Page 25 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Darcy

S aturday evening at the Gardiners’ house found Darcy adjusting his cravat one final time before knocking on the familiar door.

Tonight would test their deception before Elizabeth’s entire family, and the weight of maintaining their charade pressed upon his shoulders.

The only people in attendance to know the truth were Mrs Bennet, Mr Morton, and Jane as well as Bingley.

Bingley’s carriage was already parked at the end of the street, an indicator he had come to call on Miss Bennet early.

Mrs Gardiner welcomed him with her usual politeness, leading him to the sitting room where the assembled party awaited.

Mr Morton sat near the fire, looking distinguished in his evening clothes, whilst Mr Gardiner occupied his chair with a glass of port.

Mrs Bennet had abandoned her mourning attire for a becoming lavender silk that brought colour to her complexion, and she appeared more animated than Darcy had yet seen her.

He had noted she had not abandoned her blacks and until very recently, even though she could have gone into half mourning some while ago.

From the outside, she was a difficult woman to assess. How had she coped, he wondered?

“Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet rose with obvious pleasure, interrupting his thoughts. “How delightful to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mrs Bennet. You appear in excellent spirits yourself.”

Elizabeth entered then, followed by Jane and Bingley, who seemed unable to keep from smiling at each other.

“Where are Miss Catherine and Miss Mary this evening?” Darcy enquired as they moved towards the dining room.

“Gone with Mrs Gardiner to visit our eldest daughter,” Mr Gardiner explained. “She lives in Bloomsbury with her husband and children. We thought it best to keep the party smaller tonight.”

Lydia appeared last, wearing a pale blue gown that suited her colouring. She acknowledged Darcy with the barest of nods, her expression cool but not openly hostile. Progress, perhaps.

The dining room glowed with candlelight, the table set with the Gardiners’ best China. The Gardiner’s cook had outdone herself with the meal—roasted fowl, fresh vegetables from the market, and a selection of pastries that filled the air with tempting aromas.

As they settled into their seats, Mr Gardiner raised his glass. “To young love,” he said with a meaningful glance at the two supposed couples. “May it flourish and bring joy to all concerned.”

Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye across the table and saw her fighting back a smile at the toast. They drank, and the meal commenced with the easy conversation of people comfortable in each other’s company.

“I understand Parliament is considering new regulations on trade with the Americas,” Mr Gardiner said as the second course was served. “What are your thoughts on the matter, Mr Darcy?”

“The proposed tariffs seem short-sighted,” Darcy replied, cutting his meat with careful precision. “Restricting trade strikes me as counterproductive.”

“Precisely what I have been saying,” Mr Morton agreed. “The government seems intent on protecting certain interests whilst ignoring the broader economic implications.”

“But surely some protection is warranted?” Bingley interjected. “British manufacturers have been undercut by cheaper foreign goods.”

“Competition improves quality and drives innovation,” Elizabeth said, then caught herself as all eyes turned to her. “That is… I merely thought…”

“Elizabeth,” Mrs Bennet said with gentle reproof, “gentlemen do not wish to hear ladies’ opinions on matters of business.”

“On the contrary,” Darcy said, “I find Miss Elizabeth’s observations on economic matters most insightful. Please, continue your thought.”

Elizabeth shot him a grateful look. “I was merely going to say that when manufacturers are forced to compete, they must improve their methods or reduce their costs. Protection from competition often leads to complacency.”

“An excellent point,” Mr Gardiner said with obvious pride in his niece. “I have seen it myself in my own business dealings.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth’s animated face. “I have always believed that a young woman who knows her own mind and can express it with such clarity is to be valued, not silenced.”

Mrs Bennet looked flustered at this departure from conventional wisdom, but Mr Morton nodded approvingly.

“Thomas always said Elizabeth had the finest mind of any of his daughters,” he said fondly. “He encouraged her reading on all subjects, not merely those deemed suitable for ladies.”

Throughout this exchange, Darcy noticed Lydia watching him with narrow eyes, occasionally sighing with theatrical emphasis. When he complimented Elizabeth’s intelligence, Lydia’s sigh was particularly pointed.

“Miss Lydia,” he said during a lull in conversation, “you seem rather subdued this evening. I hope you are feeling well?”

“Oh, I am quite well, Mr Darcy,” Lydia replied with sweet venom. “Merely contemplating the curious changes that can occur in people’s circumstances.”

Elizabeth shot her sister a warning look, but Lydia’s attention remained fixed on Darcy with unsettling intensity.

The remainder of the meal passed without incident, though Darcy remained conscious of Lydia’s scrutiny. When the ladies withdrew to allow the gentlemen their port, he hoped Elizabeth would succeed in speaking privately with her sister.

“Our Elizabeth is quite remarkable,” Mr Morton observed once the ladies had departed. “Such intelligence combined with beauty is rare.”

“She is exceptional,” Darcy agreed.

Mr Gardiner raised an eyebrow at his tone but said nothing.

When they rejoined the ladies in the sitting room, Elizabeth approached Darcy with purpose. “Miss Lydia, might we speak with you privately? Mr Darcy has something he wishes to say.”

Lydia crossed her arms, her hands curled into fists, but she followed them to a small alcove where they could speak without being overheard.

“Miss Lydia,” Darcy began, “I owe you an apology. I have done your family wrong, particularly regarding Jane and Mr Bingley.”

Lydia’s hostile expression flickered with surprise.

“I allowed my prejudice to cloud my judgement,” Darcy continued. “I convinced Bingley that Jane wanted to charm him to save herself from a marriage to your cousin James. That she felt nothing for him. I was wrong.”

“You hurt Jane terribly,” Lydia said, though her voice lacked its earlier venom.

“I know. And I made amends. I have spoken to Bingley, convinced him of Jane’s genuine feelings. You can see tonight how happy they are together.”

Lydia glanced towards the sitting room where Jane and Bingley sat close together on the sofa, speaking in low, intimate tones.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Jane has been happier these past weeks than I have seen her since Papa died.”

“I hope you can forgive me,” Darcy said. “Your good opinion matters to me more than you know.”

Something in Lydia’s softened. “I… I suppose if you are truly trying to make things right.”

“I am. I swear it.”

“I thought Elizabeth a right fool for accepting your advances,” she said.

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth who nodded.

“Well, there is something we ought to tell you. This romance is not quite real,” Darcy started. “You see…”

“I know. It was to keep you from having to marry Miss Bingley because of the newspaper reports,” Lydia said.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose.

“Pray, how do you know?” she asked and Lydia chuckled.

“Georgie told me, of course.”

Darcy sighed. “I shall have a word with her about keeping things private.”

“Please, do not be cross with her. I can be very persuasive,” she said and Elizabeth nodded.

“That I can attest to personally,” she said.

A brief silence followed and then, Elizabeth took a deep breath.

Elizabeth watched this exchange with obvious relief. “Lydia, there is something else we must ask you. Those notices in the scandal sheets about Mr Darcy—did you have any hand in placing them?”

Lydia looked genuinely shocked. “What? No! Why would you think such a thing?”

“We are trying to discover who was responsible,” Elizabeth explained. “Someone wanted to cause Mr Darcy trouble.”

“Well, it was not me,” Lydia said with conviction. “Though I suspect I know who it might have been.”

“Who?” Darcy asked.

“Miss Bingley, of course. She was always throwing herself at you, and everyone could see you had no interest. She spoke of you in glowing tones at Netherfield as well. Perhaps she thought scandal would force your hand.”

“That occurred to us as well,” Elizabeth said. “Though we have no proof and she vehemently denies it.”

“There is something else,” Lydia said. Her eyes flittered to the left and the right before settling on them again. “Someone else…” She shook her head. “No. I am wrong. I do not wish to say anything more.”

Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged glances.

“Who do you suspect?” Darcy prodded but Lydia got up.

“Nobody. It is of no consequence. Now, I am rather famished for pudding. There is flummery. Oh, how envious Mary will be when I report to her I have eaten it all!”

She disappeared then, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth once more without a suspect.

***

Later, with his stomach full of dinner and more flummery than was advisable, Darcy set out to leave.

Elizabeth escorted him to his carriage, something that made him rather more pleased than it ought to have done, given their connection.

The night was clear and mild, with stars visible despite the city’s glow.

They walked in comfortable silence among Mrs Gardiner’s carefully tended flower beds, the sounds of London muted by the garden walls.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said at last, “for defending my right to express opinions on matters of business. Most gentlemen would have agreed with Mama that such topics are unsuitable for ladies.”

“Most gentlemen are fools,” Darcy replied. “Your mind is one of your greatest attractions, Miss Elizabeth. Why would any sensible man wish to silence it?”

Elizabeth stopped walking and turned to face him. In the moonlight, her eyes appeared luminous, her skin pale as porcelain.

“You continue to surprise me, Mr Darcy.”

“In what way?”

“When we first met, I thought you the most arrogant, disagreeable man of my acquaintance. Now…” She trailed off, seeming to search for words.

“Now?”

“Now I find myself wondering if I misjudged you as thoroughly as you misjudged my family.”

They stood close now, close enough that Darcy could smell the faint lavender scent of her hair. Close enough to see the rapid pulse at her throat.

“Elizabeth,” he said, her name more a whisper than anything else.

Without conscious thought, he reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her gloved knuckles. The gesture was innocent enough, yet the contact sent heat shooting through his entire body.

Elizabeth’s breath caught. For a moment, the pretence fell away entirely, leaving only the raw truth of what was growing between them.

“We should go inside,” Elizabeth said, though she made no move to withdraw her hand.

“Yes,” Darcy agreed, though he too remained motionless.

The spell was broken by footsteps on the garden path. They sprang apart as Lydia appeared.

“Mr Darcy,” she said without preamble, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“When those notices first appeared… I was glad.” The admission seemed to cost her considerable effort. “I wanted you to suffer for what you had done to Jane. I thought you deserved to be trapped in a loveless marriage.”

Darcy felt something twist in his chest. “I understand your feelings.”

“But I was wrong to wish you ill. I can see now that you are trying to make amends, that you truly care for Elizabeth’s happiness.” Lydia’s voice grew stronger. “I apologise for my behaviour towards you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Darcy said. “Your loyalty to your family does you credit.”

Lydia nodded, then hesitated. “There is one more thing. If you truly wish to know who placed those notices… you should speak with Georgiana.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just ask her about it. I think you may be surprised by what she tells you.”

With that cryptic observation, Lydia disappeared back into the house, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone with the uncomfortable certainty that the mystery of Miss B was far from solved.

As Darcy took his leave that evening, walking home through the quiet London streets, his mind was filled not with thoughts of scandal or investigation, but with the memory of Elizabeth’s hand in his and the way her breath had caught when he kissed it.

Whatever games others might be playing, his own feelings had become disturbingly, dangerously real.