Page 8

Chapter Eight

E lizabeth had never known such dread as she felt on this particular Sunday morning. The church bells of Meryton, which had once rung with such innocent promise, now seemed to toll a doleful march toward her impending doom. She stood before her mirror, mechanically fastening her bonnet, her fingers trembling slightly despite her efforts to remain composed. This would be the first of three Sundays, each bringing her closer to a marriage she had never desired, to a man she now knew she could never respect.

“Lizzy,” Jane’s soft voice called from the doorway. “Are you nearly ready?”

Elizabeth met her sister’s gaze in the reflection from the glass. Jane’s face was a portrait of concern, her lovely features pinched with worry that she tried valiantly to disguise with a brave smile. Elizabeth could not bear to see her dearest Jane so troubled on her account.

“As ready as I shall ever be,” Elizabeth replied, forcing lightness into her tone that she was far from feeling. The hollow emptiness that had taken residence in her chest since that fateful evening with Wickham seemed to expand, threatening to consume her entirely.

Jane crossed the room and took Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “You need not pretend with me, Lizzy,” she whispered. “I know your heart.”

The simple kindness nearly undid Elizabeth’s careful composure. She squeezed Jane’s fingers, drawing strength from her sister’s steadfast presence. “I shall manage, Jane. Somehow, I shall manage.”

The journey to church that morning was a peculiar form of torture. Sunshine dappled the lane between Longbourn and Meryton, birds sang with cheerful abandon, and wildflowers nodded their bright heads in the gentle breeze. It was altogether too beautiful a day for such unhappiness, Elizabeth thought. The weather ought to have had the decency to provide rain to match her spirits.

“Oh, look! Lieutenant Denny and Captain Carter!” Lydia’s voice rang out with inappropriate exuberance. “Captain Carter! Good morning!”

Elizabeth winced at her youngest sister’s loud hail. Lydia bounded ahead, her steps light and her laughter carrying back to where Elizabeth walked arm in arm with Jane. If anything, Lydia’s enthusiasm for officers had only increased since the news of Elizabeth’s engagement to Wickham. Where once she might have reproached the impropriety of her sister’s behaviour, now Elizabeth could only feel a detached sort of exhaustion.

“Miss Lydia,” Lieutenant Denny bowed. “Miss Kitty, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bennet.” His greeting grew progressively more formal as he acknowledged each sister in turn.

“Have you seen Mr. Wickham this morning?” Lydia demanded, twirling her parasol with practiced coquetry. “He promised to walk with us to church. Though I suppose he needn’t bother courting Lizzy properly now that they are to be married.” She giggled as though she had said something terribly witty.

Elizabeth felt Jane’s hand tighten on her arm. Behind them, she heard Kitty make a small noise of distaste before deliberately slowing her pace to fall in beside Mary, who was walking with their father.

“I have not had that pleasure, Miss Lydia,” Lieutenant Denny replied, his tone cooling noticeably.

Mrs. Bennet, who had been walking ahead with determined purpose, circled back at the mention of her future son-in-law. “Mr. Wickham is meeting us at the church, Lydia,” she said importantly. “A gentleman has many matters to attend to, even on a Sunday morning. He will be there to stand with Lizzy when the banns are called, naturally.”

Elizabeth stared at her feet, unable to meet the gaze of either officer. She had once enjoyed their company, had laughed and conversed easily with these men. Now each encounter was fraught with unspoken knowledge and judgement. She leaned more heavily against Jane, grateful beyond measure for her sister’s unwavering support.

“Come, Lizzy,” Jane murmured. “Let us walk ahead a little.”

They quickened their pace, leaving Lydia to her flirtations. Jane guided Elizabeth gently, providing both physical and emotional support as they made their way toward the church.

“I do not know how I shall bear it, Jane,” Elizabeth confessed quietly, her voice low enough to be barely audible even to her sister’s ears. “To stand before everyone, to hear our names called together, as though it were a joyful occasion rather than a... rather than what it truly is.”

“You will bear it because you must,” Jane replied with uncharacteristic firmness. “And you will not bear it alone. I shall be beside you every moment.”

The churchyard was already filled with the families of Meryton, gathered in small clusters of conversation that fell momentarily silent as the Bennets approached. Elizabeth felt the weight of their stares, the uncertainty in their greetings. Some nodded with cool politeness, others with exaggerated warmth. Lady Lucas approached with an expression of determined cheer that did not quite reach her eyes.

“My dear Mrs. Bennet, what joyful times these are for your family! First Miss Elizabeth engaged, and perhaps soon we shall hear news of Miss Bennet as well!” Lady Lucas’s voice carried clearly across the churchyard, causing several heads to turn.

Elizabeth felt Jane stiffen beside her. The cruelty of the remark, whether intentional or not, was not lost on either sister. Mr. Bingley’s departure remained a tender wound for Jane.

“Indeed, Lady Lucas,” Mrs. Bennet replied with unrestrained delight. “Well! Shall we go in? Come, girls. Lizzy must have a good seat, where everyone can see her when the banns are called.”

“Mama, please,” Elizabeth began, but her protest died on her lips as Mrs. Bennet swept forward, ushering her daughters toward the church entrance.

To Elizabeth’s surprise, her mother’s unabashed pride seemed to have an unexpected effect on the assembled neighbours. Where there had been uncertainty and perhaps judgment, Mrs. Bennet’s obvious delight in the match appeared to sway opinion. Elizabeth observed with bewilderment as several people who had initially kept their distance now approached to offer stilted congratulations.

“Miss Elizabeth, such happy news,” Mrs. Long said, though her eyes betrayed curiosity rather than genuine pleasure. “Mr. Wickham is quite the catch, is he not? Such a charming young man.”

“How fortunate you are, Miss Elizabeth,” added another neighbour. “And to think, he might have set his cap at any young lady in the county!”

Each platitude fell upon Elizabeth’s ears like a physical blow. She summoned what little strength remained to her and replied with as much grace as she could muster, Jane’s steadying presence beside her the only thing keeping her upright.

“Thank you for your kind wishes,” she managed, the words feeling foreign and false upon her tongue.

As the Bennet family took their usual pew, Elizabeth felt herself oddly detached from her surroundings. The familiar church, with its worn wooden pews and modest stained glass, seemed suddenly alien and threatening. The murmured greetings, the rustling of Sunday best garments, the soft coughs and whispers all blended into a distant hum as Elizabeth focused on maintaining her outward composure.

Mrs. Bennet, radiating satisfaction, sat up straight as a queen on her throne. Her obvious pleasure in her daughter’s engagement seemed to silence whatever gossip might have otherwise circulated more openly. Elizabeth observed with detached fascination how her mother’s attitude, so often a source of mortification, now served as a strange sort of shield. If Mrs. Bennet saw nothing shameful in the hasty engagement, then perhaps there was nothing shameful to see.

The irony was not lost on Elizabeth, though it provided little comfort as she awaited the moment when her name would be joined with Wickham’s, when their impending union would be announced to all of Meryton. She sat very still, her prayer book open in her lap, her eyes fixed unseeingly upon its pages.

Jane’s hand found hers beneath the folds of their skirts, a warm anchor in the cold sea of despair that threatened to pull Elizabeth under. She returned the pressure gratefully, clinging to this small comfort.

As the congregation settled into their pews and the vicar prepared to begin the service, Elizabeth realised with a start that George Wickham was nowhere to be seen. She discreetly turned her head, scanning the church carefully, half expecting to find his handsome, smirking face among the officers in their red coats, but he was decidedly absent. A curious mixture of relief and indignation washed over her; relief that she would be spared his false attentions for at least this morning, and indignation that he could not trouble himself to appear when their names were to be called in the banns.

Mrs. Bennet, sitting primly beside her husband, had also noticed the prospective groom’s absence. She leaned forward to whisper loudly to Elizabeth, her voice carrying farther than she perhaps intended.

“Where is Mr. Wickham? Did he not promise to meet us here? How vexing that he should be absent today of all days!”

Elizabeth felt a flush creeping up her neck. “I believe he is not required to be present for the reading of the banns, Mother,” she murmured, hoping to quiet her mother’s increasingly agitated whispers.

“Not required! But everyone will expect to see him! I particularly wished Lady Lucas to observe how handsome he looks in his regimentals. Such a fine figure of a man!” Mrs. Bennet’s fan fluttered with increasing vigour. “It is most inconsiderate of him.”

Mr. Bennet, who had maintained a stoic silence throughout the morning’s proceedings, now glanced at his wife with a raised eyebrow. “My dear, perhaps we might discuss Mr. Wickham’s many virtues at a more appropriate time? The service is about to begin.”

The organist began to play, and the congregation rose to sing the opening hymn. Elizabeth’s lips moved automatically, forming words of praise that felt hollow in her mouth. She was grateful for the well-worn patterns of worship, the responses she had uttered since childhood now requiring no conscious thought. This allowed her mind to drift, seeking refuge from the present moment that she found so unbearable. Jane stood beside her, their shoulders occasionally touching, a silent reminder that Elizabeth was not entirely alone in her distress.

The vicar’s sermon passed in a blur of Biblical references and moral instruction that Elizabeth could not have recalled if her life depended upon it. She stared at the simple wooden cross above the altar, willing herself to find some peace in its familiar shape, some acceptance of the path that now lay before her. None came.

All too soon, the moment she had been dreading arrived. The vicar closed his prayer book and opened the larger volume that contained the parish records.

“I publish the banns of marriage between George Wickham, bachelor of this parish, and Elizabeth Bennet, spinster of this parish. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”

The familiar words, which should have heralded joy, fell upon the congregation with a strange weight. Elizabeth felt rather than saw the turning of heads, heard the subtle rustle of silk and cotton as neighbours shifted to observe her reaction. She kept her face carefully impassive, a mask of propriety that concealed the screaming voice within her that wished to declare all manner of impediments to this union.

As the silence following the announcement stretched on, Elizabeth found her mind traveling to another place entirely. Suddenly, she was no longer in the Meryton parish church but standing in the parlour at Hunsford Parsonage, rain pattering against the windows, and Mr. Darcy before her with an expression of mingled hope and trepidation.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The memory of his words, so unexpected and so unwelcome at the time, now returned to her with painful clarity. She recalled her shock, her indignation, and most of all, her hasty and unforgiving judgment. How differently she might have acted had she known then what she knew now! Not that she would have accepted him, certainly not; but she might have refused him with gentleness rather than scorn.

In her mind’s eye, she saw again his face transform from hopeful expectation to wounded pride as she rejected him not merely with firmness but with cruelty. She had accused him of behaviours she now knew to be false, had believed Wickham’s tales without question or scrutiny. The very man whose name was now linked with hers in the banns had been the instrument of her greatest misjudgement.

“Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.” The words she had flung at Mr. Darcy echoed in her memory, causing her to wince inwardly at their unjust harshness. How little she had known of true gentlemanlike behaviour then! Wickham with his easy smiles and practiced charm had seemed the very model of a gentleman, while Darcy’s reserve and awkwardness had struck her as arrogance and disdain. How ironic, that of the two men, the one so easily able to recommend himself to strangers was the one whose character so little deserved it!

Such speculations were futile, of course. She could no more change her past behaviour than she could alter her present circumstances. Yet the thought persisted: if she had responded to Mr. Darcy’s proposal with dignity rather than disdain, might she now be contemplating a very different future?

Elizabeth shook her head slightly, as though to dislodge such unhelpful musings. Even setting aside her misjudgement of Wickham’s character, there remained the matter of Jane and Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy had admitted, with apparent pride, his role in separating the two. He had observed Jane’s behaviour and found it wanting in authentic affection, had decided that her heart was not engaged, and had taken it upon himself to “save” his friend from an imprudent match.

The wound of this interference was still raw. Elizabeth glanced at Jane, whose face remained serene despite the obvious discomfort of hearing her sister’s banns called. Sweet, steadfast Jane, whose genuine affection for Mr. Bingley had been dismissed as fortune-hunting by a man too proud to recognise true feeling when it differed from his own passionate nature. How could Elizabeth ever forgive such interference, such presumption?

And yet... Elizabeth found herself thinking of her own present predicament with a clarity that was almost painful. Jane’s heart was broken, yes, but her reputation and future prospects remained intact. She might not marry Mr. Bingley, but she would not be forced to marry a man she now despised. In comparison to Elizabeth’s situation, Jane’s unhappiness seemed almost a bearable misfortune.

The congregation had begun to sing again, and Elizabeth realised with a start that she had missed the transition from the banns to the next portion of the service. She hastily found her place in the prayer book, though the words swam before her eyes. The deed was done; the first announcement had been made. In two more Sundays, she would be free to marry George Wickham, a freedom that felt more like imprisonment with each passing day.

“Are you well, Lizzy?” Jane whispered, her concerned eyes searching Elizabeth’s face. “You are very pale.”

“I am perfectly well,” Elizabeth replied automatically, though nothing could be further from the truth. She focused on her breathing, willing away the tightness in her chest and the burning sensation behind her eyes. She would not cry, not here, not now. There would be time enough for tears in the privacy of her room at Longbourn.

The remainder of the service passed in a blur of ritual and response. Elizabeth participated mechanically, her thoughts alternating between dread of her future and pointless regret over her past mistakes. As the final blessing was pronounced, she felt a curious hollowness, as though some essential part of her had been carved away during the past hour.

“Well! That went very well, I think,” Mrs. Bennet declared as they rose to leave. “Though I shall speak to Mr. Wickham about his absence today. It was most inconvenient. Still, everyone heard your name called, Lizzy, and that is the important thing. Soon you shall be Mrs. Wickham!” Her mother’s voice rose with satisfaction on the last words, carrying to nearby pews.

Elizabeth nodded mutely, unable to summon even a pretence of enthusiasm. She glanced toward the officers who were filing out of their pew, noting the careful way they avoided meeting her gaze. Did they know something of Wickham that she did not? Or was it simply embarrassment at his absence?

“Come, Jane,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Let us get some air before we must face the churchyard full of well-wishers.”

Jane took her arm without question, and they walked quickly to get ahead of the crowd of parishioners making their unhurried way outside. They stepped out into the mild spring air, finding a secluded bench beneath an ancient yew tree.

“I had thought myself prepared,” Elizabeth admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But to hear our names joined in that way, to see the looks on people’s faces, knowing what they must be thinking...”

“No one knows the circumstances, Lizzy,” Jane reassured her, though they both recognised the fiction in her words. In a community as small as Meryton, the engagement of any of its more prominent citizens was grounds for gossip, and the hasty nature of this particular engagement, combined with Wickham’s sudden transfer of affection from Miss King to Elizabeth, had undoubtedly raised eyebrows.

Jane’s arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Perhaps he is not as bad as you believe, Lizzy. Perhaps marriage will settle him, bring out better qualities. Proximity to you on a regular basis can surely improve any man’s character!”

“You always think the best of everyone,” Elizabeth said, managing a weak smile. “But I fear in this case, your optimism is misplaced. Mr. Wickham has shown his true character too clearly for me to hope for transformation.”

She thought again of Mr. Darcy’s letter, of the account of Wickham’s attempted elopement with Georgiana Darcy, a girl of merely fifteen years. What kind of man would prey upon an innocent child for financial gain? The same kind of man, she supposed, who would compromise her reputation to ensure she could not damage his.

“I shall support you in any way I can, Lizzy,” Jane promised, her blue eyes filled with earnest affection. “You need not face this alone.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand gratefully, though she knew in her heart that this was a burden she would ultimately bear alone. Jane could not stand beside her at the altar, could not share her marriage bed, could not endure the lifetime of regret that now stretched before her like an endless, barren plain.

“Lizzy?” Jane said gently when Elizabeth did not move.

“I am perfectly well,” she repeated, the lie coming more easily with practice. “Just a moment of dizziness. It has passed.”

Together, they walked back toward the church entrance, where Mrs. Bennet’s voice could already be heard, loudly proclaiming her satisfaction with the day’s events despite Mr. Wickham’s regrettable absence. Elizabeth took a deep breath, composing her features into a mask of calm acceptance. There would be two more Sundays to endure before the wedding. She would find the strength somehow, though from where, she could not imagine.

They had barely rejoined the throng of parishioners milling about the churchyard when Lady Lucas appeared before them, her face alight with what Elizabeth immediately recognised as the glow of prime gossip. She clutched Mrs. Bennet’s arm with unusual familiarity, her voice pitched low but still carrying clearly to where Elizabeth and Jane stood.

“Mrs. Bennet, you shall never guess who paid a most unexpected visit to Lucas Lodge last evening,” Lady Lucas began, her eyes darting about to ensure her audience was sufficiently attentive. “Mr. Darcy! Can you imagine? I had not seen him since the Netherfield ball, and there he was, arrived without the slightest warning!”

Elizabeth felt as though the ground beneath her feet had suddenly shifted. Mr. Darcy, here in Hertfordshire? Now , of all times? She glanced at Jane, whose composure remained intact save for a slight widening of her eyes.

“Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose with undisguised displeasure. “That proud, disagreeable man? Whatever business could he have at Lucas Lodge?”

Lady Lucas allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. “He was passing through the neighbourhood, and called to pay his respects,” she revealed. “I insisted he stay to dinner, of course.”

“Rather you than I,” Mrs. Bennet said with a disdainful sniff.

Lady Lucas lifted her head rather proudly. “Well, I know you did not care much for his company after he slighted Elizabeth at the Assembly, Mrs. Bennet, but he is a very distinguished gentleman. He paid some very kind compliments to Charlotte, telling us how much Lady Catherine de Bourgh esteems her.”

Mrs. Bennet looked even less pleased by this intelligence, and Lady Lucas hurried on, imparting what she obviously felt to be the most significant morsel of gossip before Mrs. Bennet lost interest and walked away.

“But what will interest you is what Mr. Darcy said regarding Netherfield Park.”

This did catch Mrs. Bennet’s attention; her eyes widened and she leaned forward eagerly. “Well? What did he say? Do not keep us in suspense, Lady Lucas!”

“Mr. Darcy mentioned, quite casually, that he had suggested to Mr. Bingley that they might return to Netherfield in the autumn.” Lady Lucas delivered this pronouncement with the air of one bestowing a great gift. “And he said that Mr. Bingley was quite enthused about the idea, speaking warmly of his time in the neighbourhood, and expressing particular pleasure at the thought of renewing old acquaintances.”

Mrs. Bennet’s reaction was everything Lady Lucas could have wished for. She clasped her hands to her bosom, her face suffused with joy and triumph.

“The autumn! Why, that is only three or four three months away! Oh, Jane!” She turned to her eldest daughter, oblivious to Jane’s evident discomfort at being thus singled out. “Did you hear that? Mr. Bingley is to return to Netherfield! I knew he could not stay away forever. Such a charming, amiable young man, with five thousand a year!”

Jane, who had maintained her composure with admirable fortitude through the reading of Elizabeth’s banns, now seemed to find this unexpected news far more challenging to her equanimity. Her face, which had flushed pink at the first mention of Mr. Bingley, now drained of colour entirely.

“I am sure Mr. Bingley will be welcomed by all his acquaintances in the neighbourhood,” she managed to say, her voice barely audible above Mrs. Bennet’s continuing exclamations.

Elizabeth slipped her arm through her sister’s, feeling the slight tremor that ran through Jane’s frame. Her own thoughts were in such turmoil that she could scarcely make sense of them. Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire? And now, of all times, when her engagement to Wickham had just been publicly announced?

What could it mean? Was it mere coincidence, or had Mr. Darcy somehow learned of her engagement? The latter seemed impossible; surely the news had not travelled as far as London. Yet the timing was peculiar, to say the least.

“And did Mr. Darcy give any reason for their sudden appearance at Lucas Lodge?” Elizabeth found herself asking, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice.

Lady Lucas turned her attention to Elizabeth, her expression softening slightly. “No particular reason was stated, my dear. Just that he had business in the neighbourhood and had called to pay his respects. Very flattering, of course, though I confess Mr. Darcy remains a rather formidable presence. Not nearly so agreeable as his friend.”

“No indeed,” Mrs. Bennet agreed fervently. “Mr. Darcy may have ten thousand a year and a great estate in Derbyshire, but his manners are not worth a tenth of Mr. Bingley’s. I cannot think why such a pleasant young man maintains the acquaintance.”

Elizabeth, who now had reasons beyond her mother’s imagining to question Mr. Darcy’s character, nonetheless felt a curious impulse to defend him from these familiar criticisms. She suppressed it, focusing instead on the practical implications of this unexpected development.

“Did he stay the night at Lucas Lodge?” she inquired, wondering if even now Mr. Darcy might be observing their gathering outside the church.

“Oh no,” Lady Lucas replied. “He said something about rejoining his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and departed after dining with us.”

Mrs. Bennet, having absorbed this confirmation of her dearest hopes, now seemed determined to share her joy with every acquaintance in the churchyard. She bustled off toward Mrs. Long, trailing exclamations of delight and thinly veiled hints about Jane’s prospects.

Elizabeth turned to Jane, whose composed features nevertheless betrayed the tumult within. “Shall we find a quieter spot?” she suggested gently.

Jane nodded gratefully, and they moved away from the chattering groups toward the shade of a large yew tree. Elizabeth’s mind raced with questions and suppositions, each more unsettling than the last. If Mr. Darcy had indeed learned of her engagement to Wickham, what must he think? That she had disbelieved his account of Wickham’s character? That she had willingly accepted a man he had exposed as thoroughly unprincipled?

The thought was mortifying beyond expression. Elizabeth recalled vividly the contents of Mr. Darcy’s letter, the careful exposition of Wickham’s attempts to squander his inheritance and then to secure more money through the planned elopement with Georgiana Darcy. How strange that she, who had once prided herself on her discernment, should now be publicly linked to the very man she knew to be capable of such depravity.

“Elizabeth,” Jane’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts. “Are you quite well? You seem very distracted.”

“I was thinking of Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth admitted. “And wondering what business brings him to Hertfordshire at this particular time.”

“Do you suppose...” Jane hesitated, clearly reluctant to voice her thoughts. “Do you suppose it has anything to do with your engagement?”

“I cannot imagine how he would have learned of it,” Elizabeth replied, though the same question had been troubling her.

Her eyes fell upon Maria Lucas, who was engaged in animated conversation with Kitty near the church gate. A sudden impulse seized her.

“Maria might know more,” Elizabeth suggested. “Shall we ask her?”

Jane nodded, and they made their way toward the younger girls. Maria Lucas, a pleasant if somewhat timid girl, brightened at their approach.

“Oh, Jane, Elizabeth! What a lovely service today,” she greeted them, though her eyes slid away from Elizabeth’s as she mentioned the service, confirming Elizabeth’s suspicion that her engagement was now the primary topic of Meryton gossip.

“Thank you, Maria,” Jane replied warmly. “We understand you had a distinguished visitor yesterday evening. How exciting that must have been.”

Maria’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh yes! Mr. Darcy! It was so unexpected. Papa was in raptures, you may imagine.”

Elizabeth studied Maria’s open countenance, searching for the right way to phrase her question. “I wonder, Maria, whether there was any particular reason for his visit? Did he mention any business in the neighbourhood?”

“Not specifically,” Maria replied. “Though he did speak of perhaps returning to Netherfield in the autumn with Mr. Bingley.” She gave Jane a sly look.

Elizabeth hesitated, then pressed on. “And did they... that is, was there any mention of recent events in Meryton? Any news they might have heard?”

Maria’s cheeks coloured slightly, and she glanced at Kitty, who was listening with undisguised interest. “Well, your engagement was mentioned, Elizabeth. Papa thought it only proper to inform Mr. Darcy, as he is acquainted with both you and Mr. Wickham.”

Elizabeth felt a chill spread through her body despite the warm spring sunshine. So Mr. Darcy had learned of her engagement to Wickham, directly from Sir William Lucas. The mortification she had been feeling intensified tenfold.

“I see,” she managed to say. “And how did he receive the news?”

“Oh, he offered congratulations, of course,” Maria assured her hastily. “Though Mr. Darcy seemed... well, rather surprised, I thought. But don’t worry,” she added, misinterpreting Elizabeth’s expression, “there was nothing in his manner to suggest he thought the match in any way unsuitable.”

The very soul of discretion. Elizabeth could well imagine the scene: Sir William, effusive and eager to share the latest gossip; Mr. Darcy, his face betraying nothing while his mind drew the inevitable conclusions about her character and judgment.

“That is a relief,” Elizabeth replied, the words tasting like ashes in her mouth. “One would not wish to be the subject of inappropriate speculation.”

“Of course not,” Maria agreed earnestly. “And truly, we were most tactful. There wasn’t so much as a hint that... well, that the engagement might have been arranged in haste or under unusual circumstances.”

Kitty made a small, strangled sound that might have been a suppressed laugh or an expression of embarrassment. Elizabeth ignored it, focusing instead on maintaining her outward composure while her inner thoughts whirled in chaotic patterns.

“Thank you, Maria,” Jane interjected smoothly, sensing Elizabeth’s distress. “It is good to know that our friends continue to be so considerate. I believe we should be returning to Longbourn now; Mama will be looking for us.”

With gentle firmness, Jane drew Elizabeth away from the younger girls, guiding her toward the gate where their father stood waiting with Mary. Elizabeth moved as if in a dream, her mind replaying Maria’s words: “ Mr. Darcy seemed rather surprised .”

Surprised indeed. He must think her the greatest fool in creation, to have rejected his proposal with such vehemence only to accept Wickham’s suit little more than a week later. He could not know, of course, the circumstances that had forced her hand, but would that make her appear any less foolish in his eyes? Less principled? Less worthy of the regard he had once professed to feel?

“Lizzy,” Jane murmured, “do not torture yourself with suppositions. Whatever Mr. Darcy may think, it cannot alter your situation, and dwelling on it will only increase your distress.”

“You are right, of course,” Elizabeth acknowledged, drawing a deep breath as they joined their father and sister. “It is merely that I had thought myself beyond further mortification, and now I find there are new depths yet to plumb.”

“Let us walk home together,” Jane suggested. “We can avoid Mama’s effusions about Mr. Bingley for a little while at least.”

Elizabeth agreed gratefully, and they set off down the lane toward Longbourn, leaving the bustling churchyard behind them.

“What do you make of it all, Jane?” Elizabeth asked after they had walked in silence for several minutes. “Mr. Darcy appearing so suddenly, and perhaps encouraging Mr. Bingley to return in the autumn?”

Jane considered the question carefully before replying. “I cannot pretend to understand Mr. Darcy’s motives for anything,” she said at last. “As for Mr. Bingley...” She paused, a shadow crossing her serene features. “Even if he comes, Lizzy… I do not think I can feel as once I did. I must guard my heart, this time. I cannot go through that unhappiness again.”

“Perhaps his return signifies nothing more than a desire to enjoy the hunting season in Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth suggested, though she doubted her own words even as she spoke them.

“Perhaps,” Jane agreed, her tone suggesting she found this explanation no more convincing than Elizabeth did.

They continued their walk in companionable silence, each lost in her own thoughts. Elizabeth found her mind returning again and again to the image of Mr. Darcy receiving news of her engagement to Wickham. What had he thought? What had he felt?

She did her best to crush down the tiny glimmer of hope beginning to dawn in her heart… that somehow, Mr. Darcy might be here to help. To save her from Wickham, even as he had saved his sister.

More likely, he is here to make sure Wickham does actually marry me, she thought gloomily. At least that way, he can be sure that Miss Darcy is safe from Wickham forever!