The back of her head throbbed, threatening to become a headache. Was Elizabeth’s attraction to the man a result of his wealth rather than genuine feelings? She had not loved Mr. Wickham, but she had been willing to marry him because of his many merits. Was she now perceiving merits in Mr. Darcy because she found his fortune attractive? Elizabeth had no desire to form a marital bond under such pretext.
She sipped her cooling—and far too sweet—tea. How did Mr. Darcy so constantly confuse her? Even her own thoughts and desires confounded her.
Perhaps she should not have returned his note unopened. But sending a letter as if they were already engaged had seemed presumptuous on his part. She had been seriously tempted to throw it in the fireplace; however, her uncle had believed she should return it. Now she wished she knew the letter’s contents. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to loosen tense muscles.
Lying in bed would not solve her dilemma. Elizabeth pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I believe I shall take a walk. Perhaps that will clear my head.”
Her aunt stood. “It may do you good. I will leave you to dress.”
But before she reached the door, it opened, and Shaw peered in. “If you please, ma’am, there’s a Miss Darcy here to see Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Miss Darcy?” The girl must be there to plead her brother’s case.
She knew little about Mr. Darcy’s sister other than her age. Mr. Wickham had described her as proud and arrogant, and Elizabeth pictured a younger version of Miss Bingley. The very thought made her head pound.
Aunt Gardiner must have guessed her thoughts from her expression. She pursed her lips. “Hopefully the sister is less difficult than the brother. I shall go down and greet Miss Darcy, so you will have time to dress.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly.
***
Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth was in the Gardiners’ drawing room with Miss Darcy seated opposite her—and yet another cup of tea in front of her. Aunt Gardiner had slipped out of the drawing room to report that the girl was quiet, well-mannered, and exceedingly shy. Despite her nervousness, however, she seemed determined to speak with Elizabeth. Now that Elizabeth was facing the girl, she agreed with her aunt’s assessment; there was no air of arrogance or superiority about her. Why had Mr. Wickham described her otherwise?
Her aunt had offered to remain in the drawing room, but Miss Darcy had appeared more at ease with Elizabeth alone, so she had declined. They exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the upcoming Christmas holiday. Elizabeth learned that most of the Darcys’ relatives were away from town for the Christmas season. She was also informed that Mr. Darcy gave his sister Christmas gifts which were far more than she deserved, and that he was very good at snapdragon while Miss Darcy preferred charades.
The girl’s hands fidgeted with the sash of her dress, and she swallowed frequently. Elizabeth wondered if the girl would ever work up the nerve to move beyond small talk. Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, Miss Darcy seized the opportunity. She lifted her chin and looked Elizabeth in the eye. “I must speak to you about M-Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. She had expected a stalwart defense of Mr. Darcy rather than stories about Mr. Wickham. After all, Miss Darcy must have been quite young when Mr. Wickham had left Pemberley.
Miss Darcy continued without prompting. “I know my brother warned you about Mr. Wickham’s character, but he did not give you specific reasons for caution…out of a sense of delicacy for my feelings.”
Her feelings? How did anything concerning Mr. Wickham affect Miss Darcy?
The girl held herself very still, looking quite small on the upholstered settee. “But I believe you should know the whole story, so you will understand William’s concerns and actions.”
And she proceeded to relate to Elizabeth a most amazing tale of how Mr. Wickham had rejected the living set aside for him in Mr. Darcy’s will. Instead, he had received a payment in cash, which he wasted on a life of idleness and dissipation. Then he had concocted a scheme to seduce and marry Georgiana to gain access to her dowry.
“If William had not arrived at Ramsgate unexpectedly, Mr. Wickham would certainly have persuaded me to elope with him—for I did believe myself in love with him,” Miss Darcy said, her voice trembling a little. “But when my brother turned him away, Mr. Wickham left Ramsgate altogether, and I knew William was right. If he had truly loved me, he would have continued trying to win my hand, or he would have been willing to wait until I was older. But when William opposed the match, he gave up the scheme and went into the army.” Tears glistened in the girl’s eyes. “He never really loved me; it was all playacting.”
Her chest aching in sympathy, Elizabeth was struck by this girl’s courage at relating such a story—which did not show her in a favorable light and could ruin her reputation if generally known—to a complete stranger. Miss Darcy must love her brother very much to take such risks.
Elizabeth crossed the distance between them in two steps and, with a rustle of petticoats, sank onto the settee next to the girl. Miss Darcy had been fumbling about, seeking her handkerchief, so Elizabeth handed the girl hers. She accepted it and gingerly wiped her eyes. “I beg your pardon. I am not usually such a watering pot,” Miss Darcy said with a shaky laugh.
“I can imagine recalling such events is most distressing,” Elizabeth said in a low, soothing voice. She wanted to put her arms around the girl and comfort her, but their brief acquaintance did not allow such liberties.
Miss Darcy peered at Elizabeth through tear-spangled lashes. “Do you believe me?”
Elizabeth blinked several times in rapid succession. Disbelieving the story had not even occurred to her; she had only thought of alleviating the younger woman’s distress. There was no guile or deceit in Miss Darcy’s manner. It was nigh inconceivable that she had concocted such a shameful story.
But if Elizabeth accepted the truth of Miss Darcy’s story, she would be forced to admit that Mr. Wickham had lied to her about Mr. Darcy, his family, and many of his interactions with the man. Furthermore, Mr. Wickham had attempted to take the innocence of a girl of fifteen years for no other reason than his own personal gain.
Elizabeth suddenly felt dizzy, as if she had been spinning in circles and the world swirled around her. This was the man she had believed in. This was the man she had agreed to marry. This was the man she had nearly entrusted with her heart and entire future.
Elizabeth clutched the arm of the settee as if it were the only solid thing in the room. Mr. Darcy had warned her, but she had not credited his words. Confident in her own discernment, she had chosen to believe Mr. Wickham instead. Elizabeth now saw that there were inconsistencies in Mr. Wickham’s accounts of himself that she had willingly ignored. And she had discounted how eager he had been to relay personal stories and to slander Mr. Darcy’s name. Yes, he was at fault, but so was she. He had poured his poison into a willing ear.
Why was I so eager to believe the worst of Mr. Darcy? Just because he had mortified my vanity at the Meryton assembly? How petty her actions appeared to her now. Elizabeth was buffeted by a whirlwind, pulled down and down and unable to know which way was up.
“Y-Yes, of course,” Elizabeth responded to Miss Darcy rather absently, torn between self-recriminations and horror at Mr. Wickham’s behavior. Her hand rose to cover her mouth as if she could somehow reclaim all the terrible things she had said to Mr. Darcy throughout their acquaintance. Miss Darcy had held up a mirror to Elizabeth’s own actions, and Elizabeth did not like her reflection at all. The other woman regarded her with no small alarm; Elizabeth must appear quite pale and agitated.
“You do believe me?” Miss Darcy repeated in a plaintive voice. Her eyes were practically begging Elizabeth.
Elizabeth swallowed, trying to focus on her rather distressed guest. “Yes, Miss Darcy, I do.” She grasped and squeezed the girl’s hand. “I am simply aghast at my own la
ck of judgment.”
Miss Darcy squeezed back. “He deceived me as well, and I knew his character. I had far more reason for suspicion than you.”
“Do not chastise yourself,” Elizabeth told her. “You were very young.”
The girl took Elizabeth’s other hand and turned to face her completely, her eyes shining with hope. “If you believe me, will you accept William’s offer of marriage?”
Taken off guard, Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again. If she believed Miss Darcy and accepted that she had been completely deceived about Mr. Wickham’s character, then Elizabeth must also be prepared to believe that she had been completely wrong in her assessment of Mr. Darcy. This realization plunged her back into the whirlwind. I have been wrong about Mr. Wickham and wrong about Mr. Darcy. What else have I been wrong about? Perhaps Mr. Bingley was secretly tyrannical, and Mr. Collins was Prince Charming. It was almost too much to comprehend.
However, accepting that her opinion of Mr. Darcy was mistaken was not the same thing as wishing to marry the man. After a moment’s reflection, Elizabeth responded slowly to the other woman, “It is not quite that simple…”
“Of course not!” Miss Darcy exclaimed. “He described how he kissed you before your aunt and uncle’s entire household. I would be mortified.” Her eyes were almost as round as her mouth.
Elizabeth simply nodded, viewing these actions in a new light.
“But let me assure you that my brother is the best of men,” Miss Darcy rattled on. “Everyone says so. The servants love him, and he has the happiest tenants in Derbyshire. And, of course, he is a wonderful older brother; sometimes he is kind to me even when I do not deserve it.”
Elizabeth was a little amused at the younger sister singing her brother’s praises. Lydia would certainly never be caught saying such laudatory words about Elizabeth! “It is a complicated situation,” Elizabeth explained. “I did not expect his…proposal.” To put it mildly. “We are not very well acquainted.”
Miss Darcy clasped her hands together as if in supplication. “But you must marry him!”
Bracing herself for another argument about how her reputation had been compromised, Elizabeth reached for her teacup and took a sip to disguise her inevitable wince.
“He is violently in love with you.”
Elizabeth barely managed not to spray tea all over the front of her dress. She set down the cup with shaking hands before replying. Surely Miss Darcy must be wrong. She had misinterpreted her brother’s words. He had compromised Elizabeth to save her from Mr. Wickham, but she had seen no sign of his particular regard for her. “In love…with me? W-Why do you say so?”
“He told me so.”
Perhaps the girl was simply being carried away by her sense of romance. “What did he say?”
“He told me he had admired you since he first saw you in Hertfordshire, and he feared Mr. Wickham would propose to you to get revenge on him. He is always searching for ways to hurt William.”
Elizabeth’s world was turned upside down once again. Mr. Wickham had not proposed because he cared for her, but to get revenge on Mr. Darcy. She had nearly become a tool for his revenge. But such a plot would not succeed if Mr. Darcy did not actually care for Elizabeth. It followed, therefore, that not only did Mr. Darcy have feelings for her but also Mr. Wickham recognized them.
It made sense in a twisted way; many pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She had wondered if Mr. Wickham was truly in love with her but could not conceive another motive for proposing. Her dowry certainly would not entice him.
Mr. Darcy loved her, and Mr. Wickham did not. Have I been wrong in my understanding of everyone’s feelings? Perhaps Jane secretly loathes me, and Miss Bingley actually holds me in the greatest esteem.
“Are you feeling ill?” Miss Darcy asked suddenly. “You have grown quite pale.”
Elizabeth could only imagine.
“Maybe you should drink more tea.” The girl reached for Elizabeth’s teacup.
“No,” Elizabeth said, managing a calm voice. “I am heartily sick of tea. I thank you, Miss Darcy. I do not feel ill. I simply…was not prepared for this news.”
The girl drew back her hand. “Mr. Wickham’s behavior is quite shocking. I am sorry you had to hear that story.”
Oddly, the news of Mr. Darcy’s sentiments may have shaken Elizabeth even more than Mr. Wickham’s perfidy. “I am glad you informed me,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Perhaps you should rest?” the girl asked.
Elizabeth glanced down at her trembling hands. “Yes, perhaps I should.”
“I would like to visit again. If you do not mind?” Miss Darcy asked shyly.
Once she moved past her initial reserve, the girl was pleasant company. Elizabeth could imagine becoming her friend. “Yes, I would like that.”
It would be nice to see a friendly face again after what was sure to be a series of long, sleepless nights.
Chapter Nine
After half an hour of futile efforts to read a book, Elizabeth was forced to concede that rest was not what she needed. She was…dazed, as if she had discovered the color she had known all her life as green was actually yellow or that the disc that rose in the morning was really called the moon. She was disoriented; never before had her own discernment deserted her so completely.
Ashamed of her own lack of judgment and mindful of the need to keep Miss Darcy’s secret, she only told the Gardiners that the sister had pleaded the brother’s case. If only Jane were here! Elizabeth would have gladly confided in her sister.
Her thoughts bounced around inside her head, slipping from wonder at Mr. Darcy to anger at Mr. Wickham to anxiety about what the future held. She did not know what would happen, and worse, she was not sure what she wanted to have happen. It was most unsettling for someone who always prided herself on her clarity of thinking.
What she needed was a walk to clear her mind. There was a park not far from Gracechurch Street where Elizabeth often strolled, but she had not visited it for two days. She donned her walking boots and pelisse—fortunately the weather continued mild—informed her aunt of her plans, and set off at a brisk pace.
After only a few steps, she sensed someone coming up behind her. Turning her head, she found Mr. Darcy. “Would you be so good as to allow me to accompany you on your walk today?” His face was a still mask, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Unbidden, memories arose: the insult at the Meryton assembly, the sneers at Netherfield, the unwanted kiss in the garden--and the astonishing idea that he actually loved Elizabeth. Could Miss Darcy possibly be correct?
“I suppose I cannot prevent you,” she retorted without breaking stride.
Mr. Darcy winced but hurried to match her pace. They were silent until they reached the edge of the park, where Elizabeth slowed to a more leisurely stroll. When it became apparent she would not initiate a conversation, Mr. Darcy finally cleared his throat. “Georgiana was pleased to have the opportunity to meet you.”
Elizabeth stared straight ahead. “She is a most amiable girl.”
“I am pleased you enjoyed each other’s company.” He was silent for a moment. Distant city noises intruded upon Elizabeth’s consciousness, accompanied by the soft scrape of their shoes on the stone pathway. “She was under the impression that you took her story to heart.”
“I did.” Thank goodness they were walking, and she need not meet his eyes! “It pains me that I was so deceived as to Mr. Wickham’s character.”
His eyes were fixed on the pathway. “I am sorry to be the occasion of any pain.”
“It is preferable to ignorance.”
“Do you understand now the reasons for my actions yesterday?”
Elizabeth stumbled and almost fell but caught herself before Mr. Darcy’s assistance was necessary. “I understand why you believed you needed to prevent my engagement to Mr. Wickham.” The memory of that shameful event brought heat to her face. “But I do not see the necessity for taking such inapprop
riate actions,” she snapped.
Mr. Darcy recoiled at the vehemence of her reaction. “I did not believe— I thought I must—” He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and adjusted his hat nervously. “I cannot apologize enough for my untoward behavior. The truth, Miss Bennet, is that I panicked. I was not thinking rationally, and I can only beg you to forgive me.”
This confession left her speechless. How had such a proud man left himself so vulnerable to her scorn and rejection? Could she trust in his sincerity? She stopped abruptly to scrutinize his face, but she saw no guile in his countenance. His brow furrowed as he withstood her examination. “Panicked?” she echoed.
He fidgeted, yanking at the ruffles at his cuff as if they were responsible for his current agitation. “I was afraid,” he admitted, his gaze fixed over her shoulder. “I thought you would be lost to me forever.”
What? He actually believed… He truly feared losing me that much? And he willingly confesses it to me? The dazed sensation returned in force.
Despite Miss Darcy’s claim, Elizabeth had not quite credited the idea that he harbored a passionate attachment for her. While it did explain the desperate kiss in the garden, it was difficult to reconcile with all the times he had stared at her in disapproval or made sneering comments. When you loved someone, were you not supposed to be nice to them? Although if she viewed it through a different lens, perhaps…
Was it possible that he had been staring because he admired her? Or that his comments had been meant to be teasing rather than insulting? Truthfully most of the worst comments had been made by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst; Elizabeth had just assumed he agreed with them.
It was true that he had not avoided her company when she had visited Netherfield. He frequently engaged her in conversation, and he had sought her as a dance partner at the Netherfield ball. Perhaps he did feel enough affection for her…Perhaps he did love her enough that the prospect of her engagement to Mr. Wickham would drive him to desperate action.
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