“I am. Just…hungry,” Darcy said, although he had no appetite. The only thing he wanted was to see Elizabeth, and he was determined to do so, if only to assure himself of her well-being.
And then it struck him. Elizabeth was not unwell; she had remained at the parsonage to give him an opportunity to propose! She knew that he would find a way to go to her. If he did not, she would take it as a sign that he had decided against her.
But I have not, and I shall be with you as soon as possible!
It was thus that, after eating his dinner, he left the house, telling the butler to inform Lady Catherine that he had gone for a walk, should she happen to notice he was missing.
Less than ninety minutes later, he was quickly stamping back to Rosings. How could he have so misjudged Elizabeth Bennet? What had ever possessed him to like her, to think thatshemight be the lady who would comfort and love him through the long years of their lives, thatshemight be the perfect wife for him?
He could still hear her saying, “I have never desired your good opinion.” There was an extra element to it, as if the mocking tone of self-doubt he carried with him had been combined with hers.
She had said that she was indifferent to him, that her feelings had always been against him. “Despite every interaction telling me otherwise, despite the indications of her regard I saw, I was mistaken. No, I should not doubt myself. It isherI should doubt. She knew what she was doing. She decided from the moment we met that she hated me, knew that I liked her, and sought to make me miserable!”
Again, the memory of her words struck him. “I have every reason in the world to think ill of you.” She, the woman he adored, had called him ungentlemanly.
Darcy shook his head, batting at whatever had landed on his cheek—likely a piece of leaf or dirt. Vaguely, he recognised that his hand was wet. Whatever it was had got in his eyes, which stung. His steps slowed, almost as though a strong wind was blowing him backwards, grabbing at his limbs to keep him from reaching the house. He wanted to sink to the ground, sob, andhide from the world, just as he did the day his mother died and then, years later, when his father had. Both times, the blue devils had overtaken him. He felt them all around him currently, which was hardly to be wondered at. He had given his heart to a woman who did not want it.
Although his pace was no faster than that of a snail, he stumbled and nearly fell to his knees. It was as if a thunder clap had exploded in his head. The blue devils. He had not noticed them pestering him in days—had only occasionally experienced that oppressiveness of spirit since arriving in Kent. That was wrong; he had not felt itat allsince learning Elizabeth was in the neighbourhood.He had been miserable enough in the carriage with Fitzwilliam, as his cousin had remarked. But then, as soon as Darcy had seen her…
His head whipped around, and he looked in the direction of the parsonage. His mouth hung open, and his breath became laboured. Could it be? Wasshehis shield against the darkness, the one who, by her mere presence, would remind him of all that was good in the world, all the reasons to be glad for each new day? Of course she was. He had already known that, but had he fully understood how vital she was to his well-being?
Other aspects of their recent interview flashed through his mind like a rapid succession of images. She had been angry that his actions had caused her sister to experience disappointment and misery. He did not question how she knew he had interfered in Bingley’s affairs and kept the couple apart; what mattered was that Elizabeth had been fierce in her defence of Miss Bennet, which served to remind him why he loved her.
Beyond that, her chief charge against him was Wickham. Darcy had known his erstwhile friend was likely to spread his usual lies, but he had not cared. “Because I did not care what anyone in Meryton thought of me. Their opinion was irrelevant, because to me, they did not matter.”
Then he recalled what he had said to her—how he had insulted her family, whom she surely loved as much as he did his own—and that he had struggled with his feelings for her, that he had never wanted to admire her.
“Dear Lord, what have I done?” he cried. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head, whispering ‘No’ over and over again. Letting his hands drop to his sides, he said, “This cannot be the end. I refuse to accept it.”
How could he, when he was certain they belonged together? Elizabeth was the only person who could keep him from a life of unhappiness and loneliness. In return, he would dedicate his life to protecting and loving her, to ensuring she experienced joy every day and had cause to laugh and smile, to always making sure her eyes sparkled with delight.
With long strides, he began to walk back to her, back to the only woman in the world he could ever marry.
As he approached the parsonage, Darcy was relieved to see a light in the window of the parlour. He said a silent prayer that it meant Elizabeth was in the room. Knocking at the door for admittance was impossible; it was enough that he had called on her once.Thathe could say was nothing other than a moment of politeness, a desire to ensure she was well. Thus, he trampled through the garden Mr Collins was so proud of, hoping he was not doing too much damage, and tapped at the window. He had to repeat the action twice more before he saw Elizabeth’s startled face peering around the edge of the curtain. He motioned that she should join him outside, she vigorously shook her head, and it was only after he clasped his hands together in a pleadinggesture and mouthed the word ‘please’ that, with evident reluctance, she nodded.
“I shall return in a moment,” he heard Elizabeth call to the servant. “I do not need anyone to accompany me.”
When she appeared in front of him, he immediately felt easier—despite her raised eyebrows.
He spoke softly to avoid being overheard. “I am very, very sorry for what happened earlier this evening. I cannot apologise enough.”
“Mr Darcy, I do not see any purpose?—”
He touched her arm lightly, instantly withdrawing his hand. “Please, let me speak. I believe there has been a gross misunderstanding between us. I am entirely at fault, yet I beg you to give me an opportunity to explain. Indeed, even if you hate me for the rest of your life, there are several matters we must discuss—for your own well-being and that of your sisters. Will you please meet me tomorrow morning where we can talk freely?”
She opened her mouth as though to speak, but the only sound she made was one of indecision; he could read the same emotion in her eyes. After he repeated his request, and after she examined him for a long moment, she nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “In the grove where you left your horse yesterday morning. I shall be there by eight o’clock or thereabouts.”
“Thank you.” He added as much sincerity to his voice as he could muster despite the way his legs shook and head swam.
Elizabeth gave him a long look, which held no little suspicion, gave a single nod, and walked away.
CHAPTER SIX
Before he completed his greeting the next morning, Elizabeth interjected, “Please say what you will. I do not believe there is anything left for us to speak of, and I would prefer to have this over as quickly as possible.”
It was not an auspicious beginning, and Darcy wished he had not burnt the notes he had written throughout the night. He had been unable to sleep, and knowing how important this conversation was to their future, he had scribbled his thoughts again and again, thinking of everything it was essential he impart to her.
