Chapter 26

E lizabeth’s eyes remained closed even after she had awakened from her slumber, a horrible headache troubling her since she had fallen asleep—a persistent pain that had never bothered her before. She wondered whether it was the long journey and the poor conditions at the inns that had left her with the sharp pain and peculiar fog that now clouded her mind. When, at last, she dared to open her eyes, she quickly shut them again, for the daylight was too intense. She wished someone would close the curtains, but when her vision adjusted and allowed her to survey the chamber, she realised she was alone.

She remembered the room; she had awakened a few times to sip water, and in the dimness of the night, she had glimpsed its splendour. Yet in the full glare of day, the elegance overwhelmed her. It was even more impressive than Rosings, and she had not seen the bedrooms there. They must be at Matlock House, invited by Lady Matlock herself. However, she could not recall arriving there or even going to bed.

She must have fallen asleep in the carriage, with Mrs Gardiner and the maids helping her to bed. Yet even before she slept, her head had been plagued by that dreadful soreness. She remembered hearing hushed voices around her but little else; then also her uncle’s voice calling her and other men’s voices, though that must have happened while she was already dreaming in the carriage before arriving.

She gingerly turned her head from side to side, then cautiously climbed out of bed despite the pain. With great care, she dimmed the light in the room by drawing the curtains, and only then did she examine the chamber more closely, discovering the exquisite furnishings decorated with intricate carvings and the enchanting pastel hues of the chair and sofa fabrics.

Vases of flowers adorned the mantlepiece, and as her fingers brushed against the sheets once more, they felt as smooth as velvet. Matlock House was indeed resplendent, even surpassing Rosings in its opulence. At that moment, memories surged through her like a violent tide—everything that had transpired since their departure from Longbourn, but most of all, she thought about him—her Mr Darcy.

No, not my Mr Darcy, she whispered to herself, overcome with doubt and apprehension, reminding her the decision to journey to Derbyshire had been to learn more about the circumstances involving that lady and her child. Yet it had proved to be a poor choice, and the persistent headache only compounded her predicament. She summoned help, and a maid she did not recognise arrived promptly, followed by her aunt, who embraced her as if some calamity had occurred.

“What is wrong? What happened?” Elizabeth asked, her disquietude mounting; she could scarcely catch her breath, her head pounding rhythmically, rendering her nauseous. “I do not know what happened, how I found myself in bed last night,” she murmured.

“You were exhausted…by the journey,” came the hesitant reply, but she did not have time to ask more. The maids entered to assist her in bathing and dressing while her aunt stood patiently by the window, waiting for her to be ready.

“I know that something happened, yet I cannot grasp why you are withholding it from me!” Elizabeth almost wept when they were alone once more.

“I shall explain, my dear. I just wanted to see that you were in good health. You suffered from a severe headache last night.”

“I still endure it,” Elizabeth whispered. “I feel dizzy, strange.”

“You have not eaten anything—”

“What time is it?” she asked, shocked. That was always the first thing she wanted to know in the morning. She searched for her small timepiece; it was conspicuously absent from her neck, and she could not see it anywhere. Most likely, a maid had removed it before bed.

“It is rather late,” Mrs Gardiner replied. Her utterance seemed enigmatic, as if she was concealing some hidden knowledge .

“How could I sleep so late?”

“You were utterly fatigued.”

Elizabeth yearned to rise, but her dizziness only increased. “I do not know what is happening to me,” she confessed. “I cannot stand!”

“I shall order you a meal, and you may rest in bed.”

Elizabeth looked at her aunt with suspicion; she was behaving oddly, as if she had a secret to keep from her.

But she was hungry, that she could admit. And the food made her feel better. Even the dreadful ache subsided, allowing her to see her aunt clearly as she looked at her with worried eyes.

“It is about him, Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I made this trip like an idiot before knowing what his decision was. How reckless, how heedless I have been!”

Mrs Gardiner sighed deeply, a sign of dire news. Furthermore, the atmosphere appeared peculiar, even disconcerting.

“We all erred in this matter, even your father, who encouraged your journey.”

“He is married,” Elizabeth murmured, and all the pain that had resided in her head now plunged into her heart as she observed her aunt nod.

“But why, why?” she implored desperately. “Mrs Barstow suggested that the child might not be his.”

“He is indeed his.”

“He…the child is a boy,” she whispered, crushed by this revelation. But then, in haste, she added, “How can they be certain the child is his? Mrs Barstow had the means to discern such matters, saying something about the child be ing born long before the term.”

“The child was born at term.”

“How? It is only the end of July—”

“It is later,” her aunt murmured, and the headache returned with such intensity that she could not think of her aunt’s words and their meaning.

Ultimately, none of it mattered. No explanations were needed, for they were futile. He was wed, and she was in Derbyshire. Like a fool, she had arrived to witness his marriage to another woman. She yearned to weep but dreaded the tears, fearing they would only exacerbate her suffering. In a moment of clarity, she pondered which pained her more, her heart or her head.

“I was an idiot,” she declared in a hollow voice, and even speaking louder was a task she could not muster. “I wish to return home!”

“You must rest for a few more days, my dear.”

“No, even if I die, I must leave this place at once. You say it is already late. That is good. I have the night to sleep, and tomorrow morning we depart.”

“Lizzy! Please, be reasonable,” her aunt implored in a tender tone.

“I am being reasonable at last. I was not when I departed Longbourn to seek a man on the brink of marrying another woman.”

“You had no way of knowing.”

“But I knew it was one of two possible endings to this tale…and still, I came. Hoping for what?”

“We were all mistaken, particularly Mrs Barstow, who was certain he would not wed. She even held out hope that, upon seeing you, he might choose not to marry her, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Oh, Aunt! What do you mean? We are speaking of an innocent child, not that woman.”

“A child brought into the world through his mother’s deceit. You had every right to marry Mr Darcy no matter what.”

“No, for I am not like her. I am an honest lady. We depart tomorrow.”

“He is here,” Mrs Gardiner murmured without meeting her gaze.

“Who is here?” Elizabeth cried, shocked, unable to imagine his audacity in seeking her out.

“Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner whispered, her face filled with sadness as she witnessed Elizabeth’s distress. “He wishes to speak to you.”

“No! How can you think I wish to see him? I do not despise him, but I no longer love him. I merely long to return home, forget it all, and mend from this love that has tormented my life in such a manner.”

“Please, Elizabeth, I am asking you for a moment. He is absolutely destroyed, yet it might be a good idea even for you—to end this story properly. I promise it will give you some comfort.”

Elizabeth thought for a while. Strangely, her physical pain seemed to lessen her emotional pain. She wanted to see him one last time, and her aunt’s advice made sense. She even hoped seeing him might change her feelings, leading her to dislike him and sparing her from crying like her sister had over Mr Bingley. But in her case, crying over Mr Darcy would be pointless; marriage was a final step.

Eventually, she nodded, and her aunt helped her to rise from her bed and dress.

“You look wonderful!” Mrs Gardiner said. “I hope his heart will break into pieces at seeing what he has lost. No, hope is not the right word. I am certain he will be tormented by his actions for the rest of his life.”

“Which I could not care less about. I admit I may never be as happy as I could have been with him. Still, at least I shall have the chance to be with a man who truly loves me, instead of someone who forces me into a marriage I do not want—like happened with him and that woman.”

They met in a sitting-room on the same floor, and as she waited for him, she noticed it looked like their sitting room at Longbourn. It was not shabby but unkept, and the furniture was not as elegant as in her room.

She did not have much time to think before she heard someone at the door, and with a steady voice, she invited him in.

They exchanged greetings, and to her relief, her heart did not go wild. She looked at the man she had loved deeply, now as if he were a stranger, and then she even wondered whether it truly was him—so changed he seemed. That burden in his life may have made him different.

“Elizabeth,” he said, and she looked at him in outrage. He had never called her that before, except in her dreams. But here he was, in reality, looking at her. To her dismay, he fell to his knees, almost touching her, and begged, “Please forgive me, Elizabeth. ”

She could only hurry to the window and turn her back, hoping he would disappear. She did not look at him when she said, “I forgive you, just leave, leave me alone. I do not want to see you ever again!”

And indeed, when she looked back, he was gone, leaving only the open door as a sign that he had been there.

They left Derbyshire the next day, as she wished, and the three days of travel felt like a horrible dream. For most of the journey, she lay in the carriage, with her head or legs in Maria’s lap, finding comfort in sleep. Sleep seemed to heal her.

She feared a little arriving home, but Mrs Gardiner promised to tell everyone she had been sick in Derbyshire, and they had decided to return to give her time to heal.

Perhaps, in time, her father and sisters would hear the real story. Still, for now, recovering meant to be far from their burden of questions and curiosity.

She did not even realise they had arrived at Longbourn—she had probably been sleeping again. But when she opened her eyes, she was in her own bed, and she sighed with relief because she was alone; not even Jane was there, but that was not strange, as Jane spent almost all her time at Netherfield.

As her head touched the familiar pillow in her childhood home, her headache miraculously disappeared, and she drifted into a peaceful sleep. All her worries were forgotten, leaving only a lingering sadness in her heart. But at Longbourn, surrounded by her family, she had all the time she needed to face her sorrow and, helped by her dear ones, to heal.