by Elaine Owen
“And you are as gallant as ever,” Elizabeth answered with a somewhat strained smile as she curtsied. “Your error is forgiven. Is your family well? I hope they are experiencing the best of health.”
“The very best; thank you.”
“I enjoyed meeting Lord Robert and Lady Eleanor in town.”
“My mother was quite taken with you. In her latest letter, she mentioned that she hopes you will be able to see each other again the next time you are both in London.”
“Has she left town, then?”
“She and my father are on the continent, visiting friends. I have just come from London myself.”
“If you came from town then you must have seen Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana cried. “What is he doing there? We have not seen him in nearly a fortnight, and he has written to me only once!”
“I have seen him,” the colonel confirmed, “and he is quite wrapped up in business matters, which he is working to resolve as soon as possible. But,” he added with a sudden, penetrating look for Elizabeth, “I fear that may not be for some time yet.”
Was the colonel aware of their difficulties? Perhaps he had brought an answering message from her husband. “I hope Mr. Darcy is also well,” she said after a somewhat awkward pause, wondering how much her husband might have confided in his cousin.
The colonel hesitated. “He is, I would say, somewhat fatigued. That is to be expected at this time of year. The heat, you know.”
“Yes, of course.”
Georgiana had grown impatient with the formalities. “What are you doing here, Richard?” she asked. “We had no word that you were coming. You ought to have told us to expect you.”
“Can’t your favorite cousin drop in unannounced, if the mood takes him?” the colonel replied, looking back at her with mock indignation. “You would not make me stand on ceremony and wait for an invitation, would you?”
“Of course not, but Fitzwilliam is not here. You usually come to see him.”
“I come here to see both of you,” he chided her gently. “At any rate, I decided I should look in on you for a few days before I travel north to join my regiment.”
“There is no need to look in on me,” Georgiana replied, playfully indignant. “I am perfectly well.”
“Well, then, perhaps we shall say that your brother has sent me to make a full report of your behavior in his absence.” He smiled teasingly at Georgiana, who returned his look as she took his arm. Elizabeth fell in on Georgiana’s other side, and the trio began to walk slowly back to the house together.
The two cousins began to speak of mutual family and friends, which gave Elizabeth time to consider the colonel’s responses to Georgiana’s innocent questions. His words had been evasive; there was no need for the colonel to report on Georgiana, not if Elizabeth was already there. But if the colonel bore no message to either her or Georgiana from Darcy, then why had he come to Pemberley? Did his lighthearted manner cover a more serious intent? Perhaps after receiving her letter, Darcy had decided he no longer wanted Elizabeth to have a position of care over his sister. Perhaps he could no longer abide her presence and had sent his cousin to relieve Elizabeth of her responsibilities while he was away.
If that was the case, she could expect to return to Longbourn in disgrace in the very near future, humiliated, her reputation shattered. It would be a painful, but not improbable, reaction on Darcy’s part.
When the next pause came in the colonel’s remarks to Georgiana, Elizabeth spoke to him carefully, measuring every word.
“It is remarkable how much time Mr. Darcy has devoted to his business matters. We have heard so little from him.”
“I myself have not had much contact with him. He is a man singularly dedicated to carrying out what he believes to be his duties, leaving little time for leisure.”
“We will have to hope for a speedy conclusion to those duties, then. Could he give no further information about when he might return to Pemberley?”
If the colonel found it odd that she was asking him about her own husband’s plans, he showed no sign of it. Instead he looked at her gravely over Georgiana’s head. “As I said, I think it is possible that he may need to stay away for some time.”
“I see.” She paused. “And how long may we look forward to enjoying your presence here?”
“I will stay, assuming you are willing to have me, as long as I believe I may be of service.” The colonel made a gallant little bow, which Elizabeth acknowledged by a slight nod. Despite the colonel’s words about joining his regiment, it sounded as though he might be planning on a sojourn of some length.
They were passing the stables just then, and Elizabeth’s attention was caught by the colonel’s horse, a tall gelding with military trim on its saddle, who was being walked out. The animal was blown and sweaty, its sheen and breathing indicating it had been ridden hard. She glanced curiously back at the colonel, noticing for the first time the dust on his clothes and his overall appearance. It was nothing like his usual careful grooming. He had the look of someone who had given more care to speed in the journey than in his appearance at the end of it; it was plain that he had not even taken the time to refresh himself before seeking out the two ladies.
“When did you leave town, sir?” she asked, looking back at the animal.
The colonel’s eyes followed hers. “But yesterday morning,” he answered, with an air that showed his awareness of her scrutiny, and Elizabeth pondered this piece of information. It was not quite noon now. Even if the colonel had left London early the day before, he must have kept a surprising pace to arrive at Pemberley so early on the second day; normally she would not have expected even a single mounted man to arrive until the midafternoon at the earliest. She looked suspiciously back at the colonel, who met her gaze evenly.
“You kept up a remarkable pace, then; you must have wanted to arrive here as soon as possible.”
The colonel bowed again. “As I said, I am pleased to be at my cousin’s service,” leaving Elizabeth burning to ask more. But Georgiana, pointing out a colorful butterfly on the path, began to speak on a different topic, and the conversation went on with no chance for Elizabeth to ask further questions.
Dinner that night was a lively affair. Elizabeth had grown accustomed to Georgiana’s reserved conversation and her husband’s near silence at meals, but the colonel entertained them both with gossip from town and stories of his life in military service. Georgiana responded eagerly, with more laughter and high spirits than Elizabeth had ever seen from the girl. There was a bond between Georgiana and her cousin that surpassed the bond she had with her brother. It was clear that Georgiana felt none of the reticence with Richard that she felt with Darcy. He and Georgiana spoke freely of relatives and acquaintances whom Elizabeth did not know; while Elizabeth, still preoccupied over Darcy, felt at times that her presence was scarcely noticed. Then the colonel would turn to her with a generous smile and encourage her to contribute in some way, and Elizabeth began to feel more at her ease.
After dinner Georgiana went to her new piano with no urging and sat down to play at once, evidently eager to demonstrate both her skill and her new instrument to her cousin. The colonel and Elizabeth took seats on a nearby pair of small settees that were grouped together for easy conversation. When Georgiana’s attention was fully absorbed in her activity and the sounds of her playing filled the air, Elizabeth noticed the colonel reaching inside his jacket, withdrawing an envelope from the pocket there, giving Elizabeth a grave look as he did so.
He leaned close and spoke to her quietly, under the cover of the complicated fugue Georgiana was playing. “I have been entrusted to give this letter to you and only you.” He pressed the envelope into Elizabeth’s hand.
There was another purpose for the colonel’s visit! Elizabeth’s heart caught in her throat. There was no writing on the outside, so she could only guess at the sender’s identity. “Is this from my husband?”
“Yes. He said it would be faster and more certain
of arrival if I brought it to you directly. And he wanted me to give it to you in private, if possible,” he added.
“In private?”
“So as not to disturb Georgiana’s peace of mind, if that can be avoided.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth clutched the envelope tightly, the paper fairly burning in her hand. Her letter to Darcy had not been enough, and now the colonel was fully aware of the state of their marriage. Shame stained her cheeks; their separation was entirely her own fault.
“I take it from my conversation with Georgiana this afternoon that she is unaware of recent events,” the colonel went on, still speaking as quietly as the music would allow, and Elizabeth could only nod. Apparently, there were no secrets with him. “She is entirely ignorant, I think, of any domestic disturbance. It is probably best that she remains that way until matters are more settled.”
The letter must contain a statement of some kind from her husband about the future of their marriage. Her heart sank. “I have tried my best to protect her from any such unnecessary burden of information. I would never want to be the cause of such disruption for Georgiana,” she answered, feeling the bitter sting of disappointment. “News of that sort should come from her brother, when he feels the time is right.”
“I agree entirely,” the colonel nodded approvingly. “Darcy also asked me to tell you that there will be no dinner party for Bingley. Your invitations, if you have sent any out, should be rescinded immediately.”
“I understand.” At this confirmation of her worst fears, Elizabeth’s heart sank even more. The colonel watched her closely.
“Allow me to say, please, that I admire your courage under the circumstances. My mother is also strongly disposed in your favor. You can always rely on our friendship and support.”
Was the entire Fitzwilliam family aware of their disagreement? Whatever Darcy had told his cousin, it must be dreadful to make the colonel speak in this way. How Lady Catherine must be rejoicing in her triumph now!
Elizabeth had to read Darcy’s letter right away. She smiled wanly at the colonel. “You are very kind. If you will excuse me, I believe I feel a headache coming on.”
The colonel nodded understandingly. “Of course you want to read your letter at once. If you wish to retire, I will make your excuses to Georgiana.” He looked at her sympathetically as she rose and began to turn away. “Do not fear, Mrs. Darcy. All will be well.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the privacy of her room, Elizabeth held the letter with trembling fingers. Nothing on the outside of the envelope gave a hint as to its contents. This was the moment she had been dreading, the time when she would discover her husband’s intentions toward her after her cruelty and indifference toward him. From this point on, there would be no doubt about his feelings for her. She opened the envelope and sank down carefully on her bed.
My dearest Elizabeth,
I beg your pardon in addressing you thus. It has been many months since I have thought of you in any other way, and even now, when I have finally realized the paucity of your affection for me, it is a privilege I am loath to surrender, especially since this will likely be the only time I will be able to speak to you in this way.
It is clear to me now that the difficulties in which we find ourselves now began at almost our first acquaintance. It is also clear to me that the position in which we now find ourselves may be untenable.
I am ashamed beyond words, after receiving your short note, that you believe I deserve thanks for taking notice of your family—that you would go so far as to express appreciation for the trifling courtesy I paid of calling on your aunt and uncle here in town. I can only blame myself for your reaction. When I remember some of my words to you in the past—that your family is not the equal of mine, that they were not to be invited to visit you at Pemberley, I know that my shame cannot go deep enough.
I am also painfully prompted to review my conduct with you from the day of our wedding until now and to realize how much my behavior as a husband has been lacking. I used you as though you have no thoughts or feelings of your own; I cannot view my actions without reprehension.
I love you, Elizabeth. I ought to have told you this many months ago and left you in no doubt of my true feelings. The estrangement between us now is entirely of my own making.
On our first evening at Pemberley you stated that you would criticize only where you saw a real defect of character, and that you would say nothing of me which I did not deserve. Little did I know how prophetic your words would be.
If I could give you your previous life back, if I could return you to that state of happiness that was your dwelling before your father’s death and my proposal, I would do so at once. But what was done cannot be well undone now. Returning to Longbourn, as you probably realize, is almost certainly out of the question. In Meryton and its environs you would be subject to every manner of gossip and speculation imaginable once the nature of our union became known. Staying at Pemberley must also be odious to you, except perhaps for the companionship of my sister.
Your happiness is my only desire. To that end, I am arranging for an establishment to be set up for you in a neighboring county, in whatever sort of home you choose, where you may live in comfort for as long as you want. Your mother and sisters can join you there if you wish. My arrangements for their maintenance will not change; your mother will still receive her allowance, and your sisters will experience no changes in their fortune. If you decide that you prefer to have them remain in their present state at Longbourn, their situation there will stay the same. You need never fear that a permanent break between us will affect them in any way. My only request would be that you still allow for some small amount of contact between you and my sister, as I know how fond of you she has become. Beyond this, I ask for nothing.
But if, in some small part of your heart, you find that you may perhaps learn to tolerate my presence one day, I beg most humbly for the chance to earn the love and devotion that I have so far failed to inspire in you.
These, then, are the choices before you: to move to a location of your choosing, renouncing your position as Mrs. Darcy in the eyes of society if not in law; or, if you prefer, to continue at Pemberley as my wife, the mistress of my home, a trusted guide and companion for my sister, and the mother of my children. Whatever choice you make, you will always be in my heart.
In that same conversation we had on the night when I first brought you to Pemberley, you told me that I ought to have married a fashionable young woman, not one who is likely to speak her mind. I hope that you can recall my response to you. I told you I did not regret my choice, for your criticism has always been tempered with charity. I pray for that charity now.
After I conclude my business in town, when or how I return to Pemberley will depend on your answer. One word from you on this subject will silence me forever. If you can give me some token of hope, no matter how small, I will fly to your side. If, however, you are irrevocably set against me and have no wish to continue in this marriage, then tell me so at once. I will abide by your decision.
Until I hear from you again, I remain
Your devoted husband,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth held the letter in her hands for a moment when she finished reading it, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. Then she folded the precious pages together carefully and held them close to her heart.
She had not expected such unwavering assertions of affection, nor such an outpouring of remorse.
How much had it cost Darcy’s pride to make his generous, self-sacrificing offer? She could not even imagine. He was willing to set aside his own wishes and desires, to give up so much for her comfort and her peace of mind, and yet to ask for so little in return. The kindness and humility expressed here put all her former feelings against her husband to shame. She had already given over her resentment and anger, but if she had still harbored any such feelings, they would have disappeared under the assault of these heartfelt words.<
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Relief washed over her like a wave, and in its wake the emotion she had tried to deny for some time came forward, demanding recognition. It grew, swelling and spreading, until she felt it in the deepest fibers of her being.
She must write to Darcy at once, though she doubted any words could capture the feelings in her heart at this moment. There were some emotions too delicate for words, too fragile to commit to paper. But she would do her best, because whenever she did see him again she wanted to see the answering love-light in his eyes even as she confessed her love for him.
Love. Was that what this was? Yes, it was—a warm love filling her completely!
Half weeping, half laughing, she took up pen and paper.
My dearest Fitzwilliam,
You have made an honorable offer and asked for an honest answer, and so I feel compelled to respond to you at once. I choose not to leave Pemberley.
She paused, weighing her words carefully. There was a peculiar feeling in her chest, a lightness and warmth that had never been present before when she thought about her husband.
Although I have come to know and appreciate this home, and although I have developed a deep and abiding affection for Georgiana, in coming to this decision I believe I have thought only of you.
The feelings that I expressed on your last evening here have changed completely from what they were then. They may, in fact, be quite the opposite.
No. This would never do. The nascent tenderness in her heart was still cautious, unwilling to risk further hurt, but if ever there were a time to throw caution to the wind, it was now. She must let her heart speak for her.
If you were here in person I could say so much more. I could apologize more fully for the abuse you suffered at my hands, and assure you of my desire to correct every misunderstanding between us. But not every feeling can be expressed in writing. There are not enough pages in the world to hold my regret for the past, my hopes for the future, or the regard I have come to have for you.
What gift can a woman give to a man who already has so much? The only token that I can send you, the best and truest token in my possession, is my heart. If you still want it, it is yours.