Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with gratitude every time she thought of Mr Darcy’s efforts in arranging Lydia’s marriage to Mr Wickham. Mr Darcy had stepped in to protect her family from scandal not once, but twice. How averse he had to have been to marry her when he’d already ensured her sister’s union to George Wickham. No wonder he’d been so reluctant and cold to her. He was bound to Mr Wickham by marriage now, a circumstance that had to gnaw at him.
His actions were not born out of duty alone but out of a deeper, more selfless affection. Elizabeth could scarcely believe how much her opinion of him had altered. She was happy, moved, and profoundly thankful—yet troubled that their growing distance made it harder to express her feelings.
Although Mr Darcy was not conversing with her as frequently as he once had, Elizabeth was adjusting to this new normal. It felt as though they had returned to the early months of their marriage, only without the tension that had once characterised it. It was not ideal, but neither was Elizabeth entirely miserable. She had found peace and routine. Surely, that should suffice?
No. It would not. For the memory of the almost-kiss lingered in her mind, keeping her awake at night for it had shown her a different future, a positive one. But Mr Darcy had withdrawn. Perhaps for good.
She lamented that she had not had the courage to kiss him, even though she was well aware that he would potentially be even more upset. It was ridiculous to feel this way. It was ridiculous to be so upset about a man she was adamant she did not love.
Jane was helpful, as she always listened to Elizabeth, but she was a married woman now, and Elizabeth did not wish to burden her endlessly with her troubles. She wanted to send letters to her mother to seek her advice, but she didn’t think her mother would be able to give her sensible guidance.
Thus, she chose to write to Charlotte. Whilst Mr Collins would not be sympathetic to her plight, she hoped that her friend would be, as she had not married Mr Collins with love in mind. That was what she had hoped when she wrote to her friend last week, and now the response had just made its way back to her.
My dearest Eliza,
It does sound like the situation at Pemberley is somewhat tense. I do not believe you should concern yourself too greatly, as you have been most insistent that you do not love Mr Darcy. Your words make me believe that this may now be changing. If that fact has changed though, perhaps this distance can be a way for you to test as much. If you cannot reconcile the trajectory of your relationship, then your feelings are transparent.
Do not race into this decision, lest you be left regretful and forlorn. I am but a letter away, and I do so hope we will be able to meet before year’s end, as I have something I wish to discuss with you. It needs to be in person and not on paper, as I fear that it will not be taken as intended if only on the page.
Your dearest friend,
Charlotte
Of course, Charlotte had realised Elizabeth’s feelings were changing even before Elizabeth had, and she was trying to gently show Elizabeth this. Elizabeth frowned at that last section, though.
There had never been any secrets between her and Charlotte, and yet her friend sounded so concerned. Elizabeth thought about what it could mean, but her best guess was that perhaps Charlotte was with child and did not want anyone to learn of it, even by accident. Elizabeth was not given much time to dwell on this, though, when there was a knock at her bedchamber door.
“Elizabeth… If I may have a moment of your time, I would appreciate it,” Mr Darcy’s voice came through the door. Elizabeth’s heart clenched. This was the first time he had initiated a conversation with her since that night, and there was some small part of her that hoped maybe he was there to finally discuss what had happened.
She stood up from her desk, where she had been reading her letters, and smoothed down her dress before clearing her throat. “You may enter,” she said calmly.
“This may be better in my study. Come and find me there,” he said before quickly walking away. Elizabeth deflated for a second before shaking her head. He was taking this conversation seriously, it would seem.
She quickly left her chambers and walked down the hallway towards where Mr Darcy’s study was. She carefully pushed the door open, taking in the sight of the room. On his desk, there were several letters, some in piles and some disparate. When had all these even arrived?
She brushed the thought away, assuming they must be to do with business ventures or matters relating to Pemberley estate. It was also possible that these were from old acquaintances reintroducing themselves. Elizabeth had received a few similar letters from people who had distanced themselves during the time of the scandal, who, since Jane and Charles’s ball, had suddenly once again made themselves known. While many had not attended the ball, word had spread of their attendance, and perhaps the ton was finally coming around to accepting them again. They were married, after all, and matrimony often cured such ills.
He had his back to the door as he looked over one of the letters again. She knocked to get his attention. “You wanted to speak to me?” she said calmly as she walked in quickly and quietly closing the door behind her.
He turned to face her, and for a moment, she was sure she saw a flicker of that affection before he took control of his emotions. “Yes. Come in and sit down. There is much I must tell you, and perhaps not so long to do it,” he said, sitting down at his desk.
She nodded and took a seat across from him. She could feel her heart beginning to beat faster, even as she willed it to calm itself. “What is it you wished to talk to me about?” she asked, wanting to start the conversation as quickly as possible.
“I have been doing a lot of thinking, and as you can see, I have spoken to others,” he said, gesturing at the letters in front of him. Elizabeth nodded, not wanting to interrupt him but eager to see what he wanted to speak about. “And I think I have a few suspects as to who the person was with Lydia that night.”
Of course, it was about this. Elizabeth should not have allowed herself to get her hopes up that perhaps he was going to give her an explanation for his recent behaviour. She took a breath to calm the bubbling frustration and nodded. “I see… So, who are these people?” she asked, somewhat colder than she had intended. Mr Darcy almost looked confused for a moment at her tone but soon picked up a letter.
“I have a shortlist of people I do believe it could have been, and I don’t think it will take much more time to clear our names and be done with the situation. My first suspicion is Captain Forster. If I am to believe Jane in a conversation we had some months ago, Captain Forster’s wife is close to Lydia, so they know each other, and the captain would have had plenty of opportunities to see Lydia,” Mr Darcy explained.
“And the Forsters were in Meryton the night of the party. They were escorting Lydia to Brighton. You do not think Lydia slipped away and met Captain Forster at the inn behind Mrs Forster’s back?”
“I can see that being plausible. Then there is the possibility of one officer, a chap named Purvis, who I was considering, until I saw how he behaved at the ball. Purvis was stationed with the militia in Meryton at the time, under Captain Forster,” Mr Darcy said. “He and Lydia appeared rather close.”
“I agree. Though on speaking with him, he appears to be rather fond of Kitty.”
“I spoke to my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was in the area for training the week prior, and he told me a new batch of officers arrived. It could have been any one of them,” Mr Darcy said. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Then there is the possibility that it was someone who worked at the inn,” he added.
“That is possible, but I do not feel my sister would be that easily and quickly swayed, no matter how silly she can act,” Elizabeth said. “It sounds more as if it was someone she knew well. If it was her at all, we still have not established that. It is conjecture at best.”
“Indeed. But it is the one possibility that makes the most sense,” Mr Darcy said. “Which then leaves the option I least like and think least possible—that Lydia was with her husband that night. Wickham is the sort who’d want me to look bad, so booking a room in my name is not beneath him.”
“While I would agree with you that doing something so reproachable is true to that man’s character, it is entirely impossible,” Elizabeth sighed. “Like you, Mr Wickham was not even in Hertfordshire. I happen to know this because Lydia stayed at Longbourn on her own. Mr Wickham was in Brighton. Lydia complained about it at length. As much as I understand that there is a longstanding disagreement between you both, I do not think he would go so low as to stir a fake scandal with his wife and then let us take the blame for it for so long.”
“You do not know him so well.”
“I know him well enough,” Elizabeth replied tersely. Mr Darcy raised his eyebrow.
“You do?” he asked, surprised.
“Indeed. Before he married Lydia, there was a short period of time when I was the object of his affections,” she admitted.
Mr Darcy remained quiet for a long while, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Elizabeth, trying to determine if she was jesting.
“He said he thought we might be a good match. I disagreed. As I said, he did not take kindly to rejection. Soon thereafter, we received word that Lydia had run away with him.” She paused and looked at Mr Darcy then. “I know you were behind arranging the marriage between Lydia and George Wickham,” she said quietly, the words carrying weight in the stillness of the room.
Mr Darcy froze, his expression momentarily unreadable. He took a deep breath before meeting her eyes again. “You are correct. I was. But you must understand, I did not do so lightly. It was a matter of ensuring Lydia’s future and preventing something far worse.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, her curiosity deepening. “How did you know? How could you have known what would happen?”
Mr Darcy’s eyes darkened as he leaned back slightly, folding his hands before him. “I was in London at the time, staying at my house with Georgiana. One of my servants came to me with troubling news—he had spoken to Mrs Younge, who is still closely involved with Wickham. It was then that I learned he was compromising a young woman. I didn’t know your family at that time, but after what had happened to Georgiana… I could not stand by and let it happen to someone else.” His voice softened when he spoke of his sister, but his features became steely again. “I couldn’t allow another young woman to fall into the same trap.”
Elizabeth’s heart softened at the sincerity in his words. He had done it for Georgiana. And for Lydia, even though she would never fully appreciate the lengths he had gone to.
She felt a mixture of gratitude and something else—an emotion she couldn’t quite place. She swallowed the lump in her throat and spoke carefully. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. For everything. Lydia may never understand, but I do. And I’m sure my family would be immensely grateful too, if they knew the whole truth.”
Mr Darcy nodded slowly, though his expression remained sombre. “It was the least I could do. I only wish it hadn’t come to that. I am grateful you know now. I didn’t want there to be secrets between us. We are wed, after all, and our connection is… well…”
His words trailed off and a heavy silence fell between them, but it was not uncomfortable. Elizabeth felt the quiet understanding between them, a bond that hadn’t been there before.
She glanced up at him then, her heart pounding unexpectedly. The words she had been holding back—the ones about the kiss—suddenly felt as though they would burst from her mouth. She opened her lips, but she hesitated. Should she bring it up? Could they bear to speak of it now? She almost asked, but then she stopped herself.
Not now. Not when they were so close to something new.
But as she looked into his eyes, she realised there was a subtle shift in the air between them. There was no more coldness between them, no more tension—just the fragile, tentative beginnings of something different. Mr Darcy’s eyes were on hers, searching, and for the first time in months, she felt the weight of his presence in a way that was not fraught with confusion or frustration.
Without a word, Mr Darcy took a step closer. His hand reached out, gently lifting her chin as he closed the distance between them.
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat, and she found herself unable to look away from him. Her heart raced, and before she could think, his lips were on hers.
The kiss was slow at first, tentative—like they were both testing the waters. But as the seconds passed, the world around them seemed to fade. Mr Darcy’s hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer as she responded, her hand lightly resting on his chest. There was no more room for uncertainty, no more space between them.
When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless. Elizabeth’s hand was still resting on his chest, and she found herself unwilling to move, as if somehow afraid that if she stepped back, it would all vanish.
Mr Darcy, too, stood still, his gaze intense as he studied her. Neither of them spoke at first, the silence heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
Elizabeth swallowed, trying to collect her thoughts. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but there was also a strange sense of peace that washed over her. She had been afraid of this moment—afraid of what it might mean for them—but now she wasn’t so sure anymore.