Page 14 of Moments of Truth
To Fitzwilliam, it was only common sense. To Darcy, it was revelation. He started at once, moving to the table. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he dipped his pen and began writing rapidly—each reproach of Elizabeth’s recalled, each charge set down with precision.
His hand did not falter; his memory was relentless. Soon the page bore line after line of accusations—her words against him, burning anew as though she spoke them once more before his eyes. Darcy bent over them, his face shadowed by pain. He saw again her anger, heard her cutting tone; no woman had ever addressed him so, least of all one to whom he had offered his heart.
Curiosity drew the colonel to his side. Leaning over, he scanned the paper. At first, he was puzzled—then he understood. “These are her words to you?”
Darcy nodded grimly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam read on. Some of the charges seemed possible, even probable—Darcy could be proud, even severe—but the bitterness of her phrasing revealed more of her wounded spirit than of his true character.
A wry smile touched the colonel’s lips as he finished. Miss Bennet’s eloquence, so charming in other circumstances, had here been sharpened into a blade. He could not wholly blame her; she had only fragments of truth. Yet it grieved him that oneso intelligent had judged so rashly, assembling broken pieces into an image that was not the man he knew.
Darcy remained silent, staring at the page.
“I understand…” the colonel said at last with a sigh. He drew a chair close beside him. “Tell me all that happened.”
Darcy hesitated, then began. He spoke of Bingley’s growing attachment to Jane Bennet, of his concern, of the counsel he had given as a friend.
“Bingley came to me repeatedly, speaking of his admiration for the eldest Miss Bennet. At first, I thought it another passing infatuation. But as the weeks passed, I saw his attachment deepen. His trust in me is such that he would not act without my judgment. I examined the matter with care and concluded—rightly or wrongly—that her regard was not equal to his. I warned him. I sought to protect him.” Darcy’s voice faltered with pain. “It was well meant, yet it has cost me dearly.”
“So Bingley was the man you hinted at before?” the colonel asked. “And the family—what of them?”
Darcy’s expression hardened. “They lack the composure, the decorum, that society demands. Her mother in particular—she is imprudent, even vulgar, in speech and manner.” His voice trailed off.
“Did you explain this to Miss Bennet?”
“No,” Darcy admitted quietly.
“Then there lies the bane. She has no knowledge of your reasons, only the consequences. Without your explanation, your actions appear arrogant, even cruel. Cousin, I have seen it before: many mistake your reserve for disdain, your caution for hauteur. They do not see the heart beneath.”
Darcy looked troubled. “Should I have told her?”
“Of course not in that moment,” Fitzwilliam said. “But she deserves to know the truth now. She deserves to know why you advised Bingley as you did.”
“I did not forbid him. I only advised—”
The colonel chuckled. “Advice, instruction, decree—it matters little. To her, it looked like interference. If you wish her to think better of you, she must know your motives.”
“And how am I to tell her? She will not listen to me.”
“Then write,” said Fitzwilliam firmly. “Write a letter. Set out her charges one by one and answer them honestly. Let her judge you anew, not on prejudice but on truth.” He rose, laying a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Whatever she decides thereafter, you will at least have been heard.”
Darcy sat unmoving, his gaze fixed on the departing figure of his cousin. Then, with renewed determination, he seized another sheet of paper. Dipping his quill pen, he began to write—not only to defend his honour, but to lay bare his heart as he had never dared before.
SIX
With one hand, Mr. Darcy unrolled the sheet of paper and, with the right hand, dipped his quill into the ink bottle. He paused, unsure how to begin, causing a drop of ink to fall onto the page. It was a beginner mistake that Darcy had not made in over two decades. He took a deep breath and set aside the ruined page, reaching for another with determination. He then wrote:
Miss Bennet,
I, first of all, want to apologise for my behaviour. I was too forward and insensitive to your expectations and opinion of me. I understand if you wish never to see me again, let alone speak to me. However, before you come to such a drastic conclusion, I would like to say that it would be a great injustice to me if you concluded so quickly without first allowing me to defend myself against the numerous accusations you have laid against me.
Among the many accusations laid against me, I first would like to address that regarding your sister. I did not intend to cause you, your sister, or your family such pain. I had my reasons for doing what I did. The first is the disparity in emotion shown when comparing your sister and my good friend, Mr. Bingley. I watched your sister and my good friend, Mr. Bingley, throughout the evening of the ball and could see his immediate attraction towards your sister. Initially, I thought nothing of it, as it had become common for Mr. Bingley to find himself attracted to the slightest bit of attention or interest. He is what I have learned to call emotional. He has notlearned to steal his heart in matters where women have shown interest in him. As a result of this, I have seen, on numerous occasions, my good friend suffers at the hands of women.”
Your sister, yes, showed great interest in Mr. Bingley, my good friend, but as the evening went on, I discovered that he had become much more enraptured by her than she was by him. The balance had quickly, too quickly if I must say, tilted in his direction. It was no longer an equally healthy balance of affection being shown, but rather, a one-sided show of love from Mr. Bingley. Your sister had tacitly steered clear from him and showed a rather reserved attitude throughout her speaking with me.”
That is one issue I have discovered. Another important issue also lies with your family. None in your family, except for your father at intervals, showed the proper etiquette and behaviour expected from a respected family of class in public. Their behaviour, I believed, at the time, was rather degrading and lacklustre.
I had equally studied you as well. There were…
