Page 38 of Grief and Grievances
Her composure wavered, and a single tear escaped the confines of her dark lashes, spilling down her flushed cheek. Another followed, and another, until it seemed as though her very soul were weeping.
“Elizabeth...” Darcy whispered, his own voice thickened by emotion. He reached out to touch her hand, but stopped himself, knowing he had no right to offer comfort when he himself was the cause of her distress.
“Please forgive me,” he implored, his chest tightening as he watched her cry. “I never meant to distress you so.” Horrified by the sight of Elizabeth’s tears, Darcy felt a pang of guilt like a dagger to his heart. His mind raced with confusion and concern as he gently guided her towards a nearby tree stump, urging her to sit and gather her thoughts.
“Please,” he implored, pressing his handkerchief into her trembling hands. “Take this, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes in an effort to regain some semblance of composure.
“Elizabeth,” he began hesitantly, his voice laden with anxiety. “I did not mean to cause you distress. If my proposal has upset you...”
“Your proposal was unexpected, sir, but it is not the cause of my tears,” she interrupted, her voice quivering with emotion. “I... I have been keeping an awful secret, and I am quite sure you will want to retract your offer when you find out.”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy replied gravely, his own trepidation mounting, “you must trust that my feelings for you are steadfast. There is nothing that could sway me from wishing to be your husband. Please, confide in me.”
Elizabeth hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak before closing again. She looked down at the handkerchief crumpled in her fingers, the delicate fabric a stark contrast to the turmoil roiling within her. The weight of her secret had never felt heavier than it did in this moment, perched on the precipice between truth and silence.
“Very well,” she murmured, finally allowing herself to be guided by his hand as they found a secluded spot beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak. “I will tell you everything, Mr. Darcy, and then you may decide whether your offer still stands.”
As she prepared to begin her tale, Darcy listened intently, his mind racing with the possible implications of her words. What secret could she harbour that would threaten their future happiness? And yet, as he looked upon her tear-streaked face, he knew that he would stand by her, no matter the cost.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, his voice filled with determination. “Whatever you have faced, we shall deal with it together. You have my word.”
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered. “It is regarding the incident with the goose and Anne’s ponies.” She paused before continuing, obviously gathering her courage. “It was my cousin, Mr. Collins, who was responsible for the chaos. Just moments before the accident, he was engaged in a contretemps with the goose, which fled his garden right into the path of Anne’s phaeton.”
“Mr. Collins?” Darcy repeated, surprise evident in his voice.
Elizabeth nodded, her gaze fixed on the ground as she awaited his response. “It was an accident,” she said. “Charlotte was terrified of Lady Catherine’s wrath and I-I only wanted to protect them.”
“Elizabeth,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, “You need not feel responsible for your cousin’s actions. We all have our faults, and while I cannot say I am pleased with Mr. Collins’s behaviour, it is ultimately his burden to bear, not yours.”
“But I fear for the consequences,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I worry about what this may mean for him and Charlotte, and for their relationship with your family.”
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, savouring the way her name felt on his lips, “Allow me to speak with Mr. Collins, and we will handle the matter discreetly. I see no need to trouble Lady Catherine with the exact details, something which would only cause her further distress. Your concern is admirable, but you must not let this weigh too heavily upon your own shoulders.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she breathed, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst her lingering doubts. “Your understanding means more to me than I can express.”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy replied softly, his voice thick with emotion, “it is not my place to judge you or your family for the actions of others. My feelings for you remain unchanged, and I assure you that this revelation does not lessen them. If anything, it strengthens my resolve to protect and support you.”
The wind rustled the leaves above, casting dappled shadows upon the ground where Darcy and Elizabeth sat. The weight of their shared secret hung in the air, as tangible as the oak tree that provided them shelter.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy began hesitantly, his brow furrowed in contemplation, “there is something I must take responsibility for in this unfortunate matter.” He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “Anne’s ponies should have been better trained not to spook. For that, I feel I must share some of the blame.”
Elizabeth looked at him in confusion, clearly unsure of what he meant.
Darcy sighed and elaborated, “I was the one who gifted her the phaeton and ponies several years ago. I even taught her how to drive them myself, seeking to give her a measure of independence she had not hitherto enjoyed. Knowing this, I cannot help but feel partially responsible for the accident that occurred.”
As he spoke, memories of happier times flitted through his mind—days spent with Anne, guiding her gently as she learned to handle the reins, laughter filling the air as they raced across the sprawling grounds of Rosings Park. It seemed a lifetime ago, and yet the guilt gnawed at him as if it were only yesterday.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm, “you could not have foreseen the events that transpired. One cannot hold themselves accountable for every unforeseen consequence.”
“Perhaps,” Darcy conceded, his eyes downcast. “Yet the knowledge that my actions, however indirectly, may have contributed to such tragedy weighs heavily upon me.”
“Pray, do not torment yourself further, sir,” she implored, her gaze unwavering as it met his own. “Horses are animals, not human; they do not think as we do, governed by their instincts. Even the most accomplished horseman may be unseated by a horse behaving in an unexpected manner.”
Darcy considered her words for a moment, his brow furrowed in silent contemplation. “I suppose you are right,” he conceded at last. “Yet I cannot help but feel a certain responsibility for the outcome.”
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth responded, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, “If Colonel Fitzwilliam were here, I daresay he would regale us with tales of battle chargers who have exhibited far more reprehensible behaviour than poor Anne’s ponies.”
