Elizabeth looked away, her throat tightening. “Made a fool of myself,” she whispered. “And now I’ve lost him. The wager doesn’t even matter anymore.”
Charlotte’s gaze turned sharp at the mention of the wager. “Doesn’t it?”
Elizabeth let out a bitter laugh. “You want to talk about the wager now? Very well. I did not win, Charlotte. I didn’t even come close.”
“You danced with him. You shared the supper set, and then… well, you sort of ‘rejected’ him, did you not?” Charlotte countered. “I’d say that was enough to fulfill the terms.”
Elizabeth turned back to her, her eyes blazing. “He left the ball early, furious with me! Not because I was able to turn the tables but becauseheturned them onme!Does that sound like a victory to you?”
Charlotte hesitated, her composure flickering. “Perhaps not. But Lizzy, you—”
“No.” Elizabeth’s voice cracked as she cut her off. “I did not win, Charlotte. Not the way we first agreed. And even if I had… what would it mean? What would it be worth, knowing that I’ve hurt him?”
Charlotte sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “So you’re conceding, then?”
Elizabeth nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. You were right. This was a mistake—a foolish, thoughtless mistake. I’ll have something for you tomorrow.”
Charlotte frowned, her brow furrowing. “Lizzy, this isn’t about me collecting on a wager.”
“It’s about what’s fair,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “And fair or not, I’ve lost. You win, Charlotte. Take your prize.”
Her friend’s face softened again, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm,forcing her to meet her gaze. “Lizzy,” she said quietly, “if you really care about him, then this isn’t over. It doesn’t have to be.”
Elizabeth laughed hollowly, shaking her head. “It is over, Charlotte. You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He hates me now.”
“And if he does?” Charlotte’s voice was calm but firm. “If this really is the end, what then? Are you going to spend the rest of your life convincing yourself it doesn’t matter? That you never cared?”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched, her composure cracking further. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to fix this, and I don’t know if I can.”
Charlotte stepped back, her expression thoughtful. “You may not know now. But you’ll figure it out. And if I’m wrong about all of this—if it truly is over—then I’ll concede as well. The wager can remain unfinished.”
Elizabeth blinked, startled by her friend’s sudden offer. “You’d do that?”
“I’d do that,” Charlotte said with a faint smile. “But only if you’re sure. Because if you find a way to mend this, Lizzy—if you and Mr. Darcy reconcile—then I think we’ll both know who really won.”
Elizabeth didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her mind was too full, her heart too heavy. All she could do was nod weakly, watching as Charlotte gave her arm a final squeeze and turned to leave.
Twenty-Two
The steady rhythm ofthe horses’ hooves against the road did little to soothe Darcy’s tumultuous thoughts. The countryside blurred past the carriage windows, a patchwork of muted winter tones that should have offered solace in their familiar simplicity. Instead, they only deepened the ache in his chest.
He had left Netherfield early, much to Bingley’s dismay. His friend had tried to coax an explanation out of him, but Darcy had offered none, retreating behind a wall of civility that even Bingley’s good humor could not breach. There was nothing to say that would make sense of the chaos in his mind, no words to explain the sharp, unrelenting pain that settled beneath his ribs.
Elizabeth.
Her name was a wound, each repetition cutting deeper. He had trusted her—more than that, he had admired her. She was unlike anyone he had ever known, her wit and sharp tongue a welcome contrast to the artifice and affectation he had grown so weary of in society. For two months, she had teased and baited him, drawing him into conversations that felt alive in a wayhe had scarcely allowed himself to imagine. And slowly, against every instinct, he had let himself care.
And now, it had all unraveled.
Darcy’s hands tightened into fists in his lap as Collins’s words echoed in his mind. The wager. The humiliating notion that Elizabeth Bennet had courted his favor not out of genuine regard but as part of some frivolous game. A contest. A jest at his expense.
He exhaled sharply, the sound harsh in the silence of the carriage. How could he have been so blind? He had allowed himself to believe that she was different—that she was honest, genuine, unaffected by the petty schemes of society. He had believed her laughter, her warmth, her wit were meant for him. And all the while, she had been laughing at him.
His jaw tightened as fresh anger surged. He had let her into his confidence, shared parts of himself he had kept hidden even from those closest to him. He had spoken to her of Georgiana, of his sister’s struggles and vulnerabilities. And Elizabeth—Elizabeth, with her perceptive eyes and sharp tongue—had seemed to understand. Had it all been an act? A carefully crafted performance to make him fall for her, only so she could prove a point?
Darcy leaned his head back against the carriage seat, closing his eyes briefly. The memory of her face, alight with laughter during their supper set, burned in his mind. That moment had felt real. But now, doubt seeped into every memory, tainting even the smallest gestures. Had she meant any of it? Or had she simply been playing her part in this cruel wager?
A sudden pang of guilt twisted in his chest. He had hurt her, too. His own wager, though meant in jest, had been no less thoughtless. Bingley’s lighthearted challenge had led him to act with the same callousness he now accused her of.
