Page 60 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)
E lizabeth sat contentedly in the morning room at the back of Oakfield.
She loved this room, with its cream-coloured walls and bright yellow touches of warmth.
The view from the window over the park towards the woods was already dear to her.
And she had decided this was the best place for her to work.
And the house was quiet. Beautifully quiet.
Charlotte and Mrs. Bailey had driven to the nearest village to find the haberdashers and Elizabeth was in happy solitude as she spread the account ledgers over the large table, her journal at hand, and she involved herself in the newest plans, her mind racing over many options as always, and enjoying the freedom that privacy gave her, that she had only ever previously known at Gracechurch Street.
She was startled at the sudden knock at the door; she was not expecting anyone. Hastily she began to close the ledgers — and her journal; that must be first.
But the door opened, and the footman announced the last man she expected. “Mr. Darcy, ma’am.”
Why have I not made it clear to the staff that visitors must be shown to the drawing room, and not in here? And certainly not without me saying they can enter?
She stepped in front of the table, her heart racing. Mr. Darcy. His tall, lean figure, impeccably dressed, loomed behind the footman, his manner intensely taut, controlled, his expression grave and distant.
He stepped forward, and she nodded at the footman. What was done was done, and she would learn from it for the future. The footman withdrew and closed the door. For an instant, she wondered whether to call a maid to chaperone, but dismissed it in the same thought. She had nothing to fear from him.
“Mr. Darcy.” She was proud of the way her voice did not wobble. “This is a surprise.”
His bow was formal, very correct, but when he looked at her, his gaze burned with a tumult of emotions, many of which she could not discern. Anger, certainly. Perhaps grief — even desolation.
She waited for him to speak. I pray he has not discovered my secret.
“I saw Lady Palmer in Hatchard’s yesterday. She told me you had taken this house.” His voice was cold. “So I knew where to find you. And now I know how, and why.”
He stepped a little closer. “First, I must tell you that you are extraordinary. The shawls, the whole exclusives business, the harps — all of it was you.” His voice dropped. “You are more gifted than anyone I have ever met.”
Terror. He knows.
Although his admiration was evident, his expression held anguish, and that she did not understand.
She braced herself for his contempt. A woman in trade, a woman who attended a house party pretending to be a gentlewoman. A woman to be scorned.
She was silent, knowing there was nothing she could say, and waiting for his condemnation.
And now? It was too late. Too late to realise that, yes, she did care for this man and … when had that happened to her? She stood straighter. It made no difference. She was not in want of a husband.
He seemed to have been waiting for her to speak, but when she said nothing, he turned and crossed to the window.
“All those times,” he said thickly. “All those times you deflected our conversations, failed to explain what you were doing, failed to tell me your relations were the Gardiners until you had no choice. Why did you believe me unworthy of your confidence?”
He turned to face her. “At the house party you told Lady Palmer that you trusted me to keep quiet about your background and home. So why deceive me about this? Could you not believe I would admire you for what you have achieved?”
Elizabeth swallowed. Never had she considered this possible outcome of her secret.
She dropped her gaze. “I always believed people in society would look down on me, disdain me for getting involved in trade. I — thought you would scorn me. And my family.” Her voice was so quiet, she wondered if she had actually spoken.
“And this … this is what you think of me?” His incredulity and anger washed over her and she flinched.
“Scorn? You thought I would scorn you? Elizabeth, I would have been proud; proud beyond measure that you trusted me with the truth.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “You must know that disguise of any kind is abhorrent to me.”
She was too confused by his use of her given name to be able to reply, and she forced herself to stay standing and not sink into a chair.
She raised her head although it was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
“I was protecting my family, sir. My family and those around me.” Her voice dropped again.
“And my independence. If people knew, many would spurn me and those close to me. Remember how Miss Bingley talked about my relations in Cheapside! And then some men who need wealth would attempt to compromise me. I wanted to be …” her voice broke, “… safe.”
His expression changed for an instant to concern. Understanding and concern. But only for the briefest instant. “You could have trusted me !”
She thought, as he looked at her, that it seemed she had struck him in the heart. But it could not be so. He knew she was not looking for a husband.
He stepped back towards the door, and she moved forward, dismayed. It could not be that she would never see him again.
He turned back to face her. “After all we know of each other, that was your judgment of me? You feared society more than you could trust me. That, Elizabeth, is the deepest wound. Did you never see? Could you not understand how much I admire and love you?”
Suddenly Elizabeth realised what she had not looked for. She had told him that she was not in need of a husband, and had thought that would protect any man from pursuing her. She had underestimated his devotion to her and now she had hurt him. Hurt him badly. And that hurt her, too.
She could think of no words to offer him comfort, no way of apologising for the anguish. “I had no idea.” Her voice shook.
He turned back, his eyes empty, and bowed. “I cannot stay. Miss Bennet. Please allow me to offer my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
Then he was gone, leaving her drained, hollow, and bitterly regretting the pain she had caused him. How could I have wounded him so deeply?