“It all makes sense now. The retractions for the ball. Heaven forfend! You lured Lydia into the ambush, did you not?”
Her face did not betray a modicum of feeling, which was telling in itself.
“How did you induce Mr Wickham to do your bidding? Did you promise him access to Georgiana and her thirty thousand pounds? Did you bribe him?”
“You can stop this ridiculous melodramatic tragedy at once, Lizzy. You are becoming more like our mother by the day. You have no proof of what you are accusing me because none exists.”
Elizabeth cocked her head and studied the sister she had never known. Mary had neither genius nor taste. Vanity had given her application, which she applied with a pedantic air in a conceited manner.
“By the reason of deduction. Neither I nor Mr Darcy would divulge that I spent my last pounds at Gunther’s to the gossip rags. The only other person with that knowledge was you, Mary. Yet, it was all over the newspapers the following day. If I harboured any doubts when I entered your room, I can assure you that none are left. The only question remaining is why. Why would you ruin my name and, by association, our entire family. What could you stand to gain by it?”
Mary transformed before her eyes. Gone was the serene, all-knowing expression. In its place, her lips curled into a snarl and her eyes narrowed in disgust.
“You begrudged me even a few dresses.”
“Of course I did not!”
“You did. If not for Mr Darcy’s kind intervention, I would have worn your and Jane’s old hand-me-downs to every ball and dinner we attended.”
“I am wearing Jane’s old shift. There is no shame in fiscal prudence. I think your dear Mr Fordyce would agree. I would have forwarded you all I could of my pin money, but your request came at an inopportune moment. Mr Darcy and I had just had a misunderstanding about some purchases, and I was loath to ask him for more money.”
“That is hardly my fault.”
“No, it is not, and I am sorry you felt deprived. You know I would have given you one of my new unworn dresses if Mr Darcy had not offered to purchase what you needed.”
Mary huffed. “It is not only that which has initiated an implacable resentment. I have every reason to think ill of you. I chaperoned you and your beau often enough to know the frequency of your indiscretions. How you pranced and preened before Mr Darcy, kissing him at every opportunity, though you were not yet married. If not for your excellent husband, I would never have been invited to London or had the benefit of the masters in town.”
To Elizabeth’s consternation, Mary was speaking the truth. It was highly unlikely she would have invited her middle sister if Darcy had not extended the invitation. She did, however, arrange for the music master and the drawing tutor. It was not true that she did not grant Mary all the advantages she had to bestow, though in some instances, as a new bride, she had acted selfishly and wished to have her beloved husband to herself. Did that make her a terrible sister? Did she deserve to be ridiculed and demeaned in every manner? Not to forget what Mary had done to her friend.
“Although your accusations against me are founded onsometruth, you cannot say the same about Georgiana. She has done nothing to you, yet you revealed her deepest secret, exposing her to the censure of theton.”
“That trollop? She is no better than Lydia! Or rather worse! She agreed to an elopement with a practised libertine. If Mr Darcy does not sire an heir, Georgiana’s spawn stands to inherit. The likes of Mr Wickham would ruin the estate by mismanagement, gambling, and whoring.”
Elizabeth staggered back from her sister, who must be possessed by the devil himself.
“Miss Darcy was but fifteen and was worked upon by her companion and an old friend of the family, whom she had no reason to mistrust. You must allow some leniency for the follies of youth and a low confidence in her own opinions.”
Mary only shrugged. “Mr Darcy deserves more than his sister or you can ever offer. He deserves someone pious, domesticated, and deprived of vanity.”
A ridiculous notion entered unbidden into her mind. It was farfetched, but Mary was delusional.
“If I may ask, who might this paragon of virtue be?” And to taunt her sister further she added, “I have never encountered such capacity, taste, and application as you describe, united in one woman.”
“Me!” Mary cried. “But you would never acknowledge your despicable inadequacies or my superior virtues. Oh no, you think so very highly of yourself, just like the addlepated Lydia.”
Elizabeth no longer wished to listen to her sister’s rant. How ugly a face jealousy had, reducing one to cruelty and lofty aspirations. It was a shadow upon her own character that she vowed to overcome. With a low grumble she addressed the problem.
“Mr Darcy would never have married you. Even if you had succeeded in ridding him of me, he wouldneverhave made an offer toyou.”
Mary stepped closer, but Elizabeth was not cowed.
“You believe that if it gives you pleasure, but I shall have you know that Mr Darcy has been kind, solicitous, and obliging since the day we met. He may lust after a hoyden like you, but he respects me!”
A bark of mirthless laughter escaped her lips. Mary’s eyes flared with something sinister, and Elizabeth was helpless to avoid the push when Mary launched towards her with outstretched arms. In horror, she fell towards the speared brass fireplace fender and braced herself for the impact. A roar resonated through the room, and she was jerked sideways and landed hard on the floor but avoided being impaled.
“I am so sorry,” Darcy whispered. “Did I injure you?”
Her husband must have been standing inside the room, hidden behind the open door to have come so quickly to her rescue. Elizabeth sat up and rubbed her hip. “I have suffered less harm than I would being impaled on that fearsome-looking fireplace fender.” She was keeping an eye on Mary, should she forward a second attack, but the transformation in her sister was a remarkable sight. She clutched her heart, and her expression turned to one of compassionate concern.
