Page 81 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
“I amnotElizabeth Bennet—but I once was.”
She took a deep breath and continued.
“I amnotElizabeth Darcy, the abandoned and scorned wife whohated and despisedher husband and her family so much that she was willing to lose home and hearth, family and respectability, safety and security, just to be clear of him. The selfish wife who was willing to inflict the supreme and terrible pain of true mourning and guilt on every single person she knew, just so she could breathe free air.”
He saw her hands had curled into fists, so tightly that he would have thought them to presage violence on anyone who was less gentle.
She looked up at him, with hate, hurt, anger and humiliation plain to see in her eyes. “I amnotElizabeth Darcy—but I once was.”
The laying of that name to rest for the moment seemed to calm her a little. Her body slumped back from the rigid posture of a cornered animal ready to fight, to something less dejected than how she had started.
“I amnotAmanda Thorne, the fearless widow with a made-up name, who made her own way in the world with the help of a few true friends, afraid of nobody and nothing, just wanting to liveherlife byherrules so long as she could make prosperity and security for her new family.”
She stared into the distance, as if seeing the people who depended on her, and Darcy could see in her eyes that she was getting ready to fight for them, and he had no doubt she would win. With a shaking breath, she looked him directly in the eyes and continued.
“I amnotAmanda Thorne—but I once was.”
She seemed to sit back and think for a while, as Darcy wondered if he should say anything, but thought better of it. He had taken his turn on their wedding day, and the scale was nowhere near balanced.
She sighed, leaned forward on her hands, which she placed beside her thighs flat on the floor, staring at a spot between her legs intently for a moment.
With a sigh, she said, “It used to be easier, you know. Perhaps, someday it will be again—but not today.”
That seemed to exhaust her words for the moment, so he asked timidly, “What was easier?”
She glanced at him, but, unable to keep eye contact, she looked back down and continued, “When I was a naïve young girl, life was easy, fun, and carefree. I convinced myself that I could sketch a man’s character based on one rude commenthardly worse than what her own mother said every day, and I never had my wilful ignorance tested, never experienced any anxiety nor hardship. To be honest, at that time I was almost as cynical as my father, but it waseasy. Nobody expected anything of me, most especially myself.”
Darcy sighed, wondering if that was the time for the apology that was five years overdue, but she took the decision out of his hands by continuing.
“It got harder when my own mother engineered my doom, and I was trying to escape my wretched fate. It seemed like the whole world conspired against me. My father tortured me with threats to my sisters. My sisters tortured me by saying I should just accept you, and I could make something of you. My intended despised me. My best friend betrayed me. My father, through no extraordinary effort save blind luck, found the best thief-taker in England, and he caught me—twice! I assume you know all this?”
“Your sisters explained it to me. I assume you remember 11:37?”
She sighed resignedly. “There are 262,800 minutes in a half-year. I will not say they were all terrible, nor could I with any credibility since I was the pampered inhabitant of the nicest gilded cage in England, but it was hard—very hard. For twenty years, I had been exactly who and what I was. I had the freedom to just be Elizabeth Bennet. For that year, I felt like I was gradually being stuffed in a box, forced into the mask of Mrs Darcy. I had no idea who Mrs Darcy was, but I was certain I did not want to meet such a formidable creature.”
She sniffled, and Darcy handed her his handkerchief, which she used in the usual way.
“The hardest part, the worst part, was that somewhere, deep inside, I suspect IknewI was putting myself in the box. Iknewthat you would probably not be as bad as I thought. IknewI could somehow muddle through and make some kind of lifewith you if I just grew up and, as Jane and Mary suggested, put away my childish things. Iknewthat if I just thought about it more, made more effort, acted as nice as I could, made the best of it, suppressed my natural impertinence, relied entirely on politeness and propriety, spent as little time as possible in your company, focused on my future children, and so forth—I could make a reasonably contented life, no worse and better in many ways than most women; butI just could not stand it.That was hard, because I had left all my enemies either in Hertfordshire or in France, so I had to invent my own to justify my self-inflicted misery.”
Darcy snapped, “That wasnotself-inflicted. It was solelymyresponsibility—mine and your mother’s.”
She shook her head, then shrugged her shoulders, not willing to argue, and continued.
“When I left, I became truly independent, but doubly in jeopardy. If caught, I could go to gaol or worse—I suppose I still could. Even worse, I could be committed and there would be nothing I could do about it save run again, presuming I could even escape, which is not a given. Worst of all though, if caught, I would let down people who took real risks to be with me. By now, you must have worked out that Miriam’s parents are the servants that left with me. I have been careful to make sure you never heard their given names. Molly hides every time you appear, and of course, they have never done anything unlawful. And—well, I will say no more. You gave your word there will be no reprisals, and I trust you.”
Darcy spoke, trying to be both gentle and forceful at the same time. “Let me be doubly clear!I could care lessthat Baker lied to my face and committed perjury, though I doubt very much that he faces any legal risk, as you will have worked out a clever scheme to shield him.”
“Of course I have. He may have his revenge though, since he sent that catalyst here,” she said, pointing to the box of books.
“He is your mysterious buyer then.”
“Yes, he and his wife. They also own a sizeable portion of the store, purchased with part of her dowry,” she chuckled. “Her father was a tradesman, you know. It is in her blood—her Bingley blood, that is.”
Darcy did not know what to say, but it did not matter as Amanda was not yet finished.
“As I said, it gets harder, but the absolutehardestpart was saved for last.”
“I meant what I said, Amanda. I will allow no harm to come to you or yours, most especially at my hand.”
