Trapped in Scandal
Prologue
Elizabeth
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
15th November 1812
E lizabeth Bennet was seldom at a loss for words, but on this day, she sat in stunned silence in her family’s parlour, her heart pounding as her mother’s urgent demands filled the room. She had sensed the seriousness of the situation the moment she had seen her parents’ faces. Her mother, usually so preoccupied with appearances, seemed distressed, clutching her handkerchief in trembling hands, while Mr Bennet’s expression was uncharacteristically grave. Elizabeth had braced herself for some revelation but had not been prepared for the shocking news she was about to hear.
“You must marry him, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, her voice trembling with urgency. “Without delay. There is no other course open to us now.”
Elizabeth blinked, incredulous. “Marry? And pray, to whom is this sentence pronounced?”
“Do not feign innocence, Elizabeth,” cried her mother. “You know very well that I am speaking of Mr Darcy!”
Elizabeth felt a bolt of shock course through her. Mr Darcy? The very man who had slighted her so grievously at the Meryton assembly, dismissing her with that cutting remark about her being not handsome enough to tempt him? The same man who had looked down upon her family with such evident disdain? Why on earth would her mother suggest that she must marry him?
“Mr Darcy?” she repeated, almost laughing in disbelief. “Surely, you are not in earnest, Mama!”
“Unfortunately for us all, your mother’s powers of invention are not so formidable,” Mr Bennet interjected dryly, though there was little amusement in his tone. “It seems a fine scandal has arisen concerning you and Mr Darcy at the Hudson Arms. The whole town is abuzz with the sordid details.”
“The Hudson Arms? I have not been there for years. The last time we stayed there was when we returned from Aunt and Uncle Gardiner’s home during that awful winter where our carriage could not go any further. And when, pray tell, is this scandal supposed to have occurred?”
“You know very well it was Friday last,” Mrs Bennet declared dramatically.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Friday last? I was at Abigail Barnes’s birthday celebrations that evening. I spent the entire night in the company of Charlotte and several of our neighbours. I could hardly call it an ideal way to pass the time, but I was present, nonetheless.” Abigail Barnes, the daughter of Elizabeth’s godmother, was an acquaintance rather than a friend, and her invitation had been extended more out of obligation than genuine affection. Elizabeth had only agreed to attend because her dear friend Charlotte Collins was visiting her own family and had urged her to come. Charlotte, for reasons Elizabeth could never quite fathom, harboured a fondness for Abigail.
Her mother threw up her hands in exasperation. “What does Miss Barnes’s birthday have to do with anything? The innkeeper at the Hudson Arms insists it was you he saw, and what is more—one of your handkerchiefs was found in Mr Darcy’s room, embroidered with your initials!”
Elizabeth was struck speechless. She struggled to comprehend it. “Surely there are other young ladies who carry a handkerchief with the initials ‘E.B.’ Or perhaps someone who bears a slight resemblance to me? And Mr Darcy—of all people! He would never be at an inn with me, let alone in such circumstances. He has not even been seen in Hertfordshire since Mr Bingley declared his intentions towards Jane.”
Indeed, the insufferable man had left Hertfordshire entirely after Jane and Mr Bingley’s betrothal, no doubt sulking over his friend’s defiance of his advice.
“Oh, do not trouble yourself defending his honour, Lizzy,” Her father remarked, his tone wry but oddly supportive. “I, for one, do not think you capable of sneaking off in the night to rendezvous with any man—least of all one you have taken such pains to avoid, however word is all around, even in Town, and I am afraid that your reputation is ruined whether this incident happened or not.”
“And yet,” Mrs Bennet wailed, “the staff at the inn insist they recognised you! And as if that were not bad enough, Mr Darcy himself has not yet denied the claim.”
“Why, indeed, has he not denied it?” Elizabeth demanded, her mind racing. “Why would he sit idly by while this rumour spreads? Surely, if he were half the gentleman he professes to be, he would clear my name at once.”
“Or perhaps,” said Mr Bennet, raising an eyebrow, “Mr Darcy is overcome by admiration for your charms, Lizzy. Men sometimes go to great lengths to conceal their regard until it suits their purposes. After all, many fancy themselves the heroes of a grand romance.”
Mrs Bennet’s eyes flashed with exasperation. “Oh, this is no time for games, Mr Bennet! Mr Darcy is said to have bribed the innkeeper to hold his tongue, though evidently not enough, as every gossip from Hertfordshire to London is now whispering about their supposed indiscretion.”
Elizabeth frowned, her thoughts spinning. She turned to her father, seeking some semblance of reason. “You do not believe this, do you, Papa? Surely you cannot think me guilty of such impropriety.”
Mr Bennet sighed, rubbing his forehead as he paced the room. “You make a compelling case, Lizzy, but facts are stubborn things. Between the handkerchief and the alleged sightings, the tide of gossip may prove difficult to stem. And after Lydia’s recent folly with Wickham, our family’s reputation is already as bruised as a fallen apple.”
Elizabeth felt a surge of indignation. “And so, you would see me forced into a marriage with a man I neither know nor trust, simply to quiet idle tongues?”
Her father regarded her thoughtfully. “It is an unenviable choice, to be sure. While I believe you innocent, belief alone will not silence a scandal.”
“Papa!” Elizabeth cried. “The evidence they present is naught but a tangled web of hearsay and falsehoods. Surely, that cannot be sufficient to doom me to a life with Mr Darcy.”
Mrs Bennet dabbed her eyes theatrically. “How many young women would leap at the chance to marry a man of Mr Darcy’s stature? Ten thousand a year, Lizzy! You should count yourself fortunate to be in such a position.”
“Fortunate?” Elizabeth exclaimed, unable to contain her exasperation. “Mama, how could I ever feel fortunate to marry a man who has done nothing but disparage our family? I cannot believe you would so readily trust him.”
“And yet, he may prove our family’s only hope for redemption,” Mr Bennet interjected grimly. “If there is any truth in his friendship with Bingley, Darcy may yet feel honour-bound to take you as his wife, innocent or not.”
Elizabeth felt her breath catch. How could her father entertain such a notion?
“I would rather endure the rumours,” she declared with all the strength she could muster, “than be shackled to a man like Mr Darcy. Charlotte, and others at Abigail’s gathering can surely vouch for my presence. This matter will be resolved.”
Mrs Bennet shook her head. “Your friends cannot undo the damage that has already been done. Once a scandal takes hold, it clings like a burr.”
Elizabeth, however, had made up her mind. If her family would not defend her, then she would prove her innocence herself.
“I will not marry Mr Darcy,” she said firmly. “Not under any circumstances. This rumour—whatever its origin—shall be laid to rest, and Mr Darcy shall be exposed as the scoundrel he is.”
Mr Bennet allowed himself a faint smile. “If anyone can withstand the storm, it is you, Lizzy. I confess, I shall enjoy watching you turn Hertfordshire on its ear.”
As the door closed behind her parents, Elizabeth clenched her hands. She would not allow herself to be forced into a marriage of convenience, especially not to a man like Mr Darcy. He had concocted this entire scheme—whether out of cowardice or some ulterior motive—and she would ensure that the truth came to light.
He had acted as if all of Meryton was beneath his notice, but to her it sounded as though he had endeared himself to a lady in town – a married one perhaps, or some barque of frailty—which had drawn him back to the town he’d abandoned. And upon discovery, he had allowed her good name to be sullied. Why else would he remain silent now?
He had to know that such rumours could ruin her. Or did he not care? Did his disdain for her family run quite so deep? Whatever the case, she would not act as a bard to this man. No.
She would not yield.