Page 31 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”
Elizabeth
E lizabeth sat at the small writing desk in her chamber, a sheet of paper before her and a pen poised in her trembling hand. She had been staring at the blank page for nearly an hour, trying to find the words that might begin to repair the damage she had done.
The house had settled into evening quiet around her.
Jane had gone to bed after spending the remainder of the day offering gentle comfort, whilst Lydia had retreated to her own chamber.
Even the Gardiners had retired, leaving Elizabeth alone with her regrets and the impossible task of crafting an apology worthy of Darcy’s forgiveness.
She dipped her pen in the inkwell and began to write:
My Dear Mr Darcy,
I hardly know how to begin this letter, knowing how poorly I have served both your character and the trust you placed in me. I can only hope that you will read these words with the same generosity of spirit you have always shown, even to one as undeserving as myself.
I was wrong. Utterly, completely wrong to even consider the accusations brought against you by Mr Wickham and James Morton. I see now that I allowed my own fears and insecurities to cloud my judgement, and in doing so, I wounded the one person I would least wish to hurt.
Elizabeth paused, reading over what she had written. The words felt inadequate, too formal for the depth of her regret. She needed to explain not just that she was sorry, but why she had doubted him, why she had been so ready to believe the worst.
She continued:
I know that an apology cannot undo the pain I have caused you, but I must try to explain my actions, if only so you might understand that my doubt was born of my own failings and not any true question of your character.
I have been so happy these past weeks, so content in your affection, that I began to fear it could not last. I am not used to such happiness, and perhaps I—
The pen scratched across the paper and then stopped altogether. Elizabeth looked down to see that the nib had bent, rendering it useless. She set it aside with a frustrated sigh and searched the desk for another, but found none.
Rising from her chair, she made her way to the door. Her mother’s chamber was just next door, and she was likely to have writing materials at her disposal.
She opened a drawer and placed the candle holder on the surface as she riffled through the drawer. She found what she was looking for at the back and pulled out a quill. As she did, she noted folded pages of a newspaper in the corner. Retrieving them, she held them to the light.
They were torn out pages from the scandal sheets that had first started her journey towards her engagement with Darcy.
They were numbered in order of publication.
She glanced into the drawer again and found another piece of paper.
Her mother’s handwriting stared back at her and her blood grew cold.
A list of dates and locations was written there clear as day.
Matlock Ball—Attended by Caroline B. Darcy.
Hursts. Earl of Matlock? Uncle. Lady Catherine De Bourgh?
Aunt? London Tattler. London Caller. Morning Post.
Next to the newspapers were tick marks. Elizabeth lowered the pages. Her mother? Could her mother be responsible for all of this? She left the room and walked down the stairs, finding her mother asleep on the settee in the drawing room, a book beside her.
“Mama,” Elizabeth whispered, moving to wake her mother. “Mama, what is this?”
Mrs Bennet stirred and opened her eyes, immediately focusing on the papers in Elizabeth’s hands. Her face went pale in the moonlight.
“Oh dear,” she said weakly, struggling to sit up. “Elizabeth, what are you doing with those?”
“I came looking for a quill and found these in your desk.” Elizabeth held up the drafts, her voice shaking. “Mama, did you write the announcement about Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley?”
Mrs Bennet’s chin lifted with a hint of her usual defiance, though she looked thoroughly caught. “I may have started this campaign but it is not what you think.”
“Explain because it certainly looks just like what I think.”
“I was simply furious with Mr Darcy for interfering with Jane and Mr Bingley. Mr Bingley was Jane’s chance at happiness.
Darcy ruined it all. So, I thought he should see what it is like to be forced into a courtship he does not want.
I knew from Lydia how fond Miss Bingley was of him, and how much he disliked her.
So, I thought I would write to some of the newspapers and say Mr Darcy had been seen with Miss Bingley in a compromising position.
I assumed there would be a ball of some sort, there always are in Town during the season and Lydia said Miss Bingley is a keen attendee at such events.
And I included that he is the nephew of Lord Matlock, to give it some credibility.
It was the paper that shortened the name to Miss B for anonymity’s sake. ”
A chill ran through her. “You did this out of spite?”
“At first, yes. I wanted to punish him for what he did. He was rude to you and ruined Jane’s chance.
” Mrs Bennet’s voice softened. “When I saw a story had been included in the paper, I simply wrote another, stating an engagement was imminent. I wanted to show him what it was like for Jane to be so trapped.”
“Mama, how could you? That is… that is wicked.”
“Is it? He deserved it. Besides, it turned everything around for us all.
“That is not the point! You manipulated us both into a situation we never wanted. You created lies and spread them publicly—”
“I created an opportunity,” Mrs Bennet interrupted. “And if you are honest with yourself, you will admit that you are happier now than you have ever been. Or were, until whatever has happened today.”
She pressed her lips together and wrapped her arms around herself. “I may have destroyed everything, Mama. I doubted him when I should have trusted him. I believed lies about his character.”
“Then you must go to him and make it right,” Mrs Bennet said firmly. “Tell him you know the truth now, whatever it is. A man in love can forgive many things, but he needs to hear the words.”
Elizabeth looked down at the drafts in her hands, feeling the weight of all the deception that had brought her and Darcy together. “But our entire courtship was built on your lies. How can anything real come from such false beginnings?”
“Because what has grown between you is real, regardless of how it started,” Mrs Bennet said. “I may have provided the circumstances, but I could not have created the feelings. Those are yours and his alone.”
Elizabeth rose from the chair, the papers still clutched in her hands. “I cannot believe you did this. All of it—the scandal, the engagement, everything we have been through—it all began with your scheming.”
“And it will end with your happiness, if you do not let pride stand in your way as it nearly did before,” Mrs Bennet replied. “Now go to him, Lizzy. Go to him before it is too late.”
Elizabeth left her mother’s chamber in a daze, the abandoned letter on her own desk forgotten. She had come seeking a quill to write an apology, but instead had discovered that everything she thought she knew about her relationship with Darcy was built on her mother’s manipulation.
Yet as she sat on her bed, holding the evidence of Mrs Bennet’s deception, she found that her feelings for Darcy remained unchanged.
False beginning or not, what had grown between them was real.
The question now was whether he could forgive not only her lack of faith, but the knowledge that their entire courtship had been orchestrated by a mother’s meddling.
Tomorrow, she would have to face him with the truth—about Wickham’s lies, about her own doubts, and about the scheming that had brought them together in the first place. She could only hope that love was strong enough to overcome such an extraordinary foundation of deception.
Chapter 28
Darcy
The mahogany walls of White’s closed in around Darcy as he sat across from Bingley, his untouched beef growing cold upon the plate. The familiar hum of gentlemen’s conversation and the clink of crystal glasses sounded distant, muffled by the weight of his own misery.
“I tell you, Darcy, I cannot decide between Netherfield and that estate in Gloucestershire,” Bingley continued, cutting into his mutton with obvious enthusiasm.
“Netherfield is near to Longbourn which is convenient, but Jane mentioned she has always fancied the countryside near Bath. Perhaps we might lease it for the first year of our marriage, see how we find it. Though I confess, the lease on Netherfield runs through Michaelmas, and I should hate to waste the funds…”
Darcy pushed a piece of potato around his plate, his mind elsewhere entirely.
Twenty-four hours had passed since his quarrel with Elizabeth in the Gardiners’ garden.
He had replayed every word, every look of disappointment in her eyes when she had chosen to believe Wickham’s lies over everything she knew of his character.
“Darcy?” Bingley’s voice carried concern now. “You have not heard a word I have said, have you?”
“Forgive me.” Darcy set down his fork. “My attention has been… elsewhere.”
“So I observe.” Bingley leaned forward, his usual cheerful demeanour replaced by genuine worry. “My friend, you look positively haggard. What has happened? And pray do not tell me it is nothing—I have known you too long to accept such nonsense.”
“Elizabeth and I have… that is, there has been a disagreement.”
“What manner of disagreement could possibly account for such misery?”
Darcy rubbed his temples. “James Morton made good on his threat at Vauxhall. He somehow discovered George Wickham and brought him to Elizabeth with a collection of lies designed to poison her mind against me.”
Bingley’s fork clattered against his plate. “Wickham? Good God, what did that scoundrel tell her?”