Author's Note: So a number of people were upset about where the last chapter went which is, you know, totally fair. I'm only going to say two things. 1. I don't write romance fantasy, so if that's what you're looking for, this is probably the wrong fic. I am interested in history and the human condition, and in the context of this fic, it means I'm trying to figure out what makes Darcy tick, not turn him into an unrealistic fantasy hero. My Lizzy is also a flawed creature. 2. I'm not trying to write a "dark" or debauched Darcy, just a canon Darcy. If he seems dark, it may be because you haven't heard his side of the story yet. Don't forget that canon Lizzy also assumed the worst about canon Darcy until she heard his POV.

Chapter 10 - Darkest Hour

Elizabeth clasped her arms around her knees and stared darkly into the fire of the sitting room.

Three times Darcy had tried the knob and called through the door. Each time she had pressed her hands over her ears and cried, "Go away!" over and over until he had stopped. She did not wish to hear what he had to say. She did not want to hear his lies.

It was her own fault. She should have known. How could a man so rich, so desirable, possibly content himself with one woman when he could have any for the asking? She had been a fool to think he could.

But he had treated her so well. He had been so kind, so gentle.

He must enjoy it, she told herself bitterly. Perhaps that was his specialty, to take maidens and introduce them to the pleasures of carnality. She had heard of such men. Once the maiden had lost her innocence and become as debauched as he, he would discard her and move on to the next budding flower.

But why had he married her then?

He must have known he could have her no other way. It was as her father had told her: she had made her disinclination toward him clear. Doubtless overcoming her resistance was a pleasant challenge for him. And she was a gentlewoman, just highly placed enough that he could not tempt her into sin with money alone. And, she thought wearily, he was at the age where he must find a wife to bear him sons. She was pretty enough and healthy enough and from a good enough family to be up to the task, a family that was not so powerful that it could make any protest to his treatment of her. Perhaps he had deliberately looked for a family with an indolent father and no brothers to defend her honour. Yes, it all made perfect sense now.

She pictured him lounging in a fashionable salon, a superior smile on his face as he listened to a beautiful Italian opera singer amaze the room. After the signora's performance, she would give him the glance that only they two knew the meaning of, and he would make his way up the stairs to her chambers to await her coming. She would come to him then, perfumed and clad in a sheer gown, and undress him with skilful fingers, whispering words of love to him in a voice no longer pure and soaring, but low and thrilling. And what would they talk of? Would she tease him about his stupid, ignorant country wife, waiting at home for him, perhaps heavy with his child?

Elizabeth savagely wiped away her tears. He was wrong if he thought she would simply lie back and accept it! What could she do? She knew what the women of his kind did. They took a lover. She would take one too!

She tried to picture herself with other men and failed. She did not want any other lovers. She only wanted him. No, she thought dully, she would have to return to her father's house. At least money would not be an issue. He was obligated to provide for her, and she thought he seemed honourable enough to do so with no protest. It was not as if he could not easily afford it.

She put her head down on her knees again. How ironic that she had once told Jane that she could not marry without some affection. If she did not love him so, none of this would matter. If she had not given him her heart, she would not care what he did with other women. She would be a happy bride, glorying in her fancy carriages and being the mistress of a grand estate.

Elizabeth wept into her knees, feeling sorry for herself.

Several hours later, in the dead of the night, the bolt slid back in the latch and Elizabeth entered the bed-chamber. Darcy, who had been sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, immediately stood up. He was dressed again, missing only his tailcoat. He watched as she walked over to the fire, her head high.

"I became cold," she said defiantly. "The fire in my room burnt down."

"You should have called a servant," he said.

"I did not know if I could call so late at night. I am not so well-versed in the workings of this hotel as you," she said as nastily as she could.

He said nothing to that and instead added more wood to the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the night.

"You are a profoundly stupid man," she said, facing him straight on. "If I were to have a love nest for my mistresses, I would certainly never take my wife there."

"It is not what you think," he said.

"Do you mean that you have never used this hotel for liaisons?" Hope briefly flared in her, even though she knew it would be a lie if he denied it.

"No, I am not saying that. I have brought a lady here."

"Well, then."

"It was a long time ago. I was not two and twenty. The reason I know this hotel so well is because the hotel proprietor was house steward to Lord Fitzwilliam before he was pensioned off.[1] He keeps a well-trained staff and my family stay here frequently." He glanced at her skeptical expression and added, "If you do not believe me, you can ask Georgiana when you meet her. She has stayed here often with me when we are on our way to Kent to visit our aunt, Lady Catherine."

So it had been many years and there had only been one, Elizabeth thought. Still, no doubt he had had a string of mistresses since. What did it matter if he entertained them at a hotel or his townhouse?

She sat down in one of the chairs and Darcy sat down in the other. She scrutinized his face, haggard and half hidden in shadow. He was looking at the fire rather than at her.

"Who was she?"

Darcy said, without looking at her, "Her name is Mary Castleton. Lady Castleton. She is a countess."

The name was vaguely familiar. Lord and Lady Castleton. It came up in society papers and scandal sheets that her aunt read from time to time, conjuring up a sense of great wealth and glamour. She tried to remember what she had read of Lady Castleton. Lady Castleton, the great society beauty. She felt a stab of anxiety.

"Did you love her?"

"At the time, I believed I did. Very much."

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "It did not end well. She was married. Is married." He corrected himself.

"When did you last see her?"

"You mean just see her and not speak to her? Last season. At some event." He shrugged again.

"Do you still love her?"

He looked at her, then away again. "No. I scarcely think of her. I did not truly love her anyway. I loved the woman I thought her to be. But it was not real. None of it was real." His voice was tired.

"And the others?"

"What about them?"

"Do you have a mistress now?"

He looked at her then, shocked. "Certainly not. Why would I be marrying if I had a mistress?"

She was pleased with his answer. It showed some ground of commonality between them. If the idea of having a mistress on his wedding day did not sit well with him, then some part of him valued the sanctity of his marriage vows. Elizabeth briefly wondered if she could ask him to promise never to take a mistress, but decided she was too afraid of the answer.

He sighed and slumped down in his chair. "I can see what you are thinking, but you are mistaken. I have not had an endless parade of lovers. You are actually the first woman I have been with in more than five years."

She looked up at him, unbelieving. His face was calm and did not flinch under her scrutiny. After a while she nodded in acceptance.

"So…can we lay this to rest now? It was a different time and I was a different person. I think that we are both tired and need sleep," Darcy said.

Elizabeth thought about it. She had what she wanted, did she not? Her husband was faithful to her in entering into marriage and did not appear to be the type to dabble. It appeared that all of his activities had happened a long time ago. Youthful indiscretions, Mrs. Gardiner would say. Best to let it lie.

He stood up and began closing the coloured glass fire screen for the night.

"Will you tell me about them?"

He shut his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. "Elizabeth, why must we go over something that will give us both pain? It is all past and done."

She studied the pattern on the carpet by her slippered toe. "I know this. It is only…I wish to know about you. I left my family for you - my father, Jane. You are...you are who my life will centre around now. Is it not natural that I wish to know who you are?"

His look was arrested. "And what if you do not like what you find out?"

She gave a small, rueful laugh. "I do not have a choice, do I? I am your wife now. I suppose I must learn to like it."

He gave her an odd, almost wistful smile. "Is that what marriage means to you?"

"Partly." She added quickly, "Within reason."

He crooked an eyebrow at her. "Within reason? You cannot guarantee me forgiveness for my sins if I confess?"

Her brow contracted quizzically. "I am no priest, sir. Absolution is not within my power."

"Then why should I tell you anything?" His tone was light, but his eyes were challenging.

She met his gaze full on. "So that I know. So that somebody knows who you are. So that you can be close to somebody."

His eyes probed hers, but she did not flinch. After the space of several heartbeats, he looked away.

"It is a long story."

"I am not going anywhere."

"If I am to make you understand there are many things I will need to tell you that do not seem to be particularly related."

She nodded sagely. "A good setup is very important to a well-told tale."

"I will have to speak of things, bad things, of which you have no experience. You may find it upsetting or difficult to understand."

"I am familiar with fearful tales. Do you know, I used to read my Uncle Philips's law reports when he left them lying around? If you wish to learn about the extent of human depravity, I highly recommend this as a resource."

He smiled suddenly, sweetly. He said, "Very well. I will tell you." Then he looked over at her. She was pale and her eyelids drooped and her shoulders slumped in her thin chemise. "But not now. I think we both need to sleep."

"In the morning?" she said anxiously.

"It is morning now." The darkness was thinning in the early light of dawn. "When we wake. I promise."

"I am not sleepy," she said, but he could see that she was fighting to keep her eyes open.

"Of course you are not," he said soothingly, and led her to the bed. He tucked her in as if she was a child. The air was chilly but the sheets were cosy from the warming pans placed by the servants. She snuggled into them with a deep sigh, causing him to smile. Her eyelids drooped and her eyelashes fanned out against her cheeks and before long she was asleep.

He undressed quickly himself and slid in beside her, but did not take her in his arms. As soon as his own head hit the pillow, he felt exhaustion overtake him and closed his eyes against the light of the new day.

Footnote:

[1] Not to be confused with a land steward. A house steward was considered a senior servant and oversaw the running of the household and managed the male servants. His function was often served by a butler, and only in the largest households was there need for both a house steward and a butler. A land steward, by contrast, managed the estate and was considered a professional, similar to an attorney or a physician. Many land stewards were trained as attorneys or agricultural surveyors. Their relative status was reflected in their pay - a house steward was paid about the same as a butler, £30 to £100 a year, while a land steward typically made about 4% of the rents under management. On an estate generating £10,000 a year, that would be £400 a year.