Page 70 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
They might have remained there longer, lost in their newfound understanding, but the sound of raised voices from the direction of the main walk drew their attention. Through the trees, they could see a commotion near their supper box.
“We should return,” Elizabeth said, though her reluctance was clear.
As they approached their party, the cause of the disturbance became apparent. James Morton stood beside their table, his usually polished appearance dishevelled and his voice carrying the sharp edge of a man pushed beyond his limits.
“…absolutely unconscionable behaviour,” he was saying to Jane, who shrank back against Bingley’s protective arm. “To throw over a perfectly reasonable arrangement for this—”
“Mr Morton,” Mr Gardiner said, rising from his seat. “You will moderate your tone when speaking to my nieces.” At once, Darcy realised who this was. James Morton. The heir to Longbourn after Mr Morton. He leaned forward and whispered his observation to Bingley, who nodded.
James whirled towards him, his eyes wild. “Your nieces? Your nieces have destroyed everything! Do you understand what they have cost me? What they have cost my family?”
“Sir, please,” Bingley said, his usual gentle demeanour replaced by steel. “You are creating a scene.”
“A scene?” James laughed bitterly. “I am beyond caring about scenes, Bingley. Your precious Jane has made me a laughingstock. My uncle’s faith in me is shattered. My prospects are ruined. And for what? So she could play at romance with a man who will tire of her within a year?”
“That is quite enough,” Darcy said sharply as he and Elizabeth approached. The authority in his voice cut through James’s tirade like a blade.
James’s gaze fixed on them, and his expression grew even more venomous. “Ah, you must be Mr Darcy, the great saviour. And I assume you are Bingley. The charming prince. How convenient that you should appear just now.” His eyes narrowed as he took in their joined hands, their slightly dishevelled appearance. “Tell me, Darcy, how does it feel to be part of this elaborate deception? Or perhaps it is no longer a deception? Perhaps you have truly fallen for the charms of a country nobody?”
“You will apologise immediately,” Darcy said, his voice deadly quiet. “To Miss Bennet, to Miss Elizabeth, and to this entire company for your disgraceful behaviour.”
“I will do no such thing,” James spat. “They have taken everything from me—my uncle’s respect, my future, my pride. Why should I show them courtesy?”
“Because you are a gentleman,” Bingley said. “Or you are supposed to be.”
“Gentleman?” James’s laugh was harsh and bitter. “Gentlemen finish last in this world, Bingley. Haven’t you learned that yet? These women care nothing for honour or obligation. They care only for wealth and status and their own selfish desires.”
“You speak of things you do not understand,” Elizabeth said, her voice steady despite the colour in her cheeks. “Jane’s feelings for Mr Bingley are genuine, as are his for her. Love cannot be forced or bought, Mr Morton.”
“Love!” James practically spat the word. “What a pretty fiction. Your sister promised to marry me, Miss Elizabeth. She gave her word. But apparently, a Bennet’s word means nothing when a richer prospect appears.”
“Jane promised nothing,” Mr Gardiner interjected. “She was presented with an ultimatum and given no real choice. That is hardly the same thing as a willing engagement.”
Several other patrons of the gardens had begun to stare, drawn by the increasingly heated exchange. Darcy stepped forward, placing himself partially between James and the ladies.
“This conversation is over,” he said with finality. “You will leave now, or I will have you removed.”
For a moment, James looked as though he might argue further. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Darcy tensed, prepared to defend the party if necessary. But thenJames seemed to master himself, though the fury in his eyes remained undimmed.
“This is not finished,” he said, his gaze moving from Jane to Elizabeth to Darcy. “None of this is finished. You think you have won, but you have merely postponed the reckoning.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd of evening revellers.
The silence that followed was deafening. Jane had gone pale as parchment, whilst Mrs Gardiner fanned herself with trembling hands. Bingley’s jaw was set in a hard line, and Mr Gardiner looked as though he wished to follow James and finish the confrontation.
“Well,” Elizabeth said finally, her voice slightly shaky but determined to lighten the mood. “I suppose we cannot say the evening has been dull.”
Despite everything, Bingley managed a weak smile. “Indeed. Perhaps we should retire to a more private area of the gardens?”
As they gathered their belongings and moved away from the curious stares of other patrons, Darcy felt Elizabeth’s hand slip into his once more. The touch was grounding, reassuring—a reminder that whatever threats James Morton might pose, they would face them together.
The incident had shaken them all, but it had also crystallised something important. The bonds between their little party had been tested and proven strong. Jane’s happiness with Bingley remained unshakeable, and Darcy’s own connection with Elizabeth felt more real and precious than ever.
Whatever James Morton might plan, they would be ready for it. Together.
Chapter 25
Elizabeth
