Jane’s gaze stayed on her. “And Mr. Darcy? What did he say when you mentioned Wickham?”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened.
“He didn’t.”
Jane blinked. “He didn’t… deny it?”
“He didn’t deny anything. He just went silent.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “That sounds guilty.”
Jane shook her head slightly. “Sounds guilty? What does that even mean, Lydia?”
Elizabeth’s voice sharpened. “He looked guilty as hell.”
Jane’s tone remained gentle. “Lizzy… what did he actually say?”
Elizabeth swallowed.
“He said it wasn’t a conversation he would have in a café.”
Lydia scoffed. “Classic deflection tactics. He probably didn’t expect you to find out, so he didn’t have a lie prepared.”
“And then,” Elizabeth added quietly, “he asked if my rejection was a verdict too.”
The room went still.
“Was it?” Lydia broke the silence.
Elizabeth grimaced. “What was I supposed to say?”
Jane’s expression softened into something thoughtful, almost pained.
“Oh, Lizzy…”
Elizabeth looked away, her throat tight.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think anymore. First, I was thrilled I might have the exposé of the year, and then…”
Her voice trailed off as she stared into nothing.
Jane reached across the space and took her hand.
“Then don’t decide tonight,” she said softly. “Ask for proof. From Wickham. From anyone. Just… don’t let a stranger’s story become the only truth you hear.”
Lydia, unusually quiet now, muttered, “Also, maybe don’t go on dates with billionaires again.”
Elizabeth gave a short, strained laugh.
Outside, the city carried on.
Inside, Elizabeth Bennet realised with sudden, unpleasant clarity that the tea she wanted on Fitzwilliam Darcy might have come at a cost she hadn’t expected.
***
The apartment had gone quiet in the way it only did after midnight, when even the city seemed to lower its voice.
Jane and Lydia, unwilling to leave Elizabeth alone for the night, had decided to stay over.
