Chapter 18 – Can We?

Think of what you're saying
You can get it wrong and still you think that it's all right
Think of what I'm saying
We can work it out and get it straight or say good night
We can work it out

"Hello Eliza."

Eliza's mind went oddly blank. What on Earth was he doing here? Collins was clearly upstairs… everyone was upstairs…

"Charlotte said you had a headache. I was just… I just wanted to see if you were alright," he said, fidgeting slightly.

Eliza furrowed her brow and looked at him quizzically. "Yes, I'm fine," she said shortly.

There was an unbearably long pause. Finally accepting the fact that he did not seem to want to leave, Eliza stepped back and invited him inside. He did not look at her as he walked quickly into the dining room. Eliza felt tired, and it only grated her ever-growing resentment toward Darcy when he started pacing the length of the dining table. She stood across from him, again trying to restrain from openly glaring.

Finally, he stopped and turned to her. He took a very deep breath and then said,

"Eliza, I can't hide it any longer. I want… I must tell you that I am… have been… deeply in love with you."

Abandoning her glare, Eliza just stared at him. The room was deathly silent for a few moments as Eliza's mind slowly began to work again.

"I know I shouldn't be telling you this," he went on when she didn't answer. "I've been telling myself it can't be true, it's ridiculous… I mean, you're American, for one thing, and my family will be completely furious. I'll be going against centuries of tradition; I can just hear my father rolling over in his grave. I've been convincing myself for months that it was nothing serious, but when I heard you were coming here, I had to come, I had to see you," he said, speaking very quickly. "And it's been a complete shock, I still can't get you out of my head, I mean, this is not like me, it's not in my nature to like… someone like you, Eliza, but I do, I love you, and I just ask… I just ask that you end all my pain and say that you will be with me forever."

He stopped talking, breathing heavily. Eliza had never been more thoroughly shocked in her entire life. Darcy… Lord William Darcy, the man who had been nothing more than an eyesore and irritant in her life for months… loved her? She stared at the table, her mind working quickly. This was preposterous… first off, his proclamation had been nothing if not insulting. And secondly, she hated him for breaking Jane's heart and ruining George's life. The man was utterly insufferable!

Setting her jaw, she looked up at him and said, "I'm sorry, Darcy, for causing you so much pain. I didn't mean to."

She didn't say another word, for fear she would start shouting. A million emotions seemed to pass over his usually calm face, including anger and disbelief. He opened and closed his mouth several times, before speaking.

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" he asked, his voice suddenly cold.

"Yes," Eliza replied, watching his green eyes haze over.

He shifted his weight and then said, "Can I ask why you're answering so shortly and rudely?" He sounded angry now.

"And can I ask why you decided to tell me you loved me, against your family, your judgment, your very nature?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Because honestly, all you did was insult me."

He flushed, but did not answer.

"But I have other reasons for rejecting you, you know I do!" Eliza continued, unable to contain herself. She could not believe he still had the audacity to stand in the apartment.

"Such as?" he asked, as if forcing his voice into calmness.

"I have every reason to dislike you. Did you really think that anything you said would make me overlook the fact that you broke my sister's heart? She loved Bingley, and you tore them apart! You can't deny it!" she cried, feeling her emotions overcome her. Her anger only intensified when he raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

"No, I won't deny it. I did everything I could to get my friend away from your sister. Clearly I should have done the same for myself," he said airily.

Eliza was gripping the chair in front of her so hard her knuckles were white. Wishing to fling every insult she could think of into his face, she said, "But it was long before that I knew how cruel you were. George Wickham told me everything."

"You show a lot of interest in that man," Darcy said viciously.

"Anyone who's heard anything about his life could hardly not take an interest!"

"You know nothing about George Wickham," Darcy said, his face a pale shade of pink.

"This coming from a man who's been lying to himself for months," Eliza shot back. "You threw Wickham to the dogs and yet you stand there looking proud of it! I didn't know it was possible to live without a heart, but here you are!"

Darcy started pacing again. Several moments later he said, "This is what you think of me then? Thank you for explaining everything in such detail. Perhaps you wouldn't have gotten so angry had I flattered you and lied and said I'd had no reservations whatsoever of telling my feelings to you… but lying under any circumstances is disgusting." He paused. "I am not going to apologize for being honest with you, Elizabeth. My feelings were all completely justified. Did you really think I was going to jump for joy at the prospect of tying myself to your family?"

Eliza was practically blinded by her rage, but she attempted to compose herself.

"No, Darcy, I didn't. In fact, your rudeness and apparent inability to be a gentleman only spared me any concern I may have felt by rejecting you. Because I would have rejected you no matter which way you said it."

Darcy started at this but remained silent. He stopped pacing and stared at the floor. This only pressed her to continue ranting.

"From the first moment I met you, you have only proved yourself to be arrogant, conceited, selfish, and hold nothing but disdain for the feelings of others. I disliked you even before I heard Wickham's story or you broke my sister's heart. I barely knew you a minute before I realized you were the last man in the entire world I could ever be with." She stopped abruptly, noticing the paleness of Darcy's face. This had easily been the worst conversation she'd ever had with anyone, and she hoped he could recover whatever dignity he could and leave now.

"Please, Elizabeth," he said, holding up his hands, "you've said enough. You've made your feelings perfectly clear, and I now only regret sharing mine. I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time." He never met her eyes, but moved fluidly from the room, leaving Eliza practically shaking in his wake. A moment later, she heard, "Happy new year, Eliza." And then the door closed.

Will had never felt such a peculiar mix of fury, shame, and disappointment in his entire life. Eliza's words reverberated painfully in his mind as he got into the elevator. I have every reason to dislike you…your rudeness and apparent inability to be a gentleman…These words struck particularly hard. Will had always thought himself, if nothing else, a gentleman. Arrogant, conceited, selfish…

His mind numb with mortification, Will made a beeline for his bedroom, ignoring the cheerful shouts and sounds of crackers upstairs. How could this have happened? How could she have disliked him, hated him, for months while he still loved her? What if her words were true?

Pulling out a paper and pen, Will threw them onto the desk and began to pace once more. Two things had to be addressed before anything else. Two things he was positive she had been wrong about. The rest… the rest he would deal with later.

Flinging himself into the chair, he sat and began to write. He wrote furiously for almost an hour, desperate to get the words onto the paper. Blocking out any other thoughts, he focused on making Eliza understand. The thought of her spending even another day laboring under the lies of Wickham was not acceptable. As for Bingley… he did his best to explain his motivations. Surely she could at least appreciate that.

With a very heavy heart, he signed the last page of his letter. The moment his hand stopped moving, the thoughts flooded over him again. Eliza's voice drowned out any other sound. The last man in the world I could ever be with… those words, so mortifying just an hour ago, were now followed by a question: why? He had to know. He had to understand why she hated him… and if there was any chance of changing her mind.

Needless to say, Will barely got any sleep that night, and even the little sleep he did get was spent replaying the evening over and over in his mind. When he woke at the crack of dawn, he was exhausted, but the sunlight did not stop his mind from still dwelling on his botched encounter with Eliza. He rubbed his eyes and looked over his letter once more. If nothing else, he told himself, she would finally know the truth about Wickham. And that was a success in itself.

Around one, Will finally deigned to put on clothing and go downstairs. His aunt and Richard were still asleep, having only gone to bed six hours before. His mind and body were still numb, and he felt no trepidation as the elevator made its descent to the tenth floor. He would only see Eliza for a moment. One tiny, precious moment.

He was led into the kitchen by the maid, but only found Charlotte, looking a little worse for the wear, at the table. She gave Will a shaky smile, and he wondered for one heart-stopping moment whether Eliza had told her about last night.

"Sorry I look so horrible, Will, I've only just woken up," Charlotte said. Will breathed a sigh of relief and fiddled with the envelope in his hands.

"I was looking for Eliza," he said.

Charlotte winced and put a hand to her temple. "She went out for a walk," she said hoarsely. "About a half hour ago."

"Thank you," Will said quietly, and then left. Although his stomach felt unusually clenched, he made the short trip to Central Park still feeling rather deadened. He walked for about ten minutes, craning his neck every which way looking for her. He was about to make a turn when he saw Eliza: she was sitting on a small boulder, her head down. In spite of himself, his heart leapt and he hurried toward her.

Make it quick… "Eliza," he said as he approached her. She looked up quickly; she, too, looked like she had gotten very little sleep. There were purple circles around her eyes, and she looked a little frightened to see him.

"I had hoped to see you," he said. "Would you… would you just read this letter, please?" he asked, putting the envelope in her hands. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode as fast as he could out of the park.

Two hours later, he was on a plane for England. Whether he would ever see Eliza again, he didn't know. But he had the feeling she would never quite leave him, even if he never did.

When Darcy left the apartment, Eliza sank into her bed, fully dressed. Her anger was slowly being replaced by utter wonder. She was astonished that Darcy had loved her – loved her – for months and she had known nothing of it. She couldn't help but feel impressed by the fact that even though he had torn Bingley from Jane, he would have been willing to be in a relationship himself with her, Jane's sister.

Eliza rolled onto her side, willing herself not to cry. She'd never had someone in love with her before, and she had gotten the distinct feeling that Darcy had never been in love with anyone before. If it weren't for that damn pride of his! The way he'd carried on about family, and tradition… and the way he'd bluntly admitted to breaking up Bingley and Jane. How could he have been surprised by her reaction? She had never really hidden the fact that she didn't like him. Unless he thought it was some sort of reverse-flirting… she was starting to feel nauseous.

Her sleep was fitful that night. She never changed out of her dress, and her mind just kept repeating over and over her horrible conversation with Darcy. Every time, she woke up feeling just as astonished as the last.

When the morning finally came, Eliza was exhausted. She dragged herself out of bed and changed her clothes, hanging her now-wrinkled dress in the closet. She made herself a very large cup of coffee and then sat at the window seat, where the first rays of sun were just trickling in. It seemed her sleep – or lack thereof – had sufficiently rid her mind of thoughts from last night. Indeed, her mind was completely blank as she sipped her coffee.

Charlotte did not wake up until noon, by which point Eliza had decided she was in desperate need of fresh air. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the forecast warned of snow, but she bundled up anyway, making sure to open the bottle of aspirin for Charlotte on her way out.

The park wasn't crowded, and Eliza ambled around for some time. The wind was picking up, striking her hard in the face, but she refused to go back inside. The freezing air woke her up far more than the coffee had, and her mind started to feel clear at last. After about an hour, her feet were nearly frozen, so she sat down a boulder and started to sway her legs back and forth, trying to revive some feeling in them.

She had only been sitting a minute when she heard, "Eliza."

She jerked her head up, only to see Darcy coming towards her, his face reddened from the cold. Despite herself, she thought he looked quite handsome. Her stomach clenched, and she found she could not quite meet his eye.

"I had hoped to see you," he said, his breath forming large clouds as he spoke. "Would you… would you just read this letter, please?"

And he thrust an envelope in her hands. She stared down at it for a second; it simply said Elizabeth on the front. But when she looked back up, he was gone.

Eliza couldn't imagine what could be in the letter, and found she didn't really want to open it. What if he just repeated what he'd said last night? Or what if he now hated her, and it was full of spewing insults? The envelope shook in her freezing hands. She flipped it over, her curiosity battling her better judgment. Finally, curiosity won out… she just had to know.

Eliza,

First of all, please don't be afraid that I'm going to repeat any of what I said last night that was so unpleasant to you. I thought an e-mail would be too impersonal, and, forgive me, a face-to-face conversation too painful. I would, however, like to explain and defend myself in regards to the two things you accused me of last night: George Wickham, and my interference with your sister and my friend Charles Bingley. I apologize if some of what I have to say is not to your liking, but please know it is all the truth.

I knew on the first night of our stay in Long Island that Charles already liked your sister a great deal. It wasn't until our party at Netherfield Beach, however, that I realized he was quite serious about her. I've seen him in love several times before; I know the signs. I also realized from the behaviour of your family that Charles' attachment to your sister had raised some – expectations. I decided then and there to watch him more closely; your sister as well. I saw that Charles was indeed, far more in love with your sister than I have ever seen him before. Your sister was friendly and kind towards Charles, but no more so than with anyone else. I was convinced that she did not feel the same way about Charles. You know your sister far better than I do, so if I was mistaken, I apologize. If Jane did love Charles, then your anger towards me would be very reasonable. However, I will stand firm in my belief that your sister did not show any signs of being in love, and more so than anything else, I was attempting to save my friend from another heartbreak. The matter of your family only compounded my opinion; their lack of manners or any sense of decorum was more alarming to me than anything concerning wealth or class. You and your sister alone seemed the only ones with some common sense. I'm sorry – I truly hate to offend you, but I did promise to tell the truth. After the party at your aunt's house, I confided my thoughts on Jane to Charles. Needless to say, his sisters had similar thoughts, and we left for the city very soon afterward. Persuading Charles to leave was not difficult, as, I must admit, he holds my opinion in high esteem. There is, however, one part of this whole situation which I do not congratulate myself on; I knew your sister had moved into the city, not far from our house – I bumped into her one night on the way home from work. I never mentioned this to Charles, and now I think that that sort of deception was uncalled for. Nonetheless, what's done is done, and I have nothing else to say on the matter. If I hurt your sister, please know it was unknowingly done; my actions may seem unfounded to you, but I haven't yet learned to think the same.

As to the second, rather more serious accusation – I don't know what George Wickham has told you, so I can only tell you the truth. George's father was a good man and a very loyal employee; my own father invited them to live on the estate because Mr. Wickham was left broke after a nasty divorce from his wife. My father provided everything for George, including an education at Oxford with me. My father liked him because he was charming and funny; I, however, had always known him in a different light. George had never been one for honesty, went through girls faster than he changed his socks, and rarely did any of his own schoolwork. He graduated with relatively good grades only by having a large network of "friends" who did his work for him and were compensated generously for doing so. My father was none the wiser about this, because I never told him. Dad had been proud of me in his own way, but we never quite had the sort of friendship he'd had with George. When he died, shortly before our graduation from Oxford, his will indicated the everything was left to me, but there was a recommendation to me from my father that I allow George to come with me to law school and then have a job in the family firm. He also left George a sum of money, equaling roughly $500,000. I rather reluctantly transferred the money to George's account, and sure enough, five days later he was gone.

My father's death had been very sudden, so settling his estate and will took up a lot of my time. Looking back, I realized I should not have left my sister alone then, who was on summer break at the time and living alone at Pemberley. Without my knowledge, George had not disappeared, as it had seemed, but instead was hanging around Pemberley and spending time with my sister, who was fifteen at the time. I was in London, but returned home in mid-July to find my sister gone. I cannot even begin to describe my panic. She had left a note saying she had gone with George and his band as they toured England and the continent. I knew what George and his band were like – drunkards and drug addicts, mostly. I immediately called Georgia's cell phone, which she answered; she had not run away to spite me, she had merely been taken in by George and his charms. I think she felt guilty, as she told me exactly where they were in London. I went straight back to London and found them in a seedy apartment building in the East End. It was worse than I had imagined though: my sister was strung out and showed all the signs of being an addict. When I walked in I found needles scattered around her; she had lost weight and her eyes were bloodshot. I thought she was asleep, but she didn't wake when I shook her. Again, panic started to set in. I had to fight off George, who was also high and refused to let me leave with her. I left him behind and took Georgia straight to the hospital, where I was told she had overdosed. She was in a coma for the next five days. When she woke up, she cried and apologized for hours. She said George had come to the house about a month ago while I was in London and persuaded her to start using heroin, to ease the pain of her father's death. Even as I sat there, listening to her, she started to shake and shiver. I called to have her immediately transferred from the hospital to a rehabilitation center in Scotland, far away from all our family and friends. They told me at the rehab center that it would be several months before she could be let go, due to the massive amount of drugs she had taken in so short a span of time. I bid her goodbye and then left England to travel. It was the worst year of my entire life. Before I left, however, I cut off George's bank account, cancelled all his credit cards, and banned him from Pemberley's grounds. I can admit to you, Eliza, that I wished to do him more bodily harm, but was luckily persuaded out of this. When I returned, I put my sister in a new school and refused to talk about any of this to anyone. There had been rumours, of course, but they died after awhile and no knew any of what had happened. The last I heard of Wickham, he had moved to the States with his band and was undoubtedly still using. When I saw him at your aunt's party, it had been the first time since I'd collected my sister from his filthy apartment. It was a shock, to be sure, and I hope you now understand my reaction.

All that I've told you has been the truth, and only one other person knows it: my cousin, Richard, who can testify to the truth of this story if need be. If your hatred of me makes you wary to believe it, I would hope you'd believe it from him. I hope, Eliza, that you will now acquit me of any cruelty towards George Wickham. I don't know how he lied to you about me, but it isn't any wonder he was successful. You could never have detected that he was lying, and I, although I knew you had the wrong idea about me and him, was reluctant to tell you the truth. As I said before, only myself, my cousin, my sister, and Wickham himself know the particulars. However, after last night, I couldn't bear the thought of you still laboring under Wickham's lies.

I will try to get this letter to you tomorrow. I will only say thank you for reading it, and I pray you will put your confidence in everything I've said.

Yours truly,

William Darcy

Eliza read the letter through at least ten times, her face growing hotter each time. The first time through, she couldn't believe he would even try to apologize. She barely took in a word, she was so prejudiced to not believe a word he said. His account of what had happened on Long Island with her sister she instantly believed to be false; every word made her angrier. He didn't sound apologetic, he sounded haughty and even congratulated himself for what he'd done.

When the letter turned to his description of Wickham, however, she did not know what to feel. She read this part through with a little more clarity, and although she kept thinking that it had to false, another part of her recognized that it did bear a resemblance to the story Wickham had told her. Completely flustered, she actually put the letter away in her pocket, vowing to never think of it again.

A minute later, however, the letter was again unfolded and she was reading it eagerly. She read and reread the part concerning Wickham, looking for anything that could prove one story over the other. Slowly, as her fingers turned numb with the cold, Eliza could see no reason for Darcy to be wrong. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. George was, just as Darcy had said, charming and slick. He'd poured his heart out to her after only knowing her for a couple of hours. And then, she thought with a pang, there were all those times he'd not kept his promises: all those times he'd promised to meet her and had failed to show up. Moreover, she knew Darcy was incapable of concocting such a painful story, especially when it concerned his sister. And there was also the point that he referred her to Richard should she need the story confirmed. But there would be no need for that, she thought sadly. She knew it had to be true.

Her insides burned with humiliation and regret. She thought back on their conversation last night and felt keenly ashamed of the things she'd shouted at him. She'd been so wrong! Sure, she'd been angry, but she'd had no right to fling George in his face. Especially when it must have been so painful for him. Poor Georgia… Eliza understood completely why Darcy chose not to divulge that secret to just anyone, and suddenly felt a bit of compassion for him. No wonder he was so haughty and reserved, she thought, after living with such pain. He loved me…

Her attention, however, then turned to the other part of the letter. She read it through several more times, trying to keep a clear and cool head. First off, she chose to forgive him for insulting her family; she often felt the same way herself, so how could she not? As she read through the rest over and over again, she felt her cheeks once again burn. It was true. All of it was true. Even she had tried to warn Jane of being too reserved. She remembered painfully what Charlotte had said to her all those months ago. And if it was true that Charles had a history of falling in love without being loved back, then Darcy's actions were completely merited. This realization was more painful than anything else.

Eliza had never been so ashamed and depressed in her life. She sat on that boulder, the freezing wind whipping her hair, and cried. She hated herself for acting so despicably towards Darcy. He loved me… the words just kept filtering through her mind, along with the horribly unfounded accusations she'd made towards him. Why couldn't she have just stopped talking?

Whether it was minutes or hours later that she finally stood up, she didn't know. Her tears were nearly frozen on her face. She walked slowly back through the park, across the street, and into the sudden warmth of the hotel, all the while keeping Darcy's letter in her hands. The unexpected heat when she stepped inside made her feel almost faint, and she just barely made it to the elevator. Tearing off her coat, she furiously wiped away any trace of tears. She hoped to make as normal an entrance as possible, and when she came into the apartment, she found Charlotte sitting in the living room reading.

"Lizzie, there you are!" she cried, standing and taking Eliza's coat. "Good Lord, you're freezing! Go over to the fire, I'll make you some hot chocolate."

Eliza gratefully sat by the fire and gently tucked her letter into her pocket. Charlotte bustled around in the kitchen while Eliza stared into the flames, her mind still churning with thoughts.

"There we are," Charlotte said a few minutes later, handing Eliza a steaming mug of hot cocoa. "I was honestly about to send out a search party. Darcy was here for a bit…"

"He was?" Eliza said quickly; her stomach dropped but her heart leapt just a little.

"Well, yeah, only to say goodbye. He left for England a few hours ago."

Eliza's heart dropped again. "Oh." She suddenly felt a little panicked. What if she never saw him again? Somehow, sometime, she had to apologize.

"And then Richard was here for a while after that, he waited around forever for you. He was about to go out looking for you, but I thought you just had to be shopping or something."

Eliza shrugged, her mind still half on the letter. "No, I was just walking."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "God, Lizzie, you're going to get a cold!" She stood up, shaking her head. "I'm going to go get some of that medicine, you know the stuff that you take beforehand so you stop the cold before it starts."

"No, Charlotte, I really-" Eliza started to protest, but Charlotte was already out of the room. Eliza sighed and inched a little closer to the fireplace. She felt exhausted; her emotions had been on such a raging rollercoaster for the past two days, she could barely move. Checking that Charlotte was still busy in the powder room, Eliza took out the letter again. Smoothing out the envelope, she ran over it with her fingers, smiling a little at Darcy's neat, perfect handwriting.

Elizabeth.

A/N: Woot! Finally, the turning point. It was nice and long and romantic so everyone better review! We're over 200 I'm so excited... keep it up!

I know some people may be a little disappointed that there wasn't more Darcy/Lizzie-ness before the proposal, but don't you worry - once we get to Pemberly, there'll be loads more! That's not for another two chapters or so though...

Anyway, review review review!

Love, luck, and flying Ringwraiths,

Emma the NazgulQueen