Page 70 of Attempted Compromises
There was a collective exhale at her words, but Elizabeth felt no relief. She locked eyes with Darcy again, her stomach clenching painfully as she searched his gaze for a flicker of understanding, of shared emotion.
But his expression remained unreadable, and she felt more alone than ever.
I will not let them see how much this hurts, she vowed silently. I will not let them see my heart break.
For a moment, Darcy did not move, his expression unchanged. Then he inclined his head slightly, his voice low as he replied, “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.”
The formality of his words only deepened the ache in her chest. As they turned to face the others in the room, Elizabeth kept her gaze forward, refusing to let herself dwell on what she had just agreed to. Her decision was made, her path set. Yet, in that moment, as the weight of her acceptance settled upon her, Elizabeth’s heart ached with the bittersweet realization that she might have just sealed her own unhappiness.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth took a deep breath as she descended from the carriage Bingley had loaned them to return to Longbourn, as the Bennet carriage had been absconded with by Wickham. It was now quite late in the evening, and Mr. Bennet had ridden ahead to inform his family of the new developments.
The journey had been quiet, both sisters lost in their thoughts. Jane was pale and subdued, her usual serenity shadowed with worry. Elizabeth’s body ached with every jolt of the wheels. Despite the soothing ointments, sharp stings and dull throbs remained constant reminders of the harrowing events of the day.
The door opened, and Hill greeted them with a lantern, her eyes widening as she took in Elizabeth’s bruised and scratched face. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth!” she exclaimed softly. “Are you—”
“I’m quite all right, Hill,” Elizabeth replied, unable to keep the tremble from her voice. “Please, let us inside. It has been a… a difficult day.”
The familiar warmth of Longbourn’s entry hall greeted them, but it offered little comfort. The moment they stepped inside, Mrs. Bennet’s shrill voice assaulted their ears and echoed through the house.
“My Jane! My Lizzy! There you are at last!” She bustled forward, her lace cap askew as she clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh, Jane, I knew Mr. Bingley would come to his senses! And Lizzy—how very clever of you to secure Mr. Darcy at last! Two betrothals, and all in the same week! I am the happiest woman in England; nothing shall ever vex me again.”
Elizabeth stiffened, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. “Mama,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice low, “this is hardly a cause for celebration.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet said brightly, entirely oblivious to her daughter’s tone. “A wedding is always a cause for celebration, my dear. And two—why, it will set all of Meryton talking! Oh, the carriages, the gowns—how grand it will all be! Why, I must begin planning at once. I was thinking late spring, or perhaps early summer—”
“Mama, stop!” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the room like a whip, startling her mother into silence. Her eyes burned with anger. “Do you even see me? Look at me, Mama! Look at my face! Look at my arms!”
“Oh, just a few scratches, which is nothing compared to the triumph—”
“Triumph?” Mr. Bennet’s sharp voice cut through the room as he appeared in the doorway. His expression was thunderous, and his gaze locked onto his wife with uncharacteristic fury. “I hardly think triumph is the appropriate word, Mrs. Bennet, given the circumstances.”
Mrs. Bennet faltered, her smile slipping. “But, Mr. Bennet, surely you must see—”
“Enough!” he thundered, his voice unyielding. “Do you have any idea what your daughters have endured today? Look at Elizabeth, woman! Look at her injuries!”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened as she turned to her second daughter and saw her clearly for the first time since this arrival. The matron’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. “Lizzy, what on earth happened to you?”
Elizabeth exhaled slowly. “I was chased, Mama. Chased through a maze like an animal by Mr. Wickham, who was trying to kill me. I fought to escape, to save my life and to check on Jane, who I thought had been poisoned and was lying dead in the parlor, as dead as Mr. Hurst. We could have— we all could have—” She broke off, choking on the unspoken words. “And all you care about is a wedding?”
Mrs. Bennet’s face paled, and for once, she had no immediate response. Before she could muster a reply, Mr. Bennet spoke up. “That is enough, Elizabeth,” he said firmly, yet gently. Heturned to his wife, his tone sharp. “And you, Madam, ought to be ashamed.”
Mrs. Bennet flinched as though struck. “I—I didn’t know,” she whispered, wringing her hands. Her gaze darted between her husband and Elizabeth, her composure unraveling. “Lizzy, I didn’t understand—”
“Understand? Of course you didn’t understand,” Mr. Bennet interrupted coldly. “Your frivolity blinds you to everything that matters. If you cannot conduct yourself with the appropriate respect for what your daughters have suffered, then you had best keep silent. Do I make myself clear?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded meekly, her hands twisting together. “Y-yes, Mr. Bennet.”
“Good.”
Mrs. Bennet’s lower lip trembled, and she fell into a chair, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Oh, Lizzy,” she murmured, her voice faint. “What have I done? I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
Elizabeth’s anger cooled as she watched her mother’s face crumble into genuine remorse. “Thank you, Mama,” she said quietly. “That means a great deal to me.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffled, her hands twisting in her lap. “I could not bear it if you were truly harmed,” she whispered. “You say Mr. Hurst is dead? Truly? Oh, my poor, dear girls.” She reached out for each of her daughters, squeezing their hands when her words failed her.
Mr. Bennet nodded his approval. “Your young men will call at first light to take their leave before they go to London. There is much to arrange before the wedding. Three days is not a long time.”
