Trapped in Scandal

Chapter Five

Elizabeth

T he remainder of Christmas Day proved as tense as its beginning. At dinner, Mr Darcy sat rigidly, glaring at his plate as though the roast goose before him had committed a personal affront. Elizabeth could only wonder what he hoped to accomplish with such vexation. Was he attempting to ruin the day further, or merely determined to broadcast his dissatisfaction with her presence? Regardless, the meal passed in stiff silence, broken only by Georgiana’s attempts at pleasant conversation.

Afterwards, the three retired to the drawing room for cards. Georgiana won most of the games, and Elizabeth felt certain Mr Darcy allowed her to triumph, though whether out of brotherly indulgence or a lack of engagement, she could not tell. When the games concluded, Elizabeth retreated to the fireside, sinking into a chair with a sigh. It was one of the few moments of the day she could allow herself to truly relax. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would attempt to make amends for the lingering tension between her and her husband—for Georgiana’s sake, if nothing else.

Her reprieve was interrupted by hurried footsteps. Georgiana entered the room, a bundle of letters clutched in her arms.

“Elizabeth!” she called, her tone bright but curious. “It seems you overlooked some letters this week.”

“Letters?” Elizabeth repeated, sitting up. She reached for the bundle as Georgiana handed it to her.

“Yes, I found these in the parlour. With all the festivity, I thought you must have set them aside and forgotten them.” Georgiana’s brow furrowed slightly, “They were with my brother’s correspondence. I assumed you had placed the mail there together.”

Elizabeth frowned, inspecting the letters. “I checked the post myself this morning. I have been expecting letters from home, but there were none.”

Georgiana tilted her head, a crease forming in her otherwise smooth brow. “How strange. I was certain these were today’s.” She paused, a trace of concern entering her voice. “Are you certain, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shook her head, she was quite perplexed. But she had them now, and that was what mattered. “It is no matter. I shall read them now. Do go and get some rest, it has been a long day.”

Georgiana hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave, but Elizabeth offered a reassuring smile. “Goodnight, Georgiana.”

“Goodnight, Elizabeth,” she replied softly before slipping away.

Elizabeth examined the letters carefully. They bore no sign of tampering, but their sudden appearance left her uneasy. Setting her suspicions aside for the moment, she tore the seal off the first letter. It was from Kitty, full of the usual frivolous chatter about Meryton’s happenings. Elizabeth smiled despite herself. Kitty bemoaned being left alone with Mary, whom she described as a dreadful bore, while Jane remained in Town with the Bingleys. Their mother’s mercurial moods were also duly noted—oscillating between delight over another daughter’s advantageous marriage and despair at the lingering gossip about its circumstances.

There was news of their father, who seemed untroubled by the scandal. She also found a letter from Charlotte, who expressed sympathy for Elizabeth’s plight. Then came a letter from her Aunt Gardiner, filled with warm advice and gentle reassurances. Finally, at the bottom of the stack, she found one from Lydia.

Elizabeth paused, her heart sinking. Lydia was a rare correspondent, and her letters usually heralded trouble. The familiar handwriting on the envelope was haphazard, almost careless. Bracing herself, Elizabeth unfolded the letter.

Dearest sister,

I must apologise for not attending your wedding, though the weather was truly abominable, and we could hardly be expected to travel so far! Surely, you understand? I do hope to call on you very soon in your fine new home and perhaps by the time I do, I shall have good news to share—for I think it is time I become a mother. Indeed, I may be in the family way as we speak. I am not certain yet, but I am in good hopes!

Elizabeth froze, her grip tightening on the paper until it crumpled slightly. Lydia with child? The news filled her with neither envy nor joy, only a strange, hollow feeling. She imagined Mr Wickham’s reaction to such tidings. He had been miserable in marriage—of that Elizabeth was certain—and Lydia’s flighty nature had surely done nothing to alleviate his discontent. And now a child? What kind of life awaited such a child in that household?

Lydia was the reckless sort, so much so that she could not imagine her ever having a child. She’d treat the poor thing like a doll, and to garner attention – until she grew tired of it and the babe would be raised by a nursemaid.

She shook her head.

She was startled from her reverie by the sound of footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Mr Darcy standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“I see you found those,” he said stiffly.

“Georgiana brought them to me,” Elizabeth replied, her tone clipped. A thought occurred to her, sharp and unwelcome. “Did you hide them from me?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

Mr Darcy’s eyes widened, clearly unprepared for the accusation. “I—”

“Please do not lie,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice trembling with anger. “I have been torn from my family, and now you seek to sever even our correspondence. What right have you?”

“I did not intend—” he began, but she cut him off again.

“You never intend, do you?” Her voice cracked, betraying the depth of her frustration. “And yet, somehow, it is always I who must suffer the consequences of your actions.”

Mr Darcy’s face darkened, but he held his ground. “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to cause you distress. But there are certain individuals I would prefer you not to correspond with.”

Elizabeth stared at him, her heart pounding. “You mean to dictate whom I may or may not write to? Am I to have no one, then?”

Mr Darcy’s silence was damning. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh and released her arm, which he had grasped in the heat of the moment.

“I was wrong,” he admitted. The words seemed to cost him greatly, but they rang with sincerity. “I shall not keep your letters from you again.”

Elizabeth blinked, startled by the admission. She had prepared herself for an argument, not an apology. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unsure how else to respond.

Mr Darcy inclined his head. “My aunt, Lady Catherine, will be visiting in the spring. I thought it best to inform you.”

Elizabeth frowned but nodded. “I see. Thank you for the warning.”

Mr Darcy hesitated, then said, “Good night, Elizabeth,” before turning and leaving the room.

Elizabeth watched him go, the letters clutched tightly to her chest.