IT WAS OVER. Darcy stared at the rows of books that lined the walls of his richly appointed library, but all he saw were Elizabeth’s fine eyes, turned away from him in pity.
… there is a fourth member of our party…
She had found someone else, just as he always knew she would. Someone who did not get tongue-tied when he tried to converse with her. Someone who could fashion a proper proposal without insulting the people she loved.
He took a bitter swallow of his drink. Why had he ever allowed himself to believe her feelings for him had altered? True, she had been kind to him—both in the cottage and afterwards in Town. But why shouldn’t she be kind? They had agreed to put the past behind them. To forge a friendship of sorts.
She had never hinted at wanting anything else. No, it was his own arrogance that allowed him to read more into the situation than was actually there. She had cared for him after the accident as she would have cared for anyone who had been injured. She had made her feelings on marriage perfectly clear when he had offered for her. In that regard, it was evident that nothing had changed.
***
Everything had changed. Since the night at the theater, Elizabeth had relived her encounter with Mr. Darcy and the sophisticated lady on his arm more times than she cared to count. Fingering the embroidery frame resting in her lap, she once again recalled the look on Mr. Darcy’s face when he congratulated her on Lydia’s marriage.
Nausea twisted Elizabeth’s stomach. He knew. Based on his expression, she was certain of it. No wonder she had not heard from him in all the weeks she had been back in Town. Mr. Bingley must have confided in him, and now he wished to have nothing more to do with her. Any small spark of admiration Mr. Darcy still felt for her had clearly been stamped out by Lydia’s folly.
Elizabeth’s eyes burned with the effort of holding back tears and she dipped her gaze as a knock sounded at the drawing room door. Brushing her fingertips along the edges of her lashes, she turned to see the Gardiners’ butler enter the salon.
“Mr. Bennet has arrived, madam,” the servant intoned, and Elizabeth’s head snapped up as her aunt met her gaze with a questioning expression. Elizabeth stood, her embroidery falling to the floor. “Papa? Aunt, were you expecting him?”
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. “No, Lizzy, I was not.” Turning to the butler she added, “Mr. Wright, pray, show him in.”
It was only a moment before Mr. Bennet entered, bowing to his hostess before his eyes found his daughter.
“Papa!” Elizabeth closed the space between them, but drew back when her father stiffened. “What is it? Is someone ill?”
It seemed to take an eternity for her father to answer, and when he did, there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone. “No, Lizzy. Everyone is well. But I have come on an urgent matter. There is something I must speak with you about.”
“Certainly.”
Mrs. Gardiner rose, her gaze shifting between her niece’s worried expression and her brother’s stony stare. “Pray, make yourself at home, Brother. As you are now here to keep Lizzy company, I will check on preparations for the evening meal. You will dine with us, I hope?”
“Yes. I thank you, Madeline. And some time alone with my daughter would be much appreciated.”
As soon as the door closed behind her aunt, Elizabeth spoke. “Papa, I beg you, tell me what is amiss. Is it Jane? Has something happened between her and Mr. Bingley?”
“No, Lizzy, your sister is well, as is Mr. Bingley. As a matter of fact, your brother has accompanied me to Town. He dropped me here on his way to the Hursts’.”
“Then what—”
“I have come here to speak with you about a serious matter that has recently come to my attention. Something that concerns you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes clouded with confusion. She could not for the life of her imagine what would have her usually affable father looking so grave.
Mr. Bennet steepled his fingers, regarding his daughter over the rims of his spectacles. “Now Lizzy,” he finally began, “I am going to ask you a question, and I would like an honest answer.”
“Certainly, Papa. I have always been truthful with you.”
Elizabeth’s father regarded her in silence for several moments. “Perhaps. Though one need not speak a falsehood to lie, my dear. The damage done by a deliberate omission can be every bit as great.”
At her father’s words, Elizabeth felt the first stirrings of comprehension and she briefly looked away. Taking a breath, she answered calmly, “What is it you wish to know? You have my word I will be as honest with you as I am able.”
“Very well.” Mr. Bennet studied his daughter. “Is it true you spent a night alone with Mr. Darcy last autumn?”
Although the question was not entirely unexpected, hearing her father express it in such a cold, hard manner made Elizabeth cringe. Rising, she paced to the window. “Who told you this?”
“It does not signify who told me. I am waiting for your answer, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth turned, squaring her shoulders. “Yes. Although it is not what you seem to assume. I ran into Mr. Darcy in Kent when I was returning to London. Uncle’s carriage had been delayed and I was faced with spending the night in the parlor at the coaching inn as there were no available rooms. Seeing my distress, Mr. Darcy offered to escort me to Town.”
“And?” Mr. Bennet prompted.
“There was an accident. Mr. Darcy was badly injured. We were forced to take shelter in an unoccupied cottage while Mr. Darcy’s footman returned to the inn for help.”
“So, it is true. You were alone with him, just the two of you?” Mr. Bennet scrutinized his daughter, his mouth a hard line. “What were you thinking, Lizzy? I would expect this sort of behavior from Lydia, though I know I am at fault for not restraining her properly. But never from you.”
Elizabeth’s temper flared. “Papa! I do not know what you are suggesting but the situation is completely different. Mr. Darcy was seriously hurt. And even if he were not, he has always behaved in an honorable manner. I am deeply offended, sir, on Mr. Darcy’s behalf as well as my own.”
Taking in the stricken look on his daughter’s face, Mr. Bennet softened his tone. “Forgive me, Lizzy. I do not mean to suggest that you did not use proper judgment, and I agree that Mr. Darcy has always seemed a decent enough fellow. Certainly, that is Bingley’s opinion of him. And I know you claim not to even like the man. But that is not the point! If anyone were to find out about this, you would be ruined, regardless of what actually occurred.”
Elizabeth stalked across the carpet, her agitation growing with every step. “That is why Mr. Darcy and I both agreed it would be best if no one knew. He assured me his staff was to be trusted.”
“Lizzy, come sit down. To my knowledge, Mr. Darcy’s people have revealed nothing. I found out quite by accident. I happened to overhear Mr. Bingley speaking to Jane. They are both quite distraught, thinking they have betrayed your confidence.”
Elizabeth made her way back to the settee, perching lightly on its edge. “Poor Jane. But then you see, if no one else has any knowledge of these events, there can be no need for concern.”
Mr. Bennet sighed. “But I am concerned, Lizzy. If word should get out, I must know the gentleman will do the honorable thing. I must be allowed that assurance.”
A sinking suspicion made Elizabeth’s heart rate escalate as she regarded her father’s somber expression. “Papa, certainly you do not mean to speak to Mr. Darcy about this?”
“That is precisely what I intend to do. I have come to Town for just that purpose.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but Mr. Bennet lifted his palm. “Now Lizzy, I know you would not wish to be forced into marriage. Hopefully it will not come to that. But if it does, I must have Mr. Darcy’s pledge that he will stand by you.” Placing a reassuring arm around his daughter’s shoulders, Mr. Bennet continued, “Come, let us speak no more of this. I have had a long journey and am in need of sustenance. Bingley and I will seek out Mr. Darcy in the morning.”
***
That night, Elizabeth scarcely slept, and when she did, horrible images from the accident haunted her dreams. Rising at first light, she hurried through her toilette, hoping for as much time as possible to reason with her father before his intended departure. But despite her entreaties throughout the course of the morning meal, Mr. Bennet remained unmoved.
“Papa, if you must speak with Mr. Darcy, at least allow me to accompany you,” Elizabeth pleaded, trailing her father to the door.
Mr. Bennet turned, surveying his daughter with a raised brow. “Certainly not. This is no place for you, Lizzy. Mr. Bingley will accompany me.”
Elizabeth’s stomach lurched as Mr. Bennet retrieved his greatcoat and hat from the Gardiners’ butler. She knew Jane’s husband would do well as an intermediary; nevertheless, the thought of her father interrogating Mr. Darcy and insisting upon a marriage... well, it did not bear thinking about! It was one thing when she still had some hope that the gentleman continued to hold her in high esteem, but now, knowing that he had no particular affection for her and no inclination towards marriage—at least not with her as the bride. How would she ever face Mr. Darcy again, knowing he would now find himself honor-bound to marry her against his wishes?
***
Darcy lifted his glass of port, staring at the fire that sizzled and snapped in the iron grate. No matter how hard he tried, he could not shake Elizabeth from his thoughts. Seeing her again at the theater had made him even more aware of the stark contrast between her and the women of the ton—the fashionable set, from which he was expected to choose a wife. He grimaced as he pictured them, hiding behind their disingenuous smiles and their feigned laughter—like so many fine gowns all cut from the same pattern.
But not Elizabeth. No, whatever faults Elizabeth possessed, the one thing that could be said of her was that she was always completely and utterly herself. She did not dissemble and she was unceasingly honest. It was one of the things he loved best about her, yet it also made the feelings she had displayed at the theater all the more difficult to face.
A sharp rap at the library door dragged him from his private reverie. “Come!” he called out, setting down his glass.
The door swung open to reveal a grim-faced Stevens.
“I beg your pardon Mr. Darcy, but you have visitors.”
Darcy tensed, fixing his butler with a hard stare. “I thought I made it clear I was not at home. To anyone.”
“Yes, sir. But it is Mr. Bingley and another gentleman. Mr. Bingley indicated that the matter was urgent.”
Darcy inhaled a deep breath, immediately feeling remorse for snapping at his butler. Although he had asked not to be disturbed, Stevens had been in his employ long enough to know that there were always exceptions to be made, most notably for his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and a few close friends, like Bingley.
Darcy straightened in his chair. He did not recall Bingley mentioning a trip to Town, but he knew for his friend to arrive unannounced the matter must be important. Buttoning his waistcoat, Darcy gave his butler a brief nod. “Very well. You may send them in.”
Bowing, Stevens quit the room, returning moments later with Bingley in tow.
Darcy stood. “Bingley, this is a surprise. I hope nothing is the matter…” his words trailed off as he took in the gentleman standing at his friend’s shoulder. “Mr. Bennet!” Darcy’s countenance paled. “Is someone ill?”
From the doorway Stevens cleared his throat, diverting Darcy’s attention. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
Darcy’s gaze flicked to his butler as he waved him away. “Thank you, no. I will ring if we require anything.”
The servant retreated with a brief bow, closing the heavy door behind him.
Darcy took one uneven step, regarding Bingley who stood just inside the threshold.
“Is it Jane?” he asked before an even more terrifying thought occurred to him, and his blood turned to ice. “Has something happened to Miss Elizabeth?”
Bingley’s eyebrows jumped at his inquiry, but it was Mr. Bennet’s black look that held Darcy’s attention.
Bingley offered an uncertain smile. “No, no. Everyone is well. I beg you to excuse us for calling unannounced, Darcy. It is just… That is, Mr. Bennet wished to have a word.”
Once again, Bingley’s voice faltered and Darcy turned his attention to the older gentleman who had yet to speak.
“Certainly,” Darcy answered. “Pray, sit. Can I offer you a glass of port? Or I would be happy to ring for tea.”
Bingley’s expression brightened at the mention of port, but Mr. Bennet shook his head. “That will not be necessary. What I have to say should not take long.”
Darcy nodded, gesturing towards the sofa and settling back into the armchair he had recently vacated. “Mr. Bennet, how may I be of service?”
Elizabeth’s father studied his host, his gaze coming to rest on Darcy’s leg, which was stretched out upon the ottoman before his chair.
“I see you are still recovering from your injury, Mr. Darcy. A carriage accident, was it not?”
Darcy started, but swiftly composed his features. “Yes,” he answered succinctly.
“And did that not occur in the autumn, on your journey from Kent?” asked Mr. Bennet, raising one eyebrow in an expression very like his daughter. “I believe my Lizzy traveled from there at about the same time.”
Darcy stiffened as Mr. Bennet’s unasked question hovered in the air. “I am afraid I do not take your meaning, sir.” Turning to face his friend, he noted that Bingley was studying the intricate pattern on the carpet.
Mr. Bennet’s expression grew grave. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I will state my question plainly. Was my daughter with you when you traveled from Kent? And did you in fact spend a night unchaperoned with her? I would suggest you think carefully before answering, sir.”
Darcy regarded the older gentleman, his expression rigid. “I have no need to think carefully. Indeed, Miss Bennet was with me. I encountered her at the Bell in Bromley and offered to escort her to Town as her uncle’s carriage had been delayed.”
“Go on.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair, wearily massaging his temples. “The accident occurred about an hour into our journey. Mercifully, Miss Bennet was unharmed; however, I was not so fortunate. The weather was severe, so we were forced to take shelter in a nearby cottage while my footman went for assistance.” After a brief pause he added, “But you seem to know all of this already. Might I ask how you came upon this intelligence?”
Bingley coughed. “I am afraid that is my fault, Darcy. Miss Elizabeth told Jane, and then Jane relayed the story to me. Unfortunately, I made mention of it within Mr. Bennet’s hearing.” Bingley’s shoulders slumped and he once again averted his gaze.
Darcy turned his attention back to Elizabeth’s father. “Does Miss Bennet know?”
“That I am aware of the situation?” Mr. Bennet asked. “She does. I confronted her yesterday and she related a similar tale. What I would like to know, Mr. Darcy, is why I am first hearing of this now, and from someone other than yourself? As her father, did you not think I had a right to know what occurred?”
Darcy narrowed his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was as hard as granite. “What occurred, sir, is that your daughter very likely saved my life. I did not wish to repay her by spreading gossip that would only serve to damage her reputation. If you are insinuating that I compromised Miss Bennet in some way, you are mistaken.”
Bingley slid forward in his seat. “Now, Darcy, no one is saying anything of the sort. We both know you regard Miss Elizabeth almost as a sister. It is only her good name that Mr. Bennet is considering. You have to admit, if word did get out, it would look quite bad.”
Darcy sighed, fixing his gaze on Mr. Bennet. “Forgive me. Naturally I understand your distress, and I apologize for not consulting you on the matter. But I believed this was a decision best left to your daughter. As to our present situation, I do not think there is cause for concern. Only one member of my staff and my personal physician are aware of the circumstances of the accident and I trust their discretion completely. So, unless Bingley opens his mouth again, there is no reason to be worried for Miss Bennet’s reputation.”
Elizabeth’s father frowned. “I hope you are correct, Mr. Darcy, and I see no reason to press the point further at this time. However, I would like your word that if the story does come out, you will behave as a gentleman.”
Darcy did not answer, turning instead to face the fire. Oh, the irony! What he would have given a year ago to be in this predicament. A forced marriage. A guarantee that Elizabeth Bennet would at last be his.
Of course, a year ago he did not know that she despised him.
The last man in the world…
Darcy shook his head, trying to clear away the memory. Then again, that was before the accident. She had been so attentive when they were together at the cottage… But compassion was not love. And he could not forget her behavior the night at the theater. If her heart was engaged elsewhere… The mere thought made Darcy’s insides ache. No, he could never do that to her. He would rather die by slow inches than see her trapped in a marriage not of her choosing.
“Mr. Darcy? What say you, sir?” Mr. Bennet’s voice broke through Darcy’s thoughts and he turned away from the hearth.
“No.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes widened. “Forgive me, I do not understand.”
“Then I shall be more clear. If you are asking me to force your daughter into a marriage she does not desire, the answer is no.”
“You are refusing?”
“Yes.”
“Darcy!” Bingley yelped, jumping to his feet and placing a calming hand on Mr. Bennet’s shoulder as the older gentleman stepped in Darcy’s direction. “It is only a precaution. Of course, none of us expect it shall ever come to pass.”
But Darcy shook his head, turning his full attention back to Elizabeth’s father.
“Mr. Bennet, I will do everything in my power to protect your daughter and to preserve her reputation. On that, I give you my word. But I am sorry. I will not marry her.”
***
He had refused.
The door to Elizabeth’s bedchamber closed with a hollow click and she collapsed against it, borrowing support from the wooden paneling. Sinking to the floor, she stared into the gathering darkness, slowly coming to terms with what she should have realized months ago: Mr. Darcy no longer possessed the feelings he had laid claim to at the parsonage last April. She had been given her chance, and she had thrown it away.
Harsh laughter tickled her throat as she shook her head at her own foolishness. This was her fault, and no one else’s. She had sealed her fate when she refused his proposal. No man, especially not one as proud as Mr. Darcy, would ever offer for the same woman a second time.
A sob slipped from her throat, but despite the grief that twisted her stomach, she knew that her punishment was just. She had sown her bitter oats in resentment and conceit, and now she must reap the consequences.
Struggling to her feet, Elizabeth wrenched her trunk from the foot of her bed, tugging gowns from her wardrobe and tossing them inside. She would leave this place, as soon as may be. Indeed, she could not stay in London another moment—not when she ran the risk of crossing paths with Mr. Darcy; or worse, opening a news-sheet and reading of his betrothal.
Casting about for the remainder of her belongings, Elizabeth’s eyes landed on the bedside table and she quickly crossed the chamber. Reaching out her hand, she snatched up the fine leather volume. Mr. Darcy’s gift. The book she had once believed to be a symbol of his affection and regard.
Suddenly, that gentleman’s somber countenance appeared before her and his voice echoed around the chambers of her mind: Miss Bennet, it is only a book. Even then, he had been attempting to manage her expectations. The book was not some tender token of his esteem, but merely a replacement of her damaged property.
Opening the cover, she glanced down at the inscription on the gilded page: E. BENNET. Even in this, his meaning had been clear—no fond sentiments, no elegant inscription. Not even her full name.
Grasping the volume, she stalked to the hearth. Flames licked at the glossy leather binding as she held the edges above the blaze. Heat seared her skin. Slowly, she peeled her fingers away one by one.
But despite her best intentions, her grip tightened, and she drew her hand away from the fire. No, she could not burn it. No matter the reason, her conscience would never allow it.
Moving to her trunk, Elizabeth shifted her gowns, burying the book beneath the rest of her belongings. She would keep it as a reminder of her own stupidity. And tomorrow she would return to Hertfordshire and begin anew. Time would heal her injured pride, and when next she found herself in Mr. Darcy’s company—as she knew she must—she would greet him with polite civility. Never would he know of her altered feelings or her shattered hopes. Certainly, he was too much of a gentleman to mention her father’s visit, and neither would she. They would simply go on as they had before. In time, she would grow accustomed to a life spent without him. Yes, in time, all would be well.