Page 87 of Bitterness of Spirit

“I noticed. They are well, I hope?”

“I am not certain. They were very secretive and did not speak a word about the reason for their departure, but I hope you noticed it was not pure rudeness.”

“I did notice. Something bothered them…”

“I hope you were not offended by my hasty departure,” he said, glancing at her.

She felt her cheeks burning. “Offended? Not at all. I just wondered whether you were upset or—”

“No…I was surprised…but I would not have left if my uncle and aunt had not insisted. They were quite distressed. Apparently, they both knew Mr. Wilson long ago…and neither of them seem to have cordial memories about the other. I must discover the meaning of all this. I hope Mr. Wilson will be honest with me.”

Elizabeth nodded. “He is usually a rather straightforward man. If he has something to say, he will.”

“But I wonder why he invited them to the ball. Do you think…could it have been a scheme from the beginning?” he asked with growing concern. “Did he use me to convince my uncle and aunt to attend the ball only to reveal his identity? Should I feel like a puppet on a string?”

She felt his torment and increasing anger. “I am not certain…I do not know what to say. But why would he?”

“I cannot be sure, and I feel troubled. Forgive me…” he said while pacing the room. “I do not want to be impolite, but…the more I think about it, the more I sense there is much more to this story…”

He moved to the far side of the library, leaning against the wooden shelves. He brushed his hand over the books then stared at the cold fireplace with a frown.

“Am I such a fool that I misjudge everybody and everything? Do I allow myself to be deceived by my own wishes? Do I see only what I want to? Was I wrong to trust Mr. Wilson?”

He spoke to her, but his eyes were fixed on the mantelpiece. His distress was genuine and profound. She hesitantly moved towards him and stopped just inches away. They were now facing one another, so close that they could hear each other’s breathing as their eyes met.

“Mr. Wilson knows about my proposal and your rejection,” he uttered in a low voice.

She paled. “What do you mean? But how? When?”

His gaze became darker and heavier. “It was a mistake…my mistake…when I first met him. He came to my house impetuously that day we met in Hyde Park for the first time. Miss Lucas told him that she found us in Kent and that you were crying…and I thought you had sent him to call me out. I spoke before I could think…”

“You thought I sent him to call you out? Why would I have done that?” she asked, puzzled and slightly hurt.

“I do not know…I was still wounded…and I thought you still hated and despised me, as you did in Kent. We started to argue and I mentioned the proposal. I blamed you for sending him and risking his life. I assumed the worst. I was wrong again, as usual…”

“Oh…”

“He was shocked, of course. He could not believe that I proposed. We eventually cleared up the misunderstanding. That night, he told me he was my father’s best friend, the friend who disappeared a long time ago. We spoke until dawn, and he asked me to keep his secret for the present. The rest you know.”

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. Their closeness made them both dizzy. They could barely speak coherently in such proximity, but neither moved.

“I never hated nor despised you,” she murmured, lost in his dark gaze. “I accused you of ruining Jane’s happiness, but I held Mr. Bingley equally responsible. And I blamed you for mistreating Mr. Wickham because I believed his claims; I thought you were cold and arrogant, haughty and unpleasant. I did not sketch your character rightly, so I found it repugnant. But I never despised you. I always appreciated your knowledge and understating, and I admired your loyalty to your family and friends. I just thought I was not among them.”

“It is good to know that. I am relieved that your poor opinion was not quite as strong as I feared. Thank you for telling me,” he mirrored her earlier words.

She smiled bitterly, and his eyes narrowed with a trace of amusement. The distance between them seemed to lessen with every moment. She wondered what she should do and what she wished him to do.

Then suddenly the doorknob was turned, and with a heavy sound, the door was pushed open and the angry voices of two men could be heard.

Elizabeth and Darcy easily recognized the voices and they panicked, irrationally, as though they had been caught doing something improper. They looked around in anguish; then Elizabeth abruptly grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the corner, opening the secret door. She put a finger to her lips, pushed him inside, and then closed the door. Within the little chamber, it was darker than in the library. The door left only a narrow slit, enough to hear the angry voices of two furious men.

They looked at each other, surprised and troubled by the situation in which they found themselves, silently asking for the other’s opinion on what to do next. Trying to see what was happening in the library, their heads were close, almost touching.

They watched as Mr. Wilson and Lord Matlock confronted one another—face-to-face, tense, and enraged. To their complete shock, Mr. Wilson had shaved his beard, and his figure was now completely different. Even from that distance, his scar was frighteningly visible, seeming to cut the right side of his face in half.

“Your lordship, have you lost your mind—breaking into my house, yelling at me, and demanding an explanation? What could you possibly demand, you pompous fool?” Wilson said in a mocking voice.

“I shall yell as much as I need to. I demand answers and explanations! Who are you? And what do you pretend to gain with this ridiculous scheme?”