Chapter 10

Elizabeth found herself thoughtful after lunch as she sat in the sitting room with Mama and her sisters all around her. Even Mama’s voice competing with those of her youngest daughters hardly impinged on Elizabeth’s mind.

Why, why did she find herself in such charity with Mr. Darcy? How had she gone from such anger and dislike to — what? And so quickly. She couldn’t possibly have feelings for him, could she?

She shivered; if Papa had not told her that Mr. Darcy had asked for her hand, then she would still believe that a man of his station in life could not possibly marry an unsophisticated country miss.

But Papa had refused to let him offer for her; he had told him instead to call on her. And Mr. Darcy had done so. He hadn’t taken himself off to London in a huff; and he had not rebuked her father for telling him, a gentleman of the first circles, what to do.

It spoke well of him, she considered. And on his calls, he had been exceedingly thoughtful and his gaze was warm and admiring. He hadn’t needed to tell her about his sister — but he had trusted her with the knowledge of it.

And she had been wrong about Mr. Wickham — very, very wrong. Mr. Darcy had not said a word against him that could not be proven by the evidence he brought.

She jumped when Jane’s hand touched her gently. “Lizzy, Mama is speaking to you. Are you unwell?”

Elizabeth kept her head down. She knew what Mama would be saying. She’d be suggesting a conversation with Mr. Collins; and at once Elizabeth knew she could no longer countenance that. She affected a pained expression.

“I do have a headache, Mama. Perhaps it would be best if I went upstairs.” After all, there was no chance of Mr. Darcy and his cousin returning before tomorrow, and it would be a long afternoon. She tidied away her needlework and stood up, giving Jane a reassuring little smile as she left the room.

But Papa was at the door to his library. “Ah, Lizzy. I was just coming to find you.”

“Papa, I cannot think of anything right now. I am going upstairs to rest.”

“And think some more, no doubt.” There was sympathy in his gaze. “I will not keep you above a moment, but there is something I must give you.”

Frowning, Elizabeth followed him, and took the chair he waved her into, while he took a small item from the drawer in his desk and joined her in the window seat.

“You are pondering why you are coming to admire Mr. Darcy, I think.” His gaze was gentle and warm — and oh, so wise. Why had she never seen that before?

Tears sprang to her eyes but she would not let them fall. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“Because you hated him so fiercely and so irrationally from that very first assembly, my dear.”

“It wasn’t irrational!” she flared up.

“Tell me that if anyone else had said it, you would not have laughed it off.”

His words silenced her, and he took her hand and pressed a tiny velvet bag into it. She looked down at it, puzzled.

“There’s your answer, and it will help you to think carefully and understand what has happened.” Papa rose to his feet, dropping a light kiss on her forehead. “My little girl, all grown up,” he murmured.

In her chamber, Elizabeth opened the bag curiously. She drew out what looked like a large coin. Puzzled, she looked closely. It wasn’t a coin.

On it was stamped the word love. Around the edge, in smaller letters, were the words two sides of the same coin. Puzzled, she turned it over. On the other side was the word hate, and the same phrase around the edge.

The lump in her throat made it hard to breathe. Papa had the right of it; she would not have allowed herself such profound dislike if she had not found him compelling from the moment he had walked into the assembly room, and it was why she was deeply mortified at his subsequent insult.

Suddenly her room seemed too small. She jumped to her feet and opened her door cautiously. If she went out by the kitchen door, no one from the sitting room would see her, and they would still think she was resting upstairs.

She hurried up the path until she was out of sight, then slowed so she could think.

Papa’s coin told how closely love and hate were entwined. She thought of Romeo and Juliet, how Capulet’s love for his daughter was eclipsed by his hatred of the Montagues.

Strong emotions indeed. Had she hated Mr. Darcy because his insult meant he would not love her? But he had requested Papa permit him to offer for her. Why would he have done that to save her from Mr. Collins, unless …

She began to walk a little faster. There was a convenient log to sit on at the top of Oakham Mount; the view over the rolling hills had never yet failed to improve her mood, whatever state she arrived in.