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“No,” Elizabeth said, managing a calm voice. “I am heartily sick of tea. I thank you, Miss Darcy. I do not feel ill. I simply…was not prepared for this news.”
The girl drew back her hand. “Mr. Wickham’s behavior is quite shocking. I am sorry you had to hear that story.”
Oddly, the news of Mr. Darcy’s sentiments may have shaken Elizabeth even more than Mr. Wickham’s perfidy. “I am glad you informed me,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Perhaps you should rest?” the girl asked.
Elizabeth glanced down at her trembling hands. “Yes, perhaps I should.”
“I would like to visit again. If you do not mind?” Miss Darcy asked shyly.
Once she moved past her initial reserve, the girl was pleasant company. Elizabeth could imagine becoming her friend. “Yes, I would like that.”
It would be nice to see a friendly face again after what was sure to be a series of long, sleepless nights.
Chapter Nine
After half an hour of futile efforts to read a book, Elizabeth was forced to concede that rest was not what she needed. She was…dazed, as if she had discovered the color she had known all her life as green was actually yellow or that the disc that rose in the morning was really called the moon. She was disoriented; never before had her own discernment deserted her so completely.
Ashamed of her own lack of judgment and mindful of the need to keep Miss Darcy’s secret, she only told the Gardiners that the sister had pleaded the brother’s case. If only Jane were here! Elizabeth would have gladly confided in her sister.
Her thoughts bounced around inside her head, slipping from wonder at Mr. Darcy to anger at Mr. Wickham to anxiety about what the future held. She did not know what would happen, and worse, she was not sure what she wanted to have happen. It was most unsettling for someone who always prided herself on her clarity of thinking.
What she needed was a walk to clear her mind. There was a park not far from Gracechurch Street where Elizabeth often strolled, but she had not visited it for two days. She donned her walking boots and pelisse—fortunately the weather continued mild—informed her aunt of her plans, and set off at a brisk pace.
After only a few steps, she sensed someone coming up behind her. Turning her head, she found Mr. Darcy. “Would you be so good as to allow me to accompany you on your walk today?” His face was a still mask, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Unbidden, memories arose: the insult at the Meryton assembly, the sneers at Netherfield, the unwanted kiss in the garden--and the astonishing idea that he actually loved Elizabeth. Could Miss Darcy possibly be correct?
“I suppose I cannot prevent you,” she retorted without breaking stride.
Mr. Darcy winced but hurried to match her pace. They were silent until they reached the edge of the park, where Elizabeth slowed to a more leisurely stroll. When it became apparent she would not initiate a conversation, Mr. Darcy finally cleared his throat. “Georgiana was pleased to have the opportunity to meet you.”
Elizabeth stared straight ahead. “She is a most amiable girl.”
“I am pleased you enjoyed each other’s company.” He was silent for a moment. Distant city noises intruded upon Elizabeth’s consciousness, accompanied by the soft scrape of their shoes on the stone pathway. “She was under the impression that you took her story to heart.”
“I did.” Thank goodness they were walking, and she need not meet his eyes! “It pains me that I was so deceived as to Mr. Wickham’s character.”
His eyes were fixed on the pathway. “I am sorry to be the occasion of any pain.”
“It is preferable to ignorance.”
“Do you understand now the reasons for my actions yesterday?”
Elizabeth stumbled and almost fell but caught herself before Mr. Darcy’s assistance was necessary. “I understand why you believed you needed to prevent my engagement to Mr. Wickham.” The memory of that shameful event brought heat to her face. “But I do not see the necessity for taking such inapprop
riate actions,” she snapped.
Mr. Darcy recoiled at the vehemence of her reaction. “I did not believe— I thought I must—” He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and adjusted his hat nervously. “I cannot apologize enough for my untoward behavior. The truth, Miss Bennet, is that I panicked. I was not thinking rationally, and I can only beg you to forgive me.”
This confession left her speechless. How had such a proud man left himself so vulnerable to her scorn and rejection? Could she trust in his sincerity? She stopped abruptly to scrutinize his face, but she saw no guile in his countenance. His brow furrowed as he withstood her examination. “Panicked?” she echoed.
He fidgeted, yanking at the ruffles at his cuff as if they were responsible for his current agitation. “I was afraid,” he admitted, his gaze fixed over her shoulder. “I thought you would be lost to me forever.”
What? He actually believed… He truly feared losing me that much? And he willingly confesses it to me? The dazed sensation returned in force.
Despite Miss Darcy’s claim, Elizabeth had not quite credited the idea that he harbored a passionate attachment for her. While it did explain the desperate kiss in the garden, it was difficult to reconcile with all the times he had stared at her in disapproval or made sneering comments. When you loved someone, were you not supposed to be nice to them? Although if she viewed it through a different lens, perhaps…
