Chapter 13:
Lizzy watched him as he took a step closer, he looked disheveled and sweaty, and most of all, he looked in pain. Her chocolate brown eyes met with his light eyes, and the way he looked at her in the mornings was no longer there. His breathing was heavy and he approached with hesitation, not sure of himself.
Mr. Darcy clenched his fist as he saw Elizabeth Bennet before him. He had barged into his house, demanding to know where "Mrs. Darcy" was, aware that whether she was or she was not, she would be. She had to be. The servants saw his mood and hastily directed him to his father's study, where he found her with Georgiana. His heart always melted when he saw Georgiana, he always felt like a father to her, a protector, and seeing her and embracing her brought some calm into him, a calm that he had lacked the entire ride home.
"Elizabeth" he said hoarsely.
"Mr. Darcy" said Lizzy, raising an eyebrow. She kept her head held high, she would not cry and she would not be weak in front of him. She knew he was angry and that he was ready to explode and a part of her, the logical part, told her to take him out of his misery and apologize and explain what happened. But she then got angry—did he not realize that she saved his life? She had rejected his proposal! She was not trying to snatch him. At the time, she did not think beyond that moment. How could he judge her thus?
After what felt like an eternity, where they both just stood, angry, staring at each other, he finally spoke.
"Wickham told me everything" he said, the angry words pouring out of him.
"I did not know that is where you got your information these days" she spat.
"I was actually getting it from you and from Richard but you have both lied to me!" he roared, his chest heaving as he spoke.
"Lied?! I saved your life!" she said, tears threatening to escape her eyes. "How dare you!?" she said, now pacing the room, holding on to her chest, as he stared at her with disbelief.
"I do not know what nor who to believe!" he said, putting his hand through his hair in exacerbation.
"You do not remember me?" asked Lizzy, her voice now soft. She had stopped pacing and was now standing close to him, her hands clasped together by her skirts, as she looked up to the gray eyes that she had now become so used to.
"No" said Mr. Darcy, holding back a sob. "Not in here" he said, pointing to his head.
"And what about in here?" asked Lizzy, placing her hand on his chest. He seemed to melt at her touch, as he closed his eyes, unable to speak.
"I do not know if I can trust my heart" he said, now breaking hers. Lizzy pulled her hand away from his chest, feeling the distance between grow a tenth-fold with that small action.
"I wanted to speak with you!" cried Lizzy, turning away from him. "I wanted to tell you the truth since we got here!"
"And what would you have told me?!" said Mr. Darcy, turning her forcefully to face him, her lips inches away from his. He saw her lip quiver as she answered.
"I would have told you that we were taken in the garden of Lady Catherine by some men, whose identity I did not know, you were unconscious and I saved your life. I got us out of that, found you a doctor and lied that I was your wife to be allowed to stay with you and take care of you! You had a fever!" she said, with emotion, tears now streaming down her face, "I had just rejected your proposal in that garden—I was not trying to entrap you! I was trying to save your life!"
"So you do not love me?" he asked, his eyes looking at her lips, which were inches away from his, with pain and hurt. He did not wait for her to answer but closed his eyes and took a step back.
Lizzy opened her mouth to speak but no words would come out. How could she explain to him what he was to her now? She could not declare her love for him, not now. Not now, when she finally realized that he was exactly the type of man that would suit her. Now, that she felt as she was losing him, she finally realized his worth. Lizzy turned her back to him, pushing back the tears.
"Why is my Aunt here?" he asked, breaking the stifling silence. Lizzy was still looking away from him as she answered.
"I do not know" she said, her voice cold, "Ask her yourself."
"I shall" he said, not bothering to say anything else, as he left the room, leaving Lizzy all alone, crying to herself.
Mr. Darcy went straight into his room, where he knew he needed a bath and time to think. He kept replaying the images in his head—the conversation, her face, her words. He felt frustrated as he thought about how he had behaved and how she had responded. He allowed himself to rest in the bath, knowing it would calm him and then dressed and went to search for his aunt.
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"Fitzwilliam" said Lady Catherine lovingly, as he walked into the drawing room that she was occupying and greeted her. "You look unwell" she said, noting his appearance and demeanor.
Mr. Darcy ignored her comment.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, still standing.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked, looking affronted.
"What did you speak of with Elizabeth?" he said again, his tone serious and demanding.
"I see" said Lady Catherine, raising an eyebrow, "I heard a rumor that you had married her—after I had graciously received her in my home, someone who was beneath us, beneath you! And yet...she clearly entrapped you into marrying her. Very ungracious indeed! And you are engaged to be married to my daughter!" cried Lady Catherine, reaching for her forehead, clearly in discomfort.
"I have never cared for Anne that way" said Mr. Darcy in a composed manner. He was trying to make sense of the information in-front of him. He remembered being at Rosings, he remember hearing Elizabeth playing the piano, he remembered meeting her eyes and feeling a warmth, he closed his eyes, forcing his mind to remember...
He loved her, even then, even at Rosings.
"Fitzwilliam, are you even listening to me?!" she demanded, but Mr. Darcy had his eyes closed, flashes of memories before him. How did he propose? What had he said? What had she responded? He begged his mind to remember the proposal—something about it felt crucial and important. The next thing he remembered was taking up in Scotland—oh how he wished the memories would pour in.
"FITZWILLIAM?!" asked Lady Catherine, now standing and looking at him with her critical eyes, a hint of concern in there.
"I am here, Aunt" he said, opening his eyes, the memories flooding out. "You smell like the flowers in your garden" he said, suddenly noticing that the smell had brought along these memories.
"I wear rose water" said Lady Catherine, thinking her nephew had clearly lost his mind. If she only knew the full truth. "However, that is neither here nor there, are you married to the chit or not?!"
"I beg your pardon?" asked Mr. Darcy, now focusing on his aunt's angry face. Is that what he looked like when he was angry? He thought. Was he like her? He did not know why he was thinking of this now, but it too felt important.
"She claims she is in love with you! She is a good actress that one!" she spat, "Are you married?!"
"She loves me?" he asked incredulously, knowing that Elizabeth would not lie. That knowledge seemed ironic for he knew that she had lied to him, but he knew in his heart that he had been foolish, of course she had done what she needed to do to save his life. That was not what he was angry about—he was angry about realizing that every moment he now cherished had been a lie. Every kiss...every embrace…had her heart not been touched? But if she claimed that she did in fact love him...oh what a fool he had been.
"Fitzwilliam, are you even listening to me?" demanded Lady Catherine.
"I must go" said Mr. Darcy, walking away.
"Wait!" commanded Lady Catherine, but Mr. Darcy did not listen, as he left the drawing room and ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, now running towards Elizabeth's door, where he did not even bother to knock and he simply burst inside, his face now eager and hungry to look at her, to ask her, to demand of her what he needed to know!
But alas, the room was empty. He looked around for her, but he found nothing. All he did see an envelope on her desk. He walked towards it, his chest still heaving from having ran, and he picked it up and noticed it was addressed to him.
He held it with his hand and brought to his nose where he sniffed it, with his eyes closed, it smelled of Elizabeth. And suddenly, a memory came to him, of them in a carriage, her tending to him and asking him to please wake up and jump.
"Stupid girl" he muttered, pursing his lips as he opened the envelope and read the letter that was addressed to him.
