Once again, I found myself alone in the library, only this time, I stood by the door, ready to prevent anyone else from attempting to close it. Would Mrs. Bennet remember to return? I still needed to speak to Mr. Bennet about Wickham. How long should I wait? Five minutes?
I decided that if Mrs. Bennet did not return in ten minutes, I would continue my search for her husband. With all the time already wasted, I could not afford to wait any longer.
Every second filled me with doubt and increased my self-loathing. How had I allowed this to happen now when I had successfully survived seven London Seasons since my majority without falling into a trap? I had triumphed over the most conniving, unscrupulous families in all of society but now found myself at the mercy of Mrs. Bennet!
I imagined introducing her to my relatives and the vulgar comments she would make. The spectacle the younger Bennets would make of themselves—their lack of maturity and want of accomplishments. My family would know I had been trapped into a union I would never have entered of my own volition.
Each passing second brought another disadvantage to mind until my chest felt heavy, and it became difficult to draw breath. For my own sanity, I must consider the advantages… if there were any to be found.
My aunt Catherine, who had insisted I marry her daughter, Anne, would never speak to me again. I could not be sorry about that.
And I held few objections against Miss Elizabeth herself. Other than her apparent aversion to me and preference for Wickham, I could say nothing against her character. In fact, I enjoyed her conversation. During her stay at Netherfield Park with her sister, I had found her well-informed and insightful. She was not unpleasant to look at. My face warmed as I admitted to myself that she was, indeed, handsome enough to tempt me.
After eight agonizingly slow minutes, I was prepared to face what was certain to come. Mrs. Bennet reappeared, walking without the assistance of her daughter, who followed behind her mother, her eyes directed toward the carpet.
I braced myself for the matron’s demands. She would claim her daughter’s virtue was endangered. She would insist I make an offer of marriage. As an honorable gentleman, I had no option but to comply.
Miss Elizabeth and I both knew the truth—the only passion shared between us had been sparring and accusations. However, truth and reality did not signify when word got out. People would assume the worst. They always did, and their opinion was all that mattered in the end.
Miss Elizabeth still avoided my gaze. To be truthful, that suited me well, as it justified me in doing the same.
Mrs. Bennet huffed. “You clumsy girl. How could you spoil your sister’s fun like that?”
What was this? I looked at Miss Elizabeth for an answer. She had too many sisters for me to make an accurate guess.
Her eyes met mine even as she replied to her mother. “You did well to send Lydia home with Kitty, Mama.”
Miss Lydia was no longer at the ball!Lord be praised!
“You left her no other option!” Mrs. Bennet did not share in my contentment.
Her daughter did not apologize. “Mrs. Hill will know what to do before the ratafia dries and stains Lydia’s gown beyond reparation, and Kitty will be good company for her.”
With another sister and the housekeeper watching over her, Miss Lydia would cause no more trouble that evening. Relief and growing respect for how efficiently Miss Elizabeth had addressed the problem eased the pressure on my chest.
“They will make you pay on the morrow, Lizzy, and I do not blame them. It is no good to deny younger ones their pleasure just because their older sisters have yet to marry.”
With that, Mrs. Bennet turned her attention to me. Here it would come. The demand. The triumph. I braced myself.
Snapping her fan in front of her, commanding my full attention, she demanded, “Did anyone see you enter the library?” No longer was her speech slurred.
“Not that I am aware of,” I replied cautiously, not wishing to assist her or worsen my fate.
She pinched Miss Elizabeth’s chin with her other hand and locked eyes with her. “Would anyone—anyone at all—suspect you of being alone with Mr. Darcy?”
“I doubt anyone noticed my absence except, perhaps, Mr. Collins.”
“Why might he have noticed?”
“He has been following me all evening.”
“As he ought to do! What I do not understand is why you do not encourage him more!”
“I would rather avoid him.”
“Why in heaven’s name would you wish to avoid him? If he finds out you might have been compromised?—”
“There has been no compromise!” Miss Elizabeth interrupted.
