The Codicil (On Hold)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

5 Years Later

April 1811 - Rosings Park, Kent

At Elizabeth's feet lay the scattered pages of a letter. A letter surrendered to her in an abrupt transfer from his hand to hers, a letter torn from its envelope and its now shattered Darcy seal, a letter that negated nearly every single one of her argument.   She rested her head on her knees as she sat at the base of the tree and hugged her legs close to her body.  Silent tears slid down her cheeks. Her every thought increased her distress and soon she gave way to sobs.  She squeezed her throat but could not stop them.  What have I done?  I am a foolish, foolish girl.  She seized the pages from the cold ground, smoothed them out, inhaled deeply, and read them again.

His words, scrawled in neat, straight lines on the fine linen stationary, summoned anger, disbelief, shock and shame, each one battling for prominence with every reading.  Humiliation won.  She used her hands in a futile attempt to dry her eyes.   Why did I ever listen to a single word Mr. Wickham said?  A true gentleman would never have told such a story to a new acquaintance and a wise person would never have listened!

She ached anew at how horribly she had misjudged both men!  She, who prided herself on being a great judge of character, had allowed her own vanity to promote the scoundrel and disparage the gentleman.  All anger fled in the face of her overwhelming shame, and that red-hot burning sensation grew rapidly on her cheeks as she considered the lack of propriety exhibited by her family in front of him.  She, too, had found herself mortified by the poor behavior of her mother and younger sisters.  But she loved them and could overlook their conduct.  It was not reasonable to expect the same of a stranger. 

She leapt up and stomped the ground as she paced around the tree, mumbling to herself.    She glared at his words jumping up out of the letter: "I also watched your sister...her look and manners were open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them with any participation of sentiment..." His motives may not have been evil, but the pain Jane suffered because of his meddling was real. 

Elizabeth shook her head as she thought of Jane. Her melancholia was not disguised in her meager attempts at writing cheerful letters.  How could he hurt my sister? Elizabeth shook her head again, this time with more vigor.  No!  It matters not how foolish I was in my dealings with Mr. Wickham; Mr. Darcy is not without fault.   She clenched her hands into fists.  She would not absolve Mr. Darcy over his interference with Jane and Mr. Bingley.  He proved to be as full of pride and arrogance as she believed.  In this she was convinced.  She would not allow the fact that she had misjudged him in other areas to overturn her feelings in this matter. 

She consoled herself with the thought that she would never again lay eyes on him.  She was determined to devise ways to avoid him until he stepped inside his carriage and returned to London. Elizabeth let a small sob escape.  O, if only I was there now with Jane.  There is much I would tell and much I must conceal.   

A twig snapped and jolted her out of her reverie. She jerked her head up and  there, kneeling before her was the man himself.  She slapped her hand across her mouth to suppress a gasp.  Tears streamed down her face.   She held her breath.

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Darcy stood straight, his hands clasped behind him, shaking his head.  She had refused him. The enchanting Elizabeth Bennet, whose wit and intelligence had drawn him in, had refused him.

He cursed himself for wrapping a marriage proposal in insults. He wondered how he could have been so stupid as to tell the woman he loved, a woman perfect for him in every way, that her family was not good enough for him.