Darcy clenched his fists, fury rising within him. “If this is true, if she orchestrated such a scheme to harm my sister, I will never forgive her. If I find she had any role in separating me from Elizabeth, or if she plans to harm my wife…” Darcy stopped, unable to continue further. The mere idea of his aunt acting tokeep him and Elizabeth apart for the last four years, or worse, of someone hurting her now was anathema to him.
A steady hand rested on Darcy’s shoulder as his cousin sought to calm him. “We cannot be certain just yet,” Fitzwilliam said evenly. “However, we must remain cautious when she arrives. I do not trust her motives, especially now that you and Elizabeth have eloped.”
Darcy nodded, his mind racing. “We will be ready. Whatever her intentions, she will not succeed in tearing us apart. But how is it you know she is coming?”
“If my father has not already written to her about your marriage, I feel certain she will learn of it soon enough. Are you absolutely certain of the loyalty of all of your servants? What about your tenants?” Fitzwilliam asked, surprising his cousin further with his implication.
“Before the incident with Mrs. Younge, I would have been absolutely certain of their loyalty. As you well know, the turnover at both Pemberley and Darcy House has always been low, and we have very few new servants. Most have been with the family for over a decade, if not longer. The servants and tenants are all well cared for, and lack for nothing,” Darcy replied.
“How many knew George Wickham? Are there any nearby who would have any reason to keep in touch with him? Is it possible he could have informed Lady Catherine of your engagement four years ago?”
Darcy pondered this for a moment. “Wickham did visit shortly before Elizabeth left that summer. The rector in Kympton had recently passed, and he came seeking the living. I refused, of course. He had already been compensated for it, and I couldnot imagine a man less suited to serve as a pastor than George Wickham. I took care to ensure he did not see either Elizabeth or Georgiana at the time, but it is possible there was talk in the village. Our courtship was hardly a secret.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, mulling it over. “So, Wickham could have sold news of your courtship to Aunt Catherine which might have contributed to your separation all those years ago. But why would she wait until now to target Georgiana?”
He paused, then continued, answering his own question. “Georgiana had only just turned fifteen—old enough to elope but not to marry legally without permission in most places. Before that, no church in England or Scotland would have sanctioned the marriage. Aunt Catherine would have waited until it was possible for Wickham to elope with her and ensure the union was binding.”
Darcy's expression grew grim. “If Aunt Catherine had a hand in this, her scheming is more insidious than I imagined. Her willingness to manipulate others to impose her will is nearly Machiavellian. What you are suggesting is not just malicious—it borders on madness.”
A soft knock on the door surprised both men. Darcy called for the person to enter, and was surprised when his new wife opened the door. “Fitzwilliam, is everything well?” she asked.
“More or less, my dear,” he replied. “But come in, because I believe there are some things that you will need to know. Where is Georgiana?”
“She is in the music room. Should I get her for you?” Elizabeth asked, her voice hesitant and uncertain.
“No, I believe it is best that we speak first. Afterward, you might help me decide what should be shared with her,” Darcy said, guiding Elizabeth to a seat beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort, disregarding any concern for propriety. “Richard, will you begin?”
Over the next half hour, Fitzwilliam shared with Elizabeth everything they knew for certain, along with several matters they could only speculate about. Elizabeth listened to the whole of the story without comment, though it was obvious that much of what they said affected her, in some cases causing her to blanch.
After listening intently to the conversation, Elizabeth sat quietly for a moment, her brow furrowed in contemplation. When she finally spoke, her voice was composed yet tinged with emotion. “I have always found it strange that my father was able to expand his bookroom shortly after my return from Derbyshire. He told Mama and the rest of us that he had made a good return on some investments. Yet, I suspect he never intended to share any of that money with her. She raised such a fuss, demanding that part of it be used to outfit us girls—and herself—with new clothes. She insisted on funds for redecorating a few rooms. Reluctantly, my father conceded, even allowing her to make minor improvements to the dower cottage which were largely long-overdue repairs.”
Elizabeth’s gaze drifted away as she recalled the details. “I always questioned it because I had been helping him with the estate books, and he had never once mentioned these supposed investments. Now, I cannot help but wonder if that money came from your aunt, if she indeed played a part in our separation.”
Feeling her distress, Darcy tightened his embrace, pulling her closer as if to shield her from the weight of her thoughts. Elizabeth whispered against his chest, her voice barely audible,“I cannot forgive him. If he truly accepted money, regardless of the sum, in exchange for my happiness, I cannot forgive him.”
Fitzwilliam, observing the couple wrapped in each other’s arms, recognised they needed a few moments alone to process the revelations. He discreetly nodded at Darcy before closing the door behind him. As the soft click of the door echoed in the room, Darcy tightened his hold on Elizabeth, wishing he could shield her from the painful truths that had been revealed that morning.
Chapter Twelve
MONDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1811
LONGBOURN
Almost a week after the shocking news of Elizabeth’s elopement shattered the fragile peace at Longbourn, Mr. Bennet finally emerged from his study. He had confined himself there for days, unable to face the world or his family after the devastating blows of Elizabeth’s sudden departure and Jane’s uncharacteristic outburst. The weight of his daughters' actions pressed heavily on him, leaving him reeling from his failure as a father. Even the servants, who were usually indifferent to his moods, now seemed to glance at him with a mixture of pity and disdain. Yet, the truth behind it all was far worse than any of them could imagine.
While desperation and guilt gnawed at him, Mr. Bennet had never been a man to confront his faults head-on. Instead, he chose to push the blame elsewhere. Unwilling to endure any more criticism—real or imagined—he decided to inform his cousin, Mr. Collins, of Elizabeth’s actions. He wrote a curt letter, stating that his intended bride had absconded, her whereabouts unknown. He made no mention of the circumstances, of his failure to protect his daughter, or of the deeper troubles that plagued the Bennet household. To him, the letter was nothing more than a formality, a way to distance himself from the mess that had unfolded.
As he sealed the letter, Bennet felt an odd sense of relief. What would come of it, he did not care. It was out of his hands now, or so he told himself. But rather than send a servant to deliver it, he chose to walk to the post office in Meryton himself. Perhaps the fresh air would clear his mind, or perhaps it was an attempt to escape the silent judgement of Longbourn, if only for a short while. He tucked the letter into his coat and set off, unaware of the chain of events his missive would soon set into motion.
When Mr. Bennet returned home from his errand, he barely had time to remove his outer clothing before his wife appeared in front of him, her expression as sharp as her tone. "So, you are alive," she said tartly, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose that should have been obvious, for I know the servants kept you well supplied with food and alcohol, but I have forbidden them from bringing you any more at present. I have several questions for you, and I demand that you answer them.”
Bennet sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. He had known this confrontation was inevitable the moment he left his study. “Very well,” he replied, rubbing his temple. “Will you join me in my study?”
“No,” she snapped, her mouth twisting into a frown. “You will come to my sitting room. The servants are attempting to restore some semblance of order to your bookroom after your continual presence there. It smells… unpleasant.”
Bennet grimaced but said nothing, reluctantly following her. He knew he had little choice in the matter. Once inside her sitting room, Mrs. Bennet motioned him towards a hard, wooden chair—one she had clearly chosen for his discomfort. She settled herself gracefully into her cushioned armchair, her back straight and her gaze piercing as it swept over him.
Once they were seated, she wasted no time. “So, when Lizzy returned from Derbyshire four years ago, she was engaged, and you did not say a word to anyone about it?” Her voice was sharp, her lips pressed into a tight line.
