I've loved reading all your comments and guesses. I hope this latest installment will satisfy.

Elizabeth's POV

17. Mr. Darcy Cannot Love Me

I believed, given Mr. Darcy's recent concessions and the fact that he was now kneeling before me, that I had the upper hand (or at least as much of the upper hand that a woman who finds herself in an unwanted marriage can have until her husband recalls that she is at his mercy, completely dependent upon his goodwill for all things). That is to say, the power I had been granted just then was likely transitory, temporary, a product of him wanting to believe and show me that he was a better man. I wondered yet again, Just who is this man truly, under all the layers at his core? Is he the cruel man who explained exactly how degrading it would be to marry me, admitted to considering taking me as his mistress even against my will, essentially said he had to marry me in order to bind me tighter than a woman under his protection would be, explained how the exercise of his marital rights would be unceasing, who would not let me share my thoughts even with a chicken in a chicken coop? Or is he the man who now declares his love, is trying to work out how best to have my sisters visit me, is begging to give me pleasure?

I could not trust his words. That he had passion, nay an obsession and covetousness toward me, that I could well imagine even if I could not quite understand how he had originally come to want me. But having refused him, perhaps being the first one to refuse him anything and being an object of his cousin, had made him desire all the more what he could not have, grasp at it all the tighter. Yes, I had sold myself for my family, but I had been determined to hate him for making me make such an exchange, depriving me of all choices, locking me up in a guilded cage.

As I had told Mary before, I did not want his selfish love directed at me. It was easier to deal with his baser nature, to hate that man.

Through all our exchanges, I will confess that even as I rationally lay out my objections to Mr. Darcy, I was all too aware that what must have been desire, nay pure lust, continued to course through me. My womanhood dripped with it, my thighs were wet and I feared that it might be enough to soak through my shift and dress, to even the fabric of the carriage seat. My nipples were still hard and I longed for his touch to resume, to gain some fulfillment that I seemed to instinctively know Mr. Darcy, my husband, could give me.

I did not like feeling out of control in such a way. There was no rationality in wanting to be with a man who had forced me to marry him, taken away all my choices to gratify himself with me. I needed to regain my equilibrium, could not yield to my animal spirits, needed the defense of my anger, but could not easily muster it while Mr. Darcy was kneeling down and holding my hand, looking up at me with his soft, brown eyes. And his words, oh his words spoken in that sensuous, deep voice, when he asked to give me pleasure.

I had some idea that Mr. Darcy could indeed please me, imagined that if his kisses and caresses could awaken such a need in me, that it might well be in his power to please me very well. But should I truly want such things? No, never! Still, oh how I longed for something I had never had, could not truly imagine.

I yelled, "No, you do not love me!" and snatched my hand away. Then I pointed to the opposite seat, indicating that he should sit once more. I was astonished however when he did so.

With him there, I could think more clearly, and declared "Mr. Darcy, you must not understand what love is despite your university education. Love is not nearly so selfish as you have been. If you truly loved me, you would have allowed me choice, helped my family because you wanted better for us all whether or not I would marry you.

"If you loved me, you would have tried to understand what I needed. You would not have arrogantly taken away all my choices, believed me incapable of deciding what was best for me. You would not have implied, nay threatened, that if I did not accept your suit that you might make me your involuntary mistress, use that to spur me on into accepting your suit. In all things, you have only thought of yourself.

"Have you failed to grasp, though I have stated it in the clearest of terms, that in taking away my choices I have become like to a slave? In this century, women have so few choices about anything of importance. The one sacred choice we are always to have is the choice to decide whether or not to accept a man's proposal.

"It is a right I exercised twice, in rejecting Mr. Collins and then you the first time. As for Mr. Collins, my mother sought to make my father compel me to accept him so we might all have a home after my father died. I did not appreciate her wisdom then (though now I can see how prescient it was). I thought at least Jane would marry well enough, believed us to have decades more with my father in health, even thought it not impossible that my mother might have one last child, a baby brother. My father (God rest his soul) let me chose, supported my right to self-determination. Perhaps I was a fool in acting in furtherance of my own happiness, not anticipating the folly of rejecting my father's heir, but at least it was my choice."

Finally, I declared, "If only I had accepted Mr. Collins, even I might be content with my lot in life." While I inwardly shuddered in imagining having to endure Mr. Collins's touch, did not doubt that marital duties with him would have been most unpleasant, I would have remained myself.

I explained to a shocked Mr. Darcy, "I can see you are surprised at this. Mr. Collins may be a ridiculous toad of a man, but there is no great evil in him, and even now I might yet be with my family."

Mr. Darcy shook his head, "While you may have returned to Longbourn with such a husband after your father's death, from the things Mr. Collins said over Easter dinner, I doubt he would have let the rest of your family remain there. Even if he had, he would believe it his right and duty to discipline any of you with a switch or worse.

"Mr. Collins bragged that he did not spare the rod with his own wife, seemed to take pride in having beaten Mrs. Collins for some likely imagined transgressions. A man such as that wants to believe in his own self importance, would take pleasure in subduing his more intelligent wife."

Just then the scales fell from my eyes and I recalled returning from a walk during my stay in Hunsford and finding Charlotte with red rimmed eyes, walking carefully and slowly toward me as if in some pain. When I asked what was the matter, she explained "Mr. Collins is upset that my courses have come, believes I am responsible for failing him once again." Could it be? Would he have switched her for failing to be in the family way?

Mr. Darcy must have still been talking, but I only surfaced from that memory to hear the words "I cannot understand it at all. Believe me, I shall never raise a hand to you. Mr. Collins's ideas of right and wrong seem rather extreme, he recounted with disdain how your sister wished him to read aloud a novel from a lending library.

"And this, I shall never be able to forget: Mr. Collins declared that had he taken you to wife, you would have required far more correction. He seemed gleeful, giddy in imagining how he would have had to punish you. So, can you not see, if he had accepted your sister into his home, I have no doubt that he would be heavy-handed in trying to seek God's vengeance here on earth to expatiate her sins.

"Please, please I beg of you, Elizabeth. Do not repine denying him. I hardly think you could have borne such a life with equanimity. He would have never cared to know you well enough to love you."

Mr. Darcy reached out a hand in my direction and it required a great determination on my part not to reach out with my own hand towards his. He said, his tone thick with emotion, far more emotion than he had displayed before, "Dearest Elizabeth, do not say I cannot love you, that I have been only selfish. I did my best to save Miss Lydia for I could not bear to thinking of you crying over her, but I am afraid I muddled that, too. But how could I have known that her return would cause your father's death, or that she would come back with child? I am the cause of half your suffering, can do naught right." Mr. Darcy bowed his head like an ashamed child.

I found myself flummoxed, could not help but ask, "What have you to do with Lydia's return? It was my Uncle Gardiner who tracked her down and paid to secure her release."

Mr. Darcy shook his head, his wavy locks shaking lightly. "No, indeed. When I learned Miss Lydia had been opportuned by Wickham and was likely in London, I came from Pemberley intent on ferreting them out. You see, I knew where Mrs. Younge's boarding house was, and from her learned of his whereabouts, but by then he had already sold your sister on, admitted it all while he was foxed. As far as I know, no progress had your uncle made in trying to recover your sister until I sent him an anonymous note and money to buy her back."

Although I saw nothing but truthfulness in Mr. Darcy's eyes, believed instinctively what he had told me, I could not trust it, for had I not believed I saw truth in Mr. Wickham's looks as well? I no longer trusted my powers of perception.

I asked "How can this be? This cannot be true, for my Aunt Gardiner wrote that they had no ready funds to aid us, having expended all they had in purchasing Lydia's freedom."

"I am grieved, truly grieved," Mr. Darcy exclaimed, "that they would provide such an excuse, but perhaps Madam * exacted a higher price than I anticipated? I provided twice what I thought the highest figure might be, but mayhap I was wrong. I am not a frequenter of such facilities, after all." He shrugged. "Perhaps I should have left a way to contact me for further funds, but I did not want to be more involved than I already was, wanted you to be happier, needed no credit for at that time I anticipated that I would never see you again."

I questioned Mr. Darcy most assiduously then, seeking to find out how all this might be possible, learning about Mr. Bingley's exchange of letters with Sir William Lucas and how though grieved Mr. Bingley did nothing. Mr. Darcy related dates, names, places, which aligned with where Lydia had said she stayed with George, and the location of the nunnery, too. The Gardiners had been vague in explaining how they had found my sister, saying only it was the result of substantial outlays to garner the information. I knew then that what he said had to be true, though the matter of the money was more obscure. Seeking to understand that, I asked him just how much he had given them. "Four thousand pounds," he admitted, not looking at me.

Finally, I was satisfied and exclaimed, "However can I thank you for restoring Lydia to us?"

Mr. Darcy blushed and said "I did not tell you of this for any reason but to hope you might think a little better of me, see that I am not an entirely selfish man. In looking back on the matter, I am certain that it was love that motivated me. I know I have wronged you greatly in forcing our marriage, but I needed you with me, like the crops need the rain. I have felt half a man, going through the motions of life rather than actually living."

I found myself feeling sorry for Mr. Darcy. He had gone about everything wrong, but he did seem to have some real regard for me, as unlikely as it seemed. It might not be love, but it was something, and seeing that, it was impossible to hate him.

I asked, "Now that you understand yourself better and what you have done to me, would you do aught differently?" By doing so, I gave him an opportunity to take things back, an opportunity for me to think better of him. But he did not take it, did not offer the lie that would have made things easier.

Mr. Darcy considered, rubbing at the stubble upon his chin. "I would like to think me noble enough, that if I had to do it over again that I would have sought to court you, let Richard come and do the same, but the truth is that I am not so noble, do not repine using all the means at my disposal to get you to accept my suit. I had to have you as my wife. Any other outcome was impossible."

Mr. Darcy looked at me then with frank admiration and desire, and my body reacted to this as if he was kissing and touching me once again. I felt a clenching in the bottom of my stomach, a tightening of my nipples and a longing for More, more.

I barely caught his next words, "I can only hope that in time you might soften toward me." He hung his head again.

I found myself asking, almost again my will, "Do you still want an answer to your question?" For I knew what I wanted, needed, even though it would give him power over me. I might not have the love I had once hoped to have in marriage, but there was something I could still have and I wished to learn more about it, to satisfy a need that before Mr. Darcy had come back into my life I had never known I had. We were married, so it would not be wrong. Too, I justified, I would be rewarding him for returning Lydia to us.

Mr. Darcy looked up, quirking his head and furrowing his brow. I felt embarrassed. I was most certainly not going to repeat his question if he could not recall it. I was just beginning to lower my own face, for oh how embarrassed I was!

But then Mr. Darcy was before me, lifting my chin up gently with his cupped fingers. I looked at his face and saw that his confusion had cleared. He released my chin and lowered himself down to his knees again. He took up my hand and kissed it, and those gentle touches made my longing grow.

With no embarrassment Mr. Darcy asked, "Mrs. Darcy, will you let me prove my devotion to you by giving you pleasure tonight?"

The power of speech left me entirely then, but I managed a single nod.