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She glanced up and saw my countenance, and despite her stony reserve and outright hostility every time she was in my presence, she showed her good nature.

“Do not be alarmed. I can see you working your way up to some level of indignation, but it is unnecessary. All is well.”

She still gave absolutely nothing away with her expression, but I was relieved she at least had enough concern to notice.

We amused ourselves with the commonplaces for a few minutes. I complimented her on the quality of the meal, and truth be told, I was not exaggerating. Everything was done to perfection, and it caused me to wonder when I lost the capacity to enjoy the simple pleasure of a plain meal, well prepared. I thought of the agony I went through every evening at Rosings and suspected I could be very content spending every night of my visit in the parsonage. Even with her stony countenance and my inability to have even a simple conversation, I thought I could well spend my entire life there if I could simply undo some of the damage that horrid man did.

For all my praise, I suspected Elizabeth looked on my compliments with a sceptical eye. I was never good with idle talk in the first place, and to try it in such a tense situation was beyond me; but I thought we must at least get through the meal before discussing what I had learnt.

Perhaps I could try one of the other topics she once favoured. “Do you still enjoy books?”

“I read much less now that I am not such an idle creature,” she replied pensively. “I do not have access to very many books. I mostly prefer tragedies these days, but do not be distressed about it.”

There appeared to be no safe topic. I thought to try yet again. “Mrs Collin… Miss Benne—”

Once again, I stopped tongue-tied and coloured in embarrassment, then cleared my throat. “What should I call you? I noticed that both of your surnames seem to cause you pain, and I would not wish to do that.”

I saw just a flicker of a reaction, so small I doubted she even knew it was there; but I could not guess what it meant. Except for the moments where her eyes betrayed her a few times on the two occasions we met, she had perhaps the solidest mask I have ever seen. I imagined perhaps there was just a touch of softening in it, but it was more likely I was just seeing what I wanted to.

Elizabeth sat silently for perhaps half a minute, which would have been an eternity in the conversational life of Elizabeth Bennet.

“I am surprised you noticed. Nobody else has. Do not concern yourself. I will have the name Collins for the rest of my life, so I may as well accustom myself to it. However, if it distresses you, feel free to simply call me Elizabeth. As you can see, I am a stranger to propriety these days, and to tell the truth, I do not miss it very much.”

I abandoned all hope of canvassing a safe topic and decided to just follow the conversation as it was. As usual with her, I either said nothing or let my tongue run away without thinking.

“I am surprised you would say that. You will be a respectable widow soon enough. Will you not remarry?”

If I was looking to produce a reaction, I had apparently stumbled on the right question. Her face went rigid, and her hands holding her water glass started to shake before she put it down abruptly and noisily.

She took a deep breath and spoke vehemently. “Never!”

I replied in blind panic.

“Please, Elizabeth, I did not mean to distress you. Pray, forgive me. I am trying my best, but—” I looked at her sheepishly. “—I fear my best is not very good, but I will improve if you give me a chance.”

After a surprisingly short time considering how distressed she was, she had the stony mask back in place, but perhaps we both were starting to realise it would not survive forever.

“It is all right. I have not had a conversation of any real substance with anyone other than Mrs Hewes for a year. Perhaps I lost the skill.”

For a moment, I lost all sense, and reached my hand out to hers, but did nothing but place three fingers lightly on the back of her hand, which was again lying beside her plate. She looked down at it but did not say anything or move her hand away.

I very carefully, but probably unwisely, asked, “Do I ask too much to know why you will not marry?”

She looked at me as if I were a simpleton, or perhaps I read too much in the glance.

She abruptly scraped her chair back several feet.

“Do you truly wish to know, Mr Darcy? You may not like the answer. Is it so important to you?”

I caught the challenge in her eyes, and thought, frankly, that at that point I would accept any reaction at all if it would allow me to stay in her presence longer. Not trusting my voice, which I suspected would be choked with emotion, I simply nodded.

Having no idea what to expect, I was startled out of my wits when she grabbed the sides of her dress and lifted the hem up to her thighs. The scars on her legs shocked me worse than anything I had ever seen. She was not wearing the long stockings that were typical for gentlewomen, so I saw the first bare legs of my life, but it was far from the experience I dreamed of. I was nearly overcome with a dual desire to reach down and offer comfort to those legs with a gentle caress, and the conflicting desire to proceed to the library and finish the job the fever started by killing Mr Collins with my bare hands.

Elizabeth looked confused and distressed, as if she had no idea why she had done such an insane act, with me of all people. Perhaps she thought the shock would finally send me on my way forever, but there was little chance of that. In fact, if she was trying to get rid of me, it was the exact opposite of what she should do.

She whispered, “Tell me, sir. Would you enter an arrangement where your wife could do this to you, and you had no recourse? No protection from the law or the state or church or friends or family? No hint of disapproval from your own father or your wife’s patron? Surrounded by servants afraid to challenge the will of the master for fear of discharge without reference in a world of vindictive gentry, perhaps with a beating of their own, and their own children to feed? Afraid to tell your sisters about it for fear of destroying their own chances to trust their husbands and perhaps find happiness one day? Nothing to prevent another occurrence except perhaps running away to live in poverty and shame, or your own propensity for violence, which is as likely to end with your own head in a noose as not? Would you enter an arrangement where you would be sorely tempted to kill your partner for life just to be done with it?”

She stared at me with an intensity that could burn a tree to the ground, but I did not think it was actually me she saw. Whatever caused her to confide in me, that speech was not for me. I felt certain she was near her breaking point, and needed to tell somebody, and I just happened to be the only convenient target.