Chapter 31 - The Darkest Day
As Elizabeth's wedding day approached, Darcy's efforts grew increasingly desperate. His time in London had been spent pursuing every possible avenue - consulting lawyers about the entail on Longbourn, searching for any legal irregularity that might delay the marriage, even investigating Collins' background for anything that might make him an unsuitable match. But each path led nowhere. If it had been just Elizabeth's reputation at stake, he would have begged her to break the engagement, weathered the scandal, and married her immediately. But with her sisters' and his sister's futures and her family's security hanging in the balance, he could not ask her to risk everything on his account, nor could he do that to Georgiana. Even if Elizabeth agreed, Collins could sue for breach of promise, leaving her entire family ruined.
Doctor Russell's presence in Hertfordshire had at least served multiple purposes. Though officially there to chaperone Georgiana, his attention to Jane Bennet had finally spurred Bingley to action. More crucially, as a physician, he had been able to properly assess Mr Bennet's condition. His reports were grim - the gentleman's health was declining rapidly, confirming Darcy's worst fears and validating Elizabeth's desperate haste to secure her family's future through marriage to Collins.
When Georgiana had requested ponies and a phaeton for herself and Elizabeth, Darcy had sent them without hesitation, grasping at any connection, however tenuous. Between Russell's presence, Georgiana's growing friendship with Elizabeth, and Bingley's engagement to Jane, he had woven a delicate web of connections to the family. But these small victories were hollow comfort - they did nothing to solve the fundamental problem. He could see no way to free Elizabeth from her engagement without destroying her and her family in the process.
He had even considered the desperate measure of paying Collins to break the engagement. But Darcy knew he could never maintain his composure through such a negotiation - the mere thought of Collins smugly naming his price for Elizabeth's freedom made his hands clench into fists. And what good would it do? Collins would hardly keep his silence about being bought off. The scandal would be devastating, and with Lady Catherine whispering in his ear, Collins would likely demand an astronomical sum only to refuse it. The man did not possess a shred of decency, and as heir to Longbourn, he held a power over the Bennet family that no amount of money could overcome.
Darcy sighed heavily as he sat down at his desk, staring at the stack of letters from his various contacts, each one failing to provide any useful information about Mr Collins' past. The names of obscure parishes and long-forgotten curates swam before his eyes, none offering the insight into Mr Collins' character that he sought.
He had eaten alone and quickly that evening, then returned to his study. Darcy rubbed his temples, wishing he could uncover something, anything, that might delay Elizabeth's impending marriage to Mr Collins. He reached for the decanter again, barely tasting the port as he drained his glass. Finally, he pulled the bell rope, and within moments his butler appeared.
"Yes, sir?" Williams asked, his face betraying no reaction to the late hour or the decanter on his master's desk.
"Williams, I'm leaving for Netherfield first thing in the morning. Please have Fletcher prepare my things."
"Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?"
Darcy shook his head, already reaching again for the decanter. "That will be all, Williams."
He reached for another letter, trying to focus on the words before him, but they blurred together. At last he pushed back from his desk and stood, swaying slightly. Sleep would not come, he knew, but he needed to maintain at least some appearance of dignity when he arrived at Netherfield.
The journey to Hertfordshire passed in a haze. Darcy barely registered the changing landscape outside his carriage window, his mind fixed on what lay ahead. He had not written to announce his arrival - better that way. Bingley would welcome him regardless, and this way there would be no chance of word reaching Elizabeth before he could see her one last time. He arrived at Netherfield well after midnight, his friend's surprised but welcoming face the last thing he remembered before collapsing into bed fully dressed.
Dawn found him already mounted and riding toward Longbourn, drawn like a moth to flame to the paths he knew Elizabeth favoured for her morning walks. His head throbbed from the previous night's port, but the cool morning air helped clear his thoughts as he urged his horse forward.
ooOoo
"Mr Collins!" Elizabeth's voice was barely above a whisper. It was the day before her wedding, and the Bennets had just finished breakfast when she caught sight of her betrothal's pompous figure approaching the house. He had come, no doubt, to make one final visit to his "dearest Elizabeth" before claiming her as his bride tomorrow. The thought made her stomach turn.
"Please forgive me Jane, but I cannot - I cannot face him today." Her voice caught in her throat. It was her last day of freedom, her last chance to be Elizabeth Bennet before that woman vanished forever, replaced by the dutiful Mrs Collins.
Jane squeezed her hand gently. "Go. I will make your excuses," she whispered, understanding in her eyes.
"Miss Lizzy!" Mrs Bennet's sharp voice cut through the air. "Do not be so silly. You cannot hide behind your sister forever. Soon you will be Mrs Collins, living at Hunsford with only your husband for company - at least until the children come." Her mother's practical tone made Elizabeth's skin crawl.
Elizabeth fled, her mother's voice following her up the stairs as she grabbed her bonnet and shawl. She barely paused to tie the ribbons before escaping through the side door, choosing her favourite path away from the house - away from her mother's practicality, away from Mr Collins' suffocating presence.
Her feet carried her swiftly until Longbourn disappeared from view. Only then did she slow, turning to look back along the path. These grounds, these paths - how many times had she walked them? Every tree, every bend in the stream held memories of a happier time. Soon she would write to her friends about her new life at Hunsford, but letters were a poor substitute for the easy familiarity of home. And Papa… the thought caught in her throat. Tomorrow would likely be the last time she would ever see him.
"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth."
The deep voice behind her made Elizabeth start. She had thought herself alone with her thoughts, but she didn't need to turn around to identify its owner. That voice had haunted her dreams too often of late, though she had believed its owner still in London. Drawing a steadying breath, she turned slowly and dropped into a slight curtsy.
"Mr Darcy." She fought to keep her voice steady, distant. "I thought you were still in town?"
He sat astride his horse, his tall figure silhouetted against the morning sky. In one fluid motion, he dismounted, gathering the reins and whip in one hand. His hat dropped unheeded to the ground as he extended his arm to her. Elizabeth remained rooted to the spot, refusing the offered gesture. Only then did he break the heavy silence between them.
"I found that I was unable to stay away." His voice was rough with emotion, the words seeming to escape against his will.
Elizabeth turned to leave, but his hand caught her arm, the touch gentle yet insistent. She meant to object, to pull away, but when she met his eyes the words died in her throat. The depth of emotion there - the raw desperation and sadness - stole her breath. It was too much like the feelings she had been trying so desperately to suppress.
"Please, Mr Darcy, let me go." Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it, unwanted tears threatening to fall. "No good can come from this. Return to London. Please."
"I can't do that." He moved closer, his grip on her arm tightening slightly. The scent of port lingered on his breath, betraying his sleepless night. She could feel the slight tremor in his hand where it held her.
"And why not? You are your own master," she challenged, her voice rising despite herself. "You can go where you want, do what you want." The words were bitter on her tongue - she who had no such freedom.
"But I am not." He leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he meant to kiss her. "Do you not see? There is a hold over me that I cannot break, no matter how I try. It is stronger than I am, and I must do what it commands, whatever the cost."
Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth of him, see the conflict raging in his eyes. If he kissed her now, she knew she would be lost.
"The cost is too great, Mr Darcy." Elizabeth forced herself to step back, though his grip on her arm prevented her retreat. "There is no way out. The path lies before us both, and we have no choice but to walk it."
His grip tightened convulsively, as if she were physically slipping away from him. Pain shot through her arm and she cried out, the sound sharp in the morning air. For a moment, neither of them breathed.
He released her suddenly, turning his back. The violence of his own reaction seemed to shock him as much as it did her. Elizabeth stumbled back, her heart racing. Every instinct urged her to flee - he was stronger than her, and in his current state… But as she turned to run, his voice stopped her. It was eerily calm now, controlled.
"May I offer my congratulations?" The words were perfectly proper, yet they cut deeper than his grip had. "I wish you all the happiness in the world."
When she looked back, he had turned to face her. Tears glistened on his cheeks, but his voice remained steady, the control in it almost frightening.
"Thank you." The words were barely a whisper. She could manage nothing more.
"Good day, Miss Bennet." He mounted his horse in one fluid motion and rode away at a punishing pace, leaving his hat forgotten on the ground where it had fallen.
Elizabeth stood frozen, staring after him long after he had disappeared from view. The forgotten hat at her feet seemed to mock her with its presence. When she finally turned away, she noticed her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She pressed them against her skirts, willing them to be still.
The walk back to Longbourn took far longer than usual. She wandered the paths she had known since childhood, touching familiar trees, pausing by the stream where she had played as a girl. Anything to delay her return to the house - to Mr Collins, to her mother's preparations, to the future that awaited her.
When she finally approached the house, Jane was waiting in the garden. One look at Elizabeth's face told her everything she needed to know.
"Lizzy," she said softly, reaching for her sister's hands. She drew back slightly when Elizabeth winced. "Your arm…"
"It's nothing." Elizabeth pulled her sleeve down to cover the marks that were already beginning to darken against her pale skin. Her arm throbbed, a physical reminder of his desperation. "I just… I need a moment, Jane."
Jane led her to the small bench hidden behind the rose bushes - their childhood refuge from their mother's nerves and Lydia's tantrums. "Was it…?" She didn't need to finish the question.
Elizabeth nodded, unable to meet her sister's eyes. "He came back from London. I didn't expect…" Her voice caught. "Oh Jane, what am I to do?"
"What you must," Jane replied gently, though her own eyes glistened with tears. She squeezed Elizabeth's uninjured hand. "Come, let me help you compose yourself before Mama sees you. She's been in quite a state about the flowers for tomorrow, and Mr Collins is still waiting to speak with you."
Elizabeth allowed Jane to straighten her hair and adjust her bonnet, grateful for these last precious moments of sisterly intimacy. Tomorrow everything would change.
ooOoo
The day of Elizabeth's wedding dawned with a cruel serenity that mocked Darcy's torment. He stood at his window at Netherfield, a half-empty decanter of port on the table behind him. The morning was still and cold, without even a breath of wind to stir the trees. Below, servants moved silently about their tasks, or perhaps he simply could not hear them through the pounding in his head. The world seemed frozen, as if nature itself stood in horror of what the day would bring.
His valet, Fletcher, had laid out his finest morning coat, though Darcy had barely glanced at it. What did it matter how he dressed to watch the woman he loved marry another man? Yet he would go. He had to go. He had to see it with his own eyes, or he would never believe it had truly happened.
The memory of yesterday's encounter haunted him. She had begged him to return to London, and he had refused. The fear in her eyes when he gripped her arm too tightly - if he had witnessed another man handling her so roughly, he would have called him out without hesitation. He had never imagined himself capable of such behaviour. To act like a common rake, like Wickham…
Darcy's hand clenched around his empty glass. No, he would not think of that. He had stopped himself before crossing that final line, but the shame of causing her pain burned within him. He would never forgive himself for making her look at him with such fear. The bruises he had left on her arm would be hidden beneath her wedding dress today, but he would know they were there - his last mark upon her.
He knew he would regret attending the wedding for years to come - watching the woman he loved pledge herself to another man, knowing that tonight she would become Collins' wife in every sense. The thought made bile rise in his throat. Yet staying away would be worse. If he did not witness it himself, some part of him would always hope that something had prevented it. Then to see them later at Rosings Park, Elizabeth as Mrs Collins, forced to make polite conversation while his aunt looked on with satisfaction…
Darcy reached for the decanter again. "It would be too much," he whispered hoarsely. "It is all too much." But he would endure it. He had to.
A knock at the door interrupted his dark thoughts. "Enter," he called, not turning from the window.
"Sir," Fletcher's voice was carefully neutral, "Mr Bingley asks if you'll be ready soon. The carriages are being prepared."
Darcy nodded stiffly. He would go. He would watch. He would bear witness to his own failure - his eternal punishment for letting pride blind him until it was too late. Perhaps it was fitting that he should suffer thus, watching another man claim the happiness he might have had, if only he had acted sooner.
"Very good, Fletcher. You may help me dress now."
Fletcher moved forward silently, years of experience letting him read his master's mood. He helped Darcy into his clothes with practiced efficiency, not commenting on the slight tremor in his master's hands or the empty decanter on the table. When Darcy fumbled with his cravat for the third time, Fletcher stepped in.
"Allow me, sir." His steady hands made quick work of the complicated knot. "Perhaps some coffee before we leave?"
Darcy caught his valet's concerned reflection in the mirror. How many mornings had Fletcher dressed him lately, pretending not to notice the port on his breath? "No, Fletcher. But thank you."
He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. He would maintain his dignity today, even as his heart shattered. He owed Elizabeth that much at least.
ooOoo
At Netherfield, Georgiana paced her room anxiously. She had never seen her brother like this before. Fitzwilliam had always been her rock, her steady guardian, but this morning… She had caught the scent of port on his breath when he passed her in the hallway, though they had only just risen. The wild look in his eyes frightened her more than his drinking - it was as if he were a stranger wearing her brother's face.
Her greatest fear - and perhaps her secret hope - was that he might try to stop the wedding. Part of her desperately wished he would succeed, that somehow he might save Elizabeth from this marriage. But another part of her trembled at the thought of what such an action might cost him, cost them all. She loved Elizabeth dearly already, but watching her brother's descent into this dark mood terrified her. Whatever happened today, she prayed she would never again see this wild, desperate version of her beloved brother.
Something had happened in London - some plan of her brother's had failed. She had overheard heated conversations about Aunt Catherine, though she didn't know the details. What she did know was that when Fitzwilliam had arrived two days ago, his usual composed demeanour had cracked entirely. She had watched helplessly as his mood darkened with each passing hour, like storm clouds gathering before a tempest. Now, with the wedding approaching, that storm seemed ready to break.
Last night, she had pleaded with him to return to London. "Please, brother," she had begged, "why torture yourself by watching? Nothing good can come of it."
His laugh had been harsh, unfamiliar. "I must see it with my own eyes, Georgiana. Otherwise…" He had turned away from her then, his shoulders rigid. "Otherwise, I will always wonder. Always hope."
She had never felt so helpless. Her brother, who had always been her protector, her voice of reason, could not now be reasoned with himself. When she had tried one last time to dissuade him, he had simply walked away, the decanter of port in his hand.
Now, sitting in Netherfield's breakfast room, Georgiana realized Miss Bingley's voice had been droning on for several minutes. The words washed over her without meaning as she stared unseeing at her untouched plate. It was only when the steady stream of chatter suddenly ceased that she noticed Miss Bingley watching her expectantly, clearly waiting for some response.
Georgiana straightened in her chair, grasping for the safest possible reply. "I completely agree with you," she managed, hoping her momentary inattention hadn't been too obvious.
Miss Bingley smiled broadly. "I knew you would agree with me. And I am sure that after dear Jane has spent a season in town, she will come to think as we do."
"Indeed, how could she think otherwise?" Mrs Hurst's affected laugh grated on Georgiana's nerves.
A servant's quiet announcement that the carriages were ready came as a blessed relief. Mr Hurst led his wife and sister-in-law from the room, while Georgiana followed more slowly with Mrs Annesley. In the hall, they found Mr Bingley consulting his watch with obvious anxiety.
Of Fitzwilliam, there was no sign. Georgiana's eyes met Doctor Russell's concerned gaze. He stepped closer, speaking low enough that only she could hear.
"Your brother went out riding earlier," he murmured. "With any luck, he'll stay away." His gentle tone couldn't quite mask his worry. "Come along, Miss Darcy. We mustn't keep the others waiting."
ooOoo
Darcy urged his horse forward through the morning mist, telling himself he merely needed to clear his head. Yet there was nothing coincidental about finding himself at the exact spot where he had confronted Elizabeth yesterday. The memory of her fear, her pain, made him grip the reins too tightly. His horse shifted restlessly beneath him.
He dismounted, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. Perhaps she would be walking here again, seeking escape as she had yesterday. His eyes searched the path ahead, though his aching head told him he was fool to hope. The morning air, usually so refreshing, only seemed to sharpen the effects of last night's port.
He was almost in sight of Longbourn when footsteps crunched on the gravel behind him. His heart leaped traitorously.
"Elizabeth?" The name escaped his lips before he could stop it, hope warring with desperation in his voice.
In his port-addled mind, he could see it all so clearly: Elizabeth, fleeing from the house, from Collins, her wedding dress gathered in her hands as she ran. She would pause at this very spot, turning for one last look at her childhood home. Then, gathering her courage, she would turn away from that life forever. She wouldn't be looking for him - her only thought would be escape from the fate that awaited her at Longbourn church. But he would be here, ready to offer her another choice, a better future…
She would hear him call her name, and for the first time, she would answer with "Fitzwilliam." He could almost hear her voice, breathless with hope and relief. She would see him standing there, hesitate for just a moment - one precious moment of uncertainty - before rushing into his arms. They would flee Hertfordshire together, find a church, any church. By nightfall she would be his wife, and this nightmare would be nothing but a distant memory.
The sweet fantasy shattered at the sound of a familiar, mocking voice.
"Mr Darcy!" The words cut through the morning mist like a blade.
Author's Note: Thank you all for your wonderful feedback and engagement with this story. Looking forward to hearing what you think about this latest chapter. Yes, it's a cliffhanger, but the next chapter will be up tomorrow, so there isn't long to wait!