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THE AWFUL TRUTH

E lizabeth was convinced Mr Darcy would not come to dinner.

No man as proud as he would volunteer to dine in a part of London he openly scorned with a woman who had abused him in the street.

She therefore passed the remainder of Saturday, all of Sunday, and the chief of Monday in a determined state of righteous indignation, satisfied that she need not examine her own conduct in a quarrel that was never again to be mentioned by anybody.

Yet, as the evening approached, no note of apology had arrived, and Jane began to grow nervous. “Surely he cannot mean to still come?”

“Absolutely, he cannot,” Elizabeth assured her without looking up from the letter she was writing. “Do not waste another moment worrying about it.”

“But what if he does?”

Elizabeth dipped her pen in the ink, glancing at Jane as she did so. “If you would allow me to tell Aunt Gardiner what he said to you, she would cancel the dinner herself.”

“No, Lizzy. You said yourself you are obliged to attend Lady Rothersea’s soiree to avoid drawing her displeasure upon our uncle. I have just as little wish to upset Mr Darcy. He may not be titled, but he clearly has influence.”

Elizabeth thought Jane had entirely misunderstood Mr Darcy’s character if she believed there was any chance he would use his influence to another’s detriment.

Whatever his faults, he could never be accused of calumny.

Yet that thought in turn made her purse her lips, for however discreet Mr Darcy might be in society, he had no qualms whatsoever in casting his aspersions in private.

“You would just have to claim a headache and remain in bed. But I guarantee it will not come to that.” She looked at the clock. “There are still five hours to go. A note will come. Mark my words.”

When there was only an hour left before he was due to arrive, Jane gave her excuses to Mr and Mrs Gardiner and retired.

When there was only half an hour left, Elizabeth submitted to her aunt’s insistence and went upstairs to dress for dinner, still entirely persuaded that no disagreeable gentleman from Derbyshire would materialise.

Her astonishment when she happened to look out of her bedroom window and see Mr Darcy climbing down from his carriage was therefore absolute.

She twisted away from the window and pressed herself against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut against an influx of all the fury, self-reproach, and mortification that obstinacy had kept at bay since Saturday.

She was as angry with him presently as she had been when Jane first told her about his hateful interference—angrier, in fact, for since then, he had exacerbated his offences by disparaging her aunt and uncle and censuring her mother.

Nevertheless, remorse had been plaguing her incessantly for these past two days.

She had used to be much better at hating Mr Darcy when all she knew of him was that he had spurned her looks and blasted Mr Wickham’s prospects!

But it seemed increasingly probable that Mr Wickham had lied, and it was exceedingly difficult to maintain any meaningful antipathy towards the man who had gone out of his way to restore the fortunes of those who had been ruined by him.

It was difficult, too, to forget that esteem which Mr Darcy’s own friends so liberally and repeatedly bestowed upon him, or the affection of his sister towards him.

Much as she would have liked to decry it as behaviour reserved for his own circle, she could not deny the kindness he had shown towards herself.

At Grenier’s Hotel, at Covent Garden, at Gunter’s tea shop—at every one of the places she had told him she regretted accepting his company—she had in fact welcomed his solicitude.

His pride notwithstanding, these considerations tugged at her conscience, urging her not to be angry.

Yet she was angry with him—almost as angry as she was with herself—for nothing stirred a person to resentment quite as quickly as humiliation.

Elizabeth was dismayed to have, even for one moment, fooled herself into thinking that Mr Darcy might admire her.

And she had only allowed herself to think that because she had begun to admire him .

She had never been more mortified in her life than standing outside her uncle’s house, listening to the man for whom she had begun to feel a formidable regard, scorning everything that was precious to her.

She could not imagine that Mr Darcy’s generosity had outlasted her bitter denunciations.

Which was just as well, for she was not ready to overlook his conceit and could not imagine why he had decided to keep his engagement with a family he thought so far beneath him.

“Whatever is it?” Jane asked, laying her book aside and sitting up in her bed with a worried frown.

Elizabeth exhaled slowly. “Dinner is going to be interesting.”

Darcy had almost sent his excuses. For many hours after his argument with Elizabeth, he had fumed over her set down and congratulated himself on a narrow escape.

Two sleepless nights alone with his thoughts had made him more reasonable.

He could not expect her to understand his behaviour towards her sister whilst she remained ignorant of her mother’s transgression.

Unpleasant though their quarrel had been, he had no wish to punish her—or himself—for matters beyond her comprehension.

Thus, he had come this evening with the intention of somehow finding a moment to enlighten her, that they might recover from this bout of hostility and return to the heady delights of intimate walks and rousing dances.

He was somewhat surprised to be shown through the house by a male servant; he had not expected the Gardiners to be able to afford the luxury.

More impressive still was the good taste on display in the handsomely decorated room where the Gardiners and Elizabeth awaited him, but all other observations of the property were curtailed when he met the latter’s gaze.

There was no mistaking that Elizabeth was still angry.

Well, that made two of them. Nevertheless, he found himself fighting to repress an admiring smile, for she looked magnificent in her pique.

“Pray excuse Jane’s absence, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner said. “She is indisposed this evening.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” he replied. “Please convey to her my best wishes for a hasty recovery.”

Elizabeth seemed disinclined to speak. Darcy suspected that she would maintain her reserve until he found a way to tell her the truth, and that until then, it would be a difficult evening indeed.

In the latter, however, he was quickly proved wrong.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner were fine hosts—well informed, good-natured, and with a faultless understanding of the line between ease and formality.

He had dreaded the task of appearing interested in their concerns, but it was soon discovered that Mrs Gardiner had spent some time in Lambton, near Pemberley, before her marriage, and she talked so agreeably about it, and her husband so knowledgeably about London, that, listening to them, Darcy was better entertained than he had been at many of the ton’s dinner tables.

As anticipated, Elizabeth said very little, yet the party was too small for there to be any opportunity for private discourse. As the last course came to an end, it seemed increasingly unlikely that he would be able to tell her what he needed to that evening, and he began to form a different plan.

“It was a pleasure to meet your friend Sir Aubrey last week,” Mr Gardiner said, interrupting Darcy’s deliberations.

“He seems a fine gentleman. I was especially glad, for I had previously been advised to steer clear of any involvement with the Stauntons. It was intimated that he recently had some financial trouble.”

Darcy nodded. “He was duped into a fraudulent scheme thought up by an unscrupulous third party. His good name was ruined for a time—and just as he was raised to the knighthood, which made it even more painful.”

Mr Gardiner shook his head. “People are disposed to think jealously of their own spheres and do not like to see their friends rise out of them.”

“Or into them,” Elizabeth added, looking pointedly at Darcy.

She was referring to her sister, he knew, and he reminded himself, yet again, that she was not aware of the truth.

It still vexed him. Even had Bingley not set his own gunpowder keg beneath the Bennet family’s reputation, there would have been other objections to an alliance with Jane Bennet.

All the same obstacles that had required the utmost force of passion for him to overlook in settling on Elizabeth.

Obstacles he would still need to navigate when his family discovered that he intended to marry her.

“It can certainly stir ill feeling,” he replied coolly.

“With the result that men like Sir Aubrey are unjustly held to a higher standard than their peers,” Mr Gardiner agreed.

“Not by Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “He is never blinded by prejudice—he told me so himself. He always makes sure to judge people properly at first to save himself the trouble of ever having to revise his opinion of anyone.”

“Lizzy,” Mrs Gardiner said sharply, looking a little ashamed. “Your uncle was speaking generally.”

Now beyond impatient to apprise Elizabeth of the facts, that she might acknowledge the justice of his actions, Darcy overlooked Mrs Gardiner’s remark and replied directly to her niece. “It is a philosophy that has served me well. I have not yet been proved materially wrong by anyone.”