Panic fluttered in Elizabeth's chest. She felt her pulse quicken, heard the slight tremor in her voice as she responded. "That's impossible. You departed Netherfield the day after the assembly. We could not have had more than that one brief encounter."
Yet even as she spoke the denial, guilt twisted in her stomach. He was right, in a way he could not possibly understand. They had engaged in extensive conversation—not in person, but through correspondence. She had written to him for months, sharing ideas and observations, responding to his concerns and questions. Those letters had created an intimacy between them, a connection built on words and ideas rather than physical presence.
But he believed those letters came from Cassandra. He had no idea that every thoughtful response, every carefully crafted sentence, every moment of understanding and insight had originated with Elizabeth herself.
What would he say when he learned the truth? Would he regret this marriage even more than the circumstances already warranted? He would undoubtedly feel deceived and suspicious that there was a greater scheme abound. Why else would two women decide for one of them to write letters on the other’s behalf? No one would be willing to learn their side of the matter. There would only be judgement and condemnation. The thoughts churned in her mind, each one more troubling than the last.
"Are you certain?" Darcy pressed, his eyes searching hers with uncomfortable intensity. "You seem...there is something you are not telling me. Is it an important matter?"
Elizabeth's mouth went dry. She opened it to speak, to confess or simply change the subject, but before she could form the words, a voice called from the house.
"Mr Darcy! Elizabeth! Come, you must cut the cake! Everyone is waiting!"
Mrs Bennet's shrill summons shattered the moment. Elizabeth felt immensely relieved by the interruption. She needed to tell him—the deception had gone on too long already, and he deserved to know the truth about the letters. But not now, not on their wedding day, with her entire family and half of Meryton waiting inside. Maybe she would never feel ready or confident enough to divulge that information.
"We should return," she said, already turning towards the house. "My mother might send a search party if we delay much longer."
Her attempt at humour succeeded in dispelling what felt to her like an awkward moment. His lips curved in a smile and he nodded in agreement. “In that case, we had best hurry back.”
As they crossed the threshold back into the noise and warmth of the celebration, Elizabeth caught sight of their reflection in a mirror placed at the entrance to the drawing room—a newly married couple, she in her simple but elegant gown, he in his immaculate dark coat. To the gathered audience, they appeared well-matched, the very picture of an advantageous union.
In this case, looks weren’t what they seemed. She carried a secret that threatened the fragile foundation of their marriage, a deception that grew heavier with each passing moment.
Her mother swept them towards the table where an elaborate cake awaited their attention.
It would be better to tell Mr Darcy before he pieced together the truth himself, Elizabeth mused. Before his returning memories filled in the gaps and exposed her role in the deception. But how did one confess to such a thing? How did one admit that every intimate word, every vulnerable moment shared through correspondence, had been built on a lie?
Chapter Fifteen
The next day
"Lizzy, where did you pack your blue muslin? The one with the embroidered trim?"
Mrs Bennet's voice carried up the stairs, shrill with the particular anxiety that had possessed her since dawn. Elizabeth looked up from the trunk she was attempting to organise—an impossible task, given that her mother kept adding items she deemed essential for the mistress of Pemberley—and suppressed a sigh.
"In the smaller trunk, Mama. With the other day dresses."
"Are you certain? I cannot find it. And you must have it, Lizzy. What will the servants at Pemberley think if you arrive without adequate clothing? Mr Darcy is accustomed to a certain standard—"
"I am certain the servants will survive the shock of my wardrobe," she called back, then immediately regretted the sharpness of her tone. Her mother meant well, even if her fussing had reached intolerable levels.
Tomorrow she would leave Longbourn for Pemberley and begin her new life as Mrs Darcy. The thought induced a curious mixture of trepidation and relief. Trepidation at the unknown that awaited her—a grand estate, a household of servants, a husband she was only beginning to know. Relief at escaping the constant scrutiny and commentary that had plagued her since the engagement was announced.
Jane appeared in the doorway, her serene presence a balm to Elizabeth's frayed nerves. "Mama is in quite a state. She has rearranged the drawing room three times already this morning."
"Only three times? We are fortunate indeed." She gestured at the chaos surrounding her. "I cannot imagine why she believes I require six bonnets for a journey to Derbyshire. One would think I were embarking on a grand tour rather than simply relocating to my husband's estate."
The word still felt strange on her tongue. Husband. As though speaking it aloud might make the reality more comprehensible.
"She wishes you to make a good impression," Jane said, settling onto the edge of the bed. "You are now mistress of one of the finest estates in England. It is natural she should want you properly equipped for such a position."
"I suppose." Elizabeth abandoned her packing and sat beside her sister. "But I suspect no number of bonnets will adequately prepare me for what awaits."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Jane spoke again, her voice soft. "Are you frightened?"
"Terrified," she admitted. "I am not entirely certain of what. Mr Darcy has been perfectly courteous. More than courteous, actually. But we are strangers bound together by unfair circumstances instead of naturally building a bond. How does one build a marriage on such a foundation?"
"Many marriages begin with less. After a few more days of being around each other, I'm certain you and Mr Darcy will find common ground. Similar interests, maybe. Or a peculiar way ofthinking. That will certainly improve the relationship you both share.”
