Truth about Mr. Darcy

by Susan Adriani

  They reached the door, and the footman yanked it open. “If you will not think of me, Aunt, then perhaps you will think of Anne and what she will likely suffer at the hands of society, should you and your faithful servant proceed in your endeavor to disgrace the future mistress of Pemberley. Imagine how Anne will be treated when the ton hears she has been thrown off by her cousin in favor of, how did you put it—oh, yes, by ‘a woman I have taken as my mistress’? You have purported the rumor of your daughter’s impending engagement to me for many years now, and though I have always had a familial affection for Anne, my first loyalty will always be to my wife. If you insist on destroying Miss Bennet’s reputation, you will also be tainting that of your beloved daughter and all your relations. Remember that, Lady Catherine, before next you speak!”

  Lady Catherine opened and closed her mouth, clearly outraged to have had no effect in swaying her stubborn nephew from his endeavor to marry the woman of his own choosing. Darcy simply glared at her and slammed the door in her face.

  The burly footman’s lips twitched.

  “Not so much as one word of this is to be breathed, Tanner,” Darcy warned. “Not so much as one word.”

  * * *

  Georgiana knocked upon the door to Elizabeth’s bedchamber and, although she received no answer, pushed it open and entered. Elizabeth was lying upon the bed, her shoulders shaking. Georgiana went to her and placed a hand upon her hair. “Oh, Elizabeth,” she whispered, “please, do not take to heart anything my aunt has said. She can be truly unfeeling when she is moved to do so. You did nothing to deserve such wretched treatment from her. I am so sorry.”

  As Georgiana watched Elizabeth struggle to compose herself, her face burned with shame for her aunt’s castigation of the woman who would very soon become her sister. Elizabeth sat up and managed a weak smile as she moved to dry her tears. “I am happy to finally hear you address me by my Christian name, Georgiana. Thank you. It brings me more pleasure than you might imagine.”

  Georgiana returned her smile. “My brother has rarely referred to you by any other. Only in his very first letters to me after he had gone to Hertfordshire, do I believe he ever called you, ‘Miss Bennet.’ As wrong as it was, by the time I had received his fourth correspondence, I had already come to know you well as simply ‘Elizabeth.’ It was then when I realized he was probably in love with you, though I recall wondering at his being aware of it himself at the time.”

  “I can well believe he may not have been. I know I was quite oblivious to any partiality on his part. He kept his feelings so well concealed that by the time I finally realized the depth of his regard, it came as more of a sudden revelation.” She became very quiet, and a nostalgic smile flickered across her lips. “Your brother is an exceptional man… the best man I have ever known. Truly, I do not know what I have ever done to deserve such love and devotion from him, but I do know I shall be forever grateful.”

  Georgiana reached for her hand. “My brother has very often said those same words in reference to you and your feelings for him. Truly, I believe there are no two people more deserving than you and Fitzwilliam. And from the way you faced my aunt, I know I am extremely fortunate to be gaining such an exceptional sister.”

  Elizabeth’s smile faded, and she grew pensive, slowly shaking her head. “No, Georgiana. From what you have just heard of me from your aunt, I believe you would do far better than to associate with such a woman as I shall soon become in the eyes of society.”

  Georgiana gasped. “Certainly, you cannot mean that, Elizabeth! My aunt has been beyond cruel, and her words, heartless and wrong. She will say anything to wound when it serves her purpose. I know her too well to believe any of the appalling things she accused you of tonight.” To Georgiana’s surprise, however, rather than bringing her comfort, her words seemed only to have occasioned Elizabeth more pain. She watched in dismay as her future sister turned away from her, her hands covering her face.

  There was a knock on the sitting room door then, and casting a glance from Elizabeth to the outer room, Georgiana rose. She had reached only as far as the door to the bedchamber, however, before Darcy entered. He took in the sight before him with a troubled frown and then, brushing past his sister, hastened to Elizabeth’s side. Without preamble, he sat upon the bed, gathered Elizabeth into his arms, and settled her on his lap. She did not resist. Georgiana watched, transfixed, as her brother whispered words of comfort, punctuated by soft kisses on her hair. He stroked her back with one hand and cradled the back of her head with his other. Elizabeth simply clung to him, burying her face against his coat.

  Several long minutes passed, and to Georgiana, it was as though they had completely forgotten she was even in the room. She heard her brother utter something to Elizabeth about his having no regrets regarding anything they had shared together. The implication of such words, when seen in the same light as his tender actions, suddenly hit her—hard. Had her brother been intimate with Elizabeth? The possibility of Darcy committing such an impropriety astounded her.

  It seemed those same words also had an effect upon Elizabeth, for she suddenly withdrew from Darcy, a look of sadness and shame piercing her eyes. Darcy reached for her as she removed herself from his lap, but Elizabeth avoided his arms, twisting away from his embrace to stand with her back to him as she stared out of the nearest window.

  Darcy gaped at her, panic settling into the pit of his stomach. The look in her eyes had been one of such desolation and grief…and resignation. Resignation to what? he wondered. Surely Elizabeth would not break our engagement because of my aunt? Surely she would never leave me? No. She could not possibly leave me. She is mine! I have already made her mine! He recalled the events of the previous day and Elizabeth’s distress over the hurtful gossip she had overheard in Bond Street. Darcy was no longer convinced she would not act in a manner that would be of greater benefit to him in the eyes of society. It took some effort, but he managed to swallow the searing lump that had formed in his throat. Tears stung his eyes; then he recalled his sister was still in the room. Without taking his gaze from Elizabeth, he said in a strained voice, “Georgiana, leave us.”

  Georgiana gaped at him. How could her brother ask this of her? How could he expect her to comply with such a highly improper request—especially when Elizabeth was clearly in emotional distress and, therefore, most vulnerable? She hesitated and then heard Darcy’s voice, more commanding this time, as he said again, “Leave us, Georgiana. I must speak privately with Elizabeth.” When still she did not move, Darcy turned on her, his eyes flashing. “I said go!”

  Georgiana flinched. She had not seen that particular look on her brother’s face since last summer, at Ramsgate. She began backing slowly toward the door to the sitting room and, when she reached it, cast one last, reluctant look at the man who was more like a father to her than a brother, before finally fleeing the room.

  Georgiana ran until she reached the family wing and then entered her own sitting room, pacing the length of it for nearly three-quarters of an hour. She was concerned for Elizabeth, but also for her brother. She had not missed the look in Elizabeth’s eyes, nor misinterpreted it, any more than she had been blind to the panic and pain in Darcy’s. Wondering if enough time had passed for the two to have resolved their differences, she decided to adjourn to her brother’s sitting room to see if he had retired. When she reached his chambers, however, she was met by his valet, Mr. Stevens.

  “I am sorry, Miss Darcy, but my master is not in his rooms.”

  Georgiana’s brows furrowed. “Oh. Well, then I shall wait, Mr. Stevens. It is very late. I am sure he cannot be long.”

  Having known Miss Darcy since she was a small girl, the valet smiled, wishing to shield her from what he surely knew would bring her little pleasure. “Forgive me, miss, but I do believe my master may be quite a while yet. I know he would not wish you to wait up for him. The last several nights Mr. Darcy has had much to attend to and has retired very late.”

  Frowning,
Georgiana uttered, “Of course. He must be in his study, then. I will just go to him there. I am certain he would not mind my bothering him.”

  A fleeting look of alarm passed over Mr. Stevens’s face as he moved to detain her. “Miss Darcy,” he said, his voice firm, “I would not disturb my master in his study.”

  “Why not, Mr. Stevens?” she asked.

  Mr. Stevens sighed. “My dear girl, I beg your pardon, but I am not at liberty to speak without betraying my allegiance to Mr. Darcy; however, as I also know my master would not wish for you to come upon him unawares, I must entreat you to return to your room and to forget about speaking with him tonight. I regret to inform you that my master will not be available to anyone until the morning.”

  Georgiana stared at him. “But I know my brother to have been with Miss Bennet not an hour ago.”

  The valet averted his eyes and nodded. “Yes, miss.”

  Comprehension suddenly dawned upon her, and swallowing hard, she asked, “My brother has not slept in his rooms for several nights, has he, Mr. Stevens?” Seeing the man’s obvious discomfort, Georgiana added, “Never mind. Good night, Mr. Stevens.” She turned to go then, her heart heavy as she returned to her room.

  * * *

  Darcy had just closed the door and turned when a sudden movement in the shadowy corridor caught his eye. Clad only in his shirtsleeves, breeches, and boots, he froze as he watched Mr. Bennet approach, clutching a well-worn volume of Shakespeare’s Othello, which Darcy recognized as one from his own collection. It was obvious by the elder gentleman’s incredulous expression and pale complexion that he had witnessed him leaving Elizabeth’s rooms. A multitude of possible explanations raced through Darcy’s mind, yet he felt unequal to uttering any of them, knowing full well Elizabeth’s father had already deduced the true purpose of his presence outside his daughter’s bedchamber.

  Oddly enough, it was Mr. Bennet who was the first to regain his composure, his voice strained and tired. “Shall we retire to your study for some of your excellent brandy, Darcy? I believe I am suddenly in great need of it.” Darcy nodded almost imperceptibly and proceeded down the corridor to the staircase, Mr. Bennet following a few steps behind.

  Elizabeth’s father took a long, slow mouthful of brandy from his glass in a remarkably calm fashion, while Darcy roughly threw back the contents of his own and quickly poured himself another. He took a healthy swallow and ran an unsteady hand across his lips before stationing himself at the window to look out over the square, which was just beginning to emerge from darkness. After his aunt’s visit, he had been hard-pressed to imagine his night getting any worse, yet here he was, caught red-handed by Elizabeth’s father. He could hardly believe his misfortune.

  Mr. Bennet’s calm voice broke through the silence. “Am I mistaken in my assumption that the only formality that remains for your marriage to Elizabeth is the actual ceremony itself?”

  Darcy was quiet for several moments. “No, sir,” he finally answered in a tightly controlled voice without turning around, “you are not mistaken in that regard.”

  Mr. Bennet sat down in one of the leather chairs by the fire and ran his hands over his face, his voice unruffled. “When did this happen?”

  Darcy ran his tongue over his lips, his mouth feeling like a desert. “Not quite a fortnight ago, when heavy snow kept her at Netherfield for two nights with Miss Bennet.”

  “At Netherfield,” Mr. Bennet said tightly. He exhaled, clearly not pleased, but still trying to remain reasonable all the same. “And while we have been in London?”

  Darcy did not respond.

  “Darcy?”

  He swallowed, cleared his throat, and managed to say, “She has been my wife.”

  “You mean your mistress!”

  Darcy faced him, his expression icy. “Elizabeth is my wife!”

  Mr. Bennet remained silent, knowing if he spoke now, he would no longer be able to control his temper.

  Darcy strode to his desk and withdrew several documents from a locked drawer. “My reason for quitting Hertfordshire was to obtain a special license so we might marry as soon as possible. My main reason for inviting you and your family here is so we might marry quickly in London before any news of a scandal touches us, as I am sure it eventually would. Hopefully, our marrying now will prevent it from ever happening, though there is still no guarantee. As it is, I had an unpleasant visit from my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, tonight. Apparently,” he said with undisguised contempt, “Mr. Collins has wasted no time informing her of my relationship with your daughter. To say she was less than pleased would be a gross understatement, but I shall not insult you by relating the particulars of my conversation.”

  He crossed to the other side of the room and offered the documents to Elizabeth’s father, who took them. “I had my solicitor draw up the settlement for Elizabeth the other day. In the event of my death, she will be well provided for, even if she does not provide me with an heir. I arranged for ownership of the Pemberley estate to pass directly to her, as well as that of this house and all monetary assets. Though I trust you will inform me if you find anything insufficient, I believe I can say with complete confidence I know of no man who would ever be fool enough to make such a settlement upon a woman he considered only as his mistress.”

  Mr. Bennet pursed his lips, biting back a sarcastic retort, and began to read through the legalities. When he came to the amount Darcy was to settle upon his daughter after their marriage became official, he drew a sharp intake of breath and, after a few minutes, said, “I realize you have ten thousand a year, young man, but can you truly afford to be so generous as to settle forty thousand pounds on my Lizzy?”

  A wry grin turned the corners of Darcy’s mouth. “It appears the good people of Hertfordshire have been remiss in their speculation of my fortune. That they should think I have only ten thousand a year, I find excessively diverting. Pemberley, of course, takes in just over that, but if you were to include my other holdings and investments, both abroad and in Scotland, my net worth should be closer to twenty, perhaps a little more. I believe all the particulars are mentioned there in detail. And forgive my impertinence, Mr. Bennet, but your Lizzy is very soon to become my wife. Forty thousand pounds is no more than she deserves.”

  Massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Mr. Bennet could not but agree with him.

  “I would like to marry Elizabeth by the end of the week.”

  Mr. Bennet sighed. “Yes. As well you should. I see no reason to put it off any longer than that, especially given the urgency of the current situation. I do believe it would be in everyone’s best interest, however, if this conversation remained between the two of us.” Mr. Bennet rested his elbows upon the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. “Do you agree with this proposal, or would you prefer I bring my wife into our confidence? It is your call, Darcy.”

  Hoping, rather than assuming he had been joking, Darcy repressed a shudder as he imagined Mrs. Bennet learning he had been sharing a bed with her daughter. There was no doubt in his mind that news of the scandal would spread through the streets of London in a matter of hours. “No. On that we are in complete agreement. We need not distress Mrs. Bennet with any of the particulars.”

  “No, I thought as much.” Mr. Bennet rose from his chair and made to leave. “If you will excuse me, I believe I will return to my room now for some much-needed repose.”

  Just as he was about to close the door, however, Mr. Bennet turned and fixed Darcy with a stern look. “Oh, and Darcy, if you cannot remain in your own bed for a mere five nights until your wedding day, and I happen to learn of it—and make no mistake, I will learn of it—I daresay you will not find me quite so forgiving as I have been tonight.” And with that, Mr. Bennet stepped out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him as Darcy fell back into the well-worn leather chair behind his desk.

  Chapter 16

  Darcy did not go to bed the night of his aunt’s visit. He did not consider
having shared Elizabeth’s bed as actually sleeping, particularly since those emotionally exhausting hours were mostly spent in earnest, yet painful conversation, and in reassuring her of his steadfastness, his devotion, and his ardent love. It was not a night he ever wished to repeat.

  It was but a matter of moments after Georgiana had left them that Darcy’s deepest fears had been realized. It had mattered not to Elizabeth that she had already given herself to him completely—that she had become his wife, both in heart and in body, if not yet in the eyes of God—for her sweet, unsteady voice had uttered the words he had dreaded to hear above any others: “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but I am afraid I can no longer agree to be your wife. I hereby release you from our engagement.”

  Hearing her refer to him in so stiff and formal a manner made him feel as though a knife had been driven into his heart. It had taken Darcy nearly half the night to convince Elizabeth to reconsider taking such a rash measure, and now, as he looked back upon those wretched hours, he was not the least bit ashamed to admit he had done everything within his power to hold on to her. He could no more have stopped the tears that had threatened to fall from his eyes than he could have prevented himself from dropping to his knees as he begged her, his voice quivering with raw emotion, not to leave him. He told her of the emptiness in his life before he had met her, of how her liveliness and intelligence had brought such joy and fulfillment to his mundane existence. He told her of how the tediousness of his responsibilities and position in society would become, once more, a punishment for him if he could not gaze into her eyes every day and hold her in his arms every night. He could not bear the thought of living without her, for a life without her would be no life for him at all.

  It was not until the clock had struck half past four in the early hours of the morning that Elizabeth had finally accepted another proposal from him—My third one, Darcy had thought with some irony—and finally, through glistening eyes, she had proclaimed, and with a passion to rival his own, what Darcy had been praying all night long to hear—that she could no more bear the thought of living without him than he could bear contemplating a life without her.