“Of course not,” Elizabeth protested. “I came to you in good faith, because I saw you were struggling. Sir Lucas asked me —” She stopped short.
Mrs Younge stepped in quickly, turning to Georgiana. “You see? Miss Bennet was only being kind because Sir Lucasasked it of her, and she saw her opportunity. She does not believe you are intelligent enough to do this on your own. She means to help you only so you would help her in return.”
Darcy shook his head. She had as much as admitted it. She had been motivated at first not by genuine friendship for Georgiana, but only as a favour to her neighbour.
Georgiana’s eyes pooled with tears, her lower lip quivering. She looked from him to her former friend. Then she ran from the room, her sobs audible until they heard her bedchamber door close behind her.
“How dare you!” Elizabeth said to Mrs Younge. Darcy looked at her in surprise at her audacity, only to take a step back as she turned to him. “I assure you, Mr Darcy, I could not be less interested in you. My only reason for coming to Miss Darcy’s aid at the assembly was because no one would talk to her after she had snubbed one of our leading gentlemen. I could see she was shy, and needed only a little encouragement to make a most charming friend. And I have worked tirelessly to welcome her into our community. Did my actions yesterday seem questionable to you?”
Darcy only stood there in silence, staring at her. He could not for the life of him think of anything to say.
She did not give him much time to formulate a reply. “You are ungrateful, and I am sorry to see your true colours. You barely know me, and yet you believe ugly rumours about me, likely started by this woman. For what reason, I cannot fathom.”
Mrs Younge stepped up to Darcy’s side. “You have no right to speak to Mr Darcy that way. Do you know who he is?”
Elizabeth looked him up and down pointedly. “I am sorry to say that I do.” She stopped there, letting her words hang inthe air before she brushed past Mrs Younge, walking out of the house with alacrity.
Darcy stood stock still for a moment, feeling a dagger of guilt pierce his heart. He turned, looking after her through the window as she hurried away toward Longbourn.
Had he been wrong about her? She had seemed to genuinely care about Georgiana as she spoke. And her actions had not always seemed scheming. But then who was he to trust—a woman he barely knew, or Mrs Younge, in whose care and tutelage he had placed his precious sister?
Darcy shook his head. Surely, he had done the right thing. He could not be worried about Miss Elizabeth’s feelings. Nothing was as important as protecting Georgiana. He would not allow her heart to be trifled with by the pretended friendship of an unprincipled fortune hunter.
Mrs Younge lightly placed a hand on his arm. “You did the right thing,” she said soothingly. “We shall not see hide nor hair of Miss Elizabeth Bennet again, nor the rest of the Bennet brood, I dare say.” With that, she walked out and closed the door behind her.
When she had gone, he could not help but feel the pain in his chest, the guilt at how he had berated Elizabeth in front of Georgiana and Mrs Younge. He should have taken a moment to speak to her privately. Then again, if he had allowed her to tell her side of the story, would she have been truthful, or filled his head with lies, as Mrs Younge suggested was her goal?
It was too late to change things. He would likely never see her again, and for a moment, he was sorry. Despite his best efforts, she had captured his curiosity. Darcy shook his head,trying to put all thoughts of Elizabeth behind him. No doubt London would take his mind off what had happened that day.
Chapter 13
With an effort, Elizabeth forced herself to move at no more than a brisk walk. She would have liked to run, letting the wild beating of her heart drive all the shock and humiliation from her mind, but this could not be. Her private shame must not be allowed to become a public one. Elizabeth heard the door close behind her but refused to look back. If Mr Darcy had followed her to the door to ensure her absence, she would prefer not to see him. In any case, the precaution was unnecessary. Elizabeth had no intention of returning to the little rented house while anyone bearing the name of Darcy lived under its roof.
Hot tears brimmed in her eyes, but Elizabeth refused to let them fall. Bad enough that her friendship with Georgiana was shattered, that Mr Darcy had accused her of things so hideous she did not see how she could bring herself to repeat them, even to Jane. Matters would not be helped by allowing the confrontation to become a subject of gossip — that could only compound her shame and misery. She nodded to the people who called out greetings but did not trust her voice not to betray how upset she was. Mr Darcy had berated and insulted her in every way possible, calling her honesty and character into question.
She was not one to play games with a man’s feelings to get her own way. Where would he have got such a ridiculous theory?
Elizabeth had little time to think on that subject, for the rain began to fall not long after she left the house. And it was not a soft rainstorm. It seemed the heavens had been rent from north to south and a shower of angry vengeance unleashed. It was just as well, for the raindrops masked the tears that dripped down her cheeks.
When she arrived home, she burst through the kitchen doors and retrieved a small towel, dabbing at her face. Her hair hung in tendrils, sticking to her cheeks and forehead.
“Lizzy? What on earth happened to you?” her mother asked in a high-pitched squeal of alarm. “I told you it would rain today. I can always feel it in my bones, you know. You should have stayed here by the fire, where it is warm —”
Elizabeth was in no mood to be taken to task. She mumbled an apology and brushed past her mother. She hurried through the house, leaving a puddle of rainwater in her wake. But she would not stop for anything, not even when her father called out a greeting from the open door of his study.
She barely made it to her room before she burst into sobs. Closing the door firmly behind her, Elizabeth went behind the screen to change out of her soaked things. Once in a dry nightgown, she sat down at the window and wrapped herself in an old patchwork quilt. It smelled of home, and the fresh sachet of lavender blooms the maid had put in the hidden pocket at its corner. Nothing helped to ease the ache in her heart.
The memory of what Mr Darcy had said, how he had accused her, kept her temper boiling steadily. Elizabeth took a deep breath and tried to think. Was there any hint of shamekeeping company with her anger? Though she had known Miss Darcy was rich when she went to befriend her, it had not been foremost among her thoughts, and she had not even known she had an eligible brother. Elizabeth thought over every conversation she had engaged in with Miss Darcy, starting at the assembly and working her way to the present. Had there been guile in her heart, she would not be too proud to admit it.
There was none. She had only had compassion for a young girl on her first visit to a strange community. Her mind alighted on a memory of Mrs Younge standing behind Miss Darcy, whispering to her all throughout the dance. The woman had always seemed to have something odd about her, a secret perhaps. Was she jealous of the time Miss Darcy was spending with the Bennet sisters? She had, after all, been hired as a companion. A woman of her age ought to know better, ought to see Georgiana as her charge and think only of what was good for her. Would she really begrudge Miss Darcy having some friends around her own age?
Elizabeth shifted in the window seat, watching the rain make trails down the glass panes of the windows. Her breath made fog on the windows, but she did not move even when the chill started to seep through the blanket. Mrs Younge had lied about her. And while it would not be surprising to learn that her mother had slipped and made some indiscrete remark, it was not a reflection on Elizabeth and what was in her heart. Mr Darcy’s wealth had never motivated her actions. The respect and admiration she had felt for him had been a mixture of Georgiana’s warm praise of her brother and Elizabeth’s own observations of his intelligence and love for his sister.
No more. That respect and admiration was all done away now. His pride had been revealed, and she was sure that he wasnow the last man on earth she would ever be prevailed upon to marry.
The opening of the door interrupted her thoughts. Jane entered, looking concerned. “Lizzy? My goodness, has something happened to you?” she asked. She closed the door behind her and hurried to Elizabeth’s side. Kneeling on the floor beside the window seat, she touched Elizabeth’s hair, feeling the dampness of the braid. “Are you ill?”
Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer. “I don’t know. Perhaps.” At the very least, she was heartsick. But it would be wrong to worry Jane unnecessarily, especially when there was so much she could not bring herself to say. “I shall be perfectly well after a little rest.”
