Page 90 of Bitterness of Spirit

“I shall not have this conversation,” Lady Catherine repeated.

“Did I put you in danger, your ladyship?” Wilson continued, stepping towards her. “You were only twenty-one, but such a wretch! Was I a danger to you? Who asked me to keep her company on long rides? Who invited me on several private interludes, some of them late at night? Who let me believe she carried a genuine affection for me and asked me about the future? Who was engaged to be married and trifled with a poor young man who, like a fool, had lost his heart to her?”

“This is a ridiculous conversation! I do not even recollect what happened twenty-five years ago! What matters is the present! What do you want to leave us in peace, Wilson?” Lady Catherine shouted, avoiding looking at him.

“You do not recollect? What about the night I asked you to marry me? I foolishly thought it was the right thing to do after everything that had occurred between us, and more than once. As a silly young boy, I did not understand back then that I was not even the first one you toyed with for your amusement! So I proposed, and you laughed at me and called me a madman and a tomfool.”

“Stop this! Stop it right now! You have no right to talk of this! I am leaving!” Lady Catherine yelled with a fury that broke her voice.

“What are you implying, Wilson? That my sister seduced you?”

“I am not implying but declaring. Even more so—Anne does not look like either you or Lewis de Bourgh. She has beautiful blue eyes; I wonder who they came from…”

Lady Catherine was almost suffocated with fury. “You should be killed for such impertinence.” She spoke in a low voice full of hatred.

“Really? Will you attempt that again? How laughable! As I look at you, I laugh at my own folly. How could I ever have loved you? How could I have been so incredibly blind to your true character?”

“Wilson, what are you talking about?” the earl asked, dumbfounded.

“Surely you know. It is fortunate that there is no danger of compromising Catherine and her being forced to marry me.” Wilson laughed. “That would have been the most wonderful dream a few years ago and the worst nightmare now.”

Wilson laughed louder then threw himself into an armchair and laughed even more.

The earl and his sister remained still, frozen by the shock, staring at the man.

“You are so pathetic that you waited twenty-five years to hurt me! Of course, you have been a fool! How could you have imagined that you were worth anything at all? I do not wish to see you ever again! I do not want you anywhere near me or my family!”

Wilson suddenly jumped to his feet, shouting so loudly that Elizabeth startled.

“Are you crazy, Catherine? You can demand nothing! You cannot impose your will over me! You cannot prevent my getting the revenge I want! Remember the business you invested in? It was an illegal business. I own your investment! I can ruin you and expose you to the world; you will be in disgrace forever! You cannot make demands! You would do better to crawl before me and beg for mercy! Never disturb me again, you pathetic piece of— Do you remember your words, Cathy? Or should I say—Lady Catherine?!”

The woman took a step backwards. Lord Matlock watched the confrontation—lost, puzzled, defeated.

“This will not end here,” Lady Catherine cried.

“No indeed—prepare for the worst! Now we can fight on equal ground and with equal weapons. No indeed—now all the grounds are favourable to me and all the weapons are to my advantage as I master them much better than you.”

Chapter 22

In the small room, sheltered against the horrible fight, Elizabeth’s hands trembled on Darcy’s arm. She held her breath while her skin turned into goose bumps. She glanced at him and heard a gasp. He was completely pale, and his features were unrecognizable, distorted by a strange grimace. She met his eyes for a brief moment and shivered at the cold sharpness that filled them.

He put his palm over her hands briefly and removed her grasping fingers to free himself. He appeared unwilling to breathe. He leaned towards her and whispered so close to her ears that his lips touched her skin. A quiver shuddered through her body.

She could barely understand as he begged, “Miss Bennet, please stay here. Please do not move.”

She nodded, and he gently pushed her away from the door.

Then he walked forward, stepping so deliberately that the floor squeaked and jolted.

“That was quite a debate. Very proper for illustrious members of the ton,” he uttered.

Three voices cried out at the same time—intrigued, puzzled, or angry.

“Darcy, what on earth are you doing here? Where did you come from?” the earl yelled.

“I was here. Behind that half wall. I was waiting for Mr. Wilson. Imagine my surprise when I saw my closest relatives arrive, and even more so when I heard them argue over such a horrifying tale. I could not miss the chance to hear it through to the end.” His voice was calm and controlled but so heavy and reprimanding that Elizabeth stilled her breathing.

“This is not a discussion we shall carry on further,” Lady Catherine continued in the same arrogant tone. “And none of us shall ever mention it to any living soul! Let us leave now!”