Chapter Nineteen

Elizabeth

E lizabeth sat in the library, looking through her books without truly taking in the words she was reading. Her mind was once again occupied by Mr Darcy. Whenever she thought she had come to a conclusion regarding the man, he surprised her again. It was as if two different men lived inside of him, and she never knew which one she was likely to encounter. He always explained his actions but never seemed to truly comprehend the results of them.

"Perdition," she muttered, slamming her book shut with a sigh and getting up.

She made her way down the darkened halls, a lone candle flickering near the landing where the steps lead down. Pemberley seemed to be in a perpetual state of darkness, not just because of its most recent history, but also because Mr Darcy was averse to lighting too many candles.

She could understand it, much of the property had been devastated by the fire in more ways than one, making for a gloomy existence.

As she neared the west wing where Miss Darcy's chamber had been, the now familiar smell of burnt wood penetrated her nostrils. How odd that it still smelled so strong after two years? She paused and looked into the darkness of the hall, recalling Mr Lightower's warning not to go there.

Was it because it held too many memories? But that would mean he wouldn't go down there himself. What was his reason for not allowing anybody else to go down there? A sense of curiosity overtook her as she made her way towards the hall, the smell getting more and more intense.

She shouldn't be here, she knew it. And yet, the secret to Mr Darcy's ever-changing personality may well lay here in these halls. It was here he had changed forever. She knew why, she knew how, and a part of her needed to know the ‘where'.

Elizabeth paused and picked up a candlestick from one of the oak tables that lined the hallway. She used the candle on the wall sconce to light hers and then continued her journey. It was eerie. As she walked towards where the centre of the blaze had been, she saw the beautiful Chinese hanging paper, which was now scorched and blackened.

Tension filled her body, and she drew her shoulders as to avoid any echoes of the past in these walls. She stopped and moved her hand to illuminate the space, seeing what had at some point been pieces of furniture that had been burned away to almost nothing. To her right, a door stood open, and she peered inside, seeing a small chamber with blackened furnishings. The acrid odour of burning was stronger, but it was mixed with an all-pervading smell of dampness and decay.

This had been a drawing room, she recognised it by the way the furnishings had been arranged. She glanced to the left and saw the empty window. Looking up, she noted that this was where the roof had caved in. She knew this view well from the outside. But seeing it from the inside was disorienting. Now partially exposed to the elements its contents were mouldering and being reclaimed by the elements.

She was about to leave and walk down further to look at the abandoned bedchamber when she caught something from the corner of her eye—a portrait.

Looking up, she saw a beautiful golden frame, and within it, a painting. Much of it had been eaten away by fire, and the canvas was warped from rain or water. She stepped closer, the crunching of debris underneath her feet reminding her of the heroic way in which Pemberley's staff had fought the blaze.

The portrait depicted a lovely, blonde-haired young woman. Elizabeth leaned forward and saw that her eyes were blue like the sky, lips thin but turned up into a warm smile. The resemblance to Darcy was uncanny. This was like a female version of him, younger, and serene.

"Georgiana," she whispered. She had heard so much about her but had not seen any pictures of her. Once upon a time, there had been a family gallery downstairs, but they had been moved since Mr Darcy could not bear to look at them.

Seeing the young woman for the first time moved something within her. It was as if she was finally real. Elizabeth's heart broke for her, and she felt a lump in her throat when suddenly the floorboards behind her creaked.

"How dare you!" Mr Darcy barked. "I asked you not to come up here multiple times. Why are you here?"

The anger in his voice was more severe than she had ever heard, but this time, she could not blame him. She shouldn't be here. She should not have given in to her curiosity.

"Mr Darcy," she stammered, "I beg your pardon, I did not—"

"No. Do not beg my pardon, for you shall not have it," he interrupted. "Everything we have discussed, and still, you come up here despite my sincerest wishes. You demand respect from me, but you do not give it in return. I cannot believe I considered... I cannot believe I apologised..." His voice trailed off.

"I should not be here. I know it," Elizabeth admitted.

"Do not speak to me. Do not. I wish you to leave," he commanded.

"I will leave immediately. I will return to my chamber and leave you alone and perhaps tomorrow—"

"No," he shouted. "There will be no further conversation. I wish you to leave Pemberley. I wish you to leave my sight right now and forever. If you cannot respect this one thing I ask of you, I do not see how you and I can ever be married."

His words wounded her deeply, and suddenly, her entire future flashed before her. She and her sisters would be regarded as spinsters, dependent on their brother-in-law and father. And all of it would be her fault. Why had she done this? Why had she come here when she knew she should not?

She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't. She saw his hands shaking with rage and felt the weight of his displeasure. She wanted to summon her anger and tell him it wasn't right for him to speak to her in such a manner, but she knew she had no defence. He had asked one simple thing of her, and she had failed to comply. And why? For no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity. How stupid.

"I will go…" she whispered finally and made her way past him. His glare was affixed to her and seemed to follow her as she walked away. She couldn't confirm if this was so, as she dared not turn back but she felt it on her with every step, she felt his seething anger and hurt. Where was her candle? She'd set it down hadn't she? Knowing she could not go back for it she struggled through the dark, hand gliding along the sooth covered wall until she made it to the staircase.

As Elizabeth descended the grand staircase of Pemberley, her heart thundered in her chest like the hooves of a stampeding horse. Tears blurred her vision, not solely from Mr Darcy's harsh words, but from the knowledge that she had inflicted fresh wounds upon his already scarred heart. How could she have been so thoughtless, so utterly foolish, as to venture into Georgiana Darcy's chambers, where his sister's memory lingered like a haunting spectre?

The weight of her transgression bore down upon her, a heavy burden that threatened to crush her beneath its remorseless weight. She cursed herself inwardly, chastising her own impulsiveness and the reckless curiosity that had driven her to pry into places where she did not belong.

She ran through the manor and to the front door where she burst out into the cool night air which instantly bit her cheeks. Her dress billowed around her, its fabric whipping in the wind. Each step she took sent a jolt of pain coursing through her soul. She knew she had to apologise and plead with him to reconsider.

But still, she ran. She ran from the anguish that threatened to consume her, from the shame that clung to her like a second skin. She ran until her breath came in ragged gasps, until her legs threatened to give out beneath her. Yet no matter how far she fled, she could not escape the spectre of Mr Darcy's furious gaze, the memory of his rejection burning like a brand upon her soul.

And so, she stumbled through the darkness, across the property and into the nearby woods. She knew it was a bad idea, the forest held danger especially at night, but she could not stop herself. She had to get away from Pemberley.