“Allegations,” Elizabeth repeated quietly. “A diplomatic term, to be sure. Does Mr. Darcy maintain his stance that I imagined our entire encounter?”
“Lizzy!” Jane’s soft reprimand carried a note of desperation.
Bingley straightened his cravat, clearly uncomfortable. “Mr. Darcy has never discussed this encounter with me. He forbids mention, despite Caroline’s persistent inquiries.”
“So honorable of him to maintain his denial while hiding behind the walls of propriety,” Elizabeth continued. “I’ve seen the letter, written in his own hand.”
Bingley coughed. “I understand Miss Elizabeth’s position is difficult.”
“Difficult?” Elizabeth repeated with a sharp laugh. “What an admirably diplomatic term for ‘ruined beyond repair.’”
“Nothing is beyond repair,” Jane said. “Mr. Bingley has come seeking truth, not to judge.”
“Indeed,” Bingley agreed, his expression brightening at Jane’s defense. “I merely wish to understand what has transpired. That is why I have come to hear your account directly.”
“What purpose would that serve?” she asked wearily. “My words against his. And we all know whose word carries greater weight in society.”
“Nevertheless,” Bingley insisted, “I would hear your version, Miss Elizabeth.”
Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity that reminded her why she had once thought him the best of men—persuaded her. With a deep breath, Elizabeth began recounting the events at Hunsford one more time: Darcy’s unexpected arrival at the parsonage, his declaration of love despite his better judgment.
As she spoke, a strange sensation washed over her—a wave of shame that grew with each word. For the first time since this ordeal began, she heard herself through another’s ears. The private moment she described—a gentleman laying bare his heart, however poorly expressed—had been sacred in its way.
She skipped over most of his declarations and his most horrendous moments.
“He left, clearly disgusted with himself,” she said, and to her horror, felt tears welling in her eyes. “And I… I should have kept his confidence, regardless of my feelings about his manner. It was a private moment, and I—” The tears spilled over, trailing down her cheeks despite her desperate attempt to maintain composure. “I treated it as an amusing anecdote to be shared. Whatever Mr. Darcy has done since, I must acknowledge my own fault in this.”
Jane immediately moved closer, slipping an arm around her. The room fell silent, save for the soft sounds of Elizabeth’s ragged breathing as she fought to regain control.
“Forgive me,” she said finally, wiping her cheeks with trembling fingers. “It seems the strain of recent events has affected me more than I realized.”
Throughout her account, Bingley had listened attentively, his expression revealing nothing. Now, faced with her unexpected tears, a flicker of genuine sympathy crossed his face.
“There is nothing to forgive, Miss Elizabeth,” he said gently. “Such a situation would test anyone’s composure.”
“But I have wronged Mr. Darcy. I let my temper rule my tongue. Earlier, while he was stumbling around for words, I regretted that I would have to wound him with my refusal, but as he tried to explain himself, cataloging his honest struggles while wounding my pride, I unleashed my full fury on him in the most cruel manner. It’s no wonder he wishes to pretend this entire scene had never transpired.” She gasped through her sobs. “And, I find myself with exactly the same sentiments.”
Bingley’s expression softened considerably as he watched Elizabeth’s genuine distress. He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a tone of brotherly understanding.
“Miss Elizabeth, I have five sisters of my own. I can understand how a young lady might feel when faced with such a… let us call it an imperfectly delivered proposal. Your reaction,while perhaps regrettable in its consequences, was entirely natural.”
Mrs. Bennet drew herself up indignantly. “Imperfectly delivered? Mr. Bingley, that man insulted our entire family while supposedly declaring his affections. He told my Lizzy she was beneath his station.”
“Mama,” Jane murmured diplomatically, “I am certain Mr. Bingley means no offense to our feelings.”
“None whatsoever,” Bingley assured them quickly. “I merely meant to say that Darcy, despite his many admirable qualities, has never been particularly eloquent in matters of the heart. Indeed, he is of all men the most honest—sometimes brutally so. I suspect he believed that acknowledging his struggles openly would give greater weight to his declaration. That overcoming such obstacles proved the strength of his attachment.”
Elizabeth wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, her breathing gradually steadying. “His honesty was… comprehensive,” she admitted with a watery attempt at humor. “He detailed every objection with remarkable thoroughness.”
“That sounds like Darcy,” Bingley said with a sympathetic grimace. “He has always believed that complete candor, however uncomfortable, is preferable to pleasant deceptions.”
“Then why is he persisting with the lie?” Mrs. Bennet remarked. “Why not acknowledge that he left my Lizzy in a precarious state?”
“That, I cannot know,” Bingley said. “I suppose the wound to his pride was too great.”
“But the harm has already been done,” Elizabeth said, her voice breaking again. “It seems that in these matters, a gentleman’s reputation possesses a remarkable resilience, while a lady’s is as fragile as morning frost. Mr. Darcy will emerge from this unfortunate business quite unscathed, while I must bear the consequences of both our indiscretions.”
“Perhaps,” Bingley said gently, his gaze fixed on Jane, “but that does not mean there can be no going forward. Time has a way of healing even the deepest wounds, and people are capable of forgiveness when given the opportunity.”
