Page 9 of Moments of Truth
By now her astonishment had burned away entirely, replaced with blazing anger. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, her breath came quick, and every word struck him like a blade.
“You have shown no true regard for others—only vanity, only selfish disdain. You believe yourself superior to all around you, but in truth, Mr. Darcy, you are the cause of pain wherever you tread!”
Darcy’s face had gone white. He spoke at last, his voice strained: “So this is the answer I must accept. I would at least have known why I am rejected with such violence.”
Elizabeth drew herself up, trembling but resolute. “Because I cannot accept the hand of a man who believes he lowers himself by offering it. You wished for honesty, sir—you shall have it. I could never thank you for a proposal that offends while it professes to flatter. That is your answer.”
For a heartbeat, he stood motionless. All the eloquence he had gathered, all the tenderness he had meant to unfold, now lay in ruins. And yet, even wounded to the quick, his gaze lingered upon her with aching devotion, as though memorising her face would be his only comfort in the desolation that must follow.
Darcy bowed with grave stiffness. “Then I have been mistaken. I beg your pardon. Goodbye, Miss Bennet.”
He turned and strode out. The door closed behind him—not with violence, but with measured force, as though he held even his anguish under the discipline of restraint.
Outside, the cool air struck his face like a rebuke. He descended the steps heavily, his tread echoing against the gravel, and went straight to the post where his horse waited. The animal nickered softly at his approach, but Darcy only took up the reins and stood beside it, his hand gripping the leather so tightly his knuckles whitened. He had no strength to mount, no wish to flee so swiftly. To ride off in haste would have been a relief; instead, he bore his torment step by step, leading the creature aimlessly along the path.
What cut deepest he could scarcely tell. The sting of her rejection seared his heart, the injustice of her accusations wounded his honour, and the shattering of his fragile hope left him desolate. Yet the cruellest truth of all was that none of these could extinguish his feeling. Though despised, though misunderstood, though dismissed as proud and unworthy—he loved her still, and knew he could not cease to love her.
FOUR
As Darcy left the parsonage, leading his horse by the reins, he paced restlessly, his steps heavy on the gravel path. His thoughts swirled, crashing over one another in waves of disbelief and confusion. He muttered aloud, his voice low but rising with frustration.
“No,” he said sharply, as if to convince himself. “It is impossible. It cannot have happened this way.” He seemed like a madman, talking to himself as he walked along the path. After all, a horse was hardly a suitable conversationalist.
Darcy’s mind reeled back to the moment of Elizabeth’s refusal, but the memory felt too surreal, too disjointed to accept. “Miss Bennet could not have meant what she said,” he muttered, shaking his head, his brows furrowing. “Surely, she will think it over. She must see sense… she will change her mind in a few days.” His words fell from his lips with the rhythm of a prayer, as if repeating the thought would make it true.
“It was not real,” he whispered, his chest tightening. “No, it was Wickham, of course—it must be Wickham! He has poisoned her against me. She has been misled, deceived!” His grip on the reins tightened, knuckles whitening as anger mingled with denial. “Or Cousin Fitzwilliam must have said something unclear, something she misunderstood!”
He stopped momentarily, staring ahead blankly, trying to steady his racing thoughts. His proposal—how had it gone so wrong?Miss Jane Bennet and Bingley… what have they todo with this? Nothing! Surely nothing that could justify such refusal.He shook his head once more, bewilderment creeping into his voice.
No, Darcy insisted, his pace quickening again as he resumed walking.The signs were there. She felt something; I know it. She cannot deny that. The way she looked at me, the moments we shared… they were real. I did not imagine them.
And yet, the crushing reality of her rejection weighed on him, a heaviness settling in his chest.This… this cannot have happened to me.
Darcy continued walking, the tension in his shoulders mounting with every step. The air around him seemed to pulse with the intensity of his thoughts, and he was only dimly aware of his surroundings. His boots scraped against the dirt path, his mind spinning in circles of denial, confusion, and pain.
“But how could I have misread her so completely?” he muttered. “The looks, the conversations, the way she held herself around me—there was something there. She was not indifferent. She could not have been.” He paused again, pulling his horse to a halt beside him. He stared at the horizon, but his thoughts were miles away, locked in the parsonage where Elizabeth’s words had sliced through his pride.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, his voice rising slightly in desperation. “Miss Bennet spoke in anger. She was overwhelmed, caught off guard by my sudden proposal. Yes, that is it. Her feelings must be confused. Once she has time to reflect, once she realizes the magnitude of my offer…” The hope faltered even as he spoke it, trailing into silence.
Yet even as he clung to the belief that she would reconsider, doubt gnawed at the edges of his certainty. He shook his head,trying to dispel the image of her fiery eyes, the sharpness in her voice as she accused him of arrogance, of cruelty. Arrogance?! The word echoed in his mind, bitter and unwelcome.
“Was I too sure of myself?” he whispered, his tone softer and less confident. “Did I… did I presume too much?” His pride rebelled against the thought, but the question hung in the air, refusing to leave. “I offered her everything—my hand, my name, my fortune. How could she not see the honour in that?”
He began pacing again, his frustration building as he replayed every moment of the encounter. “It must be Wickham,” he insisted, louder this time. “That scoundrel has filled her little head with lies. He has twisted her perception of me, of my character. Wickham is to blame for this.” Darcy’s voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, struggling to keep control.
But even Wickham’s treachery did not account for everything. “She accused me of separating Bingley and Miss Bennet,” he murmured, brow furrowing deeper. “How could she know that? Who told her?” His mind raced, searching for an explanation, a way to absolve himself. “But surely she misunderstands. I acted in Bingley’s best interest… did not I?” The thought lingered, unwelcome. He was so sure before, but now, doubt crept in, making him question his judgment.The certainty he once possessed now felt fragile, undermined by doubt he could not banish.
“Something terrible has gone wrong,” he whispered, his voice more uncertain. “Something I cannot seem to grasp.” He looked up at the sky, his expression tightening with the weight of his thoughts.
As Darcy continued walking, a new thought began to take hold.Perhaps it was not too late.Could he not turn around, return to Hunsford, and speak to Elizabeth again? His stridesslowed as the idea crystallized in his mind. “Would it not be better to go back?” he mused aloud. “To explain everything in a calm, reasonable manner? Surely, if she heard my side—if Miss Elizabeth understood my intentions—she might change her mind.”
He paused, gripping the reins tightly, his heart racing at the prospect. “Yes, that must be it,” he continued, more certain now. “Elizabeth is intelligent, fair-minded. She cannot remain in such error once she hears the truth. My involvement with Bingley and Miss Bennet, Wickham’s treachery… if she knew the facts, she would reconsider.”
He stopped in his tracks, staring down the road as if seeing the parsonage in the distance. The temptation to return pressed hard against his better judgment.I could go back tonight, he thought, half-turning toward Hunsford.It isn’t too late. Tomorrow might be. She could leave for Longbourn, or worse—her resentment might solidify. But if I go now and talk to her with sincerity, I can make her see the reason. I can explain myself. And if she has had time to think, perhaps her anger has already cooled.
For a brief moment, he was ready to act. He straightened his posture, bracing himself for the return. “It would not affect my pride if I negotiate this,” he whispered, trying to convince himself. “This is no mere trivial matter—this is love. I love her. Deeply, truly. And I cannot let her slip away without doing everything I can to set things right.”
But just as quickly, common sense began to creep back in. Darcy stood still, staring at the ground, the weight of his pride pulling him back to reality. What would such an impulsive act achieve? Barging in unannounced again would only deepen her resentment. “No,” he muttered, his voice firm but tinged withresignation. “I cannot force her to see things my way. Returning now would only make things worse.”
