. She might hate him forever, but it should not be under pretences of Wickham’s lies!
Now, he waited for her to appear as she always had before.
An hour of wandering later, his anger cooled. He noticed the verdure of the park around him and touched a bloom.
Does Elizabeth’s skin feel as soft as this petal? Would her cheeks blush like the pink of this rose when I kissed her the first time?
He had often imagined it. At Netherfield, his attraction to her beauty, unexpected as it was, kept him awake many nights. It was one reason he resisted his feelings. He had believed he was losing his good sense over nothing more than a charming smile and fine eyes. In London, however, the memory of her looks faded and instead her words and expressions were his constant companion.
Dark thoughts flooded his mind, and the sound of crunching leaves filled his ears as a sharp pain stabbed at his hand. Releasing his clenched fist, the now demolished rose fell to the ground, and he lifted his hand to inspect a wound from a thorn. Blood trickled out. Would that his heart would heal as fast as his hand. Cleaning it with a handkerchief, he slid on his leather gloves and rearranged his hat. He looked the part of a perfect gentleman. He well knew his countenance gave little indication of the turmoil warring in his chest. He would never be the man to taste Elizabeth’s cherished lips, that honour would be bestowed on another. By God, though, it would not be George Wickham. She could not possibly favour him still after she read his letter.
Consulting his pocket watch, he realized another hour had passed. Elizabeth intentionally avoided this walk, he was sure of it. Considering he knew not where else to find her, he chose a path which led to the Parsonage. He had no idea how to pass his letter to her, but perhaps Mrs. Collins could be of assistance, or at the very least have an idea of where her friend walked this morning.
As Darcy’s feet carried him, however, he thought less and less of his letter and more of the piercing pain in his heart. The only time he had experienced unconditional love in his life, it had been ripped from him at a tender age. Elizabeth’s refusal struck at the very core of him. Had his actions with Bingley and Wickham’s lies meant anything at all? Or did she merely find him unworthy through and through? Could she sense he was a bastard and his claim to a high standing was mere pretension?
As he exited the grove and rounded a curve, his eyes made out an outline he knew by heart. No other lady walked with such energy and freedom of expression. Elizabeth walked for enjoyment, not for health. She paused at the gate and lingered. Had she seen him? Did she mean to atone for her outburst the night before? Darcy increased his pace, and his long strides carried him closer, closer to her.
His heart nearly fell from his chest when he saw Elizabeth tilt her head and then her body go stiff before she turned from the gate. It was nothing more than his vain wishes that Elizabeth desired to speak with him again, but he could not allow her to leave. His last memory of her could not be the angry looks of last night. He knew her enough that she would be civil to him this morning.
“Eliza—Miss Elizabeth!” he called out.
She turned to face him, and he called again. When she s
lowly walked back to the gate, his heart returned to beating.
“I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you,” he said and extended his letter. “Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?”
Elizabeth took it, seemingly by instinct, but then her eyes flashed in reproach. Fearing she would return the letter unread, Darcy panicked. He had no patience or calmness of mind left to resist his impulses. Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand over the gate, he pulled her forward and kissed her lips before she had time to reprimand him.
He wanted to stay and worship them forever, but he pulled back. Anger shone in her eyes. Instead of satiating his longing or fulfilling this devil-craze in him, the kiss tasted like ashes; the very death of him. With a formal bow, he turned his back and left her.
He was halfway back to the Manor house when he saw Richard.
“Did you return from the Parsonage?” Richard asked.
“No,” was Darcy’s only reply.
“I suppose you mean to call later then, but why not come with me now?”
Darcy cared not if it were the polite thing to do. Although uncertain if Elizabeth would return to the house to read, he had no desire to be in the same building as her again. Had he not humbled himself enough? Now he must perform to society’s niceties while the woman he loved looked upon him with disdain? And for what? His aunt’s ridiculous parson and merchant’s daughter of a wife?
“No. I do not think I will.” He began to push past his cousin when a thought occurred to him. “I cannot explain the particulars of why, but I have written to Miss Bennet the truth of George Wickham’s character. He is known to her, and she believes him a friend. Should she not believe me, I gave her leave to corroborate the information with you.”
Richard’s eyes widened during Darcy’s speech. “What on Earth are you thinking?”
“I believe she will not spread the information. You have sung her praises,” Darcy scowled at Richard’s questioning look, “Do you disagree?”
“No,” Richard shook his head. “I believe her trustworthy.”
“Then oblige me in this. I cannot—” Darcy slammed his jaw together. He would not, could not tell of his rejection to Richard. Or anyone else. Ever. He had coveted Elizabeth’s good opinion and acceptance like he had never craved anything in his life. Feeling too vulnerable with Richard’s penetrating stare, Darcy moved forward.
“Come, Darcy,” Richard said, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Nothing but our aunt pressuring you to marry Anne awaits you inside, and I do not think you need to spend more time there. At least make yourself agreeable to her friends one last time.”
Richard’s words made Darcy turn around to meet his eyes. “What do you know?”
“I know that the only person who could not tell you were smitten with Miss Bennet was the lady herself. I also know you do not pay that sort of attention to a lady for no reason. Nor would you tell me that should Miss Bennet question me about Wickham or Georgiana to answer truthfully if she was inclined to believe you. And I know you would never tell that to a woman you did not esteem greatly and would trust with your sister’s reputation and life. The only lady who could meet all the criteria would be a woman you loved deeply. You were missing for some time last night and are morose today. So, it all rather stacks up.”
Darcy hung his head and exhaled before turning to follow his cousin down the lane. Others in the world saw him as untouchable and charmed. He was the only son of one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom, related to a powerful and prosperous lord, inherited his estate at a young age, blessed with health, good sense, and good looks. He was in no danger of losing his wealth and could have nearly any wife of London stock that he wished. Men wanted to be him. Nay, even more, most men deferred to him. If they knew he had proposed to a country lady with no family or fortune to her name and not only had been soundly refused but felt like a whimpering small boy on the inside from her tongue lashing, they would have more than a hearty laugh at his expense.
Thankfully, Richard did not offer pity but instead provided a battle plan. Yes, he would go to the Parsonage and say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas. He would show Elizabeth her reproofs there were entirely unjust.
“You do not need to stay long. I will make myself available should Miss Bennet have any questions,” Richard said as they neared the house.
Darcy mutely nodded his head. Elizabeth was not present, and he could scarcely sit still for wondering if her delayed appearance was because she was reading his letter and reproaching herself. He said just enough to be considered civil in Mrs. Collins’ drawing room and excused himself early, citing the need to write his steward. Richard stayed behind, good man that he was.
As Darcy finally returned to Rosings, he saw Lady Montague-Churchill’s carriage outside. She was Lady Catherine’s closest friend and nearest neighbour that was a peer. Today was not her usual day for calling, but hopefully, that meant his aunt would be too distracted to drop such large hints that he was expected to marry Anne. Upon entering the house, he was informed by the butler that his aunt requested he see her in the drawing room upon his return. With resignation, he complied.
“Ah, here is Darcy,” she said at his entrance. “I do not think you have seen him in the last few years. He always seems to be out when you visit. You recall he is the same age as your son Matthew.”
“No, I have not seen him since his father died, I believe. Well, he was always a handsome young man,” she said while retrieving spectacles from her reticule. After putting them on her face, she gasped.
“Matilda, what is it? You look as though you have seen a ghost!”
“Oh, nothing is the matter at all,” she said. “If you will beg my pardon, I really cannot stay any longer. You know it is not my usual day for calling anyway,” the lady said and hastily stood.
“Of course, dear. I will give your regards to Anne.”
Lady Montague-Churchill thanked her friend. As she left the room, she peered up at Darcy with reproach in her eyes. Unfortunately, he was too distracted by the strange encounter to think of a reason to return to his chambers and instead had to listen to his aunt extoll for an hour about the expectations of his name. This ranged from being friendlier with her acquaintances to demands of duty in marriage. At last, Richard was heard entering the house and gave Darcy a reprieve.
In the privacy of Darcy’s rooms, Richard declared he waited as long as he could and still Elizabeth had not returned to the Parsonage. Darcy tried to content himself with the fact that he would never see or hear of her again. That night when sleep did not come, he was left with memories of his stolen kiss. He had instantly regretted it, and the memory merged with the strange reaction of Lady Montague-Churchill upon seeing him. For the first, he could only say it was yet another thing Elizabeth could hold against his character and for the second he had no ready explanation other than the strangeness of his aunt’s friends.
A note his aunt received at the breakfast table the next morning changed all of his expectations of never seeing Elizabeth again.
Chapter Eight
“Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Lady Catherine exclaimed as she crushed the note in one hand. “Have you so little respect for my daughter that you would subject her to rumours at her own home?”
“I do not understand you,” he said coldly.
“This,” she waved the offending paper around, “is a note from Mr. Collins! He has heard gossip all over the village this morning that you were seen kissing a young woman yesterday on park grounds. And not just any young woman, one clearly not of servant stature! The townspeople have had no trouble concluding it must be one of Mrs. Collins’ guests. Any idiot can see Miss Lucas is without guise and could never entrap you. It’s that Elizabeth Bennet. I insist you end this dalliance at once!”
“That is quite enough, madam!” Darcy stood and threw his napkin at the table. “I have no connection with Miss Bennet, and she has never behaved in any manner other than as a lady toward me.
She has not entrapped me or used any mean art, unlike some,” he said with a pointed glare at his aunt. “Nor can I understand what my private affairs would mean to Anne.”
“It was designed for you to marry her!” Lady Catherine’s face turned red.
“It was nothing more than the wishes of two sisters. Nothing was arranged by contract or by the desire of the young people in question. Nor would that be common knowledge. Even you would not bandy about such an expectation to the neighbourhood.”
“Anne has waited for you for all these years! Heaven knows what has delayed you but what pleasures men always seek, but how dare you do it right in front of her?”
“Mother,” Anne said forcefully. “I do not desire to wed Fitzwilliam. We have both discussed that long ago.”
Lady Catherine turned a deeper shade of red and stood. Her mouth dropped open, and for a moment Darcy thought she would screech or command her daughter into the obedience of her wishes. Then, unexpectedly, after not finding the sufficient words, she clamped her jaw together and left the room.
“My dear cousin,” Anne said in a sad voice, “you are missing the salient point here. Miss Bennet’s reputation is being impugned and attached to your name. She is likely even now being upbraided by her cousin. Even if it is not true, you must do something.”
Darcy collapsed back in his chair as all residual anger left him in place of concern for Elizabeth’s feelings. What was there to do? He had already offered for her, and she refused him. She had even declared if he were the last man in the world, she would not have him. Once rumours began, things could turn nasty quickly. Already the gossip centred on his kiss. It would easily be construed as Elizabeth attempting to seduce a wealthy man. If she did not marry, others would question not only her intents but her virtue. It would make her undesirable as a wife and yet subject her to dishonourable intentions. He knew the outcome well. It was all the things he worried about should Georgiana’s near elopement ever become known.
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