Page 97 of The Slipper Scandal
She nodded, arranging herself at one end of the settee while he took a chair opposite her. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts.
"I must beg pardon for the scene yesterday," Elizabeth said at last, unable to bear the silence any longer. "My parents' behaviour was inexcusable."
"There is no need for apology," Mr. Darcy replied, his expression softening. "Families are complicated, as I believe we have agreed."
A small laugh escaped her at the memory of the Matlocks’ transparent matchmaking. It was not the same at all, and he knew it. She sat on the settee, and he settled next to her.
"Miss Bennet,” he began, “I fear your parents' quarrel has only confirmed your worst apprehensions about our situation."
Elizabeth could not deny it. "I have always dreaded the possibility of finding myself in a marriage like theirs," she admitted, twisting her fingers together in her lap. "Their mutual resentment has cast a shadow over my understanding of matrimony for as long as I can remember."
Mr. Darcy leaned forward, his eyes earnest. "Will you tell me about it? Not the fear you have shared before, but what you witnessed yesterday that caused you such distress?"
The request surprised her. Most gentlemen would have dismissed her concerns or offered hollow reassurances. Instead, he wished to understand. Perhaps that was why she found herself speaking with unprecedented candour.
"What you witnessed yesterday was more heated than unusual, and the venue has never been so public. However, their quarrels have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember." She took a steadying breath. "My father's wit has always been sharp, but over the years, it has grown increasingly caustic when directed at my mother. And she, for her part, has become shriller and more ridiculous with each passing year."
"And you fear we will follow a similar path."
"How could we not?" Elizabeth rose, moving to the window. "Our beginning was not so different from theirs. They, too, were forced into marriage by circumstances beyond their control. My father might have wished to love her once, but obligation poisoned whatever affection might have grown between them."
She turned to face him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Lord Ellington may have failed in his attempts to spread gossip, but he has had his revenge nonetheless. Had we met in the ordinary way, perhaps at a ball or during a country visit, I might have come to care for you without this shadow hanging over us. I might have been happy."
Mr. Darcy rose then, crossing to the hearth before turning to face her. The distance between them was everything proper, yet she felt the heat of his presence.
"Do you care for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The directness of the question took her breath away. She had not expected it, though perhaps she should have. Mr. Darcy had never been one to prevaricate. And he deserved an honest answer.
"I—" she began, then stopped, struggling to articulate the complexity of her feelings. "Yes," she admitted at last. "I do. But I am afraid it is not enough to overcome our circumstances."
Something flickered in his eyes, pain, perhaps, or resignation. Yet when he spoke, his voice was low and steady. "Your father was never devoted to making his marriage work."
"I beg your pardon?" The observation caught her off guard.
"Your father's disappointment is not merely the result of an obligatory marriage," Mr. Darcy continued. "I suspect it stems from certain incompatibilities that became apparent after the wedding. From what little I have observed, your parents havefundamentally different natures. Even had they married for love, such differences might have led to discord."
Elizabeth considered this perspective, turning it over in her mind. "Perhaps," she conceded. "Though the obligation surely exacerbated their differences."
"Undoubtedly," Mr. Darcy agreed. "But that is not our problem, Miss Bennet."
"Is it not?"
"No. Our difficulty is one of trust." He took a step closer, near enough now that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "You do not trust that my feelings for you will endure. You fear that one day I might look at you with the same disdain your father displays towards your mother."
"How can I be certain?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "How can anyone know what the future holds?"
"We cannot," he replied simply. "We can only decide whether the risk is worth taking."
Mr. Darcy hesitated, then moved to her and reached for her hands. His touch was warm, the contact sending a current of awareness through her that made her breath quicken. For a man whose demeanour was so often reserved, his hands were remarkably expressive of the character she had come to admire—strong yet gentle, firm yet tender.
"Miss Bennet," he said, his gaze holding hers with unwavering intensity. "I release you from our engagement."
She stared at him, uncomprehending. "I beg your pardon?"
His voice was calm, though she detected a slight tremor beneath the composure. "The choice must be yours, freely made. I will not have you enter into marriage with me out of obligation or fear of scandal."
Elizabeth felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet. Of all the things she had expected him to say, this had not been among them. "You do not wish to marry me?"
