Page 65 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
He paused outside his sister’s chamber door and knocked twice. No answer came. The door yielded to his touch, revealing an empty room. Her embroidery lay abandoned on the window seat. The bed remained perfectly made.
Where might she be at this hour?
His gaze swept the room until it settled on her writing desk. The mahogany surface gleamed in candlelight that flickered nearby but several sheets of paper lay scattered across its polished top. He approached with measured steps.
There, in Georgiana’s careful script, lay a half-finished letter:
To the Editor of The Morning Post,
Sir, I write to inform your readers that the recent speculation regarding Mr Darcy of Derbyshire and a certain Miss B has reached new heights of romantic fervour. Those who have observed the gentleman’s recent behaviour can attest to his marked change in disposition. Where once he appeared reserved, now he displays the unmistakable signs of a man deeply affected by love’s sweet influence…
His breath caught. The careful loops of her handwriting, so familiar from years of correspondence, seemed to mock him from the page. Could it be? His sister—his sweet, innocent sister—the author of his troubles?
Darcy’s jaw tightened as disbelief warred with recognition. He rifled through the other papers with trembling fingers. Each bore similar content—variations on the same theme, all written in different hands as though Georgiana had practised disguising her penmanship. The evidence mounted before him like stones in his chest. One suggested an imminent announcement. Another hinted at the identity of the mysterious Miss B. A third described romantic scenes that could only have sprung from his sister’s imagination.
How long had she been crafting these deceptions? The betrayal stung sharper than he had expected, yet beneath it lay something else—a grudging admiration for her persistence, perhaps even her perceptiveness.
“Fitzwilliam?”
He turned. Georgiana stood in the doorway, her dark curls escaping from their pins. She carried a book of poetry, which slipped from her fingers as she took in the scene before her.
“What are you doing with my papers?” Her voice rose higher than usual.
“Perhaps I should ask what you are doing writing them.” He held up the unfinished letter, though he carefully kept his tone measured. Better not to reveal how he had come to suspect her involvement. Lydia had shown such warmth towards Georgiana lately—he would not be the cause of damaging that budding friendship by revealing her confidence.
Georgiana’s face drained of colour. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “I can explain.”
“I hope you can.” His tone remained level, though disappointment coloured every word. “Because at present, I confess myself quite at a loss to understand your actions.”
She clasped her hands before her. “You must know I would never do anything to harm you.”
“Yet here I stand, holding evidence that suggests otherwise.”
“No!” The word burst from her with surprising force. “I mean—yes, I wrote those letters. All of them. But I never sent a single one to any newspaper.”
Darcy studied her face. “Then why write them at all?”
Georgiana moved to the window, gazing out at the darkening street. “Do you remember when the first notice appeared? How distraught you were?”
“I recall my surprise, yes.”
“And then Miss Elizabeth Bennet arrived with her proposal for a false courtship.” She turned back to him. “You agreed so readily. Too readily for a man who supposedly felt nothing for the lady in question.”
“The arrangement served both our purposes.”
“Did it?” Georgiana stepped closer. “Or did it serve your heart’s purpose while your mind remained stubbornly resistant?”
He set the papers down. “Georgiana, you are speaking in riddles.”
“Am I?” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I have watched you these past weeks, Fitzwilliam. I have seen how you look at Miss Elizabeth. How you speak of her when you think no one notices. How your entire bearing changes in her presence.”
“That is neither here nor there.”
“It is everything!” She moved to his side, placing her small hand on his arm. “When the second notice appeared, and then the third, I saw how the scandal was pushing you together. Creating opportunities for you to spend time with her. Forcing you to acknowledge what you would otherwise have ignored.”
Darcy shook his head. “So, you thought to continue the deception?”
“I thought to preserve the momentum.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I wrote letter after letter, practising different approaches, different styles. I wanted to keep the story alive in case… in case you needed more time to realise what was right before you.”
