Page 53 of The Crown’s Gift

He looked as if he had not slept. His coat was perfectly fastened, his cravat exact, and his face stripped of every social defense.

Elizabeth stopped.

"Miss Elizabeth."

He held out a letter.

"Do not be alarmed. It contains no renewal of the sentiments which disgusted you. I ask only that you read it."

She accepted it. Their fingers did not touch.

Darcy bowed and walked away before she found a reply.

The letter was thick, written closely, and sealed only once. Elizabeth carried it to a fallen tree beyond view of the house.

Darcy began with Bingley.

He admitted observing Jane's preference without understanding its strength. He had known Bingley's attachment and believed it temporary because his friend's affections were easily engaged. Lady Bennet's expectations and the younger girls' liveliness concerned him; the recent rise in the Bennets' consequence had made him question whether Bingley understood the social pressures surrounding the match. Yet he acknowledged that these objections had become excuses after Jane's character proved faultless.

I saw the risks and presumed I must prevent them, he wrote. Bingley's trust encouraged my interference, and I mistook Miss Bennet's reserve for absence of feeling. When Miss Bingley concealed her arrival in London, I did not know immediately. Once I learned it, I allowed the concealment to continue. For that there is no defense.

Elizabeth read the paragraph twice.

He did not soften his guilt. He did not say his intentions excused him. Anger remained, but it could no longer feed upon denial.

The account of Wickham followed.

Darcy described childhood companionship, his father's partiality, the promised living, and the three thousand pounds accepted in compensation. He enclosed dates and names already confirmed by Sir Thomas's investigation.

Then he wrote of Georgiana.

At fifteen she had been placed at Ramsgate with a companion, Mrs Younge. Wickham renewed acquaintance, won the lonely girl's trust, and persuaded her to agree to an elopement. Her fortune of thirty thousand pounds was the object. Darcy arrived unexpectedly days before the plan. Georgiana confessed. Wickham left.

My sister's name must not be exposed, he wrote. I reveal it because my silence allowed a practiced deceiver to appear merely unfortunate. I withheld the truth from fear for her, not contempt for your questions. My manner gave you reason to believe otherwise.

Elizabeth lowered the pages.

The grove blurred.

She saw Wickham at Aunt Phillips's table, leaning close as he offered suffering calibrated to invite sympathy. She heard his artful reluctance. She remembered Mary's discomfort and her father's caution. Elizabeth had not accepted the tale wholly, but she had enjoyed its agreement with her dislike of Darcy. Skepticism had become another ornament of prejudice: she asked clever questions, then retained the answer that pleased her.

Georgiana, shy and tender, had nearly been carried into scandal at fifteen.

Lydia was fifteen.

The thought made Elizabeth cold.

Darcy ended without apology for loving her, only for the manner in which love had been offered.

You accused me of presenting judgment dressed as love. I cannot deny the charge. You owe me no answer. I shall leave Rosings tomorrow and will not intrude upon you again.

Elizabeth folded the letter with unsteady hands.

"Till this moment," she whispered, "I never knew myself."

Darcy had been arrogant. She had been prejudiced. Neither truth excused the other.

She remained in the grove until the bells at Rosings marked noon.