They disappeared down the staircase, Elizabeth continuing to pepper Mrs. Reynolds with questions about me, but I stayed above.
Despite my letter to her, despite explaining how I would care for her, she thought I only wanted to use her ill. That I was evil. Little did she know, I had no powers, nothing special except a grand, lonely estate and a curse I knew not how to rid.
She needed to know me, know that I was not evil, but that could not happen if I stayed in the shadows.
I would breakfast with her.
I hesitated outside the door. Anxious and frightened in a way I had not been for some time. Or ever, perhaps.
Her voice echoed from the dining room, thanking the servants. Her laugh rang out, and it was a boon on my aching scars. She had been kind to the servants thus far when she could have been angry or demanding. But I knew Elizabeth to always be kind.
She would be kind to me.
I stepped inside.
Her knife clattered onto the table.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice harsher than I intended. I cleared my throat. “I have come to breakfast with you.”
Elizabeth flinched.
Taking my chair, I peered under my hood at her. My fingers tapped on the wood table.
Her eyes narrowed and she pushed her breakfast away.
“Is the food not to your liking?” I asked.
“Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Reynolds had appeared. “Mrs. Darcy, I have brought you more preserves.”
She shook her head. “I am no longer hungry.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Elizabeth’s eyes followed the motion, resting on my hand. My scars.
“It is rude to stare,” I snapped.
Her mouth tightened. She pushed away from the table.
“Wait,” I said, regretting my anger. “I apologize. I only wish to dine with you.”
“Take off your hood.”
I froze.
She moved around the table toward me. I was so surprised, I backed away.
“Show me your face. Take off the cloak.” She reached for me.
“No.” Panic edged my voice, and I recoiled from her.
She stopped and placed her hands on her hips, her chest heaving.
I straightened. And found my own courage. This time, I stepped toward her. “You are my wife. You will not make demands of me.”
Her face flushed. “I feel like your prisoner.”
Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the table, pushing everything from it with a roar. Dishes, candles, Elizabeth’s half-eaten breakfast—all fell to the floor with a loud crash.
I panted for breath. My hands clenched, the scars tightening painfully. My whole body was on fire, made worse because of my outburst. I slowly turned to Elizabeth.
She trembled against the wall and summoned the most unlikely words:
“My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”
All my anger and frustration evaporated. I opened my mouth to apologize.
“You will never be my husband.”
Her words cut into me, more agonizing than any scar, any spell.
She turned smartly on her heel and left me alone.
I destroyed the dining room. Nothing was left standing. Nothing intact. Nothing whole. Including me.
When I calmed, I went in search of Elizabeth.
I found her in her room. My senses enflamed at the sight of her sprawled on the bed, a book in hand, and her fingers absently twirling the curls at her neck.
She looked up when I entered, my face still concealed under my hood. Her face colored at the sight of me. I pushed away the longing that threatened to derail my purpose.
“Get out!”
I bristled. Desire turned to anger. “No.”
“I do not give you permission to enter my room.” She clambered off the bed.
“I do not need your permission!”
She lifted her chin. Her hands gripped her dress. “So, this is how it will be? You have come to . . . to . . .” Tears sprang to her eyes and quivering, she looked away.
Understanding dawned. Such a wretched beginning. I took a breath, willing my anger to evaporate. “No! I came to apologize.”
Her trembling slowed, but still she would not look at me.
“I lost my temper before, and for that, I am sorry.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Elizabeth, you must know . . .” I swallowed. Women had never made me nervous before. But I had never declared myself either. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
She blinked.
“Despite your circumstances, I think you the handsomest, most intelligent woman I have ever . . . encountered. This connection can only benefit your family. I paid your father’s debts.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You will have everything you desire. Clothes, food, a large estate—all to call your own. You will never want for anything nor will your family.”
“Nothing, except free will,” she said quietly.
Her words stung. “Would you have preferred Mr. Collins?”
Her eyes searched for my face, but she could not find it under the hood of my cloak. “How did you know about that?”
“Collins is a toad of a man,” I said. She snorted. “I can give you so much more than him, than any man.” I paced before her. “And I will. You are lucky to be married to such a man as I.”
“Lucky?”
“You must see the great honor I have bestowed upon you by making you the mistress of this estate. I could have chosen any woman from the village for my wife, but the only woman whose love and good opinion I desired was you.”
Her eyes were hard as she said, “In such cases as this, I suppose I should express gratitude, if, in fact, I felt any. But I cannot. I do not.” She exhaled a loud breath. “I am sorry if I have caused pain, but it was unconsciously done.”
I paced. “Is this all the response I am to expect?”
“What would you have me say?” She shook, with nerves or anger, I knew not. “I do not know you. I do not know how you came to choose me, or love me, as you claim. But I despise you for buying me. I despise my parents, too, for—”
“I did not buy you!”
“You just admitted that you did!”
“I sent you a letter. I made an offer of marriage—”
“Which was only accepted due to the money you imparted. My father never would have parted with me for less than a generous sum.”
I moved closer to her, aching to touch her. To feel the warmth of her skin against mine. My fingers reached for her shoulder.
She stepped beyond my reach. “Do not touch me.”
“Elizabeth,” I said, exasperated. “I will not hurt you nor touch you if you do not wish it. Of that I swear.”
As she turned to me, her countenance was sharp but her voice softened. “How can I possibly trust your word? A man who will not even show me his face.”
“You do not want to see my face,” I said gently.
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
“Did we not just establish that I do not trust you?”
Obstinate, headstrong girl! My fear rose at the thought of revealing myself to her but how else could we live together without her trust.
“Very well.”
She looked up in surprise.
Slowly, reluctantly, I ducked my head and lifted the hood from my face. It fell on my shoulders. I inhaled for courage. Then raised my face to meet her eyes.
She gasped.
It was slight, but I heard it all the same.
She lifted her hand toward me then dropped it. She stared at the hideousness before her.
Flipping my hood back over my head, I turned away in shame. I could not bear her gaze.
* * *
Weeks had passed, and she still refused to dine with me. Or be in my presence.
After another lonely dinner, I heard a noise from within my study. The door was aja
r, and I hovered at it, peering inside.
Elizabeth had her back to me, her head bent, studying something intently.
“No,” she said. “No!” Her body shifted, revealing my mirror, my mother’s mirror, in her hands.
“What do you think you are doing?” I roared, bursting into the room. “Put that down at once!” How dare she touch my mother’s mirror! I had given her everything, filled her room with gowns and jewels and mirrors more beautiful than the one she clutched in her hand.
She spun to face me. “This is how . . . ?” Her words stopped me where I stood. “How you knew about Collins, about my parents’ private affairs? About me?” She brandished the mirror as if she would strike me with it. “You have been watching me.”
“You have no right to that mirror!” I declared, my anger erupting. “It is mine!”
“I have no right?” she spat. “You have no right to spy on me, like
some . . . some . . .”
“Give it to me.” I grabbed it, but she would not give way. We tussled, and my cloak fell from my face. I yanked the mirror from her grasp, and she tumbled to the floor. Horrified, I reached for her. “Elizabeth, I—”
On her knees, she looked up at me, her face filled with repugnance. “You disgust me.”
“Do not—”
“You are vile.”
I backed away. “Stop.”
“You have invaded my privacy, watching me while I . . . You are not a man but a loathsome creature.”
“Be silent!” How could she know I never spied on her like that? And yet, she quickly assumed the worst.
She rose to her full height. “You may have forced me into this marriage, but I will never, ever be your partner in it.”
My hands gripped the mirror so hard I was afraid it would shatter. Anger, self-pity, and despair threatened to sink me. Without my strict regulation, I would surely turn into the horror she thought me, and she would witness it all.
“Get out.”
She stilled.
“Get out!” I bellowed into her face.
She fled from the beast she knew me to be. The monster I had become.
* * *
I wished for magic so that I could destroy the study. Pemberley. Myself.
My mother had been gifted with magic, not me. Nor my father. Wickham had it—but my mother refused to guide and teach him any longer once she discovered him meddling in the darker arts. She threw him from the house, barring him from ever returning. But he did return to take his revenge. When he could not take it out on my parents, he unleashed it on me.
He was the monster, and I was the one to pay. If I could have had a normal existence, perhaps I would have met Elizabeth in the village the proper way. We would have talked, courted, become engaged with her father’s permission. She would have loved me.
She would never love me now.
* * *
To my surprise, Elizabeth did not run away. I knew because I watched her in the mirror. She explored Pemberley, she was friendly with my servants, she read books. When she threw on a cloak and stirred outside, I tensed, ready to follow—all the while loathing my insecurity and suspicions. But she never left. She meandered through the grounds, brushing snow from the fountain, snapping a stick off the barren hedge and twirling circles in the air. Then I watched her draw shapes into the snow; as the mirror magnified, I inhaled sharply. She had written: Are you watching me?
I turned the mirror over quickly in my shame. I looked out in the gardens in search of Elizabeth. When I could not find her, I continued my search inside. I wandered the halls, wanting to explain. I would tell her my history. And I needed to apologize.
“Where is your mistress?” but none of the servants knew of her whereabouts. She was nowhere to be found.
“Show me Elizabeth,” I said to the mirror, chagrined that I was exploiting what she reviled.
Elizabeth appeared. Her face was twisted in fear. Tears had frozen on her cheeks. Her hair flew wildly about her head. As the image in the mirror broadened, I could see trees and snow, a dark sky above. She was running, her breath coming in loud gasps.
The view swung wide, the image blurring. It sharpened on a pack of wolves chasing her through the snow.
Elizabeth screamed.
Flinging the mirror aside and grabbing my sword, I was at the stables in an instant. Forgoing the saddle, I threw myself on my horse, Phillippe, following her tracks in the fresh snow. Ignoring the tree branches that snapped at my scars, I spurred the horse on.
I found Elizabeth circled by the pack, waving a branch at the snarling wolves.
I threw myself from the horse directly into the battle. Thundering my rage, I slashed at them. Despite my attack, they did not retreat.
Spinning, I stabbed my sword into fur and sinew. I lashed out with my feet; I tackled and rolled. Teeth snapped at my face, grazed my chest and legs, tore into my arm. Pain had been a companion of mine since the curse, and I embraced it. It could not stop me. Screams pierced the air; I did not know who they belonged to, but I would not, did not stop until the last. Until Elizabeth was safe.
I had slain them all.
My eyes found Elizabeth, willing her to be unharmed.
Her shocked eyes met mine, tears stained her face, her mouth gasping for breath.
I searched for blood on her but saw none. I stepped toward her trembling form.
I thought to comfort her, to assure her that all was well.
Instead, I collapsed to the ground, and the world faded to black around me.
* * *
I woke covered in warmth and thinking of my mother. When my eyes opened, Elizabeth’s face was near to mine.
Blinking sleep away, I sat upright in my bed, blankets piled atop me. A bandage wrapped around my arm, and I could feel others on my legs and chest.
“Elizabeth?”
She had moved away from my bed. Her hands were clasped, her face blank.
“The wolves, and you . . .” I pressed a hand to my temple, a headache blossoming at the base of my neck. “Are you alright? Were you hurt?”
“Not much, no,” she said, her voice filled with hesitation.
“Thank heavens.” I rested my head back on the pillow. “How did I get here?” I could remember nothing but the scene in the woods.
“Your horse is a smart animal.” She fidgeted with the folds of her dress. “It knelt in the snow, and I had to heave you . . . We rode back.”
She had saved me!
“Thank you.”
“Cogsworth and Lumiere carried you to bed,” she continued. “Mrs. Reynolds bandaged you.” She blushed and looked at the floor. “Cogsworth undressed you.”
Had she seen the scars that painted lines over my entire body?
My face was uncovered; I ran my hand down one cheek, the scars pulling painfully. I was shirtless, and the blanket had fallen to my waist when I sat up. I was unused to being so exposed. I tugged the blanket to my neck.
“How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours.”
“Have you eaten?” I did not want her to stay out of duty. I did not want her to leave.
“Yes.”
I stared at her. Why had she not left my room? Pemberley? She could have fled while I was asleep, and no one would have stopped her.
Silence stretched between us until I could no longer bear it.
“Elizabeth—”
“Thank you,” she blurted. Her face flamed again. I glowed seeing the color infuse her cheeks. “For saving my life.”
I paused. “I know you would wish it otherwise, but you are my wife. I will always protect you.”
She looked at her feet. “Who will protect me from you?”
I winced at the heart rending her words induced.
“Elizabeth, please—” My voice willed her to look at me.
Her body stiffened, but her eyes met mine.
“I know my face is abhorrent to you. I know I am the last man in the world whom you ever wished to marry.”
She winced. “But I will never, ever hurt you.”
“So, you say,” she mumbled as she turned back to the door.
I had to prove I was not the beast she imagined. I climbed shakily from the bed, wrapping the bedsheet around my person.
“Wait.”
My legs were stiff and my scars burned as usual, yet the injuries dealt by the wolves were but another throbbing ache atop the rest. I went to my dressing table where my mother’s mirror lay. Cogsworth must have returned it here—he knew how much it meant to me. I traced the silver engravings in the handle, ignoring my reflection. I kissed the rose carved into the top before turning to Elizabeth.
“Here.” I held out the mirror.
She blinked.
“Please, take it. So you will know I do not exploit its power. Perhaps, in time, you will learn to trust me.”
She hesitated a moment before closing the distance and taking the mirror from me. She stared down at it.
“You understand how it works?”
She nodded.
“I am sorry I did not welcome your family at the wedding. I did not want them to see me.”
“My family.”
I failed to discern the emotion in those words, but I said, “I know how important family is. That mirror was my mother’s.”
She finally looked up at me. “I shall cherish it.”
“I know.”
Her eyes moved to my chest.
“I should . . . I need to . . .”
“You should rest.”
Relief and annoyance crossed her face. “As should you. In fact, I think you need it more than me.”
I bowed my head at her. “Yes, madam.”
Before she left, did I imagine the wisp of a smile?
* * *
Elizabeth remained seated when I came to breakfast. She nodded mutely at me when I offered a “good morning.” We breakfasted in silence. But together. At nuncheon, when she joined me again, my heart swelled.
“My family is doing well,” she said. “I have been checking on them in the mirror.”
Smiling, I stared at her across the table as she toyed with her food on her plate.
“Their situation seems to have improved.”
“I am glad of it.” I sipped the wine.
She nodded at her plate and lifted the fork to her delicate mouth. I swallowed as she licked at some morsel on her plump lip.
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 15
