Chapter 16 The Trapped Heiress #2
“Regarding your tenancy at Rose Cottage.” Darcy’s tone was coolly professional. “Mr. Blythewood has prepared certain documents for your review. I believe it would be in your best interests to meet with him at your earliest convenience.”
“Are you asking me to vacate the cottage?” Martha’s face drained of all remaining color.
“I don’t understand,” Elizabeth blurted, though she had not intended to speak. “Mrs. Wickham has resided at the cottage since her husband’s death, has she not? Surely after so many years of service to your family—”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy interrupted, his formality now edged with steel, “this is a private matter. I’m sure you understand.”
Elizabeth most certainly did not understand. Yesterday, this man had shown kindness and consideration, had helped her when she was stranded on the roadside. Today, he was coldly evicting a widow who had served his family faithfully for decades.
Martha seemed to shrink into herself, her earlier agitation giving way to defeated acceptance. “Where am I to go?” she whispered. “Rose Cottage has been my home since Ralph died. I have nowhere else.”
“As I mentioned, Mr. Blythewood will discuss settlement arrangements. I’m sure something suitable can be found.” Darcy’s tone remained coolly efficient, as though discussing the disposition of unwanted furniture.
Anger rose in Elizabeth’s chest like a roiling tide. “Mrs. Wickham has given twenty years of her life to caring for that cottage, maintaining it as a memorial to your uncle and aunt. To dismiss her as though she were a servant who had stolen the silver is unconscionable.”
The drawing room fell silent. Caroline Bingley’s eyebrows rose with scandalous delight, while Mrs. Hurst regarded Elizabeth with new interest. Bingley looked deeply uncomfortable, and Darcy’s expression hardened to granite.
“Miss Bennet,” he said with deadly quiet, “you are not in possession of all the facts regarding this matter. I would advise against making judgments based on incomplete information.”
“You speak of facts, Mr. Darcy?” Martha’s voice shook, but her spine straightened.
“Then let us speak of facts indeed. Let us speak of how you cast off George Wickham despite your father’s promises.
How you refused him the living intended for him, left him to make his way in the world without the support your father guaranteed.
Ralph treated you as his own son, and this is how you repay his memory—by abandoning his child to poverty and disappointment. ”
“Mrs. Wickham,” Darcy said warningly, “this is neither the time nor place—”
“When is the time, Mr. Darcy?” Martha’s hands clenched at her sides.
“When you have thrown me out of my home? When you have crushed every Wickham who has ever served your family? My husband worked himself to death for the Darcys, and how was his son rewarded? With broken promises and cold dismissal!”
“That is quite enough,” Darcy cut her off, his control slipping for the first time since Elizabeth had known him. “Your husband was amply compensated for his service, and any arrangements regarding George Wickham are none of your concern.”
“You are wrong,” Elizabeth heard herself saying. “It is very much Mrs. Wickham’s concern, as it is mine. The Wickhams have come to my aid when I was desperate. They have shown me kindness and brought me information to seek my family. Mr. Darcy, I had thought you valued justice and gratitude.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Caroline Bingley looked as though Christmas had arrived early, her eyes bright with malicious delight at witnessing such drama.
Mrs. Hurst watched with the fascinated attention of someone observing a carriage accident.
Bingley appeared genuinely distressed, his usual cheerfulness replaced by deep concern.
“I see, Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s face had gone white, but his voice remained deadly controlled.
“There is nothing more to be said on that subject. However, there remains the matter of your own situation. As you are not yet one-and-twenty, and as your presence here appears to be causing complications, I believe it would be best if arrangements were made for your return to Hertfordshire. Your reputation is already damaged by your flight from home and your associations with George Wickham. I strongly advise you to reconsider your position.”
“You would send me away?” she asked, her voice barely steady.
“I would see you safely returned to your family’s care, where you belong,” Darcy replied with crushing finality.
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. If she returned to Longbourn now, she would lose any chance of claiming her inheritance before the critical birthday deadline. Worse, she would be delivered directly into Mr. Collins’s waiting arms.
“Then I see I have nothing more to lose,” Elizabeth said, her voice gaining strength from desperation. “You are everything I believed you to be at our first meeting, Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for removing any doubt on that score.”
“As you wish.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment, as if her words bore no consequence. He held all the power, and he wanted to ensure she knew it.
“Come, Mrs. Wickham,” Elizabeth said, turning toward Martha with all the dignity she could muster. “We are not welcome here, and I find the atmosphere has grown quite unbearable.”
Martha rose shakily, her face streaked with tears, but her chin raised defiantly.
They made it halfway across the entrance hall before Elizabeth’s knees began to shake.
The magnitude of what she had just done crashed over her like a wave—the bridges burned, the accusations made, the enemies created.
Martha caught her arm as she swayed. “Miss Elizabeth—”
“I have ruined everything,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice breaking. “Everything.”
“Miss Bennet!” The voice came from behind them—Bingley, hurrying after them with Caroline close at his heels. Elizabeth straightened, preparing for whatever additional humiliation awaited.
“Please,” Bingley said breathlessly, “please don’t leave like this. There are things you don’t understand, circumstances that—”
“That excuse Mr. Darcy’s behavior?” Elizabeth interrupted, her composure hanging by a thread. “I understand quite enough, Mr. Bingley. I understand that I am unwelcome here, that Mrs. Wickham is to be cast out, and that my opinions on either matter are of no consequence whatsoever.”
“But you have nowhere to go,” Caroline said. “Surely you must see that leaving now, in such circumstances, would be most inadvisable?”
The kindness in her tone—genuine or feigned—nearly undid Elizabeth. She was trapped without any options. Penniless, ruined, dependent on the very people she had just insulted.
“I have no choice,” Elizabeth replied with painful honesty. “I am entirely at your mercy, all of you.”
Bingley exchanged a glance with his sister, some communication passing between them that Elizabeth was too exhausted to interpret.
“Miss Bennet,” he said gently, “I understand that you are upset, and justifiably so. The situation has been handled poorly. But I want you to know that your father asked me to look after you, to ensure your safety during this difficult time.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “My father? When could you possibly have spoken to my father?”
“Before leaving Hertfordshire. He is deeply concerned about you, about the circumstances that led to your departure. He gave me permission to offer you my protection, should you find yourself in need of it.”
The words should have brought comfort, but Elizabeth felt only a deeper chill. Her father had discussed her situation with Bingley? Had permitted him to “protect” her? When he had expressly forbidden any association with the Bingleys, Darcys, and Wickhams?
“What exactly did my father tell you?” she asked carefully.
Bingley’s expression grew more serious. “Enough to understand that you are in more danger than you realize, from people who may not have your best interests at heart. He mentioned complications regarding your family history and certain individuals who might seek to take advantage of your situation.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced. Her father knew about the letter, about Martha, about her true identity. Of course, he did—she had confronted him and demanded confirmation. But why would he share such dangerous information with Charles Bingley?
“He also mentioned,” Caroline added with delicate precision, “some rather wild gossip that has been circulating in Meryton. Something about George Wickham lending you money, and claims about your being connected to the Darcy family inheritance? Most distressing rumors, I’m sure, but the sort of thing that could damage a young lady’s reputation irreparably. ”
Elizabeth felt the ground shift beneath her feet.
George Wickham told Lydia. Of course. Her youngest sister’s inability to keep any secret would have spread the story throughout the county within days.
Everyone knew about Wickham’s loan, about her claims to Darcy’s heritage, and about her flight from Collins.
She was not merely ruined—she was the subject of neighborhood scandal and gossip.
“I see my situation is even worse than I realized,” Elizabeth said quietly. “The whole county knows of my disgrace.”
“Not disgrace,” Bingley said firmly. “Misadventure, perhaps. Youthful imprudence, certainly. But nothing that cannot be resolved with proper guidance and protection.”
“Whose protection?” Elizabeth asked, though she suspected she already knew. “Yours, Mr. Bingley? In exchange for what considerations?”
Bingley wiped his sweaty brow. “No considerations beyond seeing you safely through this crisis. Your father believes—that is, we all believe—that you have been manipulated by individuals with their own agendas. The Wickhams, specifically.”
Martha made a sound of protest, but Elizabeth barely heard her. The pieces were falling into place with horrible clarity. And now Martha was being evicted, removing the one person who could corroborate her story.
“There is something else,” Bingley continued hesitantly. “You will need proof, a witness that you are who Mrs. Wickham claims you are.”
“She was my nursemaid,” Elizabeth protested. “Of course, she knows.”
Martha’s grip on Elizabeth’s arm tightened painfully. “I told you that in confidence,” she whispered urgently. “I won’t testify until certain conditions are met.”
“What do you want?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “What would it take for you to tell the truth about who I am?”
Martha’s tear-streaked face hardened. “Justice. I want the people who killed your parents exposed. And I want my George to be your husband. He’s a good man, despite what Mr. Darcy says. He would protect you, love you, and help you claim what’s rightfully yours.”
“I figured as much.” A new voice joined the fray.
It was Darcy. “All of you believe Elizabeth is my baby cousin. Daughter of my uncle John. Or that is Mrs. Wickham’s story.
You aim to defraud me of my estate, and Miss Elizabeth, I had believed you to be innocent, to be deceived, but now I see the real plan.
You would aid the Wickhams in stealing Pemberley. ”
“I have not agreed to marry Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth protested. “I will not agree to marry anyone.”
“You stubborn girl,” Mrs. Wickham hissed. “I can provide the proof, but I need your good faith. Elizabeth, come, George is waiting for an answer from you.”
“No.” Elizabeth dug in her heels. “I would rather lose my inheritance than marry a man I do not regard.”
“Of course,” Bingley said gently. “You need time to think, to consider your options. In the meantime, you are under my protection until you return to Longbourn after the All Hallows’ Eve Assembly Caroline is planning.
We shall invite local society and your family, won’t we, Darcy?
And it would be capital fun, right, Caroline? ”
“Oh, yes, dear Miss Eliza.” Caroline put an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Mrs. Wickham, I believe you were leaving? I shall ensure that Miss Eliza has every comfort the Bingleys can provide.”
“You are walking into their trap,” Mrs. Wickham hissed. “I was the one who saved you from the fire.”
“For that, I am grateful,” Elizabeth said. “But no one traps Elizabeth Rose Bennet. No man and no woman.”
With that, she allowed Caroline to lead her back into Pemberley—her own inheritance—where she would prove her right to claim it while staying alive. She would ignore one Fitzwilliam Darcy and spare herself any guilt when she became the mistress of Pemberley.