"We should probably talk," he said quietly.
*~~*~~*
As a last resort, he told her the truth, clinging to some deluded hope the truth might make it better. Elizabeth sat calmly in the library and listened for half an hour as he explained he didn't remember what happened in Derby and that he'd never considered Francis might be his until Lillian had said so Christmas morning. That he still had strong doubts. That he hadn't meant to mislead Elizabeth about what happened but she'd misunderstood and he hadn't corrected her. He promised he'd find a nice family to take care of Francis and Elizabeth would never see him again, but he wouldn't have him starve in an orphanage or in the street.
Elizabeth nodded that she understood, excused herself, and went upstairs. He followed her to the bedroom a few minutes later, and he'd realised she was packing.
"Whether he's mine or not," he argued, taking the clothes out of the trunk as soon as she put them in. "He's Anne's nephew. Lady Catherine's grandson. His mother will be dead in a matter of months, weeks, maybe. Do you expect me to just walk away? He's just three years old. He's a slow, helpless child. How can you be so cold?"
"Yes, he is a child," Elizabeth agreed evenly. "But you, Mr. Darcy... I actually don't know who you are anymore."
He hadn't expected Elizabeth to be delighted, but he'd thought she'd understand. He'd just explained that he'd never been unfaithful to her. Francis had been almost a year and a half old when he'd married Elizabeth. He hadn't loved his mother, he hadn't wanted to be with his mother, but that didn't change him being his responsibility.
"You are-" She reached for the knob and he blocked her hand. "Are you serious? You're that angry?"
Her eyes flashed dangerously. Obviously, she was that angry.
"Didn't you hear me?" he insisted. "I don't remember being with Lillian. I can't even swear it really happened but if it did, it happened years ago."
He grabbed her wrist, and they struggled. "Let go of me!" she demanded, but he didn't.
"Just listen! Listen! I've never been unfaithful to you. I've never even wanted to. I didn't tell you about Francis because I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry. I love you. I don't love Lillian. I've never loved her-"
"You lied to me, Mr. Darcy! After what happened, after when you said you wish for me to trust you again, you weren't honest with me! And it hurts. And I don't want to look at you never again!" She cried with fury. She jerked out of his grasp and tried to open the door again. In desperation, he grabbed both her wrists and pushed her back against the wall, holding her against it.
"Stop it! Listen to me! Forgive me I lied, but I love-," he abruptly let go of her hands and stepped back. "Do you want to leave me? And what will you do? Where will you go? Where-"
"I have a family. Maybe this is a good time for me to visit them."
"Elizabeth, they had never responded to the letters you sent to them, how can you know they would want you back, how do you know-" He stopped realising what he just said.
"What?" She whispered uncertainly of words she just heard. "What did you say?"
"Elizabeth, I-"
"How do you know about it? How do you know about the letters? I have never told you anything about the letters! How?" She asked unexpectedly calmly. The single tear left her left eye. "How?" Her forehead creased, and she sniffed as she struggled not to cry but her tears were leaving her eyes, anyway. Even when Mr. Daniels left her alone, when his servants left her too, she never felt so invulnerable, lonely and hurt. And she knew she couldn't leave Mr. Darcy because she depended on him. And she had two little daughters to think of.
"Please, leave me alone." She said through the tears.
"Elizabeth-"
"Please Mr. Darcy, just leave me alone. I hate you enough to not want to look at you. So just get out!" She cried out the last words and set on the bed with the face in her hands.
He heard the beginning of a sob, and then carefully controlled silence. He knew Elizabeth. If it killed her, she wouldn't bawl in front of him. But she wanted. She was on the edge. So he left her alone.
He stepped back, leaning against the bedroom door on the other side. He wiped his nose on his sleeve repeatedly and focused on the ceiling. So he had the second chance and he just threw it away completely.
Chapter 11
“True love is like ghosts
Which many believe in,
But few have seen.”
- François de La Rochefoucauld
Follow your heart, wise men said.
When he was sixteen, his heart said Anne, much to everyone's approval. She was his cousin, his best friend, and his confidant. Their marriage would unite two, big estates. His father was found of her as was his mother. At seventeen, as a boy struggling to find his place in his father's shadow, he'd been grateful he loved a girl who met both his parents' and society's expectations in every way. She was beautiful, and sweet, and in love with him. In seventeen years, she'd demanded so little except care and superficial affection.
When he was twenty-nine, and the world seemed to end, his heart whispered Elizabeth. He'd found her the way a compass finds north - a primitive, mysterious pull from a force he couldn't understand or control. Inexperienced at true love, he'd confused it for lust and friendship, both of which were safer emotions. Regardless, for the first time in his life, he'd given in and let the tide take him where it would. To his surprise, the sky hadn't fallen, and he'd been happy.
Then Georgiana. His heart told him to keep trying - because she was his little sister. He loved her and he was responsible for her, even if she hated him for everything bad that happened in her life.
Then Lillian. She was his last link to Anne, and he'd tolerated her increasingly erratic behaviour, believing Georgie needed her. His heart told him she loved his sister more than she resented Elizabeth's place in his life and in his bed.
Then Francis. An unwanted bastard child in a sea of unwanted bastard children. His heart ached when he looked at him, not sure what to do except hurt.
Each choice had seemed like the right choice. The only choice, sometimes. Each time, he'd followed his heart, only to realise too late that his heart couldn't read a map.
*~~*~~*
"Where is the footman?" Elizabeth asked, looking displeased to find Darcy outside the chapel, waiting to pick her up after the church service.
Darcy secured the reins on the dash, set the brake, wiped his sweaty palms on his breeches and climbed down. One could sense the tension.
"I sent him away. Let me help you up."
Her posture indicated she'd rather fall to her death than have him lay a hand on her, so he let her climb into the gig by herself. She kept her hands in her lap and her eyes straight ahead as he climbed up.
"How was the sermon?" he asked, searching for something to talk about. He saw her chest rise and fall but she declined to answer. The agreement was that he wouldn't bother her, wouldn't even speak to her. He was breaking it but they couldn't keep living under the same roof and ignoring each other. He couldn't just stand by and wait to see if she will ever talk to him again. If he could just get her to do anything: cry, yell, scream.
"This is not the way home, Mr. Darcy."
"No, it's not," he answered.
"Where are we going?"
"Just a little side trip."
"I would like to go home."
"And I will take you home. I'm just taking another route." She started to say he wasn't even headed in the right direction but he cut her off. "Mrs. Reynolds' youngest sister will probably take Francis. She is running a big home in Chesterfield and I wrote her master. He is a friend of mine."
She continued staring at her hands. "Really?"
He considered his response carefully.
"I want him to be well-taken care of but I don't know I want to see him again. No, I probably won't see him unless I must," he answered honestly.
He watched Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye, trying to see if there was any reaction. She looked up, swallow
ing and turning her head away from him. "Even if he is yours?"
"Jane is mine. Olivia is mine. Francis… He's not mine. Not in the same sense. Even if he's my blood, it frightens me how little I feel for him."
"That does not seem fair."
"Find one thing in this mess that is fair, Elizabeth," he responded, and she didn't answer. "Lillian has syphilis. She must have had it for years telling no one and it's finally killing her. It might be why Francis still doesn’t talk and is slow. But I don't have it. You don't. Olivia doesn't. If I had been with Lillian, four years ago, I would have had it."
"Not always," she said. "I heard-"
"Do you honestly think my luck's that good? Elizabeth, it has spread to her brain. I'm not saying she's a saint but she wouldn't have hurt Georgie. Me maybe, but not her. To tell her Anne is in Hell and that she and I were lovers - Lillian has changed. When I talked to her week ago, she barely knew me. Some daydream she has had about me secretly loving her all these years. It's slowly gotten twisted inside her head until she believed it."
She looked around the landscape.
"Elizabeth, do you believe me?"
"I-I do not know," she said, her voice wavering.
"All right. Fair enough. I just wanted to explain to you the reasons for her behaviour and why I had to take the boy from her. I'll take you home now."
"Where is she now?" She asked suddenly.
"Lillian? I-I sent her to the hospital in London where they can treat syphilis. They will take care of her. She probably will die there." he paused for a moment. "Elizabeth, I love you. Only you. With all my heart and body. There's no one else and certainly not Lillian. Yes, lying to you was wrong, but now I'm telling the truth. And I don't know what else I can say or do to convince you. I knew you'd look at Lillian and see Teresa, look at me and see Mr. Daniels. That's why I didn't tell you the truth. I was trying not to hurt you!"
"Well, you failed," she said coolly.
He swallowed, trying to get the lump in his throat to go down. Her eyes closed and her forehead crinkled like she was about to cry.
"Can you stop horses?" He did as she asked.
She left the gig without the word and started walk slowly. She could see their home in the distance. Then stopped and turned to him. "Do you know, do you know how much I want to believe you? How much I want to believe you are the innocent, flawed, knight-in-shining-armour and this is all just a big misunderstanding?"
"Maybe it is." he noticed the first angry tears spill from the corners of her eyes.
"I married you," she said tearfully. "Not just on paper or in the name. We took vows before the God. I promised: until I died, there would be only you. And you promised the same thing."
"There is only you," he responded loudly, not understanding what she was getting at.
"There was never only me," she shouted back. "There was always someone else. I do matter, Mr. Darcy. If I am your wife, I am supposed to matter."
"You are my wife and of course you matter."
"I do not. Not really. For you, I am just a pleasant option while you wait for a second chance at the life you think you should have had. You are my husband but I was never truly your wife."
"What are you talking about?"
"People die, Mr. Darcy. People we love die. We grieve and after a time we move on with our lives. You don’t because you don't let it. It is safer for you to lie to everyone around you while you are secretly in love with a ghost."
"A ghost? You think I'm still in love with Anne? No, you're wrong. I love you. I never loved Anne the way I love you! And she has been dead for three years."
"And you think you should have died with her," she accused him. "How can you love me? How can you really be my husband? Everyone since Anne has been just passing time. A substitute while you wait for your One True Love. What you do, who you hurt, it doesn’t matter. In fact, I think you'd rather push us away. You let Lillian stay, not for Georgiana but because she looked like Anne. You let her humiliate me and fill Georgiana's head full of horrible ideas… All because was your last link to your dead wife. Everyone else, Georgiana, me, our children, we are just some error of Fate."
"That's not true."
"Oh, is it not? What is it about me that reminds you of Anne? Do I smile like her, move like her, act like her? Make love like her? What is it, Mr. Darcy?"
"I loved Anne, but I was a boy playing at love. We were two children playing at marriage, taking vows with no real understanding of the weight behind the words," he admitted. "I married too young, for the wrong reasons. I had a child before I was finished being one myself. I became a guardian to my sister while I needed someone to guard me. If I was unhappy, it was no one's fault but my own. I loved her and I tried to adore her as much as she adored me. I played my role, supplied my lines, and drifted farther and farther from the person I had always intended to be. I had contented myself with that and you can't know how much that frightened me."
He looked around, afraid of looking in her eyes. He felt her sight on him.
"I promised to love, honour, and cherish Anne, keeping only unto her until death parted us. I did my best to keep that promise. I did my best. But she left. I didn't. I got left behind. Or I felt that way. Suddenly, it was all gone. My world had come to an end." He turned and found the courage to look into his wife’s eyes. They were wet and sad and were watching him. "A man should be careful what he looks for, Elizabeth. One day, you quietly stepped into my path and I can tell you, in all honesty, I was never the same after that. Loving you wasn't a product of reasoning and practical actions, or of loneliness and lust. It just came. It was a truth inside my self. I only had to discover it. I love you. I did then." He exhaled deeply, blowing every bit of air out of his lungs.. "One of the first things that struck me about you was how precious you found life when all I saw around me was ruin. Your pain was no less than mine and in many ways, it was more. Still, you got up at night to watch thunderstorms and hold your baby against your skin in the darkness. You savoured life the way I was afraid to. You were alive while I only existed. You let me love you - body, mind, and soul - when I thought I would never find the energy to do more than playing a role."
Elizabeth was silent. As much as she wanted to say something, she felt a lump in her throat.
"I love you. Only you. Anne is the past. You are the present. You are the future. I feel terrible I lied to you. I was an arrogant and I will try to see it doesn't happen again. But I am also fallible. I make mistakes but I'm trying my damnedest to learn from them."
"I need a time." She whispered after a long silence. He barely heard her.
"I understand."
"But there is still one thing..."
"Yes?"
"How did you know I have never received letters from my family?"
*~~*~~*
He laid on the library floor, fishing blindly underneath the bookshelf for a tail or paw. As he strained to reach another half-inch, Jane stood beside him, sobbing miserably for "Cat. Cat. Cat."
"Almost," he promised breathlessly, expecting his shoulder to come out of joint or his bones to snap. "I almost have him. Al… mo-" He felt kitten fluff and grabbed, only to get a handful of hair, sharp claws, and angry hissing. Darcy cursed and jerked his hand out to examine the scratch.
"Me cat. Cat, Papa! Papa cat," Jane pleaded. "Cat cat cat cat." It was her new favourite word, and she pronounced it like she was a swaying, clattering train, slowly gaining speed.
"I'm trying," he insisted irritably, sucking his knuckle. She didn't look convinced, so he squirmed sideways and tried with his left arm. "Jane, he doesn't want to come out."
"Me cat," she wailed, tears streaming down her face dramatically. "Peas. Cat. Cat cat cat. Cat!"
He sighed in exasperation and continued fishing for the feline. In retrospect, a tiny kitten hadn't been the best Christmas gift for a toddler. For months, Jane had been terrified of the loudmouthed ball of fluff and cried whenever she saw it. Then, suddenly, she insisted on carr
ying it around the house, usually upside down, which the half-grown kitten resisted.
"Me cat!"
"I'm trying," he snapped, which made her cry harder. Behind the bookshelf, the kitten-eyed Darcy and hissed warningly.
"Do you want me to get him out?" Georgiana's voice asked.
"I'll get him," Darcy muttered, grabbing again and this time getting fangs through the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. "Damn it! Goddamn stupid cat!"
"Tam it!" Jane repeated disapprovingly and resumed her tearful pleading for, "Cat. Cat cat cat. Papa peas. Me cat. "
Darcy sat up, clutching his newest wound. Georgiana squatted down, waving a long lace. The kitten rolled to his feet and strolled out, meowing longingly. Georgiana handed Jane the lace, and the girl giggled and squealed as the fat grey puffball pranced after her.
Darcy sighed in exasperation, got up and dusted off his backside.
"Elizabeth calls him Pluton," his sister said, sitting on the sofa. "She said not to call him Damnation."
"Tam cat," Darcy responded tiredly.
"I think," Georgiana started uncertainly. "I think Elizabeth's asleep."
In his blend-into-the-shadows way, Georgiana had been silently observing the drama following Francis's arrival. She was a frequent guest in their home and knew everything that was happening here.
"She is asleep. She needs to rest. As we all but Jane won't lie down for her nap. And when I left her with maid, she called for me. I guess I have to stay and wait until she gets tired. I, uh…" A yawn interrupted him, and Darcy rubbed his eyes. Elizabeth wasn't the only one who had slept little.
"I could watch her," Georgiana offered.
"You don't have to. Really, Georgie. I hope her running after the Damnation will tire her off."
"No, I could. You could sleep." Georgiana volunteered and then hesitated before she asked, "Brother?"
"Hmm?"
"What's… Everyone's talking about Francis. And I heard Elizabeth crying. Is she…"
Mr Darcy's Second Chance Page 23
