Page 68 of Attempted Compromises
Bingley slumped back into his chair, shaking his head. “If that is the case,” he said, “there is no use chasing them now. They have hours on us. And given what the servants have seen…”
The words hung in the air, unfinished but understood by all. The damage to Caroline’s reputation—and by extension, the Bingley name—was irreversible.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “And it is precisely that damage which brings me here tonight,” he said gravely.
Elizabeth tensed, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. “What do you mean, Papa?” she asked warily.
He looked at her, his expression softening for a moment before hardening again. “The rumors are already spreading through Meryton,” he said. “Your Aunt Philips arrived at Longbourn with tales of a sordid tea party mere minutes after I received Mr. Bingley’s note.”
Elizabeth groaned softly, dread pooling in her stomach. “Dare I ask what she said?”
Mr. Bennet’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The story is that Mr. Bingley seduced Jane on the settee,” he said bluntly. “And when you tried to intervene, Mr. Darcy assaulted you, causing your injuries.” He paused, his gaze resting on Darcy. “The loss of your jacket, sir, has only added fuel to the fire.”
Elizabeth felt as though the ground had dropped out from beneath her. “No,” she whispered. “Surely not—”
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice heavy with regret. “You and Jane are both ruined.”
Jane burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Elizabeth reached for her, wrapping an arm around her tremblingshoulders. “What happens now?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“That,” Mr. Bennet said heavily, “depends entirely on Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.”
All eyes turned to the two men. Darcy’s expression was unreadable, his features carved in stone, but Bingley’s face lit up with determination. He rose to his feet and turned to Jane. “Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion, “while this is not how I envisioned things, I must confess that I find you to be the most angelic, kind, and extraordinary woman I have ever known. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Jane looked up, her tear-streaked face filled with shock and uncertainty. She glanced at Elizabeth, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. “Yes,” Jane whispered. “Yes, Mr. Bingley, I will marry you.”
The room erupted in murmurs, but Elizabeth’s attention was fixed on her father, who had turned his gaze to Darcy.
“And you, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet said, his voice steady but unyielding.
Darcy stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing. “What are you asking of me, sir?”
Mr. Bennet met his gaze without flinching. “I am asking you to marry my daughter, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s heart stopped. The room seemed to fall away, the voices around her fading into silence. She turned to Darcy, her wide eyes locking with his.
For a moment, it was as though time itself had ceased to exist.
Chapter 19
Darcy sat in stunned silence, Mr. Bennet’s words reverberating in his mind. You are asking me to marry Miss Elizabeth? The weight of the situation bore down on him, tightening his chest. His jaw clenched as emotions he could barely name surged to the surface.
His initial reaction was one of intense anger, sharp and hot.Once again, Wickham’s actions dictate my life.
Memories of Anne, his first wife, surged unbidden. Her pale, trembling face as she whispered her pleas, her hollow eyes filled with the grief of her own shattered innocence. Anne’s life—and death—had been marred by Wickham's malice. Now, here he was again, the shadow of that vile man twisting his path once more.
Darcy’s fists clenched against his knees.Haven’t I suffered enough under Wickham’s machinations? It’s always him— always taking, always destroying. Must I be forced into another union because of his self-serving actions?His heartrebelled at the thought.Marriage should be a choice, not a penance inflicted by someone else’s cruelty.
And yet… his gaze flickered to Elizabeth, and everything stilled.
She sat tall, her chin lifted in quiet defiance despite the pallor of her face. Her borrowed robe, though clean and warm, could not disguise her exhaustion. And yet, her eyes—those fierce, expressive eyes—burned with ajoie de vivrethat was undiminished by the day’s events. They spoke of spoke of strength, resilience, and a determination he had come to admire; she was a woman who had faced terror and refused to crumble.
Unbidden, memories of the past weeks rushed in, vivid and insistent.
He saw her cradling Andrew in the cold, her voice soothing, her touch tender as she rocked his son in her arms. That moment had been a revelation, though he hadn’t recognized it at the time. A glimpse of Elizabeth’s strength, her capacity for love, her ability to nurture even when faced with chaos.
He saw her at the piano with Georgiana, coaxing his shy sister out of her shell with laughter and encouragement. Their shared joy had filled the room, easing tensions Darcy hadn’t even realized he carried. She had drawn Georgiana out in a way he had never been able to, her natural warmth breaking through years of guarded reserve.
He saw her in conversation with him—challenging him, teasing him, sharing her thoughts with such clarity and wit that it left him breathless. Elizabeth had a way of looking at the world, at him, that made him question everything he thought heknew. She was unlike any woman he had ever known—strong, intelligent, and utterly captivating.
