And if anyone—anyone—got their hands on those pages, those observations, those names…
The Bennet girls would be finished. No fortune hunter would court a family mocked in drawing rooms and pamphlets. No respectable man would offer for them, not once satire had peeled them bare.
It would be her fault. Utterly. Entirely. Irrevocably hers.
She would have to protect them. All of them.
Her only option—the only one that did not involve flinging herself into the sea—was marriage.
Quick. Quiet. Practical.
She would vanish into someone’s household, slip into respectability, and draw the curtain down before the whispers began.
It would not matter if she were happy.
It would matter only that Lydia was still invited to assemblies and that Kitty could flirt over a teacup without being called indecent.
That Jane could marry Bingley.
She clenched her fists.What if…?
Mr. Collins.
She could not believe she was thinking it. But he had written to her father. He had intentions. He sounded absurd, yes—but absurd men still had livings. Still offered protection.
And if he came soon—if he proposed quickly—
But then—
A pause in the crowd. A gap between dancers. A movement that caught her eye.
Darcy.
Not dancing. Not even speaking.
Just watching, the way he always did.
Elizabeth stilled. The man who had avoided her for weeks. Who had so often refused to meet her gaze. Who had once made her a foolish promise five years ago, and now stood with his coat slightly wrinkled and his hair nearly undone, looking—
Trapped.
Just like her.
She straightened. A thought began to form. A very, very bad idea.
But not the worst she had ever had. Not by far.
Darcy had been secondsfrom escape.
He had slipped into the anteroom, coat folded over one arm, gloves in hand, his cravat tugged slightly loose at the throat. Upstairs—blessedly quiet, deliciously private—beckoned with the promise of solitude.
Behind him, Bingley was still laughing at something Miss Bennet had said, and Caroline was likely circling the perimeter, preparing to declare the entire evening a dismal failure.
He had no interest in either.
All he had to do was climb the stairs without being intercepted. One flight. One quiet withdrawal.
He did not make it. Becauseshewas suddenly there.
