Trapped in Scandal

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elizabeth

30th October 1813

T he soft rustle of silk thread against fabric filled the air as Elizabeth worked her needle through the delicate linen stretched taut across her embroidery hoop. She sat by the window, where the warm light of the late October sun spilled over her lap, illuminating the small flowers she was painstakingly creating. Yet, despite her focused movements, her thoughts were far from the fabric in her hands. All around her, the hum of activity echoed through Pemberley—footsteps racing up and down the hallways, the clatter of trunks being loaded onto carriages, and the occasional barked instructions from Mrs Reynolds, ensuring no detail of their impending departure was overlooked.

They were leaving for London within hours, bound for Darcy House to partake in the Little Season. Elizabeth’s mind swirled with thoughts of the weeks ahead. Once settled in Town, she planned to visit Longbourn to see her family—and most of all Jane who would be staying at Netherfield with her husband until the new year.

Her mother had not yet returned from Newcastle, but she had plans to return by the middle of December. During that visit, Elizabeth would stay at Netherfield with Jane and Charles, whose company she sorely missed. Afterwards, she would return to London, staying until just before Christmas, when the entire family—save for the Wickhams—would gather at Longbourn and Netherfield to celebrate Christmastide.

Elizabeth could not help but feel some relief that Mr Wickham would not darken their Christmas celebrations. It seemed he was eager to remain at his home for once—though he had no choice since he had used all his leave and would not be permitted to travel as freely.

Outside the parlour, she could hear Mr Darcy’s voice, deep and authoritative, mingling with the bustle of the household. Footsteps approached, and Elizabeth hastily set the slippers aside on a nearby table, hoping it wasn’t her husband approaching—his surprise would be ruined. To her relief, it was Georgiana, but her relief was short-lived. Georgiana entered the room clutching a bundle of letters, her face pale and troubled.

Elizabeth rose, concern overtaking her. “Georgiana, are you quite alright?”

“I—I’m not sure,” Georgiana stammered, her hands trembling as she extended the letters towards Elizabeth. “I found these. I read them. I think… I think you should, too.”

Frowning, Elizabeth took the letters, her confusion growing as she examined them. The handwriting wasn’t familiar. Then her eyes landed on the salutation of the first letter— My dear nephew .

She froze, her breath catching. This was a letter to Mr Darcy—one addressed in the unmistakable hand of Lady Catherine.

“Georgiana,” Elizabeth said sharply, her shock quickly turning to reproach. “These are Mr Darcy’s private letters.”

“I know,” Georgiana admitted miserably, lowering her gaze. “But… I didn’t mean to invade his privacy. Fitzwilliam asked me to fetch his inkwell, and I accidentally knocked the papers to the floor. As I picked them up, I saw enough to—” she hesitated, her voice faltering. “To worry about you both.”

Elizabeth’s frown deepened as she leafed through the bundle. “You should not have read them,” she said gently but firmly. “And neither should I. My husband has the right to his privacy, and so do those who wrote to him.”

Georgiana looked as though she might cry. “But, Lizzy, please! Some of these letters speak about the scandal. And one mentions your friend Mrs Collins. Was she involved? Could it be true? This woman’s uncle wrote to Fitzwilliam, her name is Miss King and says that Mrs Collins never called on her and that they are not even friends at all anymore.”

Elizabeth’s grip on the letters tightened as Georgiana’s words hung in the air. Charlotte. Her closest confidante, the woman who had once been her refuge from the absurdities of Meryton society, had betrayed her trust. How else could Miss King and her uncle have written to Mr Darcy about things only Charlotte would know? The knowledge struck Elizabeth like a physical blow, and her breath hitched. It was unfathomable that Charlotte could have been so cruel—or so careless.

But that was not the end of it. Mr Darcy had broken his promise. He had taken the liberty of corresponding with Miss King, of probing into matters Elizabeth had explicitly asked him to leave alone. Her husband, who had promised to honour her wishes, had acted in direct opposition to them. The betrayal was doubly cutting. From her dearest friend and from the man she loved most in the world—both had conspired, knowingly or not, to undermine her trust.

The letters crumpled in her trembling hands, her mind a storm of indignation and disbelief. How could Charlotte have been so callous? And Mr Darcy—did he not see how his actions, however well-intentioned, might wound her? The walls of the parlour seemed to close in on her, and the low hum of the household’s preparations faded to a distant murmur.

“I need a moment,” Elizabeth murmured, her voice strained as she handed the letters back to Georgiana. She forced herself to offer the girl a reassuring look, though her mind was anything but calm. “Please, excuse me.”

Georgiana hesitated, worry etched on her face, but Elizabeth was already moving towards the door. Her steps were brisk and determined as she made her way to Mr Darcy’s study. Anger surged with every stride. How could they? How could he? The betrayal burned deep, and she knew she would not rest until he provided an explanation.

Reaching the study, she pushed open the door without knocking. He wasn’t there, so instead she found herself marching along the hallway with a steely reserve.

She found Mr Darcy in the foyer and walked swiftly towards him, as outside their carriage was being prepared for the long journey to London.

“Ah! Lizzy, we are almost prepared for our departure,” Mr Darcy said with a warm smile, completely unaware of what Elizabeth was going to talk to him about.

“That is good to hear indeed, I—”

“I have to say, I am looking forward to this visit a lot more than I thought I would be, although perhaps that is because we will be seeing Jane and Bingley again,” Mr Darcy chuckled.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, his good spirits cut through some of her anger, but she still felt the sting of his betrayal. “I miss them too, but there is another matter that needs our urgent attention,” Elizabeth said firmly. Mr Darcy looked surprised, but soon took in the seriousness of her expression and nodded.

“I understand. Tell me, what is it we need to speak of,” Mr Darcy said calmly.

“It is a sensitive matter,” Elizabeth said, her voice tense. She tried to steady herself, though inside, her emotions churned violently. Her anger, though restrained for the moment, threatened to erupt. “Perhaps we should retire to your study.”

Mr Darcy tilted his head slightly, clearly sensing something amiss. Nevertheless, he nodded his assent and took her arm. Together, they walked towards his study. As they approached, Georgiana stepped out, the letters conspicuously absent, replaced by the inkwell her brother had requested. Her movements were hurried, and her downcast eyes avoided them as she passed. Mr Darcy’s brow furrowed in concern, but Elizabeth’s grip on his arm tightened slightly as she pushed open the door, her need to confront him overriding any other thought.

Once inside, Mr Darcy closed the door and gestured for Elizabeth to sit, but she remained standing. His dark eyes searched her face as he took a seat himself. “Pray, Lizzy, tell me,” he said gently, his voice calm, even soothing. “What has you so distressed? And what is troubling my sister?”

Elizabeth’s temper flared at his tranquillity. How dare he sit there, so composed, when she was teetering on the edge of an explosion? Still, she forced herself to speak with measured words, though the effort only amplified the storm inside her. “Mr Darcy I do not wish for this to cause tension between us. However, I find that I cannot remain silent on the matter.”

His brows drew together, his concern deepening. “What is it?”

“Georgiana,” Elizabeth began, her voice deceptively steady, “revealed to me that she inadvertently read some letters while retrieving your inkwell.”

Mr Darcy’s jaw tightened, his surprise giving way to a controlled anger. “My sister has never invaded my privacy before. I shall address this with her at once.” He began to rise, but Elizabeth held out a hand to stop him, her touch firm.

“There is more,” her voice trembled, not from hesitation but from the weight of the fury she was keeping at bay.

He paused, his confusion mounting. “More?”

“She informed me of the content of those letters,” Elizabeth said, her words clipped. She could feel the tension rising, like a dam ready to break. Her anger was no longer confined to a simmer—it threatened to spill over entirely. “We need to discuss what she has told me.”

Mr Darcy exhaled sharply, his patience thinning. “I am already much distressed, Lizzy,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “I do not believe there is anything further you could say to worsen it.”

Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line as her fury surged. “I would not be so certain,” she bit out, her voice low but trembling with suppressed rage.

This was no longer a simple conversation, it was a reckoning.