“Your sister despises me…. You might tell her thatweare in perfect accord.”
Mr. Darcy looked as if he might say more, but Jane became distracted as murmurs of excitement rippled through the crowded ballroom. Those not dancing had begun to observe an altercation, and even some of the dancers had been lured away by the spectacle. Mr. Darcy also turned for a better look. “Elizabeth….”
Jane gasped. “Mr. W!” Her mysterious hero was here… and Elizabeth was verbally eviscerating him in front of his mother, their aunt, and half the ton. Jane hastened to her sister’s side, but some of the false snow had been tracked onto the dance floor, and she stumbled, her ankle flinching from the pain. Mr. Darcy reacted swiftly and steadied her, and she looked up at him in alarm. “I must go to Lizzy.”
“Of course – allow me to assist you.” He offered her his arm and walked apace with her even as she began to limp. When she reached her sister, Elizabeth was still giving Jane’s admirer a comprehensive dressing down.
“You deliberately concealed your identity from us; how can you deny it? You did not approach Mrs. Jennings’s house yesterday, for if you had, she would have exposed you as the villain who abandoned my cousin!” Elizabeth snapped her head to Jane, and she clenched her jaw as she spoke. “Sister, allow me to properly introduce you to John Willoughby of Combe Magna.”
Jane was utterly speechless. She looked over at the man, her heart sinking into her stomach. “Marianne’s Willoughby?”
“He is Miss Grey’s Willoughby, and he will not expose her to further ridicule,” declared a haughty old woman who approached them with her chin impossibly high and her walking stick extended in a pose of grandeur.
“Aunt….” Mr. Willoughby looked from the woman to Jane and let out a heavy sigh. “I can explain.”
“I think you must,” Mrs. Jennings cried.
“Yes, astonish us,” Elizabeth drawled.
“You will explain nothing to these people, Nephew. Miss Grey and Mrs. Ellison demand you return to them,” the old woman said sternly.
“Lady Allen, please,” Mrs. Hatchard said, her lips pressed into a taut line.
“I will not,” Mr. Willoughby said. “I wish to explain to the Miss Bennets that you published this news of my supposed engagement without my permission. I have not proposed marriage to Miss Grey, nor have I ever intended to.”
“Certainly you shall, if you wish me to leave you Allenham,” Lady Allen hissed.
“And there you have it,” he said, scowling at Elizabeth before turning a beseeching gaze at Jane. “I am sorry to have caused you distress, Miss Bennet.”
As Jane shrank back and clung to Mr. Darcy’s arm, Elizabeth stepped forward to berate Mr. Willoughby further. “And what of Marianne’s distress? You trifled with her affections, and then behaved as you did to my sister. Even if you are not to wed Miss Grey…..”
“Oh, he certainly is to wed Miss Grey,” Lady Allen cried. The young lady in question now stalked over to them, followed by a solicitous older woman.
“Willoughby, Lady Allen, what is the meaning of this?” The older woman scowled at all the combatants.
“My aunt has been premature in managing my affairs, as I have attempted to hint to you already, Mrs. Ellison,” he said with exasperation.
“But we thought it was all quite settled between you and Sophia,” Mrs. Ellison said.
Elizabeth scoffed at the woman. “What could possibly be settled between them when he was courting another lady three months ago? And dallying with another a few months before that?”
“Dallying?” Mr. Willoughby looked at Elizabeth with confusion. “I allowed myself to be carried away by my feelings for Marianne, but there was no dalliance! I would not do her the dishonor!”
“I speak of Miss Eliza Williams.”
“Who?” Mr. Willoughby next appealed to Jane. “Miss Bennet, I must apologize for not making my identity known directly; in the aftermath of your injury, I simply forgot. As to Miss Grey, there is no understanding. And Marianne….”
Lady Allen gestured at Jane. “And I suppose this is another insignificant chit who has captivated you with her arts and allurements, causing you to shirk your duty?”
“She is not insignificant,” Mr. Willoughby snapped, and then he looked back at Jane. “Who is Eliza Williams?”
“She is Colonel Brandon’s ward,” Jane said, studying Mr. Willoughby’s face. There was such a look of sincerity about him, and she dearly wished to believe there had been some great misunderstanding.
“She is the young woman who is soon to bear you child,” Elizabeth hissed. “We met her just after Christmas, and she told us of it herself.”
“That is impossible,” Mrs. Hatchard cried.
Mr. Willoughby shook his head, his expression still pleading with Jane. “I do not understand. I do not know this person. There must be some great misunderstanding – Miss Bennet….”
