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“Your letter?”

“The letter in which I apprised you of Mr Bennet’s death and requested a contribution to Lizzy’s dowry for the damage done to her reputation at the Netherfield ball.”

“Your memory is a little at fault, sir. Your letter mentioned neither of these things. The news of Mr Bennet’s death reached me by alternate means, and you cannot have forgotten that you deemed yourself sanguine that Miss Elizabeth’s reputation was untarnished. That was the reason I sent my valet to establish the truth.”

Now what was Mr Darcy at? wondered Mr Gardiner, getting a little nettled.

“Mr Darcy, I slaved over every word I wrote in that letter. I assure you that I could repeat it verbatim. It said nothing of the sort.”

After their brief period of amiability, the atmosphere in the room had once again become tense. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the wall clock.

Then, Mr Gardiner put two and two together. “Did Elizabeth, perhaps, read you my letter?”

Darcy frowned. “No, my valet did. Although... Elizabeth sorted the mail and the letter did go missing for a while...”

“Ah!” said Mr Gardiner, suddenly remembering Elizabeth’s uncanny ability to mimic other people’s handwriting, which she had previously employed to play the odd practical joke on him.

“Oh dear!” said Darcy, his world reorienting itself as he realised the implications of a substituted letter—not only had Elizabeth never sought to ensnare him; she had done the opposite! He had thought that Elizabeth had merely reacted badly to his insulting proposal; that a huge apology might just save the day. What if he had completely imagined her regard? Darcy’s confidence crumbled to dust, leaving him to wish he could just disappear from Mr Gardiner’s study.

Mr Gardiner’s thoughts took a very different direction. He was furious with his niece for wasting his time by undermining his efforts on her behalf. Seething, a terse “Excuse me” escaped his lips as he quit the room.

He found Elizabeth sitting in the parlour, looking anxious, with his wife clasping her hand.

Unable to communicate with Mr Darcy since his arrival—Elizabeth could hardly catch his eye on the few occasions they had been in each other’s company—she had no idea what he was saying to her uncle and, given her lack of complete disclosure to her relative, it was likely that things she would rather have kept hidden were being exposed. If Mr Darcy was silly or noble enough to admit their passionate kiss, her uncle’s sense of propriety would almost certainly make him demand their marriage. Elizabeth did not want to be forced into marriage with a half-hearted condescending man, regardless of how wealthy or handsome he was.

“Lizzy!” said Mr Gardiner, shutting the parlour door behind him; “Am I correct in assuming you have been interfering with my correspondence with Mr Darcy?”

Seeing that the cat was out of the bag, Lizzy knew she could no longer deny the truth. “Indeed Uncle, I did it for the best. The rumours in Meryton were not Mr Darcy’s fault!”

“That is it!” said Mr Gardiner, wresting Lizzy’s wrist from his wife’s possession rather roughly and pulling her upright. “You have a lot to learn about the world, my dear,” he said, dragging his niece stumbling after him into the corridor. “I’m going to leave you in this room with Mr Darcy, Lizzy, and when I come back, I want to hear that you are getting married!”

“Uncle, no!” said Lizzy, digging her heels into the carpet.

“Yes!” said her uncle, pushing her through the study door, and quickly closing it behind her.

“Edward!” protested his wife, aghast at Mr Gardiner’s unexpected violence.

Lizzy suddenly found herself alone in the study with her equally shocked suitor.

“Elizabeth?” asked Darcy plaintively. This was not how he had imagined his second, humbler, proposal.

Gathering his courage, the words began to tumble out, jostling with each other for pre-eminence. “Please know that I am terribly sorry for accusing you of trying to entrap me. I have the deepest regard for you. Even before I fell ill in Vienna, I had decided to return to Hertfordshire to make an offer for you.”

“Please know, Mr Darcy,” said Lizzy, fighting back tears of embarrassment, “that it was never my intention to try to bamboozle you. I only registered under my mother’s name at the agency when I encountered the Bingley sisters in Bond Street...”

“Your mother’s name? Of course, why did I not think of that?”

“I wanted to leave once I discovered it was you...”

Darcy looked crestfallen and hurt.

“... because I was so mortified by my mother’s letter. And then my uncle... Oh dear! Now he has just shoved me in here to arrange a marriage of convenience!”

“Would it be a marriage of convenience to you?” asked Darcy. “Am I really the last man in the world you would marry?”

Elizabeth could see that he was hurt. “Of course, not,” she said, and realising Darcy could not see how sorry she was, Elizabeth came forward and stroked the back of his hand. “But no lady wishes to marry to stifle a rumour. If I ever married, I wanted it to be based on the deepest and truest love! Perhaps I am naive, as my uncle says, but I do not wish to be merely tolerated as my mother was, or ‘tolerable’ as you once called me.”

“Please believe me, Elizabeth,” said Darcy, taking her hand; “I always had an interest in you, but was too arrogant and proud to admit it. I tried to forget you in London, immersing myself in business. But my attachment to you was so strong that I completely revised my priorities on my way to Vienna, such that I had decided to offer for you on my return. Only my illness prevented me from doing so.”