She had told herself it was only a matter of time before things were well between them. She had made excuses and invented countless reasons for his absence from her room, but she could deceive herself no longer. He simply did not want her. He had mistaken his feelings and now they must face the consequences.
‘Are you still feeling unwell?’ he asked, looking at her with concern.
‘Yes.’
‘Elizabeth, it was an unpleasant morning, but—’
‘It is nothing to do with the morning,’ she said. ‘It is us. We should never have married.’
He looked stunned.
‘I have been trying to pretend to myself that it was just the newness of our life together, or that you were being considerate, or that it would not be long before you came to me, but I cannot go on pretending. I know now we should never have married. I will not stay here to embarrass you and distress myself.’ She thought of Longbourn and a wave of homesickness washed over her. She wanted to be amongst familiar sights and familiar people. ‘As soon as I feel well enough, I will pack my bags and go back to England.’
‘No! You cannot go! I forbid it!’ he said, striding into the room but then hesitating and stopping before he reached her, with lines of pain etched clearly across his face.
‘There is nothing else to be done,’ she said. ‘This is not a marriage. I am not your wife.’
His complexion became pale and she saw some great emotion wash over him as he struggled for composure, but composure would not come and at last he said in agitation, ‘I can’t come to you. There are things about me you don’t know…’
‘Then tell me!’ she cried, jumping up. ‘That is what men and women do when they are in love. They talk to each other. They share their thoughts and feelings. They share their problems. They share their secrets, they share everything.’ She stopped and sighed, making an effort to master her overwhelming emotion, and then she continued in a calmer manner. ‘Will you not tell me what is worrying you? We are married, Darcy. We took an oath to love each other for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health. Those words mean something. They mean that we stand together in times of trial and we share our burdens as well as our joys. There is nothing so terrible that we cannot face it if we do so together.’
His face was ashen.
‘I can’t share this with you,’ he said.
‘Why not? Don’t you trust me?’ she asked.
‘It’s not that—’
‘Then what is it?’ she cried.
He shook his head as though he were being goaded beyond endurance and said, ‘It is for your own good.’
‘How can it be for my own good?’ she cried in astonishment. ‘Whatever your secret, it cannot be more terrible than the pain I am feeling at this moment.’
He started, but then he let out a cry and he said, ‘If I tell you, then there will no going back. Once you have the knowledge you will never be rid of it, and if you decide you were happier without it, it will be too late.’
‘Then if you won’t tell me, there is no hope for us,’ she said with a droop of her shoulders.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘What else is there to be said?’
She saw his expression change slightly and she thought that he was weakening. She held out her hand to him and he moved as if he was going to take it. His fingers reached out to her but then he drew them back.
‘No! I can’t. But I can’t go on like this either,’ he said in agony. ‘I have to think.’
He sprang towards the door.
She had a sudden and terrible fear that if she let him leave the room she would never see him again.
‘Darcy!’ she called, but it was too late, for he had already gone.
Chapter 12
Annie soon returned with a bowl of fresh water and sponged Elizabeth’s brow. Elizabeth felt nothing except the emptiness of her own heart. When Annie had finished sponging her brow, Elizabeth got up and went over to her writing desk and finished her letter to Jane.
I can conceal from you no longer the true state of affairs, for I can no longer conceal them from myself. My husband does not love me. I have fought against it but I can deny it no longer. I never thought, when I married my beloved Darcy, that I would return home a few months after my wedding, alone, but I can see no other choice. I cannot live with him and be with him when he constantly rejects me. I don’t know what I will tell Papa, and with Mama it will be even worse. I believe that being the mistress of Pemberley is my only claim to her affection, and without it, I fear she will not welcome me home. I dread her constant admonishments, but with you, dear Jane, I know there will be solace. I shall visit you at Netherfield everyday. Or, at least, not everyday, I shall give you and Bingley some time alone. How wonderful it must be to be loved by your husband! Write to me, Jane, I have not had a letter since leaving England, and although it might not find me as I travel home, what bliss if it does. To hear the sound of your voice, even in a letter, will be a comfort to me. And I need comfort, I fear. How am I to live without him? And will I even be allowed to try? It is scandalous for a married woman to leave her husband, and yet to live with him is beyond my strength. I am in need of love and comfort and sound advice and I am longing to be at home, where you and my Aunt Gardiner will help me.
Your loving sister,
Elizabeth
When she had finished the letter, she handed it to Annie, saying, ‘Give it to one of the footmen at once, I want to make sure it goes to the post today.’
‘Very good,’ said Annie.
Elizabeth looked out of the window and saw that the weather had improved. The sky had lightened and the storm had blown over. From the window came a fresh breeze, luring her out of doors. There was a collection of people by the door, laughing and talking, but further along the house, by the French window leading out of the morning room, there was no one. Being disinclined for company, she decided to make her way out of the villa through this route.
As she entered the morning room its opulence both attracted and repelled her. The gilded mirrors, marble-topped tables, and damasked chairs were beautiful but soulless. They were perfect, with no signs of age or wear, unlike the furniture at Longbourn which was scuffed and worn with years of family living. There was something unnatural about the villa, as though it had been artificially preserved, caught in time and unable to age. It was like a museum, not a living, breathing home.
There was a soft footfall behind her and Elizabeth’s heart leapt, but it was only the Prince. His closeness startled her, for she had not known he was there. Even though she was standing by a mirror, which gave her a clear view of the door, she had not seen his reflection.
She turned round to see him bowing before her. Although he was handsome and courteous and dressed in the finest clothes, she had a longing for friends and family, people she had known all her life, for what did she know of the Prince, after all?
‘You have not been well, I hear?’ he said in concern. ‘I am sorry for it. So much beauty should never be distressed. You have everything you need, I hope?’
‘Yes, thank you, I have.’
‘And you are feeling better?’ He looked at her searchingly. ‘Forgive me, but you still seem very pale.’
‘I am much better, thank you.’
‘It is this heat; it is beautiful, certainly, but it is overpowering sometimes. There is a cool breeze in the garden. I think it will do you good. Will you walk with me there? We will not go in the sunshine but will walk along the shady paths and rest, if you will, in the summer house.’
She was still feeling somewhat unsteady on her legs and she thought she might have need of his arm, and so she said, ‘Yes. Thank you.’