Page 74 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“James Morton brought him,” Elizabeth said. “They came to the garden yesterday whilst I was returning from our walk.”
Darcy’s face went white with fury. “James Morton?” His voice was incredulous. “You believed accusations brought to you by James Morton and his associate? After everything that man has done to your family?”
“Mr Wickham seemed—”
“I don’t care how he seemed!” Darcy’s control snapped. “Elizabeth, how could you even consider trusting anything connected to that vindictive, manipulative—” He stopped himself, running his hands through his hair. “Good God, when Morton said this was not over at Vauxhall, I should have known he would find some way to strike back.”
“You think this is all some plot by James?”
“Of course it’s a plot! Wickham is nothing more than a convenient weapon for Morton to use against us.” Darcy’s eyes blazed. “And you—you believed them. Without question, without even speaking to me first, you believed the word of your family’s greatest enemy.”
Her eyes watered again. “I… I was confused. The letters seemed so detailed—”
“The letters are lies, Elizabeth. Every word of them.” Darcy’s voice was bitter now. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? The damage is done. You’ve shown me exactly how much you trust my character.”
“That is not fair—”
“Isn’t it?” Darcy stepped back from her. “When faced with accusations from a stranger allied with a man who has tried to destroy your family’s happiness, you chose to believe them over everything you know about me. What does that say about your feelings for me? About this engagement?”
“Fitzwilliam, please—”
“No.” His voice was cold, distant. “I think we both know where we stand now.”
He bowed stiffly. “Good day, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth watched him stride away, his shoulders rigid with hurt and anger, and felt immediately dreadful. What had she done?
Elizabeth stood alone in the garden, tears streaming down her face. The immediate regret was overwhelming—she had wounded the man she loved based on lies from his enemies. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have let James Morton’s vindictiveness poison her mind against Darcy?
She thought of Darcy’s face, the hurt and betrayal in his eyes when he realised she had believed the worst of him. He was right—she had chosen to trust accusations from James Morton, of all people, over everything she knew about Darcy’s character.
The letters in his pocket were forgeries. Of course they were. James had orchestrated this entire attack, using Wickham as his weapon to destroy her happiness just as she had thwarted his plans for Jane. And she had walked directly into his trap.
Elizabeth sank onto a garden bench, burying her face in her hands. What if she had destroyed everything? What if Darcy could never forgive her lack of faith? The thought of losing him—truly losing him—made her feel sick with despair.
She had to find a way to make this right. But first, she needed to understand the full scope of James’s deception and Wickham’s lies. If she was going to beg Darcy’s forgiveness, she needed to come to him with the complete truth.
Elizabeth hurried inside, unable to bear being in the garden where their quarrel had taken place. She made it to the drawing room before the tears overcame her completely, and she sank into a chair, sobbing into her hands.
“Lizzy?” Jane’s voice was full of concern as she entered the room, dressed for her outing with Bingley. “Whatever is the matter?”
Elizabeth looked up, her face streaked with tears. “Oh, Jane, I have made such a dreadful mistake.”
Jane immediately abandoned her plans and came to sit beside her sister. “Tell me what has happened.”
Before Elizabeth could speak, Lydia burst through the door. “Lizzy! What is wrong? I saw Mr Darcy leaving and he looked thunderous—” She stopped when she saw Elizabeth’s tears. “What has happened?”
“Lydia,” Jane said, “perhaps you might give us a moment? I shall explain everything later.”
Lydia looked between her sisters, clearly wanting to stay, but something in Jane’s tone convinced her. “Very well, but I shall expect a full account,” she said, reluctantly withdrawing.
When they were alone, Jane took Elizabeth’s hands. “Now, tell me everything.”
Through her tears, Elizabeth related the entire sorry tale—Wickham’s accusations, the forged letters, Darcy’s fury when he learned James Morton was involved, their terrible quarrel.
“I feel so foolish,” Elizabeth whispered. “The moment he walked away, I knew I had been wrong.”
Jane was quiet for a moment, studying her sister’s face. “Lizzy, why would you believe anything James Morton had to say? After everything he has done to our family?”
