Chapter 1

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.''

The words hung in the air between them as he watched her beautiful eyes widen in surprise, and eagerly awaited the exclamations of pleasure and gratitude that he was sure would follow. The ensuing pause seemed to last forever. Nevertheless, he soldiered on, pacing back and forth as he detailed the depth of his passion, the obstacles he had overcome in order to be with her, and unconsciously echoing the ill-fated proposal of Mr. Collins in his assurances that he would not reproach her for any lack of dowry or connections after their marriage. He finished by expressing his hope that he would be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand, and awaited her response.

Elizabeth stared at him, took a deep breath, and spoke. "In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot - I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any one. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.''

Mind whirling, Darcy struggled to make sense of her words. Was she actually refusing him? She professed to have been unaware of his regard, but surely his attentions had been obvious! He had anticipated that she might not return his affections equally, perhaps that she would feel unworthy of his hand, but never had he expected an outright refusal, particularly one unaccompanied by any genuine expressions of regret. He knew that if he once opened his lips he would say something dreadfully bitter, and resolutely pressed them together until he could be sure that his answer would be at least marginally civil.

"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.''

Forcible as his own response was, it must be said that he was under the influence of genuine surprise and a most profound disappointment, such as he had likely never experienced before. Had he not been leaning on the mantelpiece, his knees might have buckled—as it was, he betrayed himself only by swaying slightly and tightening his white-knuckled grip on the mantel. A rushing sound filled his ears, and he scarcely registered her next remarks, until a key phrase penetrated his senses.

"Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

A most beloved sister? His mind raced. Georgiana! How could Elizabeth know of that affair? What had Wickham told her? He had ruined her happiness? Was that how Elizabeth interpreted his part in separating his naïve little sister from the seductions of a confirmed cad? He struggled to make sense of it. Elizabeth must have been misinformed—duped by Wickham, as many other young ladies had been before her. It was the only explanation. He listened as she continued, searching for a sign that there was still hope.

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind." Elizabeth glared at him, her angry eyes practically shooting sparks in his direction, and he noted even in his shock and confusion that they were rendered more beautiful than ever in her outrage.

However, he could scarcely believe what he was hearing. What cared he for Wickham's disappointed hopes? As for his sister, no one knew better than he of her misery and of the risk of society's disapprobation if the attempted elopement were to become widely known. Yet she dared to lecture him as if he had done something wrong in preventing Wickham's nefarious plans!

"Can you deny that you have done it?'' she repeated.

With assumed tranquility he then replied, "I have no wish of denying that I did every thing in my power to separate them, as any gentleman with a shred of honor or decency would have done when faced with an unscrupulous fortune-hunter who seeks material gain at the expense of an innocent."

"A fortune-hunter? How dare you, sir!" Elizabeth exclaimed with some heat. "On what do you base such slanderous accusations?"

"On my own observations," he stated unequivocally. "Which, I might add, are necessarily of greater duration and therefore weight than your own!" Why could she not see that he had known Wickham since boyhood—had seen him grow up and exhibit vicious tendencies unbecoming a gentleman? On her short acquaintance with Wickham she could not be privy to his proclivities, could be easily blinded by his smooth manners. How to make it clear to her that despite her romantic inclinations, the attempted elopement was spurred by money, and not by love? He tried again. "Further, without casting aspersions on the relative merits of each party, the difference in situation between the two made it clear that at least on one side, the motivation for an alliance was strictly mercenary."

"I see," she said icily. "In your opinion, then, anyone who seeks to marry above their station must be in pursuit of material gain, rather than affection? What, then, must you think of me?"

Stung, Darcy hastened to retort, "You know very well, madam, that the two situations are completely different! My interference in that matter was absolutely justified—where the disparity in fortune is so apparent, one cannot expect someone so inexperienced to be aware of the potential machinations of someone intent upon improving their situation through marriage! I felt it my duty as—"

"Enough, sir!" Elizabeth cried. "I will hear no more! You display your arrogance and high-handed disregard for the feelings of others with every word you speak! You have insulted me and my family in every possible manner, and can therefore have nothing more to say. Sir, you are no gentleman!"

"I?" he asked incredulously. The injustice of the accusation rankled—he was no gentleman, yet Wickham was apparently to be trusted? She had no basis for such opinion other than Wickham's smooth demeanor as compared to his own, admittedly stiff demeanor. He wrestled with his twin urges to kiss her senseless and to shake some sense into her, but ended only in saying accusatorily, "I have said and done nothing that was not right and moral! I thought better of you than to form an opinion based on an inherently biased source!"

"Biased?" she gasped. "Impossible! You have known him since childhood, and he told me himself that you had confessed to interfering in the relationship! As for the affection between the two, it is true I can know the heart of only one of the parties, but the public interactions between them were common knowledge. If more affection was shown than was intended, it was not the fault of the so-called fortune hunter!"

Darcy flinched. His worst fears were true, then—Wickham had spread the story of Georgiana's attempted elopement through Hertfordshire. The blackguard would stop at nothing to exact his revenge on the Darcy family, it seemed. And Elizabeth apparently sympathized with him! He never would have credited it, but it was true. It was too much to hope that she had simply been deceived—she had made it clear that she held Georgiana to blame for being indiscreet in her affections, and that she sided with Wickham in the matter. Sadly, he admitted to himself that she was not the woman he had thought her to be.

``You have said quite enough, madam," he said with a heavy heart. "I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.''

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.