Chapter Thirteen
Several days later
"She simply must decide!"
Mrs Bennet's voice carried up the stairs to Elizabeth's chamber, where she sat at her writing desk with a blank sheet of paper before her.
She had intended to compose a letter to her aunt Gardiner—some explanation of recent events, some request for counsel—but the words would not come.
How did one explain that a simple gesture of compassion had transformed into an offer of marriage from one of the wealthiest gentlemen in England?
Several days had passed since the ball at Netherfield.
Days filled with her mother's increasingly frantic pronouncements about settlements and bride clothes, of pitying looks from Jane, of curious stares whenever she ventured into Meryton.
Days of weighing duty against desire, practicality against principle, her family's welfare against her own independence.
And still she could not decide.
The difficulty lay not in recognising the advantages of such a match—those were abundantly clear.
Mr Darcy possessed wealth and connections that would elevate not only Elizabeth but her entire family.
Her sisters would benefit from the association, and her parents would be secure in their old age.
It was everything a sensible woman should want.
Yet the circumstances surrounding the offer troubled her deeply.
Mr Darcy was not proposing out of affection or true preference.
He was fulfilling an obligation, doing what honour demanded after they had been discovered alone together.
That he did so with grace and apparent willingness made it no less of a trap for them both.
And then there was his vulnerability. The injury that formed gaps in his memory, leaving him adrift in a world that felt foreign.
Back in that sitting room, she had felt the tension in him—the barely suppressed panic of a man struggling to maintain composure.
How could she enter into marriage with someone so wounded, so uncertain of his own mind?
But when she thought of refusing him, worry rose swift and sharp. Her family would suffer. Jane's prospects with Mr Bingley might be compromised. Her younger sisters would carry the taint of scandal into their own courtships.
And what of Andrew Lucas?
She rose from her desk and moved to the window, gazing out at the green landscape.
Andrew had called the previous day, his manner as amiable as ever despite surely having heard the gossip.
He had made no mention of the scandal, speaking instead of a book he thought she might enjoy, a passage that had reminded him of one of their earlier conversations.
His kindness in the face of her predicament had nearly broken her composure entirely.
He deserved better than a woman whose thoughts were constantly elsewhere, whose reputation was now questionable at best. Yet he seemed to like her genuinely, to value her company for its own sake rather than for any material advantage.
With Andrew, there would be no grand estate, but there would be honesty and simplicity.
Which, in its own way, was a unique type of blessing.
A commotion from downstairs interrupted her musings. Raised voices—Kitty's, shrill with distress, and her mother's attempting consolation. Elizabeth's stomach tightened. She had learned to recognise the particular quality of her mother's voice when delivering bad news layered in sympathy.
She descended the stairs to find her family assembled in the drawing room.
Kitty sat on the sofa, her face blotched with tears, while Mrs Bennet hovered beside her with a handkerchief.
Jane stood near the window with a troubled expression.
Even Mary had abandoned her pianoforte to observe the scene.
"What has happened?" Elizabeth asked.
Mrs Bennet turned to her, and Elizabeth saw accusation mixed with distress in her mother's eyes. "Mr Poulett has withdrawn his suit. He sent word this morning that he no longer wishes to continue his acquaintance with Kitty."
The words impacted her with as much discomfort as little insects burrowing under one's skin. She glanced at Kitty, who dissolved into fresh sobs.
"But why?" She heard herself ask, although she already knew the answer.
"Why?" Mrs Bennet's voice rose. "Because of the scandal, Lizzy! Because word has spread throughout Meryton that you were found alone with Mr Darcy in a compromising position, and now no respectable gentleman wishes to associate with this family!"
"That is not fair," Jane interjected. "Mr Poulett's reasons may be entirely separate.
"Do not be naive, Jane! Of course, it is because of the scandal.
Mrs Phillips has been talking—bless her soul, you know how much she loves to talk—and now everyone believes Lizzy is.
.. is..." Mrs Bennet could not quite bring herself to finish the sentence.
"And poor Kitty must suffer for it! We all know that Mr Poulett is from a very well to do family and his mother is rather prim and proper. She’d not stand for any scandal. "
Kitty raised her tear-stained face. "He said in his letter that his family has concerns about the respectability of our connections. That his father advised him to pursue attachments elsewhere." Her voice broke. "I thought he truly cared for me. He said such pretty things, and now—"
"I am sorry, Kitty," Elizabeth said, though the words felt inadequate. "I never meant for any of this—"
"Oh, but your principles!" Mrs Bennet pressed the handkerchief to her own eyes now. "Those precious principles of yours will not find husbands for your sisters! They will not restore our family's good name! Mr Poulett was Kitty's best prospect, and now he is gone because of your stubbornness!"
The guilt that had been her constant companion these past days intensified until she could scarcely breathe.
This was what scandal did. It spread like oil on water, touching everything, ruining what it touched.
She had known this logically, but seeing it manifest in Kitty's tears made it brutally real.
"Perhaps if you would simply accept Mr Darcy's offer," Mary observed with her usual bluntness, "the scandal would be contained. A marriage would transform the gossip from tawdry speculation into romantic inevitability."
"Mary!" Jane protested.
"It is true, though, is it not?" Mary regarded Elizabeth as she spoke. "You have the power to end this. Mr Darcy has offered the honourable gesture, which is marriage. By continuing to delay your answer, you prolong the uncertainty and thus the damage to our family's reputation."
Mrs Bennet seized upon this. "Mary speaks sense!
For once in her life, Mary speaks perfect sense!
If you would only accept Mr Darcy, all would be well.
Better than well—you would be marrying a man of consequence, and your sisters would benefit from the connection rather than suffering from this scandal! "
She wanted to argue, to defend her right to consider such a momentous decision carefully. But Kitty's sobs and her mother's distress rendered all arguments hollow. This was not an abstract principle. This was real harm being done to real people whom she loved.
"I need air," she managed, fleeing the room before anyone could stop her.
She collected her spencer and bonnet with trembling hands and slipped out through the kitchen entrance, avoiding the front door where she might be waylaid by family or servants. The autumn air was crisp, edged with the promise of winter, and she drew it into her lungs gratefully.
Her feet carried her along familiar paths without conscious direction—past the orchard, through the meadow, along the lane that led towards Lucas Lodge.
She had walked this route countless times, often to visit her friend Charlotte.
The landscape remained the same, yet everything felt altered, as though the scandal had tinted even the familiar countryside with unease.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she nearly collided with Andrew Lucas as she rounded the bend near his family's estate.
"Miss Bennet!" He steadied her with a gentle hand on her elbow. "Forgive me, I did not see you until—are you well? You look distressed."
The kindness in his voice nearly undid her composure. She blinked rapidly, willing away the tears that threatened.
"I am... I have had a difficult morning."
"Come." He gestured towards a nearby bench beneath an old oak tree. "Sit for a moment. You need not speak of it if you do not wish, but you should not stand in the cold looking so troubled."
They sat, and for several moments Elizabeth said nothing, struggling to master her emotions.
"Mr Poulett has withdrawn his suit with Kitty," she said finally.
"Because of the scandal surrounding me. It was to be expected, given that his family is rather well placed in society.
I was found alone with Mr Darcy and Society has determined that makes me—and by extension my entire family—unsuitable company. "
Andrew's jaw tightened. "That is unjust. Whatever occurred between you and Mr Darcy, I am certain it was innocent."
"It was. But innocence matters little when reputations are at stake." She twisted her hands in her lap. "My sister is heartbroken. My mother is beside herself. And it is my fault, my thoughtless action that has brought this upon them."
"You are not thoughtless, Miss Bennet. I have known you too long to believe that."
"Yet here we are. You have surely heard the gossip. Why do you not withdraw as well? Your family's reputation would be better served by severing our acquaintance."
Andrew was quiet for a moment, his gaze on the distant hills.
When he spoke, his voice was steady. "I will not pretend I have not heard the talk.
One cannot avoid it in Meryton. But I have also known you since we were children.
I know your character. And I do not base my regard on the speculation of gossip. "