More importantly, why had she ever suggested that they try to prove their innocence? If she had kept her peace, she and Mr Darcy would have likely been married by now, or very shortly would have been celebrating their nuptials. Now she would never know the joy of being his wife.
Late that night, Jane came back to their room, carefully tiptoeing as she readied herself for bed. Elizabeth had changed into her nightgown long before and had curled up in the blankets, trying to seek some sort of solace from her misery. The familiar scent of lavender on the sheets did little to calm the desperation she felt. Elizabeth had spent the hours since she had excused herself from her father’s study in silent misery, wondering if there was some way she could take back the folly of denying her own heart. How long had it been since any dislike of him had fled, had been replaced first by friendship and trust, and ultimately by love? And yet she had said nothing. She had not been willing to risk her heart — no. The truth was much worse than that.
She had been unwilling to risk her pride, and it had cost her everything.
“Lizzy, dearest? Lizzy?” Jane called softly as she went behind the screen. “Are you asleep?” she asked.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought to pretend sleep. But that was not only cowardly, but foolish as well. Jane would surely find her out. She put the coverlet down and peeked out. “No, I am not asleep,” she said.
“You and Papa were in the study for a long while. Is everything well?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth sat up slightly, propping her weight on her elbow. “Yes, all is well.” She sighed. “You shall know soon enough, I suppose, as will the rest of the county. Mr Wickham was the culprit behind the compromise between Mr Darcy and I.”
Jane came out from the screen, even though she had not finished buttoning her nightdress. It was a rare occurrence for her to be seen by anyone in such a state of undress, even though she and Jane were the closest of sisters. “Mr Wickham? Whatever do you mean?”
Elizabeth recounted the story Mr Wickham had told, leaving out his horrible suggestion that she would have had to go to London to become a woman of the night. Jane would have been far too scandalised by even the notion of such a thing. “Father was incredible. He lulled Mr Wickham into over-confidence and tricked him into saying more than he ought. It was not as difficult as I had feared, in fact. I think Mr Wickham might even be strangely proud of his scheme. He certainly seems to think there will be no consequences for the role he has played. However, I hope his superiors throw the book at him,” she said crisply.
“I should think so,” Jane said, her voice low with horror. “I have never imagined such evil. How horrible, Lizzy! I always knew that you were innocent, but I did not imagine such an explanation.”
“Nor I,” Elizabeth replied. “Mr Wickham’s scheme was more horrible than I could have imagined.”
Jane sighed. “Thank goodness it has all come out well. All our friends and neighbours will know that you were not to blame. Now you need not marry Mr Darcy, after all.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said with forced calm. “Indeed, you are right. Now there is no need for us to wed.”
“You do not seem happy that you are not bound to Mr Darcy anymore.”
Elizabeth put on a smile. “Indeed? I am relieved,” she lied. “It is what I set out to do, and I have done it. Now things can return to the way they were before Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy appeared in our quiet little hamlet.”
Jane nodded, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Well, as long as you are happy, then I shall be happy for you.” She pulled her nightgown over her head and climbed between the sheets. Jane blew out the candle on her side of the room, settling into the coverlet with a contented sigh. “What will you do, Lizzy, now that you are free?”
Elizabeth smiled shakily, and she was glad her sister could not see it. “I will go on living as I always have. As long as I have you, I do not require anything else in this world.”
It was not entirely a lie. Elizabeth loved her sister dearly — all of her sisters. But with Mr Darcy, she had allowed a part of her heart to open that she had not experienced before. With him, she had known a different kind of love.
She turned onto her side, facing the opposite direction from Jane. From the other side of the bed, she could feel Jane relax as her breathing slowed to a steady cadence, and she fell into a peaceful slumber.
Elizabeth would not know sleep that night. She could not help but wonder how long it would take for her heart to stop bleeding, for her mind to stop obsessing over the agony of her lost happiness. How long before she forgot the pain of losing Mr Darcy and could move on? Bitterly, she suspected that as long as she lived, her heart would never be the same.
∞∞∞
The following day, Elizabeth rose early. It hardly mattered, she thought dully. She might as well be awake and dressed as awake and laying in her bed. She had cried silently for a good portion of the early morning hours, all while Jane slept in the bed beside her. Her quiet tears had wet the sides of her face, trickling down into her ears and neck until her pillow was half-soaked. The night seemed as though it would last forever. But in the morning, the sun did rise, bright and traitorous. Should not everything be as grey and hopeless as her future?
That was foolishness speaking, of course. Elizabeth told herself that she ought to be happy, ought to be relieved. She had said as much last night — she was relieved that the truth had won out.
And Mr Darcy, in turn, had been relieved that he would not have to keep his word and marry her after all.
Though Elizabeth told herself she ought to have expected it, she had not. It had seemed as though things had changed between them — as though his feelings had warmed as much as hers. Learning that she was wrong was a pain too difficult to bear.
But bear it, she must.
Elizabeth went down to breakfast feeling crabby and on edge. She had no patience with Lydia and Kitty’s excited chatter, nor Mary’s playing, nor her mother’s lectures that they all must find husbands as soon as possible. Elizabeth took the seat closest to her father and sat down heavily. He raised a brow as if to ask if she was all right. She nodded briefly, wishing she might be spared the ordeal of speech.
“Lizzy?” Mr Bennet asked quietly.
“I am well, Papa,” she whispered, if only to avoid having to excuse herself on account of more tears. “Or at least, I will be.”
“That is not the same thing,” he said gently.
