Her first instinct was to bristle. “You mean we should remove ourselves like guilty parties, as though we had anything to hide?” She fought for calm, not wanting to direct her ire at the people whom she loved and who had supported them thus far.
“No, my dear,” Mrs Gardiner said quickly. “Not in guilt, but in prudence. We would spare you further unkindness if we could. These rumours are reluctant to fade. The author of such gossip has shown themselves to be determined to keep you at the forefront of their speculations. We only suggest that removing yourselves from their influence might spare you further sorrow. The distraction we sought to offer to cheer you, Jane, has not unfolded as we had hoped. For that, I am deeply sorry, my dear girl.”
Jane looked at Elizabeth with gentle appeal. “They mean it kindly,” she murmured to Elizabeth, tempering her sister’s offense. She turned to her aunt and uncle, who had shown her utmost compassion and whom she held in such high regard. “It is no fault of yours that we have been the subjects of this gossip. It is I who should apologise for dragging you into so distasteful a situation.”
Elizabeth drew a slow breath. The injustice of the entire situation pressed upon her chest until it ached.
The Gardiners spoke out of affection. Their concern was genuine, and their hesitation born not of a doubt in Elizabeth or Jane, but of fear for their welfare in a world so eager to wound.
Still, the suggestion felt like a quiet admission that the tide of opinion had turned too strongly against them to resist. “Of course,” Elizabeth said with careful restraint, “we shall consider whatever you believe best.”
After they had gone, Elizabeth paced the length of the room, unable to remain still.
“They are preparing to give us up,” she said bitterly.
Jane rose and took her hand. “Lizzie, they are trying to protect us.”
“From what?” Elizabeth demanded. “From lies and gossip? Must we surrender every inch of our dignity because someone chose to invent a story?”
Jane’s expression turned sad. “We must live in the world as it is, not as we wish it to be. We should spare them from further harm.”
Elizabeth had no answer for that.
∞∞∞
That night, sleep was impossible. As she lay awake, Elizabeth felt the weight of their situation settle heavily on her. The rumours had multiplied faster than they could be dispelled. She felt cornered, like a rabbit hiding in its warren, surrounded by foxes and with no allies to call upon. She had not yet felt the chill of genuine fear thus far, but as she lay awake, watching the candle flame flicker on her nightstand, the icy dread of panic coursed through her.
How much easier it would have been if she only needed to fear the embarrassment brought about by such rumours! But if her unseen adversary won the day, humiliation would be the least of her problems. Elizabeth’s heart raced as she thought of the irreversible consequences of public disgrace and the impact it would have upon her family. If she and Jane saw their reputations destroyed, what hope could their younger sisters have?
Elizabeth stared at the ceiling of her bedchamber in the dark, her mind looping over the same ground of disaster and consequences. Her ruin did not feel dramatic, as she had imagined it would. It was a gradual decline, an inevitable fall, and that made it all the more terrifying.
Chapter 11
In the pre-dawn grey of early morning, Elizabeth found her resolve with defiant clarity. If the rumour-monger wished to see her humbled and driven from society, she would not, could not, give him the satisfaction. It was against her every belief to capitulate to an unknown enemy.
She had not cowered from discomfort when Mr Collins proposed to her. She had not fled the Meryton assembly when Mr Darcy had declared her not handsome enough to dance with. No, she would face this directly, as she was accustomed to.
In the long hours of the night, Elizabeth’s mortification had sharpened into purpose. Retreat would only confirm what the scandal-monger desired to prove. Her silence would be mistaken for guilt, and her absence would invite all manner of untoward speculation.
Elizabeth rose and readied herself. “I will not vanish,” she told her reflection, lifting her chin. “Not for liars and cowards.” Her decision lent her a strength she feared she’d lost.
She found Mrs Gardiner straight away to plead for her aid. Her aunt was in the breakfast room, and Elizabeth was relieved to see that the table was bare of any fresh scandalsheets. She had expected to see the cheaply printed ink besmirching her and Jane’s outing to the shops yesterday, but the gossip must have found their errands insufficient to whet the appetite of a scandal-hungryton. Its absence gave her hope that her approach would succeed.
“Good morning, Lizzie,” said her aunt, with all her usual warmth and fondness.
“Good morning. I have given much thought to what you said, Aunt.”
“Oh? Pray, share your thoughts with me. You must know that I only spoke from a desire to help you.” She set down her teacup, giving Elizabeth her full attention.
Elizabeth took the seat next to her aunt. “I do. And my reception of your concern was born only from my frustration with the gossip, never you or Uncle. I apologise.”
Mrs Gardiner patted Elizabeth’s hand affectionately. “There is nothing to forgive, dear.”
Elizabeth smoothed her skirt and prepared to make her request. “There is a public assembly tomorrow. I would like to attend.”
Mrs Gardiner’s concern was immediate. “Lizzie, I had thought…You cannot think it wise. The talk —”
“Will not cease because I am invisible,” Elizabeth replied. “Indeed, it will only grow more fanciful. I would rather face it than flee from it.”
