Page 45 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“Good. I shall need to speak to him too,” Lizzy said.
With that cryptic pronouncement, she hurried from the room, leaving Lydia staring after her with a mixture of admiration and terror.
In the hallway, Elizabeth paused to steady herself. What she was contemplating was beyond bold—it was potentially ruinous. But Jane’s happiness hung in the balance, and Darcy, for all his faults, did not deserve to be trapped in a loveless marriage through manipulation and scandal.
If her plan succeeded, it might save them both. If it failed…
Elizabeth squared her shoulders and went to find her mother. Some risks were worth taking, especially when the alternative was watching the people she cared about sacrifice their futures to other people’s schemes.
It was time to take action.
Chapter 16
Darcy
Afew days had passed since the first scandal sheet had appeared, and Darcy’s world had shifted from uncomfortable to unbearable. He stood in his study at Darcy House, holding the morning paper with trembling hands, reading words that would seal his fate. He had hoped that he would be able to put all of this behind him, that the scandal would fate but it had not.
And now he held the next scandal sheet in his hand. With his name once more written there in black and white.
Wedding preparations for Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss B are said to be proceeding with all haste. Miss B has been seen looking rather frazzled and rumour has it a wedding gown has been commissioned at Madam LaBelle’s shop.
Wedding preparations. Gowns. Complete and utter fabrication presented as established fact.
“Damnation,” he muttered, crushing the paper in his fist.
The trap was closing with mathematical precision. And now, in addition to his uncle, his aunt had chimed in.
Her letter lay open on his desk, the words burned into his memory:You must marry this Miss B immediately to save the family from further scandal. Your uncle and I are in agreement—delay will only make matters worse.
The chorus of family pressure was deafening.
“William?” Georgiana appeared in the doorway; her face creased with concern. “You look quite dreadful.”
“I feel rather worse than I look, I assure you.”
“Is it the newspapers again?” She moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Caroline has been pacing the morning room like a caged tiger. She keeps muttering about reputation and duty and what people will expect.”
Darcy knew Caroline’s distress was largely theatre. Behind her handkerchief and vapours, she was undoubtedly gleeful. After years of throwing herself at his head with increasing desperation, scandal was finally forcing his hand. She had achieved through manufactured crisis what she could never accomplish through charm or connection.
“Your powers of observation serve you well, sister.”
Before Georgiana could respond, Bingley appeared in the doorway, his face bearing the weight of genuine concern.
“Darcy, might I have a word? It is rather urgent.”
Georgiana departed with an apologetic glance, leaving the two men alone.
“You look like death warmed over,” Bingley observed, settling into a chair without invitation.
“I feel it.” Darcy moved to the window, staring out at the London streets where normal people went about their normal lives without scandal sheets destroying their futures.
“I have been thinking about this situation,” Bingley said. “About Caroline, about the scandal, about what options remain to you.”
“Charles—”
“Perhaps it would not be the worst outcome if you were to be wed,” Bingley continued with obvious reluctance. “Caroline cares for you genuinely. You need a wife eventually. And we would be brothers, which has always been my dearest wish.”
The words hit Darcy hard. “You cannot mean it.”
