Darcy’s Duel (The Bennet and Darcy Chronicles: Short Jane Austen Adaptations #2)

Chapter 11

11

E lizabeth sat in the dim candlelight of her room, staring at the flowers Darcy had sent her that morning. They were still bright, still beautiful, still full of life.

But something inside her had wilted.

She had allowed too much.

She had let herself forget.

She had laughed with him. Teased him. Let him step closer than she should have.

And for a moment—just a moment—she had liked it.

But Jane.

Bingley.

Darcy had kept them apart. What kind of man did that? What kind of man could she let herself care for after such a thing?

No more.

Tonight, she would make it stop even if it broke her heart.

The atmosphere at Lady Catherine’s table was as grand and overbearing as ever.

Elizabeth sat stiffly, her hands clasped in her lap, her mind already rehearsing what she must say.

Darcy sat across from her, speaking quietly with Fitzwilliam, but his attention flickered to her often. They had little opportunity to converse specifically or privately.

Finally, when the meal had nearly ended, Darcy turned his full attention to her.

"Miss Bennet," he said, "I hope you enjoyed your walk today."

The words were simple.

But his eyes searched hers, communicating as though they were in private.

Elizabeth forced a smile. "It was a lovely afternoon," she said lightly. "But I fear I must be more cautious with my time."

Darcy’s expression did not change, but it took him a moment to respond. "I see," he said carefully.

She folded her napkin, focusing on her plate. "These past weeks have been… surprising," she admitted, voice measured, careful. "But I believe it is best that I… focus on other things.”

The words were like lead in her mouth.

Then, his voice, lower now. "Any particular reason?"

She forced herself to lift her gaze.

His face was calm, unreadable—but his eyes had darkened.

“I must think of Jane and avoid those hardened cruel souls who would ruin her happiness.” The words came out in a storm, unchecked by her. Her face was flushed, her breath coming faster. She needed space, air, something without Darcy in it.

“I see.” He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “As you wish.”

When they rose from the table, everyone making their way to the salon, she swallowed. "Goodbye, Mr. Darcy," she murmured. She turned away, found a seat in the corner with a book and continued the evening alone

That night Elizabeth did not sleep. She sat awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to still her mind. Then a full day of misery followed. She swore everything off with a headache and stayed in her room. Books could not distract her. Sleep would not overtake her. The hours crept on in a constant state of unhappiness.

She could not have Mr. Darcy even if she forgave him. Jane would be miserable. But Elizabeth did not in fact forgive him, so there was that. And now that she loved him… Her heart pounded a double beat at the thought. Could it be true? Could she really love such a man?

She sat at the window looking out into a world that lacked luster. Yes, she supposed she was well on her way to loving him. What kind of person was she to love a man capable of inflicting pain on another? She was certainly doomed. She could not ever be with the man she loved and must be unhappy forever.

What did a person in her situation do? Would she marry another someday? Find another? She closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands.

And what of Jane? Would she also be miserable for the rest of their days?

Their mother’s constant worry about marriage had merit. At last Lizzie was seeing things more clearly through her mother’s eyes. Marriage truly was the most difficult of all endeavors. How on earth would all five of the Bennet sisters every marry? From her perspective and from Jane’s it was looking nigh impossible. How did two people ever find each other, ever? And hopes of a marriage for love? How did two equally admiring people find each other? The odds were so impossible. She had found someone who she admired despite herself, who seemed to admire her in return. How often did that ever happen?

Perhaps she’d work as a governess.

And then—a knock at her door.

Charlotte’s voice on the other side. "A letter arrived for you, Lizzy."

A letter?

Elizabeth sat up abruptly.

She crossed the room, took the folded parchment, and thanked Charlotte before closing the door behind her. Her name was written in familiar script.

Jane.

Elizabeth’s pulse quickened.

She broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and began to read.

My Dearest Lizzy,

You will never believe it! Mr. Bingley has returned to Netherfield. And, Lizzy—he sought me out immediately.

He came not because of chance, but because of Mr. Darcy.

It was he who told Bingley the truth.

It was he who encouraged his return.

And it is because of him, my dearest sister, that I am now the happiest creature in the world.

Mr. Bingley has asked for my hand.

And I have said yes.

I do not know what brought about this change in Mr. Darcy, but Lizzy—I think you must.

With all my love,

Jane

The letter slipped from her hands.

Her breath came too fast, too shallow.

This had happened days ago, weeks even. Darcy had—he had undone everything.

He had sent Bingley back. He had told him the truth.

And Jane—sweet, kind, deserving Jane—was happy because of it.

Elizabeth pressed a shaking hand to her lips. She had been wrong. So terribly wrong.

And the man she had just pushed away—was the very man who had made things right.

She must go to him. That instant.