Chapter 3

Three

Elizabeth tossed and turned, the events of last night heavy on her mind. She buried her face in her arms, searching for answers that refused to come. She stared blankly at the ceiling. The silence around her felt unbearable.

She could not believe that Mr. Darcy had actually proposed to her. Mr. Darcy—the proudest, most arrogant man she had ever met. The man who was primarily responsible for the disappointed hopes of her most beloved sister, Jane, and solely responsible for the near impoverished state of a decent gentleman, Mr. George Wickham. Mr. Darcy was the embodiment of everything Elizabeth despised. Yet, somehow, he had persuaded himself that he was in love with her and offered his hand in marriage.

As she recalled what occurred the previous evening, Elizabeth could not help but feel conflicted. She turned the previous night's events over and over in her mind, sneering and blushing about them in equal amounts. To have garnered the ardent admiration of such a man, even if unconsciously done, was really something.

As she stared up at the ceiling, mentally tracing the intricate molding, Elizabeth's busy mind was filled with thoughts of the enigmatic gentleman. She closed her eyes and pictured the haughty man's intense eyes gazing into hers. His words reverberated in her ears. "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Perhaps had his subsequent speech continued in that vein, she might have at least been flattered by what he had to say. Instead, aghast at the impropriety of his speech—and his assumption that she felt as he did—she was left silent. Mistaking her stunned silence as sufficient encouragement, the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed—specifically, her family's want of connections and lack of fortune and his sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation. Indeed, he owned he loved her against his will, against his reason, and even against his character.

How could she but refuse such an appalling declaration? That he had the audacity to accuse her of incivility because of the hastiness of her subsequent rejection of his offer merely added insult to Elizabeth's injury. What she hoped would be the last words she ever wished to utter to Mr. Darcy could not help but intrude.

"From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike and I had not known you a month before I felt you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."

She congratulated herself for having thus refused him, although there would be a heavy price for her to pay were her mother to learn that her second eldest of five single daughters had refused yet another offer of marriage. Fewer than six months prior, Elizabeth had rejected her cousin, Mr. William Collins—the odious man in whose home she was a guest, what with his having married her intimate friend, the former Miss Charlotte Lucas, on the heels of Elizabeth's rejection. And now, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, one of the wealthiest and thereby one of the most eligible gentlemen to set foot in Hertfordshire since Mrs. Bennet started keeping track, found himself on her daughter's list of rejected prospects.

Not that my mother would ever find out, Elizabeth considered . If left up to me, no one in the world will ever know what happened between the haughty Mr. Darcy and me last night.

Elizabeth was equally confident the proud man would never breathe a word of it, either. Here was a man blessed with everything the heart of a mortal could most desire—a man who could have anything he wanted. And yet she had spurned him.

No, my secret, our secret, is safe from the world.

Such thoughts accompanied Elizabeth as she headed out for fresh air and exercise. She was going to her favorite walk, but as she strode down the path, she remembered that Mr. Darcy sometimes went there, too.

Mr. Darcy is the last person I want to encounter. I hope he is well on his way to London, and I shall never see him again.

Instead of entering the park, Elizabeth took the lane that led farther from the turnpike. The paling still marked the boundary on one side, and soon she passed one of the gates. After several walks, she paused at the entrance, tempted to look inside. The grounds, now awash in vibrant spring blooms, seemed to grow more enchanting with each passing day. As she prepared to continue, she glimpsed a gentleman in the grove near the park's edge. She moved away as quickly as possible, or so she thought. Then, turning around and seeing the gentleman moving in her direction, she tried to retreat even further. But the man called out to her, causing Elizabeth to stop in her tracks. She breathed a deep sigh of relief upon realizing her imminent companion was not Mr. Darcy but his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.

A tall, gregarious man, who was not as handsome as his younger cousin but made for a far more agreeable companion, the colonel had come across Elizabeth walking in the lane the previous day. Seeing him again, she was given to wonder if he had not told her about Mr. Darcy's officious conduct regarding his friend, Mr. Charles Bingley, she would not have had proof of what she had long suspected—that Mr. Darcy had been instrumental in his friend's separation from Jane, her eldest and dearest sister.

Of course, the colonel could have no way of knowing that he was poisoning Elizabeth's mind against his cousin. Had she not conversed with him that morning, she might not have reacted the same way toward Mr. Darcy later that evening.

"Miss Bennet!" cried the colonel as he approached, gasping for air. "After meeting with no success in seeing you at the parsonage, I have been walking about the park for some time, hoping to locate you." He caught his breath and then continued. "I fear the information I am about to convey is grave indeed. It has to do with my cousin—Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy?"

The colonel nodded. "There has been an accident, you see. Darcy's condition is tenuous at best. I need you to accompany me back to Rosings. We have not another moment to spare."

"An accident," Elizabeth cried. "Did—has Mr. Darcy asked to see me?"

"No—although, he no doubt would if he could. When my cousin was found in the early morning hours, he was unconscious and has remained that way."

Elizabeth shook her head and gasped.

"Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon, but I am not unaware of my cousin's feelings for you. His behavior last night when he discovered you were feeling poorly merely reinforced what I already suspected." The colonel reached into his pocket, retrieved a missive, and handed it to Elizabeth. "I do not mean to intrude on your privacy, but I felt I ought to deliver this to you."

The colonel recalled how he had come into possession of the letter. After instructing Darcy's valet to summon his cousin's personal physician from town, posthaste, and receiving the valet's assurance, the colonel was pulled aside for a matter of some delicacy. Handing him the letter, the valet said, "I am certain you know what is best to be done."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow and glanced at the letter in her hand. "What is this?" she asked.

"It is a letter from Darcy... to you," Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

Why would Mr. Darcy write to me? Elizabeth wondered. "Where—I mean, how did you get it?"

"It was in my cousin's pocket. Finding this is evidence enough of an attachment between you two, is it not? Which is why I have come in search of you. I can only suppose he meant to give it to you himself this very morning. Although, I cannot account for his being found on the outskirts of the property. Only Darcy can account for his whereabouts at the time—that is, assuming he recovers. Which, again, is the reason I sought you out. I believe your being by Darcy's side is precisely what is best for him at such a time as this.

"I am persuaded, Miss Bennet, that your presence will be the very thing to help Darcy recover. No doubt, he sees you as more than just an acquaintance. Pray, let us be on our way before it is too late."

Elizabeth's stomach tightened and then fluttered. Her head pounded. Never had she felt more conflicted than she did at that moment. She swallowed a painful lump as Colonel Fitzwilliam's compassionate gaze fell upon her, full of sympathy for the pain and distress he believed she ought to be suffering.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and held it, collecting her thoughts. As much as she wished to correct the colonel's misunderstanding of her relationship with Mr. Darcy—or lack thereof—it was not her place to tell him the truth. Nor was it the time to read the letter, despite her strong curiosity. And it certainly was not her place to be by Mr. Darcy's side—not after the way they had parted.

But knowing he lies unconscious at Rosings, I cannot help but wonder—should I be there? Though my feelings are unchanged, will my conscience allow me such indifference?