Page 31 of Moments of Truth
Her mind could not release the wish—the desperate, almost childish desire—that she might tell him of her error, of her shame, and of the sorrow she now endured. To apologise for words spoken in anger, for thoughts steeped in prejudice, for the injustice she had so freely bestowed—this, she believed, must be her only expiation, though she feared it would never reach his ear.
“Elizabeth, is everything well?” Charlotte’s gentle voice drifted through the door.
“I wish only to be alone…” Elizabeth answered, her voice breaking upon the words.
A pause, and then the latch turned softly. “Then forgive me, but I must come in.” Charlotte entered, her expression a mixture of concern and surprise. Never had she seen Elizabeth in such discomposure.
Elizabeth lifted her tear-stained face, and only one confession escaped her lips: “I was wrong about him.” With that, she collapsed into Charlotte’s arms, sobs shaking her slender frame.
Charlotte held her, one hand upon her shoulder, her manner tender yet steady. “Lizzy, if you truly believe so, then the best balm for your heart will be to speak with him.”
Elizabeth drew back, eyes bright with distress. “It is difficult for me even to imagine looking him in the eye. How can I entreat him to listen, when I have given him every reason to despise me?”
“Because truth will not despise truth,” Charlotte replied softly, with more conviction than Elizabeth had expected.
Elizabeth pressed trembling hands together. “I even attempted to write to him. But shame burned my cheeks before I had written three lines. How could I place in his hands the evidence of my folly? How could I bear him to read it, and know how base I was in thought and judgment?” She gripped the table for support, her voice faltering. “How shall I ever begin to atone for the cruel things I believed of him? For the baseless accusations I entertained? Every word of his letter is a mirror, showing me my pride, my arrogance, my wilful blindness. I judged him severely—unjustly—merely because he was not eager to flatter, nor anxious to please.”
Her voice broke, and she pressed her fingers against her forehead. “And Wickham… Oh, Charlotte, how easily I let him deceive me! I allowed my vanity and resentment to dress him in virtues he never possessed. I wanted Mr. Darcy to be the villain, so I might stand justified in my dislike. But I see now—I was the villain of my own judgment.”
Charlotte squeezed her arm gently. “Lizzy, we are all fallible. What matters now is whether you have the courage to act differently. If you cannot send him a letter, then speak with him when Providence affords the chance. He will see your sincerity.”
Elizabeth shook her head, tears brimming once more. “I cannot deserve his forgiveness. Yet I wish—how ardently I wish—that I might tell him I see him now—not as pride painted him, but as his own words revealed him. And he is far better than I had believed.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Perhaps he will never think kindly of me again. But I cannot bear that he should think me a creature of prejudice and conceit. If nothing more, I owe him the truth of my remorse.”
“You must find a way, Lizzy,” Charlotte urged gently, though her tone carried firm resolve. “Matters cannot remain thus. He offered you his heart; he cannot think as harshly of you as you fear.”
Elizabeth covered her face. “After my ungracious refusal—so unfeeling, so uncivil—I can scarcely believe he would ever wish to see me again.”
Charlotte’s eyes softened with affection. “I have always known you to be brave, Elizabeth Bennet. Be brave now—prove me right.”
Elizabeth turned to face Charlotte, her eyes troubled, her voice wavering between defiance and uncertainty. “But Charlotte,” she protested softly, “why should I? He has already caused such upheaval with his words and actions. And besides, Mr. Darcy must leave Rosings soon. How am I even to deliver such a letter to him without seeming forward or improper?”
Charlotte replied with a gentle smile, understanding her friend’s resistance yet unwilling to let her shrink from whatmight bring her peace. “You need not parade your intentions, Lizzy. You could send the letter by discreet means—or, better still, we might contrive a short visit to Lady Catherine under some reasonable pretext. In such a moment, you could place it directly in Mr. Darcy’s hand.”
Elizabeth’s lips parted in protest, yet no words came. Her hands tightened together in her lap, as though they alone could contain the tumult in her breast. The very thought of standing before Mr. Darcy, of meeting his dark and earnest gaze while offering some acknowledgement of her fault, filled her with both dread and an inexplicable longing. Her pride urged her to silence, to let the matter fade into the safety of forgetfulness; but her conscience, stirred by the sincerity of his own letter, whispered that to remain silent would be cowardice. The conflict played upon her countenance, a struggle between shame and hope that even Charlotte could not fail to discern.
Charlotte moved closer, lowering her voice as though afraid the very walls might overhear. “I understand your hesitation, Lizzy; truly, I do. But think of it this way: by giving him the letter, you prove yourself above pettiness. It would show him that you possess the grace and integrity that I, and indeed all who know you, so greatly esteem. And who can tell? Perhaps it might even bring you closure—or more than closure.”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened at Charlotte’s earnest appeal, her heart torn between pride and a desperate longing she scarce dared name. After a long pause, she nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right, Charlotte. It would be the proper thing to do, regardless of my feelings. It is unworthy of me to shrink from justice merely because it is difficult.”
Charlotte smiled warmly, relief glimmering in her eyes. “I knew you would understand, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth managed a faint smile in return, though her lips trembled. “Yes—but I must write another letter. What I penned before is no longer sufficient; his own letter has altered everything. I see now how unjustly I judged him, how cruelly I misinterpreted his character. And that knowledge makes it all the harder. My hand falters when I try to set down words that might repair such wrongs.”
“You must not falter,” Charlotte urged gently. “Only you can tell him what lies in your heart. No one else can undo the shadow that has come between you.”
“I know, Charlotte,” Elizabeth whispered, pressing the folded letter in her hand as if it burned. “But it is dreadfully hard for me to write now. What words could possibly suffice?”
“Think twice, Lizzy,” Charlotte said, her tone both firm and affectionate. “Perhaps, if you act with courage, you may not only find peace for yourself, but restore peace to him also.”
Thus resolved, Elizabeth agreed to accompany the Collinses on a short visit to Rosings, to offer their respects before Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam departed for London and, in time, Pemberley. Depending on Mr. Darcy’s manner, she would act: if his countenance betrayed displeasure, she might quietly drop the letter and withdraw; but if she found him softened in spirit, she would dare to remain—and perhaps speak to him herself.
***
It was evident to her ladyship that the Hunsford residents had arrived at Rosings on foot at dusk to pay their respects to Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam on the eve of their departure. Simple though it was, it appeared to Lady Catherine a gesture of rare and most commendable propriety, for it bespoke theParsonage’s eagerness to honour her and her distinguished connections. Her vanity, gratified by such attention, was further stirred when she resolved aloud to lend her carriage for their return to Hunsford, and even condescended to suggest the eventual purchase of a one-horse gig for the Collinses, that their visits to Rosings might be less fatiguing in future.
Mr. Collins stood before Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam with his usual mixture of self-importance and humility, his figure stiff with rehearsed solemnity. Clearing his throat with an exaggerated cough, he began his farewell speech with all the gravity of a divine addressing his flock.
“My dear sirs, I must express, on behalf of Mrs. Collins, her dear sister Miss Lucas, our cousin Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and myself, our deepest and most sincere gratitude for the affability and condescension you have shown in visiting our humble abode during your brief residence at Rosings. It is not every day that one is honoured by the society of such distinguished gentlemen, and we are truly indebted for your kindness. Mrs. Collins, who esteems you both beyond expression, has commissioned me to convey her warmest wishes for your health and prosperity, and hopes that, should Providence allow, you will again deign to grace Hunsford with your presence.”
