Chapter Twenty-Seven
Darcy
D arcy sat in his study, his fingers steepled and his expression sombre as Elizabeth stood before him, her arms crossed and her posture rigid with tension. The storm brewing between them was palpable, the silence a heavy prelude to words they both dreaded.
Elizabeth’s gaze pierced through him, her voice trembling with controlled anger. “Darcy, one of the letters Georgiana discovered was from Miss King and her uncle.”
Darcy froze, his body tensing. He had anticipated Elizabeth’s displeasure, but he had not expected it to come with such force.
“You wrote to them,” she continued, her voice rising. “After I expressly told you that I would address Miss King in my own time, you took it upon yourself to do so!”
Darcy’s heart sank, though he forced himself to remain calm. “Elizabeth,” he began carefully, “I believed the matter too urgent to delay. The truth of this scandal—Charlotte’s involvement—had to be uncovered, and I acted accordingly. It was never my intention to disregard your wishes.”
Elizabeth’s laugh was hollow, filled with disbelief. “But disregard them you did! I asked for time, Mr Darcy. I wanted to decide how best to handle this matter. And yet you—” She broke off, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her temples. “You overruled me.”
Darcy rose, his voice measured but firm. “I understood that you did not wish to address the matter at that moment, not that I was to abandon the matter entirely. You are my wife, Elizabeth. I could not stand idly by while this shadow loomed over us.”
Elizabeth’s exasperation was evident in the sharpness of her tone. “I thought it would have been obvious, considering the circumstances, that I needed time to act in my own way! But instead, you have forced my hand.”
Darcy’s chest tightened at her words, though he refused to relent. “Elizabeth,” he said slowly, “I do not regret pursuing the truth. If Charlotte has betrayed you—and it seems more likely than ever that she has—then it is something we both must face. I was happy to stand back when we thought it was Lydia, as that would have had repercussions on your family, but to discover it was another party entirely—I sought to protect you, not undermine you.”
“Protect me?” Elizabeth’s voice cracked, her words cutting like glass. “By stripping me of the choice to confront my friend? By deciding for me how this should be handled?” She turned away, gripping the back of a chair as if to steady herself. “Mr Darcy, you may call it protection, but I call it betrayal.”
Her words struck him deeply, but he refused to let his resolve falter. “I sought to protect both our names, Elizabeth,” he countered, his voice rising. “Do you forget how nearly we were undone by this? How close we came to ruin because of what others believed? I did what I thought necessary to clear our reputations.”
Elizabeth turned back to him, her eyes blazing. “And at what cost, Mr Darcy? At the cost of my trust in you? At the cost of Charlotte’s reputation, when we still have no proof of her guilt?”
Her accusation stung, but Darcy forced himself to stand his ground. “The evidence may be circumstantial, but it is compelling. Her disappearance, her vague replies and false statement about her whereabouts and her reason for leaving—these are not mere coincidences, Elizabeth.”
“But they are not proof!” she cried, stepping closer. “If we are wrong, the damage to her reputation—and to our own—will be irreparable. Charlotte is my friend. I cannot abandon her to suspicion without certainty.”
Darcy’s frustration mounted, his tone hardening. “And I cannot, in good conscience, abandon this investigation. Justice demands that we see this through, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s face fell, her sadness mingling with anger. “Then your idea of justice and mine are very different.” She took a deep breath, her voice softening. “Charlotte is not just my friend, she is married to a clergyman—a man connected to your own aunt. The consequences for her would be far worse than they were for us.”
“That should not matter,” Darcy replied, his voice quiet but firm. “The stakes may differ, but the principle remains the same. Justice is justice, Elizabeth.”
“Do you not care how this will affect Charlotte?”
Darcy’s temper flared, and he took a step closer to her. “Do you forget what this has cost us, Elizabeth? I nearly lost you because of this scandal! Our reputations were in tatters, and every day I feared the worst.”
Elizabeth flinched at his words, her face pale. “And yet we overcame it. We rebuilt what others sought to destroy. Why can you not trust me to handle this matter with the same care and strength?”
Darcy faltered, her words cutting through his anger. For a moment, he was silent, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. He wanted to say that they had not rebuilt anything, that after less than a year of marriage they were no closer to being man and wife. That the cordiality between them was as fragile as a house of cards—but he knew that his words would wound her, and causing Elizabeth more pain was the last thing that he wished to do. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter but no less resolute.
“I understand your pain, Elizabeth,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I know how deeply this betrayal cuts you. But why is your anger directed at me? I have only ever sought to shield you from further harm.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice broke as she replied, “Because you took what was mine to do. You decided for me, and in doing so, you broke something between us.”
Darcy’s heart sank, her words cutting deeper than he expected. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the right response. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with regret.
“I never meant to hurt you, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “But I cannot let this go. If Charlotte is guilty, the truth must come to light. And if she is innocent, then we will know, and she will be exonerated.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her voice a whisper. “And if she is guilty, what then? Do we destroy her life for the sake of our pride?”
He turned back to her, his eyes filled with anguish. “It is not pride that drives me, Elizabeth. It is the need to protect you, to protect us.”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened, but her sadness remained. “And in doing so, you have hurt me in ways I never thought possible.”
Her words silenced him, the weight of his actions crashing down upon him. For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them almost unbearable. Finally, Darcy turned away, unable to meet her gaze any longer.
“I need some air,” he muttered, striding towards the door.
“Mr Darcy—” Elizabeth began, but he was already gone.
As he walked through the hallways of Pemberley, his mind raced with conflicting emotions. He passed Georgiana, who looked up at him with worry, but he barely noticed her as he made his way to the gardens.
Once outside, he paced beneath the trees, his thoughts a tumult of guilt and frustration. He had acted out of love, out of a desire to protect Elizabeth, yet his actions had driven a wedge between them. He could still see the hurt in her eyes, and it haunted him.
Eventually, he sank to the grass beneath an ancient oak, his chest heaving as he tried to calm the storm within him. The guilt weighed heavily on him, but so did the conviction that he had done what was necessary.
After a long while, he pulled a sealed letter from his pocket. It was addressed to his solicitor, containing instructions to gather more information on Mrs Charlotte Collins discreetly.
With a deep breath, he rose and made his way back to the house. He handed the letter to a footman, his voice firm as he instructed him, “Send this before the day’s end.”
As the footman departed, Darcy stood in the quiet hallway, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. Only time would reveal the consequences of his actions—and whether they would bring resolution or more heartbreak.