Martha rose shakily, her face streaked with tears, but her chin raised defiantly. They made it halfway across the entrance hall before Elizabeth’s knees began to shake. The magnitude of what she had just done crashed over her like a wave—the bridges burned, the accusations made, the enemies created.
Martha caught her arm as she swayed. “Miss Elizabeth?—”
“I have ruined everything,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice breaking. “Everything.”
“Miss Bennet!” The voice came from behind them—Bingley, hurrying after them with Caroline close at his heels. Elizabeth straightened, preparing for whatever additional humiliation awaited.
“Please,” Bingley said breathlessly, “please don’t leave like this. There are things you don’t understand, circumstances that?—”
“That excuse Mr. Darcy’s behavior?” Elizabeth interrupted, her composure hanging by a thread. “I understand quite enough, Mr. Bingley. I understand that I am unwelcome here, that Mrs. Wickham is to be cast out, and that my opinions on either matter are of no consequence whatsoever.”
“But you have nowhere to go,” Caroline said. “Surely you must see that leaving now, in such circumstances, would be most inadvisable?”
The kindness in her tone—genuine or feigned—nearly undid Elizabeth. She was trapped without any options. Penniless, ruined, dependent on the very people she had just insulted.
“I have no choice,” Elizabeth replied with painful honesty. “I am entirely at your mercy, all of you.”
Bingley exchanged a glance with his sister, some communication passing between them that Elizabeth was too exhausted to interpret.
“Miss Bennet,” he said gently, “I understand that you are upset, and justifiably so. The situation has been handled poorly. But I want you to know that your father asked me to look after you, to ensure your safety during this difficult time.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “My father? When could you possibly have spoken to my father?”
“Before leaving Hertfordshire. He is deeply concerned about you, about the circumstances that led to your departure. He gave me permission to offer you my protection, should you find yourself in need of it.”
The words should have brought comfort, but Elizabeth felt only a deeper chill. Her father had discussed her situation with Bingley? Had permitted him to “protect” her? When he had expressly forbidden any association with the Bingleys, Darcys, and Wickhams?
“What exactly did my father tell you?” she asked carefully.
Bingley’s expression grew more serious. “Enough to understand that you are in more danger than you realize, from people who may not have your best interests at heart. He mentioned complications regarding your family history and certain individuals who might seek to take advantage of your situation.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced. Her father knew about the letter, about Martha, about her true identity. Of course, he did—she had confronted him and demanded confirmation. But why would he share such dangerous information with Charles Bingley?
“He also mentioned,” Caroline added with delicate precision, “some rather wild gossip that has been circulating in Meryton. Something about George Wickham lending you money, and claims about your being connected to the Darcy family inheritance? Most distressing rumors, I’m sure, but the sort of thing that could damage a young lady’s reputation irreparably.”
Elizabeth felt the ground shift beneath her feet. George Wickham told Lydia. Of course. Her youngest sister’s inability to keep anysecret would have spread the story throughout the county within days. Everyone knew about Wickham’s loan, about her claims to Darcy’s heritage, and about her flight from Collins.
She was not merely ruined—she was the subject of neighborhood scandal and gossip.
“I see my situation is even worse than I realized,” Elizabeth said quietly. “The whole county knows of my disgrace.”
“Not disgrace,” Bingley said firmly. “Misadventure, perhaps. Youthful imprudence, certainly. But nothing that cannot be resolved with proper guidance and protection.”
“Whose protection?” Elizabeth asked, though she suspected she already knew. “Yours, Mr. Bingley? In exchange for what considerations?”
Bingley wiped his sweaty brow. “No considerations beyond seeing you safely through this crisis. Your father believes—that is, we all believe—that you have been manipulated by individuals with their own agendas. The Wickhams, specifically.”
Martha made a sound of protest, but Elizabeth barely heard her. The pieces were falling into place with horrible clarity. And now Martha was being evicted, removing the one person who could corroborate her story.
“There is something else,” Bingley continued hesitantly. “You will need proof, a witness that you are who Mrs. Wickham claims you are.”
“She was my nursemaid,” Elizabeth protested. “Of course, she knows.”
Martha’s grip on Elizabeth’s arm tightened painfully. “I told you that in confidence,” she whispered urgently. “I won’t testify until certain conditions are met.”
“What do you want?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “What would it take for you to tell the truth about who I am?”
Martha’s tear-streaked face hardened. “Justice. I want the people who killed your parents exposed. And I want my George to be yourhusband. He’s a good man, despite what Mr. Darcy says. He would protect you, love you, and help you claim what’s rightfully yours.”
