Trapped in Scandal

Chapter Thirty-Four

Elizabeth

Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

12th December 1813

A fter a few weeks in London, Elizabeth, her husband, and Georgiana had settled at Netherfield Park, where they had decided to spend the remainder of the year.

Elizabeth could hardly believe how happy she was to be among her family again, especially after her mother returned, for it was the first time that she could present Fitzwilliam as her true husband—not as the man she’d been forced to marry.

Her father had always believed in her innocence, and now with her husband at her side they had explained to her mother and father that they had been set up, their marriage forced by forces they had not yet uncovered. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had agreed not to point fingers at Charlotte just yet, but they had explained to her family what had brought about the change in their circumstances.

However, as the Netherfield masquerade ball drew closer, Elizabeth’s unease grew for she knew Charlotte would be there and she’d have to speak to her friend.

Still, the rest of the family—save for Jane and Charles—were oblivious to this and on the night of the ball the air was thick with the promise of an exciting evening.

The house itself was aglow with lights and laughter, its large windows casting a welcoming light onto the snowy grounds outside. The preparations were in full swing, and Mrs Bennet, who had chosen a shepherdess costume, was occupied. Now that Elizabeth and Jane were well placed in marriage and Lydia—well, at least married—her focus had moved to Mary and Kitty.

Elizabeth knew her mother had long hoped for a match between Kitty and Mr Purvis, who had been posted in Meryton with the militia—no doubt by his own request to be nearer to Kitty. So obvious was their affection for one another, they had chosen to go to the ball dressed as a pair of wood elves. Mary, as yet without a suitor, had dressed up as harlequin, much to everyone’s surprise, while Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had chosen to dress as Athena and Zeus.

It had been a quiet morning, with the two of them enjoying a moment of solitude before the evening’s festivities took hold. Elizabeth was adjusting the lace at her sleeve, carefully fastening it to ensure it was just so, while Fitzwilliam appeared lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the fire.

Elizabeth, ever perceptive, noticed his absent look and glanced up, meeting his eyes with a questioning gaze. “What troubles you, my dear?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

He seemed to start at her voice, as if he had been pulled from some deep reflection. He looked at her for a moment, as though debating whether to speak, before sighing heavily. “I have received a letter, Elizabeth,” he began, his voice serious but steady. “I went to the Hudson Arms Inn, as we agreed,” he said and Elizabeth grew stiff. They had agreed he would do this in the hopes the innkeeper might remember this Mr Darcy who had rented a room the year before. Or he might at least know that he was not Mr Darcy.

“And?” she asked, slipping to the edge of her seat.

“He remembered the reservation, of course, but he was most surprised to see that I am Mr Darcy for he said the man did not look like me. There was a likeness, he said but the man was taller, with a larger nose and a dimple in his chin, which I do not possess. Also, he thought he was an officer.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she processed this revelation. “An officer?” she repeated, her interest piqued. “And what does this imply for us now? Have you learned anything else?”

Just as Fitzwilliam was about to respond, the door to the parlour opened, and Georgiana entered accompanied by Kitty,

“Come now, let us not keep Mother waiting, the guests are already arriving,” Kitty declared in a high-pitched voice, clearly agitated with excitement.

Georgiana followed at a slower pace, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips as she, too. She had become increasingly more confident, and sure of herself during their stay at Netherfield, enjoying the lively atmosphere and the warmth of the Bingley household.

Elizabeth rose from her seat and smoothed the skirts of her gown. “Indeed, let us go to the ballroom,” she said, offering her husband a small smile. She glanced at him again, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual. “We shall speak more later, if you wish.”

Fitzwilliam nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful, as if he could not entirely shake the unease he had carried with him throughout the day. Still, he offered Elizabeth his arm, and they made their way to Netherfield’s ballroom.

The evening, as expected, was nothing short of spectacular. Netherfield was alive with music and laughter, the grand rooms filled with friends and acquaintances eager to enjoy the festivities. Jane and Charles Bingley—clad in costumes of a sultan and his sultana—were ever the gracious hosts, greeting their guests with warmth and charm. The mood was light-hearted, and Elizabeth, despite the lingering thoughts of Charlotte’s actions, could not help but be swept up in the merry atmosphere.

Kitty, almost without delay, had sought out Mr Purvis, and the two were soon deep in conversation, though they did not stray far from the group, ever mindful of Mrs Bennet’s scrutiny. Georgiana, as always, was more reserved, though her bright eyes seemed to glow in the presence of her friends.

Elizabeth, still holding Fitzwilliam’s arm, found herself exchanging pleasantries with those she had not seen in some time, grateful for the opportunity to enjoy an evening without the weight of previous tensions. The room was full of familiar faces, yet as Elizabeth scanned the crowd, her eyes landed on a figure who caused her heart to beat faster—for there she was, the person she’d wanted to see. She knew her at once, for even though her costume was that of yet another shepherdess—a popular choice it seemed—she knew her face anywhere.

Charlotte.

Elizabeth’s smile faltered ever so slightly as she turned towards Fitzwilliam, who was similarly surprised. The tension between them was palpable, yet Charlotte approached with the same calm grace that had once been so comforting.

“Eliza,” she said warmly, though there was a hint of unease in her tone. “It is wonderful to see you again.”

Elizabeth’s smile returned, though it was tempered with a certain awkwardness. “It is, indeed, Charlotte. I did not know you and Mr Collins arrived already.”

Charlotte nodded, glancing at Fitzwilliam briefly before returning her gaze to Elizabeth. “My husband is not present, he had urgent business to tend to at Rosings. But I am glad he did not accompany me for there is something I must speak to you about,” she said, her tone serious.

Elizabeth’s heart ached, but she could not bring herself to say anything more, not with her husband standing so close. The silence that followed felt heavy, but Charlotte seemed unwilling to let it linger.

“Of course, shall we go into the library?” she asked, but Charlotte shook her head.

“Pray,” Charlotte said, her voice low but insistent. “Might we speak outside? Just the two of us?”

Elizabeth exchanged a quick look with Fitzwilliam, who, despite the tension, gave her a stiff nod. She followed Charlotte out into the cool night air, their footsteps muffled by the fresh layer of snow that had begun to fall. The gardens were quiet, the sounds of the ball drifting faintly in the distance.

Elizabeth pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her breath visible in the crisp evening air. Her costume, while pretty, was not the sort meant for walking outdoors.

She could scarcely believe the meeting she was about to have, the words she feared she would hear. And yet, there was Charlotte, standing beneath the pale glow of the moon, her expression a mixture of guilt and sorrow.

Charlotte took a tentative step forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her voice wavered, barely audible over the soft whisper of the wind.

“I must apologise—deeply, sincerely,” she began, her breath fogging in the cold night air. “I longed to speak with you sooner. This matter is far too delicate for letters, but fate… fate conspired against us.”

Elizabeth felt a sudden, overwhelming mix of relief and heartbreak. Relief that her friend still sought her out and hadn’t wanted to avoid her all this time. But heartbreak—raw and piercing—because her fears were now confirmed. Charlotte had betrayed her, and not just in some fleeting moment of weakness. This had been deliberate. Prolonged.

“Was it you, at the inn?”

Charlotte looked at her, her eyes shimmering with the onset of tears.

“I wanted to tell you, I wanted to confess but then I thought… is it so bad to marry Mr Darcy? His aunt speaks highly of him as does everyone.” She gulped and Elizabeth felt her heart shatter.

Elizabeth’s voice trembled as she forced herself to speak. “Charlotte, please explain. What happened? How could you do this? You are my friend.”

Charlotte hesitated, as if contemplating the weight of her confession. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, dropped to the frost-laden ground. “Elizabeth,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking, “I am in love. But not with my husband.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught. She stared at her friend in stunned silence, unable to speak. When she finally found her voice, it was strained and barely above a whisper. “With whom?”

Charlotte raised her gaze, a mixture of shame and longing written across her face. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in shock. “Colonel Fitzwilliam?” she echoed, almost incredulous. Her mind raced back to their brief meetings at Rosings, remembering him as a man of honour, a man she thought above reproach. Her husband had spoken of him highly and Georgiana adored him. But… an officer. The innkeeper had said he thought Mr Darcy was an officer. Of course… And they would know one another from Rosings. Still, the mere thought disturbed her. Her best friend. A liar.

“You… you’ve been meeting him? Secretly?”

Charlotte nodded, her hands wringing together as though she could twist away the guilt. “Yes. We met at Rosings. He frequently visits his aunt and cousin and we could dine with the family. We would talk, small conversations at social gatherings, brief talks in the grove. Innocent things. But over time, something changed.”

Elizabeth pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to process the enormity of what she was hearing.

“You and he—”

“We are in love. We would meet with one another whenever possible. I know it was reckless. But we could see one another so rarely, we took every chance.”

“Why did you book a room under the name of Darcy? Why here?”

She looked at her hands. “When I told him I would be in Meryton, he was on leave. He came here for a day to see me and…well. Whenever we went to inns he’d use the name Darcy—not wanting to use his own. And Darcy, your Mr Darcy, as well as the rest of his Darcy relations, travel a lot so it did not raise alarm.”

“You do this frequently?”

Her face coloured. “At times. Not often. Not since the scandal. We tried to keep away from one another, but I can’t… He can’t. Eliza, I love him. I… I was going to come forward but when I spoke to Richard about it we thought perhaps it wasn’t so bad, being married to Mr Darcy. Richard assured me his cousin was a good man and he already knew how highly I thought of you.”

Elizabeth was silent, her thoughts reeling. This was not the small indiscretion she had feared. This was something far worse—a tangled web of deceit involving her closest friend, her husband’s cousin, and, indirectly, herself.

Charlotte continued, her voice heavy with remorse. “I never meant for you to be caught in this. I never imagined the consequences would reach beyond us. But on the night we were caught, I left Abigail’s party to meet Richard. I carried with me the handkerchief you lent me, intending to return it, but it was left behind. When they found it… when they saw your initials…” her voice broke, and she covered her mouth, fighting back tears. “Elizabeth, I never meant for you to suffer for my sins. It was a terrible combination of poor luck. Your handkerchief and the innkeeper’s belief that he saw you—when it was me he saw along with the name Darcy…”

Elizabeth’s heart ached. She wanted to scream, to rage, but her voice emerged hoarse and pained. “You let me be punished for your actions,” she whispered. “You knew I was innocent, yet you said nothing.”

Charlotte’s head bowed, her tears now falling freely. “I gave you an alibi. I know it was not enough,” she said meekly. “But if I had confessed, it would have ruined Richard. His career, his honour… everything. And I would have been as well. And I thought… I thought you would be safe, that Mr Darcy would protect you. I knew him to be an honourable man and the sort of man I think you could grow to love. But when I received your letters, describing the accusations, the pain—Elizabeth, I cannot tell you the guilt I felt. But it was too late,” she sobbed quietly. “I am so sorry. I know my words mean little now, but I beg for your forgiveness.”

“When you wrote to me earlier in the year you said you wanted to talk to me. Is it because of this?”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, but it pains me that it has taken so long for you to be here so I could. I am glad I was invited, however, because the truth is, I do not think our secret would have remained one for much longer even if I had not told you. Mr Darcy has been writing a lot of letters.”

“He did. To anyone he knew. Including Miss King and her uncle.”

Charlotte gulped. “I know. I heard. Maria told me she spoke to her, and Miss King was none too pleased I used her as an alibi. It was foolish. In any case, I spoke to Richard and he and I decided together to tell you and Mr Darcy the truth. He is telling him as we speak.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam is here?” Elizabeth asked, utterly shocked.

“Yes, he came with me. He is in costume. I should say we came here separately but with the same intention. I was to speak to you while he makes his confession to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth, please. Forgive me. I will tell the truth even if it means that we will be ruined. Richard… he intends to leave the military when his commission comes to and end so he will not be harmed. As for me—I will have to beg for Mr Collins forgiveness and hope the scandal passes.”

Elizabeth felt hollow. The depth of her friend’s betrayal was staggering, but so too was her regret. “Charlotte, do you truly love him?”

Charlotte looked up, her eyes red but filled with a quiet resolve. “I do. I thought I could live a life without love, that I could endure Mr Collins for the sake of security. But I was wrong. I cannot live without Richard.”

Elizabeth turned away, staring into the darkness of the garden. Her mind raced. She understood love’s pull, its strength, but to risk everything—to hurt a friend so deeply in its pursuit? She didn’t know if she could ever forgive it.

Before she could respond, footsteps crunched on the gravel behind them. Turning, she saw her husband and Colonel Fitzwilliam approaching. The colonel’s expression was grave but when he saw Charlotte, his eyes lightened briefly and he saw the passion she’d heard in Charlotte’s voice reflected in his expression.

Her husband’s expression was equally grave, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly, his voice tense.

Elizabeth nodded, “Yes. Let us walk.” She took his arm, glancing back at Charlotte and the colonel. The weight of their revelations hung heavy in the air. She didn’t know what the future held for any of them, but tonight, in this garden, she knew one thing—everything had changed.

***

“When I had believed it to be a military man whom Charlotte had taken as her lover, I had not imagined it would be my own cousin, Richard,” Fitzwilliam remarked gravely as he and Elizabeth strolled through the gardens of Netherfield. His voice, though calm, carried a weight that Elizabeth did not miss.

Elizabeth glanced up at him, her breath mingling with the cool evening air. “I can only imagine the enormity of the shock this revelation must have brought you,” she replied softly, her tone both compassionate and reserved.

He exhaled sharply, his features taut with emotion. “Indeed, although I must say it is no small sorrow for you either, hearing such a confession from a friend you have long trusted.”

Elizabeth hesitated, momentarily caught between her anger and her empathy. “It is painful,” she admitted, “yet not beyond my endurance. I am hurt and betrayed, but…” she paused, collecting her thoughts. “In truth, I cannot say with certainty that, had I been in Charlotte’s place, I would have chosen a vastly different path.”

Fitzwilliam turned to her, his brows furrowed in disbelief. “What are you saying, Elizabeth? Surely you do not condone such duplicity?”

“I do not condone it,” she said firmly. “But I do understand. Mr Collins first proposed to me, and I refused him—vehemently, for I could not reconcile myself to the notion of a life devoid of love. Charlotte, however, accepted his hand soon after. At the time, I was surprised. I now know she sought not love, but stability and a reprieve from uncertainty,” Elizabeth sighed. “Had I accepted, I may well have found myself in a similar predicament, though I hope I would have behaved with greater discretion.”

Fitzwilliam’s expression softened as he listened. “I was unaware of the history of Collins’s proposals,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly on her arm. “I cannot imagine you bound to such a man.”

Elizabeth laughed dryly, though there was little humour in it. “Nor could I, which is why I refused him. But Charlotte? She acted out of practicality, though I see now how dearly she has paid for it. I do not excuse her, but I cannot wholly condemn her either.”

His jaw tightened. “Betrayal is a bitter draught, especially when it comes from one’s own blood. You know the value I place on family honour. To think my cousin—a Fitzwilliam—would engage in an affair, and then allow his indiscretions to cast suspicion upon me, is beyond comprehension.”

Elizabeth nodded solemnly. “I do not envy your position. It is one thing to be deceived by a friend, another entirely to be betrayed by family.”

Fitzwilliam’s expression darkened. “He claims he stayed silent out of concern for Charlotte’s welfare, fearing my aunt and Collins’s wrath. And of course the repercussions on his own career and my uncle’s. Yet, he allowed polite society to descend upon me as if I were the guilty party. That is no act of love, it is cowardice.”

Elizabeth reached for his hand, offering a small gesture of comfort. “Do you think you can ever forgive him?”

He considered her question in silence, the crunch of their footsteps in the snow filling the void. After a long pause, he spoke. “Perhaps, in time. But not today. Trust is not easily restored.”

“I feel much the same,” Elizabeth confessed. “Though Charlotte is dear to me, forgiveness will not come swiftly. Still, I cannot deny that love often drives us to actions we might otherwise abhor.”

He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “And what is it we are to do now?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “We cannot expose them without consequence. Our reputations have only just recovered after our marriage and a year of carefully mending old wounds. If this scandal were to surface, it would ruin them both as it almost did us. But we had a remedy—marriage. They do not. And Lady Catherine? I shudder to think how she might react.”

Fitzwilliam exhaled slowly. “Indeed. However, we must tread carefully. As angry as I am, it will not mend what has been broken. I do not wish to see Richard ruined nor Charlotte.”

Elizabeth frowned, uncertainty clouding her features. “I have no answer to this dilemma,” she murmured. “But I trust you have something in mind?”

He nodded slowly. “It is far from ideal, but there may be a solution. My cousin’s military service is nearing its conclusion. There are many who covet his position, and it would not be difficult for him to leave quietly. Finances are not an issue, as you know. Meanwhile, Bingley and I are in need someone to oversee the horse breeding venture we have invested in—a property far removed from society, with a modest house on the estate.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “The horse breeding venture? I had almost forgotten about that.”

“It is located in a small village in the Cotswolds,” he explained. “Few people reside there, and fewer still would be in a position to spread gossip. If Richard were to take up residence as the manager, he and Charlotte could live quietly. It is not a perfect solution, but it may preserve what remains of their reputations.”

“And Mr Collins? He would not readily see Charlotte divorce him.”

Fitzwilliam gulped. “I will have to call on my Aunt Catherine for this matter. She has influence over him.”

“You think she’d use it to help us?”

“No,” he said with a chuckle. “But she would step in to prevent a scandal in her own right. The vicar of her parish involved in a scandal? Rosings would be talked about. And her own nephew involved? She would not want that. No, I believe I can convince her to speak to Collins. He might agree to an annulment. They are easier obtained than divorces. I will consult with my solicitor on the matter. That way, Charlotte could be unwed. She and Richard could live far away and eventually marry. Once they return, time will have passed. People will have forgotten.”

Elizabeth considered his words, a flicker of hope sparking within her. “It is better than any alternative I have imagined.”

Fitzwilliam’s voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed his lingering disquiet. “Shall we offer it to them?”

Elizabeth gave a soft laugh, her breath visible in the cold. “Let us speak with them.”

They returned to the house, finding Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam waiting in tense anticipation. Charlotte stepped forward. “Will you reveal our indiscretions to the public?”

Her husband shook his head. “No. I made such threats to ensure a response. However, exposing you would serve no purpose but to deepen the wounds already inflicted.”

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears of relief. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she whispered.

“There is a course of action that may benefit us all,” he continued. “Richard, if you are willing to retire from military service, Bingley and I have a venture we have been working on, setting up a horse breeding farm. As both of us have other business to deal with we are in search of a manager.” He cleared his throat and laid out their plan as the two of them listened intently.

The colonel exchanged a glance with Charlotte before replying. “I would accept such an offer gladly.”

“And I will gladly leave with him,” Charlotte said, her voice steady.

“Then it is settled.”

Under the golden hues of the rising sun, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth stood at the grand entrance of Netherfield as the masquerade ball guests left. Their guests had stayed longer than expected, and the house now seemed both fuller and quieter in their absence. Richard clasped Fitzwilliam’s hand firmly, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude passing between them.

The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the air filled with both tension and hope. Richard stood tall, but his eyes flickered with worry as he glanced at Charlotte, who appeared hesitant, clutching her hands together tightly.

Charlotte turned to Elizabeth, her voice trembling as she stepped forward. “Elizabeth… before I leave, I must beg your forgiveness once more. I know I betrayed your trust, and I cannot bear to depart without asking if there is any chance you can forgive me. I was desperate, foolish, and—” she paused, her voice cracking, “—I am so deeply sorry.”

Elizabeth’s expression remained measured, though her eyes softened. She had wrestled with her anger and disappointment, but there was something raw and genuine in Charlotte’s plea that pierced through her guarded heart.

“You hurt me, Charlotte,” Elizabeth began, her voice steady but gentle. “You betrayed our friendship and made choices I never thought you capable of. But I also understand why you did it. You sought love and companionship in a world that rarely offers it to women such as us. I don’t know if I can forget what happened, but I can try to forgive.”

Charlotte’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Thank you. I know it may take time, but your kindness means more to me than I can say.”

Elizabeth nodded, stepping forward to embrace her. “Make good of this second chance, Charlotte. For both your sake and mine.”

Charlotte clung to her for a moment, then stepped back, wiping her eyes. Richard placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, giving Elizabeth and her husband a grateful nod.

Fitzwilliam stepped forward, shaking Richard’s hand. “The two of you must keep apart after tonight until I have had a chance to consult with my solicitor. Richard, we should go to London together to discuss it with him. Then we will go on to Rosings.”

“And I?” Charlotte said.

“Once you leave your parents’ house, return to Rosings for now. Do not tell Collins anything just yet. Richard and I will be there in a few days,” Fitzwilliam said resolutely.

“Thank you, for everything,” Charlotte said quietly and climbed into the Lucas family carriage. After watching the carriage leave, Richard headed back into the house.

“You were gracious to Charlotte with your words,” Fitzwilliam murmured.

Elizabeth leaned into him, a mixture of weariness and relief washing over her. “It wasn’t easy. But perhaps it was necessary.”

He nodded, glancing down at her with a playful gleam in his eye. “I agree. Now for the difficult part—asking my aunt for assistance. Although I am sure she will have advice in the abundance.”

Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m sure she’d have an entire manual on proper scandal management—though I’m not certain I could endure another lecture.”

Fitzwilliam chuckled, tightening his hold on her. “You shall not have to. This time, it is Richard’s turn.”

Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyes sparkling despite the evening shadows. “Indeed. Well, perhaps this scandal—even if contained—will distract her from my common background.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, there is nothing common about you, my dear,” Fitzwilliam cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently across her skin. “You are my guiding light. With you at my side, I can face anything—even my aunt.”

Elizabeth’s breath hitched slightly as she gazed up at him, her heart swelling with love. She leaned in, their lips meeting in a slow, tender kiss, the worries of the day dissolving into the warmth they shared.

When they pulled apart, Elizabeth rested her forehead against his. “And with you, Fitzwilliam, I believe I can face even worse.”

Hand in hand, they strolled back towards the house, their path lit by a future they would now face together—stronger, wiser, and more in love than ever.