“We should not stay,” Martha whispered. “This is a mistake.”
“I agree,” Elizabeth said. “But surely, it would be rude to walk out.”
“We must.” Martha leaned closer, her words a heated whisper against Elizabeth’s ear. “The Bingleys cannot be trusted in Darcy family matters. Benjamin Bingley had a falling out with your father over business dealings. He took William Darcy’s side in the dispute. There is more to their presence here than coincidence.”
Elizabeth felt her brow furrow. This was new information—crucial information about her parents’ history that Martha had not seen fit to share until this moment. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Martha set her teacup down and announced, “Pardon me, but I might have left a pot boiling. Miss Bennet and I must depart.”
“By all means, Mrs. Wickham,” Darcy’s voice cut through the drawing room, silencing all conversation. “However, I have a matter of business to discuss with you.”
Martha stiffened beside Elizabeth. “Business, Mr. Darcy?”
“Regarding your tenancy at Rose Cottage.” Darcy’s tone was coolly professional. “Mr. Blythewood has prepared certain documents for your review. I believe it would be in your best interests to meet with him at your earliest convenience.”
“Are you asking me to vacate the cottage?” Martha’s face drained of all remaining color.
“I don’t understand,” Elizabeth blurted, though she had not intended to speak. “Mrs. Wickham has resided at the cottage since her husband’s death, has she not? Surely after so many years of service to your family?—”
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy interrupted, his formality now edged with steel, “this is a private matter. I’m sure you understand.”
Elizabeth most certainly did not understand. Yesterday, this man had shown kindness and consideration, had helped her when she was stranded on the roadside. Today, he was coldly evicting a widow who had served his family faithfully for decades.
Martha seemed to shrink into herself, her earlier agitation givingway to defeated acceptance. “Where am I to go?” she whispered. “Rose Cottage has been my home since Ralph died. I have nowhere else.”
“As I mentioned, Mr. Blythewood will discuss settlement arrangements. I’m sure something suitable can be found.” Darcy’s tone remained coolly efficient, as though discussing the disposition of unwanted furniture.
Anger rose in Elizabeth’s chest like a roiling tide. “Mrs. Wickham has given twenty years of her life to caring for that cottage, maintaining it as a memorial to your uncle and aunt. To dismiss her as though she were a servant who had stolen the silver is unconscionable.”
The drawing room fell silent. Caroline Bingley’s eyebrows rose with scandalous delight, while Mrs. Hurst regarded Elizabeth with new interest. Bingley looked deeply uncomfortable, and Darcy’s expression hardened to granite.
“Miss Bennet,” he said with deadly quiet, “you are not in possession of all the facts regarding this matter. I would advise against making judgments based on incomplete information.”
“You speak of facts, Mr. Darcy?” Martha’s voice shook, but her spine straightened. “Then let us speak of facts indeed. Let us speak of how you cast off George Wickham despite your father’s promises. How you refused him the living intended for him, left him to make his way in the world without the support your father guaranteed. Ralph treated you as his own son, and this is how you repay his memory—by abandoning his child to poverty and disappointment.”
“Mrs. Wickham,” Darcy said warningly, “this is neither the time nor place?—”
“When is the time, Mr. Darcy?” Martha’s hands clenched at her sides. “When you have thrown me out of my home? When you have crushed every Wickham who has ever served your family? My husband worked himself to death for the Darcys, and how was his son rewarded? With broken promises and cold dismissal!”
“That is quite enough,” Darcy cut her off, his control slipping forthe first time since Elizabeth had known him. “Your husband was amply compensated for his service, and any arrangements regarding George Wickham are none of your concern.”
“You are wrong,” Elizabeth heard herself saying. “It is very much Mrs. Wickham’s concern, as it is mine. The Wickhams have come to my aid when I was desperate. They have shown me kindness and brought me information to seek my family. Mr. Darcy, I had thought you valued justice and gratitude.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Caroline Bingley looked as though Christmas had arrived early, her eyes bright with malicious delight at witnessing such drama. Mrs. Hurst watched with the fascinated attention of someone observing a carriage accident. Bingley appeared genuinely distressed, his usual cheerfulness replaced by deep concern.
“I see, Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s face had gone white, but his voice remained deadly controlled. “There is nothing more to be said on that subject. However, there remains the matter of your own situation. As you are not yet one-and-twenty, and as your presence here appears to be causing complications, I believe it would be best if arrangements were made for your return to Hertfordshire. Your reputation is already damaged by your flight from home and your associations with George Wickham. I strongly advise you to reconsider your position.”
“You would send me away?” she asked, her voice barely steady.
“I would see you safely returned to your family’s care, where you belong,” Darcy replied with crushing finality.
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. If she returned to Longbourn now, she would lose any chance of claiming her inheritance before the critical birthday deadline. Worse, she would be delivered directly into Mr. Collins’s waiting arms.
“Then I see I have nothing more to lose,” Elizabeth said, her voice gaining strength from desperation. “You are everything I believed you to be at our first meeting, Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for removing any doubt onthat score.”
“As you wish.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment, as if her words bore no consequence. He held all the power, and he wanted to ensure she knew it.
“Come, Mrs. Wickham,” Elizabeth said, turning toward Martha with all the dignity she could muster. “We are not welcome here, and I find the atmosphere has grown quite unbearable.”
