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Chapter Twenty-Four

E lizabeth led Mr. Darcy back inside the house, her mind still reeling from the events in the garden. Jane stood by the fireplace as they re-entered the study, her normally serene countenance marked by worry as she fed scraps of fabric into the hungry flames. Lydia hovered beside her, pale but composed, watching her bloodied dress disappear piece by piece into the fire.

“Where is Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked, noticing the absence of Darcy’s cousin.

Her father settled into his favourite chair, removing his spectacles to polish them with his handkerchief. “He has gone to Hatfield,” Mr. Bennet replied, his voice carrying its usual dry tone, though Elizabeth detected the gravity beneath it. “To the silversmith’s shop where your mother purchased that elaborate carving set she insisted we could not possibly entertain without.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The silversmith? Whatever for?”

“To acquire an identical knife to the one previously embedded in Mr. Wickham’s chest,” Mr. Bennet stated plainly, replacing his spectacles and regarding his daughter with steady eyes.

“And then?” Elizabeth prompted, understanding beginning to dawn.

“And then,” her father said, “we shall arrange for this new knife to be discovered beneath the dresser in the dining room, where it might plausibly have fallen after being used to carve the meat. There will be no gossip to arise in Meryton about a missing carving knife from Longbourn, which someone might connect to the knife found with Mr. Wickham’s body.”

Elizabeth glanced toward Darcy, whose face remained impassive, though she detected a slight nod of approval at Mr. Bennet’s strategy. She turned back to her father. “You mean to misdirect the investigation.”

“I mean to protect my family,” Mr. Bennet corrected her, his voice losing its habitual detachment. “No matter what that scoundrel Wickham might have deserved, I will not see Lydia hang for his murder.” He lowered his voice. “It is fortunate indeed that Wickham had no family or close connections to press for a thorough inquiry. Colonel Forster said that he was well-liked, but even he had begun to harbour doubts about the man’s character. The discovery of the extent of his debts, following his demise, has everyone questioning if they really knew him at all.”

Elizabeth moved toward the fireplace, where Jane was methodically tearing the remnants of Lydia’s ruined dress into smaller pieces before feeding them to the flames. The once-pretty blue muslin, splattered with deep crimson stains, was rapidly disappearing. Jane worked with quiet efficiency, though Elizabeth noted the slight tremor in her sister’s hands.

“The fire will destroy all evidence,” Jane murmured. “No one need ever know that Lydia...” She trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought.

“That I killed a man,” Lydia finished quietly, her usual boisterous manner entirely absent. She watched the fabric curl and blacken in the flames, her eyes reflecting the dancing fire. “I did not think I had the strength for it, you know. But when he laughed and said those horrible things about me, and you, and he put his hands around my throat...”

Elizabeth placed her hand gently on Lydia’s shoulder. “You need not speak of it.”

“I took the knife out of my coat,” Lydia continued as if she hadn’t heard, her voice distant. “I only meant to frighten him – to make him stop hurting me. But he lunged toward me, and then...”

Jane quickly shushed her. “The less said, the better, Lydia. We shall never speak of this again once it is resolved.”

Elizabeth considered the moral complexity of their situation as she watched her sisters dispose of the damning evidence. Were they complicit in a crime by concealing the truth? Or was this justified protection of a young girl who had acted in self-defence against a predator? The law might not make such distinctions clearly, but in her heart, Elizabeth felt certain that justice, if not the letter of the law, was being served by their actions.

“And what of Mr. Burnley?” Elizabeth looked to her father. “Will the magistrate stop investigating, once the militia leave the area, do you think?”

“Burnley is an old friend,” Mr. Bennet replied with a small smile. “He is also, if you will forgive me for speaking ill of a public servant, not overly burdened with intellect. Despite his initial huffing and puffing over who had jurisdictional authority to investigate and prosecute the crime, he will follow Colonel Forster’s lead in this matter, and the colonel has already more than half-convinced himself that it is a previous creditor of Wickham’s who did away with him before leaving again.”

Elizabeth shook her head slightly. “And you believe people will accept this?”

“People will accept what is convenient for them to believe,” Mr. Bennet said with the cynicism of a man who had spent decades observing human nature. “Considering how Wickham’s debts to local merchants had begun to accumulate, there will be few willing to question his demise too vigorously. Burnley will let the matter fade from his mind soon enough, and in a year’s time few people will even remember Mr. Wickham’s name, only that a soldier was once killed in the woods.”

Jane deposited the last of the dress fragments into the fire, watching as the fabric curled and disintegrated into ash. “It seems wrong to speak so coldly of a man’s death,” she murmured, though without real conviction.

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth conceded, “but I cannot find it in my heart to mourn him, not after all his past deceptions and misdeeds.” She cast a meaningful glance toward Darcy, knowing how deeply Wickham had wronged his family as well.

Darcy returned her gaze, a look of understanding passing between them. They had travelled a long road to reach this understanding, and Elizabeth felt a surprising calm in the midst of chaos, knowing that he stood with her family in this crisis.

Elizabeth watched as Lydia wiped the last traces of tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her youngest sister had spent the past hour alternating between silent shock and bursts of weeping, but a strange calm had descended upon her now. The transformation was remarkable; gone was the giddy, flirtatious girl, replaced by a young woman with shadows in her eyes and a new gravity to her bearing.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had delivered the replacement knife to Mr. Bennet, who had immediately set about implementing their plan with the help of the colonel. They departed for the dining room, leaving Darcy to wait with the sisters. Jane slipped out to go and find Mrs. Bennet and keep her distracted and away from the dining room while the knife was placed to be found later.

Elizabeth remained by the fireplace, observing as Lydia approached Darcy with uncharacteristic hesitation. The gentleman turned to face her sister, his expression guarded but not unkind. Elizabeth held her breath, uncertain what Lydia might say or how Darcy might respond. Their worlds had rarely intersected before today, and when they had, the results had hardly been harmonious.

“Mr. Darcy,” Lydia began, her voice steady despite her reddened eyes. “I wish to thank you for what you are doing for me.”

Darcy appeared momentarily surprised by the direct address, but recovered quickly. “Miss Lydia, no thanks are necessary,” he replied, his tone formal.

“But they are,” Lydia insisted, her hands clasped tightly before her. “I know what you must think of me. What everyone thinks.” She glanced briefly toward Elizabeth before continuing. “That I am silly and thoughtless and vain.”

Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt at her sister’s words, recognising the truth in them yet pained to hear Lydia speak them aloud.

“And perhaps I have been all those things,” Lydia admitted, her voice dropping slightly. “I believed everything he told me because I wanted to believe it. I thought it romantic to be desired so ardently by an officer.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “How easily I was deceived.”

Darcy’s posture softened almost imperceptibly. “Mr. Wickham had a lifetime of practice in deception, Miss Lydia. You are hardly his first victim, nor would you have been his last.”

Elizabeth watched in wonder as Darcy spoke to her sister without condescension, showing a patience and kindness she would not have believed possible mere months ago. The man who had once dismissed her family as beneath his notice was now extending compassion to the very member who had most embodied the impropriety he despised.

“I understand that you are offering to help conceal what happened,” Lydia continued. “Even though it would be simpler for you to walk away and leave us to our fate.”

Darcy shook his head. “I could never do that.”

“Because of Lizzy,” Lydia stated with unexpected perception.

A slight flush coloured Darcy’s cheeks, but he did not deny it. “Partly,” he acknowledged. “But also because justice would not be served by punishing you for defending yourself against a predator. Wickham has evaded the consequences of his actions for far too long. I will not allow his final act to be the ruination of another innocent.”

Lydia squared her shoulders, looking more mature than Elizabeth had ever seen her. “I want you to know that I understand I am being given a second chance,” she said firmly. “And I intend to make the best of it. I cannot promise to become as sensible as Jane overnight, or as clever as Lizzy, but I can promise to try to be worthy of the risk you are all taking for me.”

Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes, astonished by this glimpse of depth in her previously frivolous sister. The tragedy had stripped away Lydia’s childish veneer, revealing a young woman who seemed capable of growth and self-reflection.

“That is all any of us can do, Miss Lydia,” Darcy replied with genuine warmth. “To learn from our experiences and strive to be better for them.”

Lydia nodded solemnly. “I shall never forget what he truly was,” she whispered. “Nor what he tried to do. But I hope someday I might forget the feeling of the knife...” She trailed off, her composure wavering momentarily.

Elizabeth could remain a silent observer no longer. She crossed the room to stand beside her sister, placing a supportive arm around Lydia’s waist. “That memory will fade in time,” she assured her, though she could only hope it was true. “And you will not carry this burden alone.”

Darcy’s eyes met Elizabeth’s over Lydia’s head, and the understanding that passed between them warmed her heart. Here was the man she had once refused, now showing such compassion to her family in their darkest hour. How utterly she had misjudged him.

“I should see if Mr. Bennet and my cousin require any assistance,” Darcy said quietly, intuiting that the sisters might need a moment alone. With a slight bow, he excused himself from the parlour.

As the door closed behind him, Lydia turned to Elizabeth, her eyes swimming with fresh tears. “I never meant for any of this to happen, Lizzy,” she confessed. “When he first paid attention to me, I felt so special. So chosen.”

Elizabeth guided her sister to the settee, where they sat close together. “I know, Lydia. I know.”

“How could I have been so blind?” Lydia asked, perhaps not truly expecting an answer.

Elizabeth sighed, taking her sister’s hands in her own. “Anyone could have fallen for Mr. Wickham’s lies,” she said gently. “I believed them myself.”

Lydia looked up in surprise. “You did?”

“Oh yes,” Elizabeth admitted, a rueful smile curving her lips. “He told me tales of how badly Mr. Darcy had treated him, how he had been denied his rightful inheritance. And I believed every word because it confirmed what I wanted to think about Mr. Darcy at the time.”

“But you learned the truth,” Lydia said.

“Eventually. But not before I had wounded Mr. Darcy with my accusations and prejudice.” Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hands. “We are not so different, you and I. Perhaps I concealed my folly better, but I was equally deceived by a handsome face and a plausible manner.”

Lydia absorbed this in silence, seemingly comforted by the knowledge that her wise elder sister had also been taken in by Wickham’s charm. “How did you discover the truth?” she finally asked.

“Mr. Darcy told me,” Elizabeth replied simply. “In a letter, after I had refused his first proposal in the most insulting terms imaginable.” She shook her head at the memory. “He laid out the whole history between himself and Wickham.”

Lydia nodded slowly. “I feel as though I have aged years today.” She was quiet for a moment before adding, “Will the nightmares ever stop, do you think? Will I ever forget the sensation of the knife entering his body?”

Elizabeth drew her sister into an embrace. “The mind has a remarkable capacity to heal, Lydia. And you will have the support of all who love you.” She pulled back to look directly into Lydia’s eyes. “What matters now is that Wickham can hurt no one else. His deceptions and cruelties are finished.”

“Because I killed him,” Lydia whispered.

“Because you defended yourself,” Elizabeth corrected firmly. “There is a world of difference.”

Lydia absorbed this, her breathing steadier now. “Mr. Darcy is very different from what I imagined,” she observed after a while, changing the subject slightly. “From what we all thought, really. He seems so... good.”

“He is,” Elizabeth confirmed, unable to keep the warmth from her voice. “Far better than I once gave him credit for being.”

“And very handsome,” Lydia added, a ghost of her former lightness briefly animating her features. “Though terribly serious most of the time.”

Elizabeth laughed softly, relieved to see a flicker of Lydia’s natural vivacity returning. “He smiles more often in private,” she said without thinking.

Lydia’s eyebrows rose. “You would know that, I suppose.”

A blush crept across Elizabeth’s cheeks. “We have come to understand each other better of late,” she acknowledged, unwilling to reveal more until matters were more settled.

“I am glad,” Lydia said sincerely. “After today, I think I understand better what truly matters in a gentleman. And Mr. Darcy, for all his seriousness, has shown himself to be someone one can depend upon when it matters most.”

Elizabeth felt a swell of pride in her sister’s insight. Perhaps good might yet come from this terrible day, if Lydia carried such wisdom forward into her future.

“He cannot hurt anyone anymore,” Lydia murmured, echoing Elizabeth’s earlier words. “It is over.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, drawing her sister close once more. “It is over.”

“Do you really want to marry Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?” Lydia asked with disarming directness.

The question caught Elizabeth by surprise, though perhaps it should not have.

“What makes you ask such a question?” she deflected.

Lydia shrugged, a ghost of her former pragmatism surfacing. “If today has taught me anything, it is that life can change in an instant. One moment I was Lydia Bennet, the silly girl obsessed with officers and ribbons, and the next...” She trailed off, unable to complete the thought. “It seems foolish to pretend not to see what is before me.”

As if summoned by their mentioning him, Darcy came back into the study, though on seeing her and Lydia seated intimately close together, turned his back upon them and went to attend to the fire. How utterly her feelings for him had transformed from derision to admiration, from prejudice to love. When had it happened? Was it upon reading his letter after his first, disastrous proposal? Was it during her visit to Pemberley, when she had glimpsed the master on his own domain, kind to his servants and devoted to his sister? Or was it today, watching him place himself as a shield before her family, offering protection and direction when they needed it most?

“You look at him the way Mary looks at her pianoforte when a new piece of music arrives,” Lydia observed, surprising Elizabeth with her perception. “As though you cannot wait to engage with him.”

A slight blush warmed Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I had not realised I was so transparent.”

“You are not, usually,” Lydia admitted. “But today has not been usual in any respect.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I keep thinking that if I had listened to you, if I had been less eager to believe in Wickham’s affection...”

“Then today’s events might never have transpired,” Elizabeth finished for her. “That may be true. But dwelling on what might have been serves little purpose now. We must look forward, not back.”

Lydia nodded, accepting this wisdom with a maturity that would have been unimaginable even this morning. “So you have not answered my question,” she persisted. “About Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth observed Darcy once more. He had taken up the poker and was stirring the embers with careful precision, adding a log just so, ensuring the flames caught properly. Such a small, domestic act, yet it moved her deeply to see this proud man humbling himself with a servant’s task. Her mother remained unaware, her father and Colonel Fitzwilliam were occupied with implementing their plan, and yet here was Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, tending the fire as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“He is not what I once thought him,” Elizabeth said softly. “I was so certain in my initial judgment of his character, so convinced of his pride and disdain. I could not have been more mistaken.”

“He seems very... proper,” Lydia ventured, clearly struggling to find positive attributes that would appeal to her sister. “And he must care for you a great deal, to involve himself in our family’s troubles.”

Elizabeth smiled at her sister’s effort. “He is proper, yes. But beneath that reserve lies a man of profound feeling and unwavering principle. He would move mountains for those he loves, though he would never speak of it afterward.”

Lydia considered this. “That is... rather noble of him.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “He is, at heart, a truly noble man.” She watched as Darcy straightened from his task, the fire now burning steadily. He caught her eye across the room, his expression softening as their gazes met.

Jane came back into the study at that moment and crossed to stand beside Mr. Darcy, glancing into the fire as though checking that no shred of Lydia’s bloodstained gown remained.

“So?” Lydia prompted, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back to her. “You are going to marry him?”

Elizabeth looked once more at Darcy, who now stood conversing quietly with Jane, his manner attentive and respectful. So much had changed in the space of a few hours. The crisis had stripped away pretence and forced the essential truth of characters into the light. What she saw in Darcy confirmed everything her heart had come to believe about him.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said simply, a certainty settling over her like a mantle. “Yes, I am.”

The decision felt utterly right. Despite the terrible circumstances that had brought them to this moment, Elizabeth could not regret the clarity they had provided. Life was too precious, too fragile to waste on misunderstandings and pride.

“Good,” Lydia said with surprising firmness. “You deserve someone who will stand by you no matter what.” A shadow crossed her young face. “I understand now what that truly means. Not someone who says pretty things and makes you feel special for a moment, but someone who remains when the world falls apart around you.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand, touched by her insight. “That is a valuable lesson, though I wish you had not learned it at such cost.”

“We cannot choose how wisdom finds us, I suppose,” Lydia replied, sounding so unlike her former self that Elizabeth felt a pang of loss amidst her pride.

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Mr. Bennet and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Both gentlemen appeared satisfied, suggesting their task had been completed successfully.

“It is done,” Mr. Bennet announced quietly. “The replacement knife has been wedged behind the dresser, where it might plausibly have fallen after using it to carve the meat. This evening we shall ‘discover’ it with an appropriate degree of surprise.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sought Darcy across the room, finding in his steady presence the strength she needed to face what was still to come. The worst was behind them, but there would be questions, investigations, and the strain of maintaining their account of events. And then, the future that still felt too large for her to grasp at this moment even though she had spoken the words that would soon bring it to pass; herself as mistress of a vast estate in Derbyshire, as Mrs. Darcy.

As if reading her thoughts, Darcy moved toward her, his steps deliberate and assured. He came to stand beside her, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the reassuring solidity of his presence.

“All will be well,” he said quietly, the words meant for her alone. “I shall ensure it.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, overwhelmed by gratitude and a deeper emotion she no longer wished to deny. “Thank you,” she said simply, knowing he would understand all she could not express in company.

His dark eyes held hers, conveying a world of meaning without words. In that shared look was a promise of futures intertwined, of strength in unity, of love that had been tested by fire and emerged stronger for the trial.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, her name on his lips carrying the weight of a vow, and she smiled up at him, allowing him to take his hand in hers as he reached out to her.

There would be difficult days ahead as they navigated the aftermath of this tragedy. But Elizabeth knew with certainty that she would not face them alone. The man beside her had proven himself in the crucible of crisis, and she would proudly stand as his wife, facing whatever challenges might come with the strength they found in each other.

THE END

… of book 1 in the Crime and Consequences trilogy.

There will indeed be challenges ahead for Darcy and Elizabeth, and of course Lydia… and what’s next for Jane Bennet?

Read on for a sample chapter of Rivalry and Ruination to continue the story!