Chapter 59

59

E lizabeth sank into the nearest chair and screwed her eyes shut. She must not let tears fall. He was not worth it. He is not worth it. He is not worth me. I knew I could not trust any man. I cannot trust anyone . The thoughts rattled round and round in her mind, until there was a gentle nudge to her hand, and she opened her eyes.

Papa was holding out a glass with a small amount of liquid in it. "Drink this, my dear. You are very pale."

"What is it?" She was so, so tired. Tired of everything.

"It is only a few sips, my dear. Brandy. It might bring back a little colour into your cheeks."

She gave a half-sob, half hiccup, and took it. Nothing mattered anyway.

"Just a small sip at a time, my little Lizzy." There was loving concern in Papa's gaze. At least he was always to be trusted. And she vowed, deep within herself, she would never, never , trust any man again. Only Papa. And Uncle.

She sipped the brandy, which sent a searing heat down her throat, then leaned back and kept her eyes closed. She couldn't tell Papa, she couldn't tell anyone.

His hand patted hers. "Lizzy, why did you not send Mary to find me when you brought him in here? I would not have wished you to allow him to confront you alone."

She screwed up her face. "There was no reason for you to have to listen to him as well, Papa. It is my fault. My fault for not telling him sooner, so he found out otherwise than from me." She sighed. "My fault for ever playing in front of him and attracting his attention in the first place."

"Is he so angry you are Santorio that he would not listen?" Papa's voice was very quiet.

"I don't know. His anger was all directed at me because I misled him and lied to him." Elizabeth shivered. "He said it was despicable, and … and that such disguise was abhorrent. Oh, I cannot even remember. I have never had such venom and anger directed at me." She shivered again. "I will go upstairs, I think, and find a warmer shawl." She stood up, and Papa came close and enfolded her in his arms.

"My little Lizzy. I am sorry."

She hardly wanted to push away; his embrace was warm, comforting and protective. But she wanted the embrace of another man. William. And now she never would.

She eased herself away, and blinked at him. "Thank you, Papa." And then she was hurrying up the stairs, anxious only to be alone and to be able to weep and never stop.

It seemed to be many hours later, but yet no time at all, when there was a diffident touch on her shoulder.

"Lizzy … Lizzy."

Elizabeth rolled over and looked at Mary. She smiled faintly. "Hello, Mary. What is happening downstairs?"

Her sister shook her head and held out Elizabeth's hairbrush. "You must tidy yourself. Papa has sent me up to ask you to take tea with him. And he told me to tell you that he has taken the package safely into his book room. Whatever he meant by that."

"Oh, yes." Elizabeth felt vague. Was this what it felt like, the death of all one's dreams?

Goodbye, Miss Bennet. As you must know, our courtship is at an end.

Tears started to her eyes, and she blinked fiercely. She found Mary was sitting beside her, her arm over her shoulder. "Oh, Lizzy. I am sorry. We could hear a bit of it from the sitting room, you know. You must have been frightened."

Elizabeth didn't seem to be able to do much more than sniff. But it would have to do. There was nothing she was able to tell Mary, anyway. "Thank you, dear sister. I am grateful for your support."

"Well, he is wrong anyway." Mary sounded fierce. "I don't care what he was accusing you of, it cannot be true. You are the most upright and honourable of all us sisters. You cannot have done what he thinks."

She had indeed been wrong. But she could not say that to Mary. "Thank you, Mary. I will set my hair to rights, and then I'll come downstairs."

Mary got to the door and then turned. "It is frightening, isn't it? Imagine if one didn't see that side of a man until one was actually married and it was too late to escape him?" She seemed to shiver before she left the room.

Indeed. What would have happened if she had been married to him before this confrontation? She shivered. But then she would have been able to see him again, able to convince him of the valid reasons she had to keep her secret.

Now? No, she would never see him again. It was not that she was afraid her secret might be revealed; however angry with her he was, however betrayed by her, she was sure he would not tell anyone. At least, she hoped not. She bit her lip. Could he be trusted?

But she would not have the chance to see him again. She would never have the opportunity to explain to him why she had done this; even tell him how much she loved him. Her eyes filled again, but she blinked. Papa was expecting her downstairs. She must not worry him.

Drearily she tidied her hair, and smoothed her gown.

Drearily she went downstairs, clinging to the hand rail, not at all sure her legs were under her full control.

Drearily she put her head shyly round his library door. "Papa?"

"Come in, my dear." Her father got to his feet, and led her to the comfortable chair close to the fire. "I am glad you are come downstairs." He turned to the tea tray. "I had refreshments sent in when Mary came up to you."

"Thank you, Papa." Elizabeth sat, cradling her cup in her hands and staring at the fire. She felt utterly empty; there was not even any music pulsing through her head.

She was thankful her father didn't ask her any questions about what William — Mr. Darcy — had said; how she had responded; and certainly not how she felt.

After a long silence, his voice was very quiet. "You must be quite unsure what you want to happen now, my dear."

She nodded, too dispirited to even try to help the conversation along. "I'm sorry, Papa. I can't even imagine how to talk about it."

His eyes were soft and gentle. "I am not expecting sparkling repartee from you just yet, Lizzy. I do want you to help me, though, with this wet package. I believe we will need to separate out the sheets and dry them carefully. Then we can see what can be salvaged and what else might be legible enough to be copied."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Burn it all, Papa. I cannot think of it again." She would not tell him now, but she was determined that Santorio was dead. Her music, her singing, her composing, had caused this agony. She would never allow it in her life again.

She had been foolish to think it all so important that she needed to prevaricate with William — Mr. Darcy. And it had caused her to lose the only man she had ever been able to love. At least, the man she had thought he was.

She was staring out of her bedchamber window again. The view had not changed much over the last few days. But it was better up here; she could not countenance Mama's questions, or the sadness in Papa's eyes.

But there was a quiet tap on the door. Elizabeth didn't answer. Mary was trying too hard to be the sister Elizabeth needed until Jane was home. But even then, nothing would help. Elizabeth could not talk to Jane. She was married now, and to a great friend of Mr. Darcy. She dare not speak of it.

The door opened quietly, and her friend's voice was calm and quiet. "Mr. Bennet said I must come in even if you didn't answer my knock, Eliza. He is concerned for you. He says you have not eaten anything nor left this chamber for three days."

Elizabeth didn't turn to look at her friend. She shrugged slightly. "I don't mind you being here, Charlotte. But there is nothing to say. I have to work through this myself before I can see the other side and begin to make my life again."

"Mrs. Hill is bringing the tea tray up for us, Eliza. I need to talk to you, my dearest and oldest friend."