'There's no need to look at me like that…I know what you are thinking, what anyone would think. No doubt they would call me foolish, but I had to know…to see…'
Rupert watched Celia's husband with a growing curiosity. He was a handsome man, tall, well built and with a strength about him that he envied; Lord Edward Sommerson, what a spectacle of a man he appeared sitting opposite the already weak, fast-fading Rupert.
He had been surprised as to who his guest was, even as the landlord had ushered him into the room. Rupert failed to recognise his name at first. It was only when Lord Sommerson had stated that the lady was to be offered refreshment and rest, but on no account was to be allowed upstairs without his permission, that Rupert made the connection. The landed gentry standing in front of him, commanding and aloof, was none other than Celia's husband. The man for whom he had given her up.
Lord Sommerson had fallen in love with Celia even whilst his own affair with her was ongoing. He had learnt of it from Celia's father. The young gentleman was very much favoured by all and it was the old man's dearest wish to have his daughter so well and so happily married. Celia's father was gravely ill; Rupert's presence at the house during those last few months before his death had been for the purpose of painting his portrait whilst he was still able to stand.
Rupert used that time to assess Celia's would-be admirer. However much he would have liked to, Rupert could find no fault with him. He was pleasant, charming and wealthy; he could keep Celia in the comfort she had been used to. What little Rupert had to offer her in terms of material wealth was pitiful.
As for Sommerson, it soon became clear to see he was utterly devoted to her. It was decided; Rupert gave her up…to this man, this man he now regarded with a growing curiosity.
'Why are you…why have you brought her here…?' Rupert gasped hoarsely.
Sommerson stood abruptly. He sighed and crossed over to the window. There was nothing to see; the glass was so dirty and the room so dark, Sommerson might as well have been staring into oblivion.
It was clear he was struggling with his words. 'I had to know, to see this man who had long captured and held the heart of my…wife…'
Rupert stared up at him, startled. He saw this tall, proud elegant man shrink with sorrow and dejection, and he pitied him.
'Yes…I know…about you and Celia. I have long known…though she always took pains to hide it.' He shook his head slightly. 'Celia played the dutiful wife so well. She was kind to me…she never spoke of you…never even mentioned your name, not once. But I knew, you see, and I saw…when she thought she was going about unobserved, I saw…when she thought no one was looking, I saw… There would come over her this inexplicable sadness…this momentary remembrance, a flash, a smile in the eyes and I knew, in that moment, however brief it was…that she had been thinking of you…'
'You're wrong…' Rupert knew not what comforting words to offer. 'We agreed…'
'You may have agreed…but you must know…no one has ever replaced you in her heart…' Sommerson appeared to choke on these words.
Rupert was equally astounded that he could talk so candidly about the woman they clearly both loved.
'Lord Sommerson, I do not know what to say…but again, how…why have you sought me out?'
He turned away from the window to face him and smiled sadly. 'I found all your letters, the ones she had sent you…and that you had returned…I know I ought not to have pried into her private chamber but…'
'You read them…?' Rupert was horrified.
'No…do not think it is because I have too much gentlemanly delicacy…it is only because I could not bring myself to…but I learned your name from them…and then I could not rest until I saw my… rival…'
Rupert laughed slightly. 'I'm hardly that…I haven't seen her in over twenty years…'
'Well, she's here, I brought her with me…but I confess I did not think we would find you… like this…'
'Dying…' Rupert spoke the word Sommerson was having trouble saying. 'Why would you bring her…if you consider me a rival...?'
'I have no worries on that head…I know Celia, she will not leave me…she will not abandon our children… You must not think this was some effort on my part to be deliberately cruel…to either of you…'
'Then how else do you expect me to interpret it…?'
Sommerson
smiled sadly at him.
'I know what it is to love Celia…I can only imagine what it is to
be loved by her…I am not so hard-hearted as
to deny that to a man…especially one who
is dying…'
Darcy had never thought he'd find the scene so difficult. The part where Celia's husband first met Rupert and their lengthy conversation ought to have been simple enough…but it was too much…too much like losing Lizzy to that insipid Mr Collins.
He had not until now realised the effect she had over him. Since reading of the engagement in the papers, his work, his entire life had been one long blur. He couldn't concentrate; even now they were all looking at him for the next line.
'I'm sorry…' He clambered out of the chair and scrambled to his feet. 'I'm sorry, Harry…I can't do this…just give me a few minutes…'
'A few minutes…?' Harry called out after him, 'We haven't got a few minutes…Darcy, what's the matter with you? We could actually have this thing finished on time and on budget!'
'I'm sorry…' Darcy repeated. He was already halfway out of the studio.
'Do you have any idea what Marcie will do to me…?' Harry called out in desperation.
Robert was worried about him; he hadn't seen Darcy this despondent in quite a while. And he was looking ill. Darcy had never been one to take too much care of his own health, although he was far too worried about Georgiana's, but Robert was certain it hadn't taken make-up all that long to ensure Darcy was looking as sickly as Rupert was supposed to.
He watched his cousin clasp an unopened bottle of scotch. 'I think this would be a better idea…' He set a cup of coffee in front of him and sat down next to him.
'You're right…' Darcy handed the bottle to Robert, who took it gratefully. 'I suppose Harry is pulling his hair out…'
Robert scoffed, 'What little there is of it…? Don't worry about him; he'll get over it…'
Darcy smiled, thankful for his reassurances. 'I'm letting you all down, Robert. I just can't…I don't know what it is…'
'I know what it is.' Robert looked at him significantly. 'It's obvious…'
'It is…?' Darcy waited on tenterhooks, certain Lizzy's utter rejection of him was out. He braced himself for the ridicule he was sure was to come.
'Of course…You need a woman. You're lonely!' Darcy stared at him. Robert carried on, seemingly oblivious. 'I don't understand. You're a film star…good looking enough…women should be throwing themselves at you…'
Darcy laughed at his cousin's rather obvious efforts at lifting his spirits. He shook his head slightly. 'I don't want women to throw themselves at me…'
'No…you just want her…' Robert was all serious again; he did know. 'Oh, come on, Darcy…how long did you think you could hide it from me? I'm your cousin, remember? There isn't a lot about you I don't know…'
Robert watched Darcy's sad face as the latter nursed the coffee in his hands. 'So you asked…?'
'And she refused…yes…but she was right to. The things I said to her…they're unforgivable…'
'Well, I'll be the first to admit you have a way with words…just not the way people like in general. So you're just going to give up on her?'
'She was never really mine to give up in the first place.You've read the papers. Now there's no chance at all…'
Robert rose to leave. 'Really? So you shouldn't be having such a hard time letting her go, then, surely….?'
Darcy wondered at those passing words. Robert was right. Surely if he had given up on ever making Lizzy love him, it would have been easier than this to move on?
It is a terrible thing to be plagued with, a crippling fear of life. Not just of life but of living, and knowing that the future, of which you were once so certain, is no longer the clear, shimmering lake you imagined.
It was horrifying that Lizzy could feel this way now. Her engagement to Mr Collins was to have made things more definite…and instead comprehension was as elusive and murky as ever. Her life after saying yes to him appeared to have gotten away from her; she was no longer in control. Events moved at such a pace that she struggled to keep up. With the stories in the papers, there was nothing else for it…she was committed now, she had promised…but did she love him….?
Of course not, but he was not a vicious man, and he wasn't deceitful like Wickham or hurtful like Darcy…he was distinctly, and remarkably, average. He was kind and, unworthy as she thought herself, worshipped the very ground she walked on. So, Mr Collins it was to be then…if only to save herself, to save her heart…from any more pain.