Chapter 14
As she slept, Elizabeth seemed to dream, although she knew it was a memory. It seemed that the events of the last year bombarded her mind all at once, her brain absorbing the images and sounds in seconds.
'Tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me…'
'Pride, where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation...'
'I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love...'
'The wisest and best of men may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke…'
'And yours is to willfully misunderstand them…'
Elizabeth felt horrified as the events before her wedding became clear in her mind. Mr. Darcy found her tolerable! He looked at her only to find fault! He despised her!
The next months passed swiftly in her mind. After they had arrived at Pemberley, and their disastrous consummation, Darcy had grown even more distant and unapproachable. It was only six weeks into their marriage when she told him she was expecting that he had shown pleasure in her for the first time.
Things became a little easier between them until the argument at Darcy's birthday. From then on, her marriage seemed to be a series of struggles. They would get along better for a time, and then another argument would erupt between them. It was even more painful for Elizabeth to see how friendly and affectionate Darcy was toward Georgiana. But how could she complain that her husband loved his sister? That would be petty indeed.
The only time Darcy and Elizabeth really spent time together alone was when he gave her her riding lessons. She had looked forward to those hours as a way to grow closer to her husband. When he praised her improvement, she was happy to have pleased him.
She saw much now to admire in him. He was a generous and excellent master of his estates, and everyone who knew him praised him to the skies. She found it difficult to reconcile this picture with the way she had first known him.
They had become friends of a sort when she finally had her accident. Darcy, in his high-handed manner, had forbidden her from walking about the grounds until after the baby was born. In her own stubborn way, she had blown up at him and stomped out of the house in a huff. In her anger, she had not looked where she was going, and had tripped and fallen, proving Darcy right.
After she lost her memories, his manner toward her had changed. He was more obliging, friendly, and solicitous. He had not visited her bed since that first night, but she supposed now that he had no need to, since she was increasing. After all, why would he want to force himself to be intimate with a woman who was "not handsome enough to tempt him"? In her upset, she failed to credit that he had called her beautiful earlier that night. Was he just placating her? She had almost insisted he share her bed, despite his obvious reluctance. Clearly it was just to get an heir that he finally agreed, or perhaps pity for her.
She had truly thought, up until this moment, that he had come to love her. But he had altered so much toward her since her accident that she could no longer credit his change in manner. Was he merely feeling sorry for his poor wife, who could not even remember marrying him? He had certainly shown her sympathy. But he had never been so solicitous or caring before the accident.
She got up out of the bed, unable to bear lying next to her husband any longer. She put on her robe and went into their shared sitting room, pacing as she searched through her memories. She felt despair as she realized that Darcy had never loved her. He had despised her when they married, and if he had changed after her accident, it was clearly due to pity, or condescension. But that did not change the fact that she had grown to love him. She sat down on the settee and wept.
Darcy woke up in the night from a pleasant dream to find the bed beside him empty. Had Elizabeth gone to relieve herself? He resolved to wait until she came back. Perhaps she would be willing to make love again.
But as he lay in silence, he thought he heard some quiet sounds emanating from their shared sitting room. Was Elizabeth there?
He decided to get up to check on her. He hoped she was all right. Perhaps he had hurt her after all. He felt sick at the thought, and resolved to assure himself of her well-being immediately.
He put on his robe and padded toward the open door to the sitting room. It was then he saw her sitting on the settee, her face in her hands, sobbing her heart out. He felt his own heart drop into his stomach. What had happened?
"Elizabeth? Are you well?" He raced toward her, sitting beside her, and pulling her hands away from her face. "Did I hurt you after all?"
She just shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks, and made no answer.
It was then that he had a thought. Had she remembered?
"Elizabeth, did you – did your memory come back?"
She drew her hands away from his, and brought them up to her face to wipe away the stream of tears. "I remembered everything," she said, with a tone of hopelessness.
Darcy felt sick. He had thought they had made progress over the past five months, since her accident. She had not remembered his prideful, pompous, selfish behaviour. He had even hoped she might grow to love him. Clearly, that was not so. The sting of rejection was hopeless in its familiarity.
"Elizabeth, tell me what I may do to make it better. I will do anything," he said in a thick voice, a lump in his throat from suppressed tears.
"I cannot ask for what I want," she said, as she continued to cry. "What I desire can only be given, not asked for."
Darcy did not understand what she meant. "I will give you anything you wish," he said desperately. He would do anything to make her happy again, to relieve the misery that had filled their first months of marriage.
"I want your love, Fitzwilliam!" she finally burst out. "I thought perhaps I had it. But now, I fear I do not know anything."
Darcy's chest suddenly expanded with air, and his heart beat faster. Could it be possible? Did she love him? "You have my love, Elizabeth," he said at last. "You always have."
She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "You love me?" she asked incredulously.
"I do not blame you for doubting me. I behaved abominably toward you at first. But I think I fell in love with you when you came to Netherfield to care for your sister. I had determined to ask you to marry me at the Netherfield Ball. It was only days before that that we were compromised, and you declared you would rather be ruined than marry me. I decided to keep silent about my love, fearing further rejection."
"You loved me even as far back as that?" she asked in wonder. "But then, why were you so aloof and disapproving toward me?"
"At first I did not want to raise your expectations. After that, I just assumed you would be glad to marry me, as so many women would be. Of course, they desired my estates and connections. But you have always been different from other women. I saw that immediately."
"You called me tolerable," she said, wiping away a tear.
Darcy flinched. "I am ashamed I spoke in such a way of anyone. The truth was, I had not even properly looked at you when I uttered those words. I merely wanted to stop Bingley from pestering me. It is long since I have considered you the most handsome woman of my acquaintance."
Elizabeth gave a small, watery smile, and he was glad to see it. But soon her face became serious again. "Then why were you so distant with me after we married? We became friends but you never displayed any affection toward me."
"I was afraid of being rejected again," said Darcy helplessly. "I am a dreadful coward, I know. The consummation of our marriage seemed a further rejection to me, and after that I tried to protect my heart from further hurts."
"I am sorry I hurt you so, Fitzwilliam. I had no idea you loved me. I thought you despised me."
He shook his head. "I have never despised you, Elizabeth. I have always held you in the highest esteem."
To his pleasure, Elizabeth put her arms around him and nestled into his chest. He laid his chin on top of her chestnut curls, trying to calm his heart. "I love you too, Fitzwilliam," she said, so softly that he almost did not hear it.
He pulled her back so he could see her face. "What did you say?"
"I said I love you too. I have for weeks now. I wanted to tell you tonight, but then my memory returned and I was filled with doubt."
"Oh, my darling," Darcy said, crushing her to his chest. "Will you ever forgive me for the mess I made of things from the very beginning?"
"I am equally at fault," she said. "I should not have been so cruel to you."
He shook his head. "It is not your fault. You did not realize I felt the way I did. You assumed I despised you as you despised me. That was my error in not behaving better, that made you feel that way. Will you forgive me?"
"Very well, Mr. Darcy, if you insist, I will forgive you," said Elizabeth with a quirk of the lip. "But you must agree to forgive me in turn."
"I will, although there is no need for such a thing."
"You are too good," she said, nestling into his chest again. He stoked his hand up and down her back.
They sat in peaceful silence for some minutes, each absorbing what the other had said, and feeling truly happy for the first time in their lives. At last Lizzy stirred.
"Elizabeth? What is it?" Darcy asked, as she stood from his lap and took his hand to lead him to her bedroom.
"I think it is time for us to have a boy next," she said. "Ruth needs a little brother to cosset and spoil. We had better get to it."
She gave him a wink, and he grinned, his dimples showing. "I am happy to oblige, madam," he said, then followed her to the bed where they proceeded to make love for the remainder of the night.