Page 8 of Drawn to Love

“Mr. Darcy…forgive me for disturbing you. I have come to search for a book… something to read. I cannot sleep.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Should I call for a maid to make you a herbal tea? I am sure Mrs. Reynolds has a special recipe for any problem.”

“Oh no, no! I could not possibly disturb the servants in the middle of the night to make me tea! A book will do…”

“What sort of book would you like? What author? I shall help you find one.”

“Oh, I am not sure… I believe Shakespeare would suffice.”

“Very well. Let me show you which shelf his works are on, so you may choose the one you like.”

He directed her, his presence making her disturbingly aware of their situation.

They were alone, in the middle of the night, and she was wearing her night clothes.

There could hardly be a more ruinous situation.

She knew she should be embarrassed, but all she felt was a tender warmth spread all over her body.

“Miss Bennet, I discussed something with Mr. Gardiner earlier, and I believe you should know. I feel uncomfortable knowing Wickham is in Brighton with so many honourable yet na?ve young women. We agreed that your uncle would write a warning to your father, suggesting bringing your sister Lydia home. I also intend to write to Colonel Forster. I should have spoken to him last autumn when I was in Meryton, but my judgment was altered at that moment.”

“It is better to be done a little late than never, sir. And I agree it would be useful. I have not divulged my knowledge of Mr. Wickham to anyone, except a little to my sister Jane. I told her about the money he received from you and wasted. But to everyone else in Meryton, Mr. Wickham is still an amiable man who was forced to fight through all sorts of unfair misfortunes.”

“I assumed as much. I am glad that at least you believed my letter.”

“As unreasonable as I was on the matter, I was not such a complete fool as to reject the evidence, Mr. Darcy. If I had used my wit instead of my vanity, I would have probably guessed the truth myself.”

“As you said, late is better than never.” He smiled. “As for your father, we shall send the express tomorrow morning. Together with your letter to your sister.”

“Thank you. I warned my father about allowing Lydia to go to Brighton, but he made a joke of it. He said Lydia is too poor to tempt anyone.”

“Unfortunately, that is not always true,” Mr. Darcy replied. “Wickham has no scruples in ruining poor young women for his own amusement. Some have paid with their lives for the naivety of believing him.”

Elizabeth gasped, and he immediately apologised.

“I am very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you. I am sure your sister, living in the colonel’s house, is in no danger of any sort. But others might be.”

“Yes…”

“May I help you with anything else? It is very late,” he said.

She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She had no business being there alone with him, and he had politely reminded her of that fact.

“No, thank you, I shall leave now.”

“Good night. We shall meet tomorrow morning at breakfast. Tomorrow, I have some business in Lambton, and your uncle will visit your relatives. Please let me know if you wish to do anything particular.”

“Thank you… I shall stay with my aunt and perhaps take a walk around the lake. I only saw it briefly earlier.”

“Would you like to ride in the phaeton?”

“Oh no…I shall just walk. I did so a little today.”

She turned to leave, but her curiosity could not be repressed.

“When I walked today, I met Jenny and Jacob. Such lovely children.”

He frowned.

“They are lovely, indeed.”

“Mrs. Reynolds told me how fortunate they are to have your support.”

“They would have been more fortunate if they still had their mother. And they would have done so if my actions had been more thoughtful and more determined.”

“Your actions, sir?” she enquired, stopping and looking at him directly.

He hesitated and averted his eyes momentarily.

“Yes, my actions. This unfortunate case is an example of what I spoke of earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“Concerning Wickham…”

She needed a moment to realise, then she caught her breath as the revelation freed her from her previous painful suspicions.

Mr. Wickham was the father! How could she have been so foolish, so unjust, as to suspect even for an instant that it could have been Mr. Darcy?

She felt both relieved and deeply ashamed.

“Mr. Wickham… The children were born before your father died, I assume? Please forgive me if my questions are intrusive. I would not mind if you did not answer me — I have no right to enquire.”

“Do not apologise, please. I have already trusted you with matters that I have confessed to no other soul. I have no reason to distrust you now. Yes, they were born almost two years before my father died. It was the event that caused my quarrel with my father and almost estranged us.”

“Did your father disapprove of you supporting the orphans?”

“No, but he also did not disapprove of Wickham’s crime of seducing a maid who was almost a child herself.

His crime was even worse — he sent the girl away from Pemberley and placed her in a small cottage, where she gave birth with only one woman to help her.

He did not fetch the doctor, did not inform us where the girl was, so she bled to death a few days later.

It was that woman who told a servant where the children were, and the servant informed Mrs. Reynolds. ”

“Dear Lord…”

“Wickham claimed he was not the father and that the young maid was involved with other men too, which we all knew was not true. And my father was dreadfully calm — he said every young man has some such issue, and many gentlemen of consequence have several children they do not even know about. I am sorry, this is not a subject I should discuss with a young lady.”

“No, please… I am glad you did. Poor girl. What a tragedy… But why did you say your actions were at fault? I believe you did everything you could.”

“The girl was a servant here. I was the only one who knew Wickham’s true nature. I should have been more decided. I should have thrown him out!”

“Yes but…even if you had done that, he would have caused similar tragedies in other places. You cannot protect everyone from Mr. Wickham’s vicious character.”

“Sadly, that is true. I shall still try to do my best, though, even if that means taking drastic measures against Wickham. Just as I shall do my best to explain to Bingley my involvement in a situation where I should not have interfered —including your sister’s presence in in town.”

She looked at him in disbelief, her eyes moist with gratitude.

“You are an excellent man, Mr. Darcy. I shall never forgive myself for failing to see it sooner,” she said. They were standing inches apart, facing each other.

“I must be completely honest and admit that I do not regret rejecting your proposal in April,” she whispered, and his expression became stern.

“My feelings at that time were not of a nature to allow me to accept your proposal for a good reason. If I had, I would have deceived you, and for that, I would have deserved your contempt. But I shall never forgive myself for not recognising your good nature and honourable character. And for believing nefarious reports without even asking for evidence.”

“You are a brave woman, Miss Bennet. Being loyal to your beliefs and your feelings is proof of your worthiness. I never doubted that, not even when anger and resentment shadowed my judgment.”

“You give me more credit and more consideration than I feel I deserve, Mr. Darcy.”

“I feel you deserve much more, Miss Bennet.”

“To that, I can only express thanks and gratitude, especially when it comes from such a man. And from such an excellent artist. I am no expert, but your portraits looked beautiful to me,” she added, allowing a little smile to dissipate the heavy tension between them.

He looked surprised by her little joke, but a smile appeared on his lips too.

“I am not an excellent artist. Indeed, the portraits looked beautiful to me too because the model inspired me. Inspired me to paint but also to reconsider my behaviour and to admit my errors.”

For a moment, there was silence again, until she said, “I must leave now.”

“Of course… Good night, Miss Bennet,” he whispered with a bow, briefly taking her hand to his lips.

She hurried out, her heart beating wildly, her breathing irregular, and she only stopped when she entered her room.

There, she lay on the bed, closing her eyes.

Another brief meeting with Mr. Darcy had revealed, once again, the excellence of his character and the flaws in hers.

Now that the truth had been exposed, she dared admit to herself that she had experienced a slight, small, yet painful suspicion that Mr. Darcy could have been the one involved with the maid — the father of the two children.

She had suspected Mr. Wickham too, but the seeds of doubt had been there in her mind.

She felt guilty and furious with herself for still being unfair to Mr. Darcy.

For confessing to him that she did not regret her rejection, she felt relieved and content.

In April, he had declared he loved and admired her ardently.

Even without all the reasons that caused her resentment, she had not loved him, and accepting his marriage proposal would have been for prudence only.

A marriage in which one is ardently in love and the other only prudent might be more painful than one with no love at all.

However, what if one begins to love while the other’s love is slowly fading? The storm of feelings inside her proved that her opinion and sentiments towards him were changing. But what of his sentiments?

She went to the balcony and looked out into the darkness.

The sky was clear, and the stars and moon were mirrored in the lake.

He had chosen that room for her, which meant her happiness was important to him.

He had painted her, which proved he was still thinking about her.

He was friendly to her uncle and aunt and concerned for her sister Lydia.

What else could all of that mean, other than that his feelings for her were still strong and tender? Whether he would ever take a step towards revealing those feelings again, after he had been so brutally rejected once, was entirely another matter.

She heard a slight noise from the door, and she moved towards it cautiously.

With disbelief, she observed a piece of paper had been slipped underneath.

She picked it up with trembling fingers and with utter astonishment and equal delight recognised the image of herself, drawn in that very room, on the balcony.

She caressed the paper, placed it on the bed so she could better admire it, and recognised that in the sketch she was dressed as she had been at the Netherfield ball.

She stared at the picture, tearful, for a long time, her soul invaded by feelings she could not define.

Finally, she placed the drawing on the table, wondering what she should do with it.

The only choice was to roll it carefully and put it in her luggage, as it was a secret not to be shared with anyone.

As she did so, she noticed something written on the back. She read it, and tears fell from her eyes.

This was drawn many weeks ago when I was certain that only in my imagination and in my dreams such an image could be possible. The reality is exquisite and cannot be compared. F Darcy.

It was the strongest proof that his ardent love was still lasting, and her heart and her mind opened to receive it with gratitude and happiness.