Page 24 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Darcy

T he next morning found them in Fleet Street, standing before the modest offices of The London Caller. The publisher, Mr Henley, proved to be a rotund gentleman with ink-stained fingers and a shrewd expression that suggested he was accustomed to unusual requests.

“Mr Darcy! Miss Bennet!” He rose from behind his cluttered desk with obvious delight. “How honoured I am by your visit. Come to thank me for the excellent coverage of your romance, have you?”

“Actually,” Darcy said stiffly, “we have come to enquire about the source of that original story. The one that suggested I was involved with a Miss B.”

Henley shifted through his papers, only half paying attention. “Now, now, sir. You know I cannot reveal my sources. Confidentiality is the cornerstone of our business.”

“We are not asking you to betray anyone,” Elizabeth said. “We merely wish to understand how such stories come to your attention.”

“Ah, well, that I can discuss.” Henley relaxed. “Many of our tips are submitted anonymously, you understand. Notes slipped under the door, letters posted without return addresses. The ton is full of people eager to share gossip.”

“And the particular story about Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth pressed.

“Anonymous letter, just like most. Arrived by post one morning.” Henley’s eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a man who knew valuable information when he saw it.

“Might we see the original letter?” Darcy asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“Absolutely not!” Henley looked shocked. “Reveal a source? Never! My reputation would be ruined. Besides, I cannot have people thinking they can come here demanding to see private correspondence.”

“We understand your position,” Elizabeth said.

“But surely you can tell us what made this particular tip worth publishing? After all, Mr Darcy is merely a gentleman. He owns a large estate, yes, but he is hardly the sort one would normally read about. And I—well, I come from a modest family myself.”

Henley preened. “Well, it was the connection to Lord Matlock that made it interesting, was not it? Without that family tie, it would have been just another gentleman’s romantic entanglement. But the Earl’s nephew caught in a compromising position? That is news worth printing.”

The conversation continued back and forth for a few more minutes but no further information was gathered.

They left the publisher’s office with little more information than they had arrived with, though the confirmation that the tip had been submitted anonymously was something.

“Well, that was illuminating,” Elizabeth said as they walked towards Hyde Park. “Though perhaps not in the way we hoped.”

“At least we know it was submitted deliberately, not merely observed by chance,” Darcy replied. “Someone wanted that story published.”

They entered the park in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The morning was crisp and clear, with other couples and families enjoying the pleasant weather.

“So,” Elizabeth said at last, “we have two primary suspects. Caroline and Lydia.”

“Indeed. The question is which seems more likely.” Darcy chewed the inside of his cheeks, the movement visible. “Caroline certainly had motive—she has been pursuing me for over a year with increasing desperation. Creating a scandal that would force my hand would serve her purposes admirably.”

“And she was present at the ball in question. She would have known the specific details needed to make the story credible.”

“Exactly. But then there is your theory about Lydia…”

Elizabeth sighed. “Lydia was in London at the time. She would have seen the society pages about the ball, known who attended. And she was furious with you about Jane.”

“She also knew Caroline well enough from Netherfield to understand that Caroline would benefit from such a scandal. It would have been perfect revenge—trapping me with someone I disliked whilst giving Caroline what she wanted.”

They walked in silence for a moment, neither wanting to voice their growing suspicions about Elizabeth’s sister.

“But what if it was neither of them?” Darcy said suddenly. “What if someone else entirely orchestrated this?”

Elizabeth looked startled. “Who else would have both motive and opportunity?”

“I cannot say. But the more I consider it, the more deliberate it seems. The timing, the specific details, the way it escalated so quickly… someone planned this very carefully. Someone who wanted to see me trapped in an unwanted marriage.”

“The thought is rather frightening. To think someone harbours such ill will towards you.”

“Indeed. And it suggests this person knows me well enough to craft the perfect trap. They understood that forcing me into marriage with Caroline would be a particularly cruel punishment.”

They continued their walk, both lost in increasingly troubling thoughts about who might wish Darcy such harm.

As they reached the Gardiners’ house, Darcy helped Elizabeth from the carriage and walked her to the door. Through the front window, he could see figures moving about in the sitting room—Mrs Bennet’s distinctive silhouette, and beside her, Lydia.

He raised his hand in a polite wave. Mrs Bennet waved back enthusiastically, but Lydia disappeared from view the moment she spotted him.

“I see your sister remains displeased with our attachment,” Darcy observed.

“That is true. The sooner we can speak to her, the better. I wanted to tell her the truth, but my mother is against it.”

“We ought to speak to her together. The Gardiners invited me to dinner on Saturday, I shall seek to speak to Miss Lydia afterward. And I will speak with Caroline when I return home. The Bingleys are preparing to move back to their own residence now that their house has been repaired.”

“Very well. Though I confess myself dreading what we might discover.”

Darcy took her hand briefly. “Whatever we learn, we shall face it together.”

As Elizabeth disappeared into the house, Darcy began the walk back to his own residence. The afternoon was pleasant, and he was in no hurry to return home. Instead, he took the longer route, allowing his thoughts to wander.

When had Elizabeth Bennet become so essential to his peace of mind? He found he missed her when she was not present, missed her quick wit and challenging observations. Even their business meetings had become the highlight of his days.

He paused before an art dealer’s shop, and decided to take a look inside the premises, his brief discussion of art with Elizabeth still in his mind.

A landscape of the Lake District caught his attention—rolling hills and serene waters that reminded him of Pemberley.

He wished Elizabeth were there to discuss it with him.

Would she appreciate the artist’s use of light?

Would she find the composition pleasing or too conventional?

The realisation struck him with uncomfortable force: he was thinking of Elizabeth not as a temporary fiancée or business partner, but as someone whose opinions mattered to him personally. Someone he wanted to share things with.

This was dangerous territory indeed.

***

Upon entering into his house, he found the Bingley and Hurst party about to set off. Bingley was busy talking to the coachman and the Hursts were presently finishing their last walk through the house to ensure nothing had been forgotten.

Caroline, meanwhile, sat on a chair by the door.

“We shall be quite out of your hair very soon,” she said.

“Right. Actually, might I have a word with you, Caroline? Before you depart?”

Caroline’s expression flickered with something that might have been hope. “Of course.”

They moved to the morning room whilst the others waited outside. Caroline stood by the window, her hands clasped before her, looking smaller and more vulnerable than he had seen her in months.

“I must ask you something directly,” Darcy began without preamble. “Did you place those notices in the scandal sheets? The ones about Miss B?”

Caroline’s face went very pale, then flushed with indignation. “How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“Caroline—”

“No!” Her voice rose, eyes flashing with genuine outrage. “How dare you think so little of me? Do you truly believe I would lower myself to such… such base manipulation? That I would want to marry any man who was forced to the altar through scandal?”

Darcy was taken aback by the vehemence of her response. “I merely thought—”

“You thought what? That I am so desperate, so lacking in pride, that I would resort to such sordid schemes?” Caroline’s hands shook with anger. “I would never—never—stoop to such degradation. What manner of woman do you take me for?”

The raw pain and wounded dignity in her voice convinced Darcy more than any protestation of innocence could have. Whatever Caroline’s faults, she possessed too much pride to orchestrate her own public humiliation.

“I apologise,” he said. “I should not have suggested such a thing.”

“No, you should not have.” Caroline’s voice was cold as winter. “I may be many things, Mr Darcy, but I am not pathetic.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Darcy feeling rather ashamed of his accusation.

Moments later, Bingley appeared in the doorway. His lips were puckered, hands stuffed in his pocket. “Good Lord, what happened? Caroline just stormed past me looking ready to commit murder.”

“I asked her if she had placed the scandal sheet notices.”

Bingley’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. I take it she did not react well to the suggestion?”

“She was most emphatic in her denial. And I believe her.”

“Well, I must say I am quite glad it all worked out as it did,” Bingley said with a grin. “Your engagement to Miss Elizabeth, I mean.”

Darcy frowned. “I seem to recall you suggesting I should marry Caroline so we could be brothers.”

Bingley laughed. “Well, I do want us to be brothers, that much is true. But I have always known how much you dislike Caroline. I was merely trying to make the best of what seemed an inevitable situation.” His grin widened.

“Besides, we might still end up brothers, since we are both courting Bennet daughters.”

“Charles, you know my courtship is not real.”

“Of course I know. I was there when you told Georgiana and me about your arrangement, was I not?” Bingley’s expression grew more serious. “But the way I have seen you looking at Miss Elizabeth lately… well, it gives me an inkling that all is not quite as it seems.”

Darcy ran his hand through his hair. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Do you not?” Bingley’s smile was knowing. “Very well, my friend. Keep your secrets. But I think you may find that what began as pretence has become something rather more genuine than you care to admit.”

With that parting observation, Bingley took his leave, following his sister to their waiting carriage.

Darcy stood alone in the morning room, forced to confront the uncomfortable truth in his friend’s words. He was indeed looking at Elizabeth with far more feeling than he ought. The realisation was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.