His sister… “Your trip to Scotland was on her behalf?”
“It was. I—” He broke off to glance about. “I retrieved the remaining record of her ill-conceived union and destroyed it.”
Uncertainty wriggled through Elizabeth. She and Mr. Darcy must be honest with one another if they had any hope of a future after his lies. She also wanted to ensure he truly did know her to be trustworthy, and Miss Darcy’s revelation about the consummation of her union, or lack thereof, was not Elizabeth’s secret to tell. Yet, for Miss Darcy’s sake, Mr. Darcy should know the truth. Elizabeth did not think his sister would ever find the means to tell him.
She drew in a steadying breath. “You should know that their union was never consummated.” Mortified to utter such a thing to him, she dropped her gaze.
“She told you that?”
“They both did, though I did not understand Mr. Wickham’s fevered ramblings until Miss Darcy confessed as much to me as well.” Elizabeth drew in a fortifying breath to add, “He said he loved her too much to do that to her.”
Mr. Darcy rocked back on his heels, digesting that. “Then it is truly as if their union never took place.”
“If that is what your sister wants.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Why would she not want that?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I have no notion what Miss Darcy wants, but I am quite certain about her right to decide.”
Slowly, he nodded. “You are correct. I will present the issue when I reach London.”
“Gently,” Elizabeth advised.
That earned her another nod. “Yes. Gently.”
Elizabeth looked about the denuded garden, feeling suddenly empty. “Very well, then. I accept your apology, Mr. Darcy, and I will give consideration to…” Her throat closed over mention of courting. Of any future between them. “To your wishes.”
“That is all I can ask.” His gaze roamed her face, almost frantic, as if trying to capture her visage.
“Will you come in for tea?” Elizabeth asked, praying he would refuse.
“No. I believe I will depart through the garden, if I may.”
“Certainly.” Elizabeth had no notion what more to say. She knew only that while she did not want him to come in for tea, she didn’t want him to leave either. The idea of not having him as part of her life seemed unfathomable, yet trusting him felt untenable.
Mr. Darcy bowed. “It is my hope you will look upon me more favorably when next we meet.”
Elizabeth wished she could reassure him but was not cruel enough to give him hope.
After studying her for another long moment, he turned away.
She watched him take the path leading to the front of the house, but called, “Mr. Darcy?” before he’d gone more than a few steps. A question remained to which she wanted an answer. One that seemed achingly important.
He turned back, his eyes alight with expectation. “Yes?”
“Why did you insist I call you by your cousin’s surname?”
“Fitzwilliam?”
She nodded.
“Because that is my given name. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Features twisted somewhere between an abashed smile and a grimace, he added, “I could not bear to hear you address me by another man’s name.” With a tip of his hat, he once more turned away.
Elizabeth stared after him long after he disappeared around the corner of the house, arms wrapped about her body to ward off the late November chill. In the garden about her, branches rustled. Dust colored birds hopped about, turning over dead leaves in search of food.
So that had not been a lie, then. Her Fitzwilliam truly was, would always be, Fitzwilliam.
A week after Mr. Darcy’s departure, Elizabeth sat at her dressing table after a luncheon punctuated by Mr. Collins’ sanctimoniousness, staring at an empty sheet of paper. Before he’d departed Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy had sent around a servant with Miss Darcy’s address in London, and assurance that Misses Elizabeth, Catherine, and Lydia, as well as Mary,had permission to write to her. That had greatly pleased Mrs. Bennet, causing her to forgive Elizabeth for permitting Mr. Darcy to depart without tea. A forgiveness Mr. Collins had spoiled, upon learning that Lady Catherine’s nephew had been present, by declaring his crossness with Elizabeth and her mother for not permitting him the opportunity to prevail upon Mr. Darcy to marry Miss de Bourgh. Mr. Collins seemed to feel that would return him to her ladyship’s good graces.
