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Never had Rosings felt so far from the parsonage; nor had Darcy’s knees ever felt so weak or his heart pounded so wildly.

His head was spinning, while Elizabeth’s voice sounded again and again — angry, sharp, accusatory. Less than half an hour earlier, he had been hurrying in the opposite direction — to the parsonage, to talk to Elizabeth, to open his heart to her and to offer her his hand in marriage, his heart, his life. He had expected nothing but immediate acceptance and gratitude. Instead, he had received rejection, accusations, hate, and contempt.

For months he had struggled to conceal his feelings for her, being certain that she had guessed his admiration and welcomed it. For as long as he had been convinced, she could not be his choice of wife, he had distanced himself from her to avoid raising any expectations. Then she had happened to be staying with her friend, the former Miss Charlotte Lucas, at the same time he was visiting Rosings, and that coincidence seemed to be a fated sign. Against his judgment, his reason, his concerns, he had listened to the voice of his heart and proposed to her, anticipating a sweet burst of joy, a delightful engagement, and a happy marriage. How could he have been so wrong, so foolish? How could he have misjudged her feelings so utterly and completely? How could he have mistaken the contempt in her eyes for admiration? How could he have judged as teasing something that was just mockery?

He finally reached Rosings and hurried up to his room, while Lady Catherine called out to him. Once inside, he locked the door and demanded his valet inform everybody that he was unwell and would not attend dinner. He was not in the mood for either food or company, but he needed a drink, so he filled a glass with brandy while sinking into an armchair. He felt angry and disappointed with Elizabeth for offending him, but mostly for trusting Wickham.

That she was furious with him for separating Bingley from her sister, he could understand. But he had done it out of kindness for his friend, and he did not regret it.

However, to believe Wickham’s lies and to accuse him of disregarding his father’s dying wish and condemning his childhood companion to poverty — that was outrageous! Perhaps she was no different from all the silly women who had allowed themselves to be deceived by Wickham, after all. Perhaps he had been wrong to admire her and to assume there was more to her than there really was.

Now all was lost, all was gone. He had made a mistake that he would always regret, but fortunately, once he left Kent, he would never see Elizabeth again and would bury that painful memory.

After he emptied his glass, Darcy rang for a servant, requested some food, then filled another glass.

As soon as the servant returned, he ate a little and drank a lot, his anger overwhelming him. His hunger was sated, but instead of calming him, the brandy only increased his restlessness, and the details of his confrontation with Elizabeth returned, vivid, clear, and hurtful.

‘ Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner… ’ she had thrown at him, just before she had called him the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed on to marry. The last — as in the worst man in the world. That was her opinion of him. Like a simpleton, he had considered himself the only man in the world worthy of her affection. How ridiculous was he?

He heard footsteps, and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam entered after knocking a few times.

“Darcy, where have you been? Lady Catherine asked you to join us for a game of cards.” He paused a moment, then continued, “What happened? Are you unwell? Upon my word, you look very ill!”

“I am not unwell, only a headache. Nothing a rest cannot fix.”

“You have always been a poor liar, Darcy. And you rarely have a headache unless something particular causes it.”

“Or perhaps I rarely mention my headaches to you, Cousin, unless you ask particular questions.”

“Ah, you are obviously in a bad mood. My concern clearly irritates you, so I shall not insist further.”

“I apologise. Your concern is appreciated, but indeed I have a headache and am in a bad mood.”

“Then I shall allow you to sleep, and hopefully you will feel better in the morning. Shall we leave the day after tomorrow, as discussed?”

“Yes.”

“Speaking of headaches, Lady Catherine was displeased that Miss Bennet declared she had one too, which prevented her from visiting, and she was even more displeased that you did not join us for dinner for the same reason.”

“Lady Catherine’s displeasure is not my main concern,” Darcy said, and the colonel laughed.

“I am sure of that. I just mentioned it because the reason for both your absences is very much alike. I was surprised since Miss Bennet seemed quite well when I met her earlier today.”

“You saw her earlier?”

“Yes,” the colonel answered. “She was taking a walk, and I kept her company. We had a lovely conversation too.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. We had a very pleasant and lively conversation. We even talked about you.”

“About me?” Darcy repeated.

“Yes. I emphasised your generosity and loyalty, and I illustrated it by mentioning how you protected your friend from an imprudent marriage. I fear Miss Bennet did not seem quite as impressed by that as I expected.”

The colonel was obviously joking, but Darcy frowned.

“You did what? Why? What exactly did you tell her?”

“Darcy, calm down! It was nothing but a light-hearted conversation. Why are you so agitated?”

“I am not agitated,” Darcy answered, immediately checking himself. “I simply wonder about you choosing to share with Miss Bennet a subject I mentioned as being private.”

“I revealed nothing particular as I did not know any details myself. It was as general as a conversation can be, and it was a very brief one since Miss Bennet desired to return to the parsonage shortly afterwards. You have no reason to be upset.”

“I am not.”

“Of course you are. Darcy, your behaviour in regard to Miss Bennet puzzles me. Sometimes you seem to approve of her. At other times you object to everything about her.”

“This time I object to you, not to Miss Bennet, Cousin. But let us end this discussion now. My headache has taken a turn for the worse, and I need to sleep.”

“So I assume a game of cards is out of the question?”

“Absolutely. Tell Lady Catherine I shall see you all tomorrow at breakfast.”

The colonel hesitated, attempted to say something further, then only nodded and left.

Alone, Darcy’s turmoil increased as he had discovered at least one reason for Elizabeth’s rage — the confirmation, from the colonel, of how he had separated Bingley from Jane Bennet. Whilst he could not fault himself for acting for Bingley’s benefit, Darcy could understand Elizabeth’s anger. A marriage between her eldest sister and a rich man like Bingley would certainly solve all the Bennets’ problems. But then, if marriage to a rich man was all the family needed, why had she rejected his marriage proposal? His fortune and situation were far better than Bingley’s. Of course, he would not have allowed the entire Bennet family to disrupt his life, but he would have provided them the means to live in comfort. Obviously, Elizabeth’s contempt for him was stronger than her concern for her family, and that could only have been brought about by her affection for Wickham. And if her affection for that idiot was so strong, she was certainly not worthy of Darcy’s admiration.

The storm of feelings and thoughts, fuelled by plenty of brandy, fed Darcy’s anger and restlessness, and the voices of his relatives, issuing from downstairs, only annoyed him further.

Eventually, silence fell over Rosings Park, and he opened the window widely. The night was warm, yet cloudy, with no stars in the sky.

He lay on the bed and attempted to sleep, with no success; his thoughts roamed out of the open window, towards the parsonage, wondering about Elizabeth. He would return to London in two days’ time and likely never see her again, but he would surely find no peace knowing how poor her opinion of him was. She must know the truth — if only to realise how unfair she had been to him and perhaps to regret her accusations and rejection.

Led by bitterness and resentment, he stood up, paced the room, then pulled out a piece of paper, sat at the table, and began to write as if he were talking to her directly.

Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter…

He kept writing, filling two pages; his hand, guided by hurt pride, was as quick as his tumult, and he wondered whether he had chosen the right words. He paused and pondered whether he should mention Wickham’s attempt to elope with Georgiana, and he finally decided that it must be revealed in order to draw her an accurate image of that wretch. To his disclosure he added a request for her discretion. As angry as he was with her, he did not doubt she would protect Georgiana’s secret. When it was done, he sealed the letter and put it in his pocket. He was uncertain what to do with it and how to give it to her, but he wished to hide it from any prying eyes.

Then he lay down on the bed again, but only for a short time. Restless, he resumed pacing the chamber until suddenly he put his coat on and left the room without even considering where he was going. Once out of doors, he walked through the gardens, then out of the gate into the park; then he stopped, looking about until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Behind him, the light from Rosings’ torches was fading.

He kept walking, without any goal or destination, just to cool his mind and in the hope that the exercise would exhaust him enough to fall asleep. Against his will, he looked towards the parsonage, the place where his hopes had all broken into pieces a few hours earlier. The building was dark and silent, as it should be in the middle of the night. And why would it not be? The Collinses had no reason to be up, and Elizabeth was certainly sleeping soundly, pleased she had been offered the opportunity to offend and accuse him.

He hastened his pace, regretting he had not taken his horse; a long ride in the dark could have been good medicine. The walk was rather efficient too since his mind had cleared of the brandy, but that did not bring him tranquillity — quite the opposite.

He recollected very clearly his quarrel with Elizabeth — his foolish proposal and her hurtful rejection — and anger grew inside him again. A clap of thunder interrupted his musings, and he decided to return. Being caught in the rain was all he needed to complete the worst day of his life. A soft breeze was blowing through the trees, but a different and stronger sound drew his attention.

“Is someone there? Show yourself!” he demanded a few times. Since there was no answer, he stepped towards the sound, and he heard footsteps moving in the opposite direction.

“Is someone there?” he repeated, undecided whether he should pursue whoever it was or simply disregard them.

“It is I, Mr Darcy. I shall return to the parsonage in a moment,” he heard Elizabeth’s soft voice answer, which weakened his knees and gave him shivers.

“Miss Bennet? What on earth are you doing out at this hour? Are you alone?” he asked. Against his better judgment, his feet took him closer to her. In the dark, he could barely distinguish her face.

“I could ask the same of you, Mr Darcy,” she replied boldly.

“Not quite. I am in the grounds of my aunt’s estate. And I am a man.”

“I was not aware that I was not allowed to walk in the park. If this is the case, I have broken the rules several times, as you are well aware.”

“Of course you are allowed to walk in the park, Miss Bennet. Your taunt is not appreciated as my question was born from genuine concern. You may walk whenever you want, wherever you want, and with whoever pleases you.”

“I fail to understand your meaning, Mr Darcy. Your taunt is not appreciated either.”

“I have no expectation that you might appreciate anything I say, Miss Bennet. I shall leave you now before this conversation takes a turn for the worse.” He took a few steps, then turned and suddenly said, with no time to mind his words, “If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you would be interested in reading this letter. If not, you may throw it in the fire.”

She took the letter with obvious surprise, staring at him as he turned again and walked away.

“Mr Darcy, what letter is this? What is it about?” she called after him.

He stopped. “Nothing more than an explanation of my actions that repelled and disgusted you so deeply. I believe it would be fair of you to find out the truth, if you are interested in it.”

“An explanation? Can you not tell me? If there is something to explain, and a truth to be discovered, should we not discuss it?”

“I dare say we have spoken enough for one day, Miss Bennet. Perhaps even for a whole lifetime.”

“Perhaps. But if there is something that needs to be said, why hide behind letters? Are you afraid to be confronted for whatever you have chosen to explain?”

“Are you afraid to read and discover how wrong you have been, Miss Bennet? And perhaps how unwise — I am tempted to say foolish — you were to trust a scoundrel like Wickham, whose main purpose is to deceive silly, na?ve people?”

“Offending someone is the easiest way to justify injustice, Mr Darcy!”

“I second that, Miss Bennet, and it certainly applies to you.”

“You are being rude, sir!”

“You already called my manners ungentlemanlike — calling me rude adds little to your previous offences.”

“If I offended you, it might have been for good reason, Mr Darcy.”

“You offended me because you were charmed by Wickham into believing his lies. I certainly trusted your judgment too much. I never imagined you might be one of the women so easily enamoured by that scoundrel.”

“How dare you!” she replied, her voice now suffocated by apparent anger. “I am certainly not enamoured by anyone! Your actions against Mr Wickham are nothing compared to the pain and grief you caused my sister and probably your friend too, if Mr Bingley is half the man I believed him to be.”

“As I have already told you, I acted for my friend’s benefit. You will find the full explanation in the letter if you care to read it.”

“I shall read it. Not out of consideration for you but for my own peace of mind. I do wish to be fair and to read what you have to say. Whether I shall trust your words is another matter.”

“A wise woman would recognise the truth even if it went against her feelings. If you need further clarification, you may apply to your friend Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“I would rather not involve the colonel in this private and unpleasant matter. I shall read the letter, and if I need further clarification, I expect to receive it from you. I shall be here tomorrow after breakfast.”

Her statement surprised and disconcerted him. Why would she want to meet him again? Was the torture they had already endured not enough for both of them?

“Be it as you wish, Miss Bennet. I shall be here tomorrow morning too.”

“I appreciate your generosity,” she said, and he wondered whether she was mocking him.

“I shall leave you now. It is completely inappropriate for us to be together alone in the middle of the night. If someone saw us, they would consider it a scandalous situation, and God forbid, we might be forced to marry. I am quite certain both of us loathe such a notion.”

She seemed stunned by his remark, and he departed in a hurry.