Page 4 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter Three

“ L izzy, can it be true? William? Your William, after all these years? I can hardly credit it!”

Elizabeth glanced over at her sister Jane, who sat gracefully upon the window seat in their shared bedchamber at Longbourn, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Elizabeth, in contrast, gave a dramatic sigh and collapsed back against the pillows of her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Although she had only returned to Hertfordshire that very afternoon, she had wasted no time in whisking her dearest sister upstairs to the privacy of their room, eager to describe every astonishing detail of her unexpected encounter at Lady Copley’s ball.

Of course, Jane had long known of Elizabeth’s first meeting with Mr Darcy. The sisters shared nearly everything, and Elizabeth had not hesitated to recount the tale in hurried, whispered fragments during their return journey from Yorkshire, and later in full detail once they were safely ensconced at Longbourn.

To her credit, Jane had never scolded her for such reckless behaviour—though she had, in the gentle manner of a caring elder sister, cautioned Elizabeth about the dangers of walking out alone and conversing freely with strangers. Fortunately, Elizabeth’s earnest descriptions of William’s quiet integrity and gentlemanly conduct had seemed to soothe most of Jane’s concerns.

In the years that followed, the sisters would occasionally revisit the subject, wondering aloud who the mysterious stranger might have been and whether Elizabeth might ever chance to meet him again. But if Elizabeth continued to weigh every eligible gentleman she encountered against the impossible standard set by that fleeting acquaintance, she wisely kept that particular reflection to herself.

“He is hardly my William,” Elizabeth said now, her tone dry. “In fact, he is not William at all. He is Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, and he is as far above me as the moon. According to my aunt Gardiner, his family owns half of Derbyshire, and he is as wealthy as Croesus.” Her lips twisted wryly. “Besides, he made it quite clear that he has no interest in reviving the acquaintance. He could scarcely endure an entire set before fleeing the ballroom.”

Across from her, Jane’s brows drew together in confusion. “But why should he cut you in such a way? From all you have told me, he was always courteous and well-mannered. You said he never behaved with anything short of kindness and respect.”

Elizabeth exhaled, her gaze drifting to the ceiling once more.

“Yes,” she murmured, more to herself than to Jane. “That is true. The William I knew four years ago in Yorkshire was kind. Or at least, I believed him to be. Perhaps I have merely fashioned him into the man I wished him to be in my imagination. In any case, the gentleman I encountered at Lady Copley’s ball bore little resemblance to the one I remember.”

Jane regarded her sister with quiet thoughtfulness. “I find that difficult to believe. People do not change so materially in a few short years—at least, not in essentials.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth admitted quietly. “But…there is something else. Something I have never told you.”

Her throat tightened, but at Jane’s gentle expression, she continued with quiet resolve.

“I…I lied to William—that is, to Mr Darcy. About my name. And at the ball, he found out. It seemed to anger him. Clearly, he is not a man who tolerates disguise of any sort.”

Jane blinked, clearly puzzled. “Your name? But I thought you said you never exchanged names. You told me he called you Miss Rivers.”

Elizabeth nodded, biting her lip. “He did. At first. But that last morning, when I knew we were leaving…” Her voice faltered, and she looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “As I was leaving, I turned back to him. And…there was something in his expression. Suddenly, I wanted him to know me—truly know me. But when I opened my mouth, it was not my name that came out. It was…yours.”

“Mine?” Jane repeated, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“Yes.” Elizabeth’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I gave him your name. I told him I was Jane.”

Jane stared at her in disbelief. “But why? Why would you give him my name instead of your own?”

Elizabeth buried her face in her hands before finally replying, her voice strained. “I do not know! It was not deliberate. I had no intention of telling him anything at all. But the way he looked at me—with such admiration—no gentleman had ever looked at me in that way. It…it was the way gentlemen have always looked at you. And I suppose, for that one fleeting moment, I wanted to be you. To be the kind of lady that men admired in such a way.”

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane breathed, her voice tinged with quiet sorrow.

Elizabeth winced. “I know. It was foolish and wrong. I regretted it the instant the words left my mouth, but I could not take them back.”

To her surprise, Jane rose and gracefully crossed the room, settling beside her on the bed. She wrapped her arms around Elizabeth’s shoulders in a steady embrace.

“No, Lizzy, you misunderstand me. I am not angry. I am only saddened that you should feel the need to be anyone other than yourself.”

Elizabeth choked out a laugh, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Can you truly not understand? You are the one who never puts a foot wrong. You are always so calm and composed. You never speak thoughtlessly as I do. And you are the one gentlemen admire. Not that I begrudge them—you are by far the loveliest and kindest young lady in Hertfordshire—but is it truly so surprising that, for a single moment, I wished to step into your shoes?”

Jane’s gentle expression softened further as she studied her sister. Slowly, she turned her head to gaze out of the nearby window, watching the late afternoon sun casting shadows across the garden below.

“I do not see things that way,” Jane replied after a thoughtful pause. “Gentlemen may notice me, yes, but you are the one who truly captivates. Your intelligence, your wit, and your lively spirit draw people in. Consider this Mr Bingley you mentioned in your letters. He seemed utterly charmed by you.”

Elizabeth knitted her brow in mild protest. “If he was, it is only because you were not with me in town. Besides, I am not certain his attentions indicated any particular regard. Mr Bingley is amiable and obliging—I dare say he would be equally content with any agreeable young lady.”

Jane shook her head, a rare firmness in her expression. “Lizzy, you told me he called upon you three times in Gracechurch Street—and even brought his sister. That is hardly the conduct of a man who is indifferent.”

Elizabeth’s gaze faltered, and she sighed. “Mr Bingley is everything a young lady could desire in a gentleman. He is good-humoured, sensible, and unaffected. And he is quite handsome, which a young man ought to be, if he possibly can,” she added with a faint smile. “Yes, I liked him very well indeed. But whether his interest will endure now that I am no longer in London…that remains to be seen.”

Jane studied her carefully before speaking with quiet hesitation. “And…have your feelings for him changed upon seeing Mr Darcy again?”

Elizabeth paused, her fingers absently twisting the corner of her handkerchief. “No,” she answered slowly. “At least, I do not wish them to. There is no future where Mr Darcy is concerned. Even if he could forgive me for misleading him, knowing who he truly is has extinguished any foolish notions I may have entertained. Mr Bingley is a much more suitable prospect for me. I would do well to remember that.” She paused before saying lightly, “Besides, it is unlikely that I shall cross paths with Mr Darcy again. Mr Bingley mentioned he is to return to Derbyshire soon, and it seems he rarely leaves his estate.”

“And Mr Bingley?” Jane asked. “Do you believe he will lease Netherfield Park?”

Elizabeth offered a gentle shrug. “I cannot say. He appeared eager when I mentioned it, but whether he will stir himself from town to view the property is another matter.”

The sisters spoke quietly for some time longer, their voices gradually fading into an easy silence. By the time they left their room to join the rest of the family for the evening meal, Elizabeth felt her spirits lifted, her usual good humour restored. She had resolved—quite firmly—not to waste another thought on Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Fitzwilliam Darcy turned sharply on his heel, his dark eyes narrowing into a withering glare.

“Absolutely not. It is entirely out of the question! What could possess you to suggest such a thing?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, impervious to his cousin’s sharp tone.

“Give me one good reason why we should not go. What else have you to occupy your time? And spare me the tired refrain about Pemberley. You have an exceedingly capable steward to oversee the estate, and Georgiana is safely settled at Briarwood until Christmastide. You are free, Darcy—free to go to Hertfordshire.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Was it not enough that I accompanied Bingley to inspect the property? I have given him my counsel, my approval. That is the extent of my obligation. I will not suffer through weeks of observing his courtship of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Richard’s lips quirked upwards on one side. “Perhaps if you were there, you might put an end to his courtship altogether.”

Darcy’s scowl deepened. “I have no desire to put an end to it. As painful as it is to imagine her marrying Bingley, he is a good man—worthy of her. They are alike in temperament—amiable, cheerful, and sociable. He can provide for her, and more importantly, he will treat her with the respect she deserves. In truth, I ought to be pleased.”

“But you are not.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and knowing. Darcy averted his gaze, unwilling to let his cousin glimpse the turmoil roiling within him.

“My feelings are irrelevant,” he said at last, his voice low and clipped. “I have done what I intended. I have seen her. I know she is well. That must be enough. Now, it is time she moved forward with her life —and I must do the same.”

Richard’s expression sobered. “Ah, yes. Your scheme to see Georgiana married and then flee the country to live as a hermit in some remote corner of the globe.”

Darcy shot him a black look, but Richard merely smirked, undeterred.

“Very well,” his cousin continued, folding his arms. “Let us assume that you will carry out your plan—what is to stop you from spending a few weeks in Hertfordshire before everything is put in motion? Georgiana is taken care of for the time being, and she will not make her come out until the spring. So, if you are in earnest about remaining on English soil until she is married, you have some time at your disposal. Why not give yourself a few happy memories before you go?”

“You know why,” Darcy replied darkly. “I would be taking too great a risk, staying at Netherfield for an extended period.”

Richard shrugged. “All of life is a game of chance when you come down to it. I take greater risks every time I step onto the battlefield, and yet I go, willingly. Besides, did you not say that Walsh was delayed in Bedfordshire due to that business with his aunt’s jointure? And I still have a fortnight before I must return to my regiment. I dare say I might enjoy a sojourn to Hertfordshire.”

“Miss Bingley will be there,” Darcy muttered, and Richard barked out a laugh.

“If that is all the ammunition you have in your arsenal, then I consider the battle won.”

“You do not know what she is like! She will attach herself to me like a barnacle. I shall not have a moment’s peace!”

“Oh, come now. She cannot be as bad as all that. Bingley introduced us at the Copleys’ ball, when you were dancing with Miss Bennet, and I found her rather charming.”

“Of course she was charming,” Darcy snapped. “You are the son of an earl! I am warning you—you would do well to keep your guard up while we are at Netherfield, or she will have you in the parson’s mousetrap before the year is out.”

Richard’s brows lifted, his lips pulling up into a familiar smile. “So, we are going, then?”

Darcy looked away, releasing a heavy sigh.

“I am certain I shall live to regret this, but yes. We shall go.”

“Mr Bennet! Jane, Mary, Lizzy—pray, come at once! For I have such news to share!”

The sound of Mrs Bennet’s shrieks of joy preceded the matron and her two youngest daughters into Longbourn’s front parlour, where Jane and Elizabeth sat with their needlework.

Exchanging glances, the two sisters stood as Mrs Hill, their housekeeper, bustled in, relieving the three ladies of their wraps.

“Oh, where is Mr Bennet?” their mother continued. “And Mary? Lizzy, go and fetch them this instant, for you will never guess what I have just learned from Mrs Long.”

“What is your news, Mama,” Jane dutifully enquired once Mr Bennet and their sister Mary had been found and brought to the parlour.

Mrs Bennet paused, looking around to make sure all eyes were fixed in her direction before saying in a hurried breath, “Netherfield Park is let at last! Mrs Long says that it is taken by a young gentleman of large fortune from the North. Can you imagine, Mr Bennet? What a fine thing for our girls!”

Mr Bennet, who had seated himself and retrieved a newspaper from a nearby table, barely glanced up. “Oh?” he drawled lazily. “And how, precisely, is this event to benefit them?”

Mrs Bennet huffed, her cheeks flushing with impatience. “Good gracious, how can you be so tiresome! But I forget myself—I have not even told you the best part!”

“He is single!” Lydia cried, her youthful voice ringing throughout the room. “And Mrs Long says he has five thousand a year!”

“Not only that,” Kitty interjected eagerly, “but he is bringing a large party to Netherfield with him—a sister and three other gentlemen!”

Mr Bennet’s mouth twitched, his expression laced with quiet amusement. “How marvellous. And pray, are these other gentlemen married or single?”

“Oh, single, to be sure!” Mrs Bennet cried, flapping her handkerchief in obvious delight. “And rumour has it that one of them is the grandson of an earl!”

Across the room, Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a subtle glance, Jane’s usually serene expression tinged with curiosity.

“Mama,” she began with quiet composure, “do you know the gentleman’s name—the one who has taken the lease?”

“What? Oh yes, did I not say?” Mrs Bennet paused only long enough to catch her breath. “His name is Bingley. And Mr Bennet, you must call on him as soon as he arrives! For Sir William will surely visit, and I will not have Charlotte Lucas taking precedence over our girls.”

“Mama—” Jane tried again, but Mrs Bennet swiftly silenced her with a wave of her hand.

“Now, now, I know what you will say. Charlotte is a sweet girl, I grant you. But Jane, one does not often see a young lady with your beauty. I am quite certain Mr Bingley will favour you above all others in the neighbourhood—if only your father will call on him and secure us an introduction!”

“But Mama, that is what I have been trying to tell you,” Jane continued patiently. “Papa need not call, for we are already acquainted with the gentleman. Or at least Lizzy is. Lizzy met Mr Bingley in town. It was she who recommended Netherfield to him.”

At Jane’s words, Mrs Bennet’s eyes grew round, and her lips parted slightly as she surveyed her second-eldest daughter.

“Lizzy, is this true?” Without giving Elizabeth a chance to answer, she rushed on, “Oh, but this could not possibly be any better! Now we have a perfectly acceptable reason to invite him to tea, and we must do so forthwith,” she added, in an aside to Mr Bennet, “ before Sir William Lucas goes to visit. Once Mr Bingley sees Jane, I am certain he will not even look at any other young lady!”

“Mama!” Jane cried, her cheeks aflame, “I believe it is for Lizzy’s sake that Mr Bingley has come to Hertfordshire. He called on her several times when she was in town.”

Mrs Bennet’s mouth dropped fully open then as she stared at Elizabeth in unconcealed astonishment.

“But…how can this be? My sister Gardiner mentioned nothing about it in her letters. Well, no matter. You have done well for yourself, Lizzy. Now, you must work to secure him while he is in the neighbourhood. And Jane,” she continued, “do not fret, for I am certain that Mr Bingley is nothing to the grandson of an earl! If this Bingley has five thousand a year, his friend very likely has more. Oh, Mr Bennet! Just think—our dear Jane, the granddaughter of an earl!”