“Elizabeth. I fear that this latest scandal concerns you,” he said quietly.
With a steady hand, Elizabeth took the paper from her uncle, determined to put on a brave face. But her pulse quickened as she scanned the sheet.
It is whispered in certain circles that a Miss E, younger sister to the scheming country Miss B, has followed her sister’s example and is taking up her own campaign of matrimonial ambition. A gentleman of considerable fortune, who has mysteriously arrived to grace society with his presence, finds himself the subject of her scheme. Though the two parties are not unknown to one another. Perhaps there has always been something there, lurking beneath the surface? This author isunsure whether the perseverance of these young ladies should be admired or avoided.
Woe betide the unwitting gentleman who finds himself at the mercy of such sisters, and poor Mr D! Judging by the lady’s persistence, he may find himself outmatched and engaged within a matter of weeks. One can only hope for his sake that respected gentlemen from Derbyshire enjoy being led by their wives.
Elizabeth’s face burned. Mr Darcy, of all the men in England, to be accused of husband-hunting? He was the man she had firmly resolved to avoid forever. It might have been laughable, had it not been printed for all of London to see.
Jane pressed a hand to her heart as she finished scanning the column. “Oh, Lizzy. Who would say such a thing?”
Elizabeth folded the paper vehemently away. “Someone who seeks to target our vulnerabilities. Someone who wishes to see us publicly humiliated. This is no mere coincidence.”
Mrs Gardiner frowned. “Two sisters targeted in quick succession. It certainly seems deliberate.”
“The details alone are suspicious. It is too close for a mere stranger to have guessed,” Elizabeth added. It was beyond cruel. Indignation surged in Elizabeth. Her mind raced, wondering who could know of her past interactions with Mr Darcy and would benefit from such insinuations.
With newfound surety, Elizabeth determined that this wounding of the Bennet’s reputation must be connected to the rumours that targeted Georgiana Darcy. There were too many connections between them to be mere coincidence.
The rest of the household dispersed after breakfast, but Elizabeth remained in the drawing room, pacing a hole into the rug. She clutched the scandal sheet, wrinkling the paper and smearing the cheap ink. Occasionally, she would pause, read the horrid accusation, then snap it shut once more. She could not bear the accusation that Mr Darcy, of all people, was the subject of her supposed husband-hunting.
She sank onto the sofa and sighed. The more she considered what to do about the matter, the more she realised that a name she did not want to think about, much less seek out, kept rising to the surface.
Darcy.
The very idea of asking him for help made Elizabeth wrinkle her nose. He was the last man she would willingly confide in, the last person whose good opinion she sought. She did not want to owe him anything.
And yet, he had confided in her at the ball. Without arrogance or coldness, only concern for his sister. His earnestness unsettled her far more than any insult could have. Not only had he been candid with her, but he had warned her of the dangers. Furthermore, he had resources and connections she could never hope to match.
With a groan, Elizabeth threw herself against the cushions. Her dislike of Mr Darcy warred with this new awareness that he might not be the villain she had painted him to be. She was determined to put the idea of asking him for assistance out of her mind, but when she thought about sweet Jane cornered by rumours, Elizabeth wondered if the best course of action might lie in asking for aid.
∞∞∞
Even pleasant developments sometimes come with inconveniences. Mr Bingley’s enthusiasm at meeting Jane again had extended to introducing her to several of his London acquaintances. Jane being as sweet and elegant as ever, they had been charmed by her, particularly Sir Edward and Lady Whitfield, who had been close friends with Bingley’s late father. Proof of their approval had soon followed in the form of an invitation to attend an evening party at their home.
The evening’s engagement was not an event Elizabeth would have elected to attend under normal circumstances. She had little patience for the gatherings where the only entertainment was observing the elaborate pains some took to disguise their own ambitions. But Mr Bingley had informed Jane that he intended to be present, in a manner that made his eagerness to see her there clear. Such an invitation would be difficult to refuse.
There was still the matter of the scandal-sheets, with their ever more vicious gossip. The Bennets had agreed to attend the Whitfields’ party with some reservations, but Elizabeth still held the belief that it was better to face the rumours head-on, rather than cower in the shadows.
Beneath the glittering presentation of the parlour rooms, perfumed with hothouse flowers, there was an unease Elizabeth could not shake. Whispers passed behind fans, stares lingered a little too long, and there was a constant sense that someone among them was watching the Bennet sisters with too much interest. It was unnerving to be so… inspected.
To her credit, Jane remained composed. Upon seeing a group of ladies that included several slight acquaintances, she joined them, and had soon engaged them in pleasant conversation with the excellence of her manners and the steadiness of her spirits. Upon Mr Bingley finding them in the room, the evening was assured of being pleasant; and on his informing them that regrettably, Miss Bingley was unable to attend, it was sure of being a success.
Elizabeth was too restless to remain long beside them. After dutifully greeting their hosts, she excused herself to fetch a glass of lemonade. Her eyes swept across faces, never lingering too long; she could not help but wonder if she was nodding pleasantries with the one who sought to ruin her reputation.
Tucking into the side gallery for a moment of respite, she heard a pair of voices drift down the hall. It was not the gentle, lilting speech of the gentry, but the easy manner of speaking household staff used when not around their employers. Two footmen, who stood near the narrow service corridor, exchanged their gossip.
“…told me herself,” one said. “Lady Catherine, yes, that one, sent enquiries straight to the publisher.”
Elizabeth nearly spilled her lemonade down her front. She righted her cup and listened to the footmen.
“Why?” asked the other.
“Why does she ever do anything? She’s not fond of the company her nephew keeps, that’s why. Wants to see him married proper, I reckon. And certain ladies out of the way. Bess told me she gave the publisher a list of names and details, and overnight, there’s a new scandal sheet printing all those things about them.”
The earth shifted beneath Elizabeth’s feet. Lady Catherine, Darcy’s formidable aunt? Mr Collins had given her one account of his patroness, and Mr Wickham quite another. That so formidable a lady would not approve of Mr Darcy’s supposed preference for her was unsurprising. But that she would lower herself to take such public action was difficult to believe. Elizabeth wished she could have had the advantage of meeting the lady for herself. By all she had heard said of her, it was a privilege she would normally have gladly foregone. But now, she felt it would have given her valuable insight into Lady Catherine’s character.
The servants exchanged a few more pleasantries, then were called away to return to their duties. Elizabeth remained rooted to the spot, her heart pounding. Could Lady Catherine, in her arrogance, have involved herself in Darcy’s London affairs, and could she be the one responsible for the rumours about Jane and Georgiana Darcy?
