“What about Papa? He must do something,” Elizabeth cried.
Mrs. Gardiner scanned the letter. “He intends to come to London tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! Not today? ‘Tis scarcely noon,” Elizabeth huffed, her hands balling into fists at her side.
“When Colonel Forster sent word to Longbourn, he offered to meet Mr. Bennet here in London tomorrow, to aid in discovering Lydia and her beau; he does not believe Mr. Wickham intends to elope with her to Scotland.”
Elizabeth gasped, and a wave of dizziness caused her to grip the arm of the sofa with one hand, and her aunt’s arm with the other. “Mr. Wickham?”
She felt a sudden heaviness in the pit of her stomach as she recalled the instinctive repulsion she had experienced toward Mr. Wickham at Mrs. Jenning’s Christmas Eve celebration at Purvis Lodge. She had grown wary of him then for pursuing Mary King – she had borne him no ill will, but she had firmly resolved that she would not allow him to regain her affection when she had just come into possession of a fortune.
“But Lydia… the funds given to Mamma for my younger sisters….”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled tightly, and a dark shadow in her eyes bespoke her silent agreement. She offered the letter to Elizabeth, who was too stunned to take it, and so she laid it open on the table in front of the sofa.
And then the housekeeper announced the arrival of Mr. Darcy. The ladies slowly stood, and Elizabeth felt so keenly aware of the tension and dismay that radiated from them all, as if it were a palpable fog she would be obliged to wade through to reach the man… the man she loved.
“Forgive me for intruding in such a state,” he said gravely. “I must ask for a private audience with Miss Elizabeth.
“Of course,” Mrs. Gardiner said, her manners at once adjusting to accommodate him, and what his request implied. “It is so good to see you, sir. Jane is recovering – you must have heard of it from Lady Matilda. I meant to go look in on my niece; I shall go upstairs for a quarter hour, and then return, and we can all take tea.”
Mrs. Gardiner excused herself, turning back to look over her shoulder and subtly reminding Elizabeth to smile, and then she closed the door as she left the room. Elizabeth remainedrooted in place, her heart beating wildly and her mind suddenly blank. She knew in her heart that he was about to propose, but she could not have given him her own first name if he had asked it of her in that moment.
“Mr. Darcy….”
“Elizabeth.” He bowed and then stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but just out of reach. He was breathing heavily, and his appearance was not exactly disheveled, but somehow less tidy than she had ever seen him.
“Did you run here? Is something the matter?”
He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing out a heavy sigh. “I had to see you at once. I hardly knew what I was about; Bellamy said he had given up on courting your sister, that he found another lady of the house more suited to him, and I found myself running mad – actually running through Mayfair to throw myself upon your mercy and beg you to choose me.”
Elizabeth gaped at him, her eyebrows raised impossibly high as her jaw hung agape at his declaration. She could make no sense of it at all.
Mr. Darcy took a step closer. “Perhaps he has more to offer, but I cannot think such things would influence you – I refuse to believe you would be swayed by such interests – but he is a good man, his manner is more open and engaging.Hewould not require your instruction in teasing and mischief to be agreeable, but neither would he worship you, venerate your flaws and your perfections alike. What he has belatedly become aware of has tormented me from the earliest moments of our acquaintance. I have loved you since Hertfordshire, Elizabeth, and since your coming to London I have been of the immutable conviction that I cannot live without you.”
Elizabeth hugged herself and swayed a little, feeling as if her head had floated up off her neck. She had never heardhim make such a lengthy speech, and certainly never with such passion. But something felt horribly wrong – and then she began to laugh, wild and unfettered laughter that scarcely sounded recognizable to her. She held her sides as she sank down onto the sofa, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“The viscount had better realize he is perfect formy aunt, you darling, raving madman,” she cried, extending her hand and beckoning for him to sit beside her. She began to lean back against the sofa, against the soft, plush cushions, but as her eyes slid shut she instantly jerked forward, blinking rapidly.
Mr. Darcy took her hand in his as he sat beside her. “Your aunt – of course. Gads, they speak of nothing but their children!”
Elizabeth burst into another fit of feral laughter. “They really do! But it is sweet, and they have both suffered.” Still she chortled, unable to settle herself. “As if I should make such a choice based solely on who proposed to me first. It is too absurd! But – wait – Mr. Darcy, are you proposing to me?”
Mr. Darcy sat up straighter, looking almost offended. “Elizabeth, are you quite well?”
Her laughter only intensified; she was entirely hysterical. She considered his question and shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Her eyes landed on the letter from Longbourn, which lay open on the table before them. Mr. Darcy looked at it, and actually picked it up, his expression hardening. She reached for it, and then stopped herself. Perhaps he ought to know – she would be tainted by Lydia’s folly, and the desperation Mr. Wickham had been driven to.
Her laughter ebbed away, and fury took its place. “I heard the colonel tell you to hunt Mr. Wickham down, as if you had not distressed his circumstances enough when you deprived him of the living that was promised to him. I supposed the colonel drove him out of the regiment in Meryton, and so he pursuedmy sister to the Forsters’ home, thinking to have her share of my family’s fortune. Perhaps you will not want me, if it means you shall be his brother.”
Mr. Darcy looked up from the letter, pain glistening in his eyes. “This is your opinion of me?”
Elizabeth despised herself for wounding him, but the anger that she had already failed once to control now again took hold of her. “My opinion of you! You have insulted me, separated Jane from Mr. Bingley, and then in the face of my awful reprimand you behaved in a way I could scarcely account for. You were so gallant in that, and yet so despicably rigid in your newfound scruples when it came to Edward Ferrars. My opinion – what is my opinion of you? I hardly know! I have loathed you then loved you, yet I blame you as much as I blame that wretched man for making my sister ill. Two days and nights I have not slept or eaten for fear she would perish! And now another of my sisters is in peril and you come to me fearing I should be so fickle in my affections….”
Elizabeth was shouting and then whimpering by the end of her speech, and she covered her face as she burst into tears. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, comforting her with slow, tentative strokes. She wept harder, wept for all the misery her sisters and cousins had endured, and may yet still, until she lost all sense of herself and what had provoked her.
Mr. Darcy moved closer, and she made no argument as he encircled his arms about her. Her cries were hideous, foreign to her own ears, and her body heaved from the force of her outburst, but she clung to him as if his embrace was her very salvation.
