Page 18 of Moments of Truth

As Darcy left the parsonage, leading his horse by the reins, he paced restlessly, his steps heavy on the gravel path. His thoughts swirled, crashing over one another in waves of disbelief and confusion. He muttered aloud, his voice low but rising with frustration.

“No,” he said sharply, as if to convince himself. “It is impossible. It cannot have happened this way.” He seemed like a madman, talking to himself as he walked along the path. After all, a horse was hardly a suitable conversationalist.

Darcy’s mind reeled back to the moment of Elizabeth’s refusal, but the memory felt too surreal, too disjointed to accept.

“Miss Bennet could not have meant what she said,” he muttered, shaking his head, his brows furrowing.

“Surely, she will think it over. She must see sense… she will change her mind in a few days.” His words fell from his lips with the rhythm of a prayer, as if repeating the thought would make it true.

“It was not real,” he whispered, his chest tightening.

“No, it was Wickham, of course—it must be Wickham! He has poisoned her against me. She has been misled, deceived!” His grip on the reins tightened, knuckles whitening as anger mingled with denial.

“Or Cousin Fitzwilliam must have said something unclear, something she misunderstood!”

He stopped momentarily, staring ahead blankly, trying to steady his racing thoughts.

His proposal—how had it gone so wrong? Miss Jane Bennet and Bingley…

what have they to do with this? Nothing!

Surely nothing that could justify such refusal.

He shook his head once more, bewilderment creeping into his voice.

No , Darcy insisted, his pace quickening again as he resumed walking. The signs were there. She felt something; I know it. She cannot deny that. The way she looked at me, the moments we shared… they were real. I did not imagine them.

And yet, the crushing reality of her rejection weighed on him, a heaviness settling in his chest. This… this cannot have happened to me .

Darcy continued walking, the tension in his shoulders mounting with every step.

The air around him seemed to pulse with the intensity of his thoughts, and he was only dimly aware of his surroundings.

His boots scraped against the dirt path, his mind spinning in circles of denial, confusion, and pain.

“But how could I have misread her so completely?” he muttered.

“The looks, the conversations, the way she held herself around me—there was something there. She was not indifferent. She could not have been.” He paused again, pulling his horse to a halt beside him.

He stared at the horizon, but his thoughts were miles away, locked in the parsonage where Elizabeth’s words had sliced through his pride.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, his voice rising slightly in desperation.

“Miss Bennet spoke in anger. She was overwhelmed, caught off guard by my sudden proposal. Yes, that is it. Her feelings must be confused. Once she has time to reflect, once she realizes the magnitude of my offer…” The hope faltered even as he spoke it, trailing into silence.

Yet even as he clung to the belief that she would reconsider, doubt gnawed at the edges of his certainty.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the image of her fiery eyes, the sharpness in her voice as she accused him of arrogance, of cruelty.

Arrogance?! The word echoed in his mind, bitter and unwelcome .

“Was I too sure of myself?” he whispered, his tone softer and less confident.

“Did I… did I presume too much?” His pride rebelled against the thought, but the question hung in the air, refusing to leave.

“I offered her everything—my hand, my name, my fortune. How could she not see the honour in that?”

He began pacing again, his frustration building as he replayed every moment of the encounter.

“It must be Wickham,” he insisted, louder this time.

“That scoundrel has filled her little head with lies. He has twisted her perception of me, of my character. Wickham is to blame for this.” Darcy’s voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, struggling to keep control.

But even Wickham’s treachery did not account for everything.

“She accused me of separating Bingley and Miss Bennet,” he murmured, brow furrowing deeper.

“How could she know that? Who told her?” His mind raced, searching for an explanation, a way to absolve himself.

“But surely she misunderstands. I acted in Bingley’s best interest…

did not I?” The thought lingered, unwelcome.

He was so sure before, but now, doubt crept in, making him question his judgment .

The certainty he once possessed now felt fragile, undermined by doubt he could not banish.

“Something terrible has gone wrong,” he whispered, his voice more uncertain. “Something I cannot seem to grasp.” He looked up at the sky, his expression tightening with the weight of his thoughts.

As Darcy continued walking, a new thought began to take hold.

Perhaps it was not too late. Could he not turn around, return to Hunsford, and speak to Elizabeth again?

His strides slowed as the idea crystallized in his mind.

“Would it not be better to go back?” he mused aloud.

“To explain everything in a calm, reasonable manner? Surely, if she heard my side—if Miss Elizabeth understood my intentions—she might change her mind.”

He paused, gripping the reins tightly, his heart racing at the prospect.

“Yes, that must be it,” he continued, more certain now.

“Elizabeth is intelligent, fair-minded. She cannot remain in such error once she hears the truth. My involvement with Bingley and Miss Bennet, Wickham’s treachery…

if she knew the facts, she would reconsider. ”

He stopped in his tracks, staring down the road as if seeing the parsonage in the distance.

The temptation to return pressed hard against his better judgment.

I could go back tonight , he thought, half-turning toward Hunsford.

It isn’t too late. Tomorrow might be. She could leave for Longbourn, or worse—her resentment might solidify.

But if I go now and talk to her with sincerity, I can make her see the reason.

I can explain myself. And if she has had time to think, perhaps her anger has already cooled .

For a brief moment, he was ready to act.

He straightened his posture, bracing himself for the return.

“It would not affect my pride if I negotiate this,” he whispered, trying to convince himself.

“This is no mere trivial matter—this is love. I love her. Deeply, truly. And I cannot let her slip away without doing everything I can to set things right.”

But just as quickly, common sense began to creep back in.

Darcy stood still, staring at the ground, the weight of his pride pulling him back to reality.

What would such an impulsive act achieve?

Barging in unannounced again would only deepen her resentment.

“No,” he muttered, his voice firm but tinged with resignation.

“I cannot force her to see things my way. Returning now would only make things worse.”

He sighed heavily, knowing that no matter how much he wished it, Elizabeth’s feelings could not be bargained or reasoned into change. Her refusal had been clear, decisive. Any further attempt to sway her now would be desperate and unbecoming.

Straightening himself, Darcy turned away from the path to Hunsford and resolutely began the walk back to Rosings. Her sense of justice will prevail in time , he thought. If she ever softens, it must be on her own terms. Despite the ache in his heart, he knew it was the only way forward.

***

As Darcy arrived at Rosings, the grand estate loomed before him, its familiar splendour offering no comfort but instead pressing down upon him with oppressive weight. A footman greeted him with a polite bow, though his words barely pierced Darcy’s scattered and disordered thoughts.

“Her ladyship and the guests are already dining, sir,” the footman said. “They await your arrival eagerly.”

Darcy stiffened. The thought of facing Lady Catherine and the others in his current state was unbearable.

His mind was still reeling from the encounter with Elizabeth, and the idea of polite conversation, scrutinizing glances, and hollow pleasantries made his stomach churn.

“Inform her ladyship that I will not be joining them,” he said curtly, his voice low but firm.

“I will dine in my chambers. Have the cook prepare a meal for one.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode towards the stairs, each step heavy with the weight of his thoughts.

As he climbed, the tight self-command that had carried him back from Hunsford began to unravel.

The anger he had tried to suppress now simmered just below the surface.

How wretchedly foolish he had been, to choose such a moment for so delicate a declaration!

He had let his emotions cloud his judgment, and now he was paying the price.

Reaching his chambers, Darcy closed the door behind him with more force than necessary.

His mind raced, filled with frustration.

How dare she reject me—me, a respectable man with honourable intentions!

I offered her everything—my hand, my fortune, my protection.

And she—she had the audacity to refuse me .