But if Elizabeth accepted the truth of Miss Darcy’s story, she would be forced to admit that Mr. Wickham had lied to her about Mr. Darcy, his family, and many of his interactions with the man. Furthermore, Mr. Wickham had attempted to take the innocence of a girl of fifteen years for no other reason than his own personal gain.
Elizabeth suddenly felt dizzy, as if she had been spinning in circles and the world swirled around her. This was the man she had believed in. This was the man she had agreed to marry. This was the man she had nearly entrusted with her heart and entire future.
Elizabeth clutched the arm of the settee as if it were the only solid thing in the room. Mr. Darcy had warned her, but she had not credited his words. Confident in her own discernment, she had chosen to believe Mr. Wickham instead. Elizabeth now saw that there were inconsistencies in Mr. Wickham’s accounts of himself that she had willingly ignored. And she had discounted how eager he had been to relay personal stories and to slander Mr. Darcy’s name. Yes, he was at fault, but so was she. He had poured his poison into a willing ear.
Why was I so eager to believe the worst of Mr. Darcy? Just because he had mortified my vanity at the Meryton assembly? How petty her actions appeared to her now. Elizabeth was buffeted by a whirlwind, pulled down and down and unable to know which way was up.
“Y-Yes, of course,” Elizabeth responded to Miss Darcy rather absently, torn between self-recriminations and horror at Mr. Wickham’s behavior. Her hand rose to cover her mouth as if she could somehow reclaim all the terrible things she had said to Mr. Darcy throughout their acquaintance. Miss Darcy had held up a mirror to Elizabeth’s own actions, and Elizabeth did not like her reflection at all. The other woman regarded her with no small alarm; Elizabeth must appear quite pale and agitated.
“You do believe me?” Miss Darcy repeated in a plaintive voice. Her eyes were practically begging Elizabeth.
Elizabeth swallowed, trying to focus on her rather distressed guest. “Yes, Miss Darcy, I do.” She grasped and squeezed the girl’s hand. “I am simply aghast at my own la
ck of judgment.”
Miss Darcy squeezed back. “He deceived me as well, and I knew his character. I had far more reason for suspicion than you.”
“Do not chastise yourself,” Elizabeth told her. “You were very young.”
The girl took Elizabeth’s other hand and turned to face her completely, her eyes shining with hope. “If you believe me, will you accept William’s offer of marriage?”
Taken off guard, Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again. If she believed Miss Darcy and accepted that she had been completely deceived about Mr. Wickham’s character, then Elizabeth must also be prepared to believe that she had been completely wrong in her assessment of Mr. Darcy. This realization plunged her back into the whirlwind. I have been wrong about Mr. Wickham and wrong about Mr. Darcy. What else have I been wrong about? Perhaps Mr. Bingley was secretly tyrannical, and Mr. Collins was Prince Charming. It was almost too much to comprehend.
However, accepting that her opinion of Mr. Darcy was mistaken was not the same thing as wishing to marry the man. After a moment’s reflection, Elizabeth responded slowly to the other woman, “It is not quite that simple…”
“Of course not!” Miss Darcy exclaimed. “He described how he kissed you before your aunt and uncle’s entire household. I would be mortified.” Her eyes were almost as round as her mouth.
Elizabeth simply nodded, viewing these actions in a new light.
“But let me assure you that my brother is the best of men,” Miss Darcy rattled on. “Everyone says so. The servants love him, and he has the happiest tenants in Derbyshire. And, of course, he is a wonderful older brother; sometimes he is kind to me even when I do not deserve it.”
Elizabeth was a little amused at the younger sister singing her brother’s praises. Lydia would certainly never be caught saying such laudatory words about Elizabeth! “It is a complicated situation,” Elizabeth explained. “I did not expect his…proposal.” To put it mildly. “We are not very well acquainted.”
Miss Darcy clasped her hands together as if in supplication. “But you must marry him!”
Bracing herself for another argument about how her reputation had been compromised, Elizabeth reached for her teacup and took a sip to disguise her inevitable wince.
“He is violently in love with you.”
Elizabeth barely managed not to spray tea all over the front of her dress. She set down the cup with shaking hands before replying. Surely Miss Darcy must be wrong. She had misinterpreted her brother’s words. He had compromised Elizabeth to save her from Mr. Wickham, but she had seen no sign of his particular regard for her. “In love…with me? W-Why do you say so?”
“He told me so.”
Perhaps the girl was simply being carried away by her sense of romance. “What did he say?”
“He told me he had admired you since he first saw you in Hertfordshire, and he feared Mr. Wickham would propose to you to get revenge on him. He is always searching for ways to hurt William.”
Elizabeth’s world was turned upside down once again. Mr. Wickham had not proposed because he cared for her, but to get revenge on Mr. Darcy. She had nearly become a tool for his revenge. But such a plot would not succeed if Mr. Darcy did not actually care for Elizabeth. It followed, therefore, that not only did Mr. Darcy have feelings for her but also Mr. Wickham recognized them.
It made sense in a twisted way; many pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She had wondered if Mr. Wickham was truly in love with her but could not conceive another motive for proposing. Her dowry certainly would not entice him.
Mr. Darcy loved her, and Mr. Wickham did not. Have I been wrong in my understanding of everyone’s feelings? Perhaps Jane secretly loathes me, and Miss Bingley actually holds me in the greatest esteem.
“Are you feeling ill?” Miss Darcy asked suddenly. “You have grown quite pale.”
Elizabeth could only imagine.
“Maybe you should drink more tea.” The girl reached for Elizabeth’s teacup.