Page 13

The rain fell more heavily now, the drumming on the glass a distant counterpoint to the conversation. In the brief silence, the faint notes of Georgiana’s pianoforte practice drifted from the music room, a haunting melody that seemed to underscore the emotional current between them.

“I am the one who is sorry, Elizabeth,” Darcy continued.

“Sorry that you were left with no choice but to accept me, especially considering how dreadfully I behaved during our acquaintance in Hertfordshire and at Rosings. You did, after all, declare me the last man in the world you would ever marry, and within but a few weeks, you were forced to stand before the vicar and speak your vows to that very man.”

Elizabeth’s expression changed, a complex mixture of emotions crossing her features. “It was not as you describe,” she began, but Darcy gently raised his hand.

“Please, allow me to finish. I have thought much on this matter.” He rose from his chair, too restless now to remain seated, and moved to stand before the fireplace.

“When I learned of your engagement to Wickham, I was impelled to seek you out, to ensure he had not imposed himself upon you… which being Wickham, of course he had. In all honour I could not do anything but offer you an alternative. And when matters took their... unexpected turn...”

Here Darcy paused, the memory of those chaotic days still raw.

His utter devastation when Caroline Bingley had smugly revealed the engagement; his terror that perhaps Elizabeth had discarded his letter unread, had not learned the truth of Wickham’s character.

His only desire had been to protect her, but blinded by panic, the only way he could conceive of doing so had been to offer to marry her himself.

He had been in the process of doing exactly that when they stumbled across Wickham’s body.

“When matters took their unexpected turn,” he repeated, “I saw that it provided an opportunity to protect you, yes, but also to secure what I had wanted from the moment I realised I loved you: the right to call you my wife.”

Elizabeth’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on his face. “You speak of love, but the haste of our marriage gave you no time for proper consideration. The circumstances were extraordinary, the pressure immense.”

“My consideration was already complete,” Darcy insisted. “I loved you before, I loved you then and I love you still. The circumstances changed nothing of my heart’s determination.”

He returned to his seat opposite her, now leaning forward to take her hands in his. Her fingers were cool against his palm, trembling slightly.

“I was arrogant,” he admitted. “The manner of my first proposal was inexcusable. I spoke of your inferior connections, your mother’s impropriety, the obstacles I had overcome to offer for you, as though you should be grateful for the condescension. I behaved abominably.”

“You were honest,” Elizabeth murmured, though she did not withdraw her hands from his.

“I was honest about facts, perhaps, but entirely mistaken in my understanding of what truly matters,” Darcy replied. “And my interference in separating Bingley from your sister was presumptuous and wrong. I cannot justify those actions.”

“You condemned my family, and not without some cause,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Yet you are now connected to them permanently.”

“And I count myself fortunate for it,” Darcy said, surprising himself with the sincerity of the statement.

“Your father’s wit and intelligence, your sister Jane’s gentle goodness, these are qualities I have come to truly appreciate.

As for the rest...” He allowed himself a small smile.

“Families are seldom perfect, my own included.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened slightly, but the doubt had not entirely left her eyes. “You must admit, it is difficult to reconcile your evident disdain for my connections with your subsequent actions.”

“I was wrong,” Darcy said simply. “Not in observing certain improprieties, perhaps, but in allowing them to blind me to what was of true value. Your worth, Elizabeth, is not determined by your connections, but by your character, your intelligence, your lively spirit.” He paused, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand.

“When you told me I was the last man in the world you would ever marry, I deserved it entirely.”

A flush coloured Elizabeth’s cheeks at the reminder of her harsh words. “I spoke in anger, without proper reflection.”

“You spoke truthfully, based on the man I had shown myself to be,” Darcy countered. “That you found yourself obliged to marry that same man so soon after must have seemed a cruel twist of fate.”

The evening had deepened around them as they spoke, the servants having quietly entered to light additional candles without disturbing their conversation. The golden light cast a warm glow over Elizabeth’s features, softening the lines of concern that had marked her countenance earlier.

“I fear,” Darcy continued, his voice quieter now, more intimate, “that you may feel you were trapped into accepting me. That between the scandal of Wickham’s death at your sister’s hand and the necessity of preserving your family’s reputation, you had no choice but to accept my offer.”

He released her hands then, leaning back slightly as if to give her space to respond honestly. “If that is indeed how you feel, I would have you tell me plainly. I cannot bear the thought that you might have sacrificed your happiness for the sake of propriety.”

Elizabeth was silent for a long moment, her gaze dropping to her hands, now freed from his. When she looked up again, there was a new resolve in her expression.

“You misunderstand me entirely,” she said, echoing his own words from earlier. “If I have seemed troubled by the circumstances of our marriage, it was not from regret for my choice, but from concern that you had been manoeuvred into offering for me against your better judgment.”

Darcy felt a flicker of hope at her words, but remained cautious. “How could you think that, given my previous declaration?”

“Because,” Elizabeth said, “people may speak of love in one moment and discover it cannot withstand the practical considerations of life in the next. You had already considered the drawbacks of a connection to my family once before and decided that they might be overcome; but you must own it to be true that those drawbacks were vastly increased by subsequent events. When circumstances forced your hand again, I feared you might come to resent the necessity of fulfilling your honourable intentions.”

The irony of their mutual misconception might have been amusing in other circumstances. As it was, Darcy felt only a profound relief beginning to take root in his chest, though he was not yet entirely convinced of Elizabeth’s feelings.

“So you do not regret accepting me?” he asked, the question more vulnerable than he had intended.

“I regret only that circumstances denied us the courtship we might have had,” Elizabeth replied, a small, tentative smile beginning to form on her lips. “And perhaps that I was denied the satisfaction of seeing you grovel properly after my initial refusal.”

The hint of her usual spirited teasing was like balm to his soul. Darcy felt the tension that had gripped him beginning to dissolve, replaced by a cautious optimism.

“I assure you, madam,” he said, allowing his own lips to curve into a smile, “that had circumstances permitted, my grovelling would have been both thorough and dignified, a contradiction I alone have mastered.”

Elizabeth’s laugh, soft but genuine, filled the space between them. “I have no doubt of it, sir.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, the rain still pattering gently against the windows.

“I am still guilty of arrogance,” Darcy said after a moment, returning to his earlier point. “In aiding in separating Bingley from your sister, I acted out of misplaced concern for my friend and an unjustified sense of superiority about what constituted a suitable match.”

“You were wrong about Jane’s feelings,” Elizabeth agreed. “She is simply more reserved in showing her emotions.”

“I was wrong about many things,” Darcy acknowledged. “Including the importance of connections and fortune in determining happiness.”

The irony of his former attitude was not lost on him. How he had struggled against his feelings for Elizabeth on similar grounds, only to discover that his happiness depended entirely on setting aside those very considerations.

“As for my appalling condemnation of your family,” he continued, meeting her gaze directly, “I cannot justify those words. While there may have been some truth in my observations about certain improprieties, the manner in which I expressed them was inexcusable. I spoke from pride and a sense of superiority that I have since come to recognise as unwarranted.”

“My family is not without fault,” Elizabeth admitted with a small smile.

“My mother can be quite overwhelming, and Lydia’s behaviour before her.

.. unfortunate experience... was certainly improper.

Even my father, whom I dearly love, might have exercised more restraint in his governance of the household. ”

“Every family has its peculiarities,” Darcy said. “Mine included, I assure you. My aunt, Lady Catherine, being a prime example.”

The mention of Lady Catherine brought a twinkle to Elizabeth’s eye. “Ah yes, your formidable aunt. I understand she was most displeased by our marriage.”

“Apoplectic would be the more accurate term,” Darcy replied, allowing himself a small smile. “Her letter expressing her outrage at my marrying you rather than Anne was quite spectacular in its vitriol.”

“And yet you married me regardless,” Elizabeth observed.