Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

T he next day, Mr Darcy came at the earliest acceptable hour for morning callers. His entrance, as well as the flowers he brought, were refused.

“I do not wish to speak to him again,” Elizabeth explained to her uncle and aunt. “It is obvious that we will not suit. Unfortunately, I still have feelings for him. It would be best to allow those feelings to starve into nothingness.”

“You are certain they will?” her aunt had asked.

“Of course they will!” her uncle assured.

She was not quite so positive, but she would begin as she meant to go on.

The following day, Darcy came again, meeting with the same rejection. And the day after that and the day after that and the day after that. It was beyond distressing, but since he did nothing except meekly accept his rebuff and go away again, there was not much to be done about it—especially because Elizabeth rebelled against any idea of Mr Gardiner’s confronting him, which he was more than ready to do by the fifth dismissal.

“His sense of honour demands that he call. He will do it until his conscience assures him that he has made every effort to right whatever wrongs he feels guilty of committing, and then he will go away,” Elizabeth insisted. “The best we can do to encourage that effort and that final departure is show our unwillingness to even speak of it.”

“It is doubtful he will come tomorrow,” Mrs Gardiner added. “’Tis the Sabbath.”

She proved right on this, a merciful reprieve.

He did not come on Monday.

Elizabeth was astonished at the disappointment she felt at his absence. Had she truly not believed her own words? What had she expected? That he would attempt to call for two or three weeks, accept rebuff after rebuff by his social inferiors, before he forgot about her and went on with his life?

Yes, foolish girl , she mocked herself. She had believed he might try for a bit longer than he had—but why should he? He was Mr Darcy of Pemberley, nephew to an earl, of vast fortune and numerous properties. She was Elizabeth, of nowhere in particular. He had come to this realisation sooner, even, than Colonel Fitzwilliam had predicted.

That man—I will not call him a gentleman—must be satisfied now.

But later in the afternoon, her uncle sent word requesting her presence in his study.

“Yes, sir? You wished to see me?” she asked, peeking her head into the room .

“Elizabeth, please—come in and be seated. Yes, shut the door behind you, there’s a good girl.”

He seemed unusually distracted.

“Is something the matter?”

He scratched his head, his jaw clenched. A stack of documents lay before him; he stared at the papers as if he wished to toss them all into the fire. “I have heard from Mr Darcy today,” he said, meeting her eyes at last. “Or rather, not from him directly. From his solicitors.”

“What? But why?”

He shoved contemptuously at the mass of papers. “This. This is a threat of a suit for breach of promise.”

“What?” Elizabeth could only repeat the question stupidly, unable to make sense of it. “ He is suing me ? Why? This is impossible!”

“Not you, per se , but your father and I, for withholding you from your promise to contract a marriage with him.”

“It is ridiculous! He has suffered no reversal from any of it! In fact, he will go on, it is to be presumed, to marry some fat-dowered miss who will increase his already immense fortune in a way I never could have! He cannot have a leg to stand on!”

“He does not claim his damages are financial, but that his deepest feelings have been wounded. You, he claims, have broken his heart.”

“ His heart?” She shook her head incredulously. “It is all ridiculous, is it not? I was the one who was humiliated on my wedding day, before a hundred witnesses! He cannot do this, can he?”

Mr Gardiner sighed. “Unfortunately, yes, he can. ”

She folded her arms. “Let him, then! I shall tell any judge in the nation what he has done!”

“Actually, you would not. Neither you nor he—the ones closest to the situation—would be eligible to speak. Truthfully my dear, the winner of such matters is often determined by which barrister best entertains the jury. Besides, it is doubtful Mr Darcy wishes to go to trial. It is extortion, plain and simple. Either you agree to one private conversation, or he will proceed to embarrass you—and himself—in a court of law.”

Elizabeth could not, for a moment even, understand him. “He is suing me to-to speak to him?”

“Rather, he is threatening your father and me with punitive legal action if you do not. Well, let him, I say. Let him embarrass himself.”

She shook her head. Mr Darcy was behaving ridiculously, but she would not add to it. There was a part of her—a part which she was sure she must never encourage—that was flattered at the lengths to which he would go to have his conversation.

“No, Uncle. We shall not allow it to come to that.”

“You do not have to speak to him, Lizzy. You never need speak to him again. He does not deserve your time, no matter the threat.”

“I know it, and I am most thankful for your protection. But let us be reasonable, if he will not be. I shall listen to what he has to say, and then I shall tell him we do not suit. It might be good for me to have…to have some sort of complete finish to the whole matter. His explanations were interrupted, and I do wish to know exactly how responsible he is for Jane’s un happiness. I do not like that it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who had the last word on it.”

It was all true, and yet, she knew it would hurt. But what did that matter? She hurt now. She would hurt tomorrow. She might as well face this conversation he was determined to have, and sooner than later; it would be the last one, the final injury. Maybe then, she would be more successful in laying this love she held for him to rest.