Page 32 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”
“The usual fabrications. That I denied him a living promised by my father, that I dismissed faithful tenants without cause.” Darcy’s jaw tightened. “He even provided forged letters as evidence of my supposed cruelty.”
“Surely Elizabeth did not believe such nonsense?”
“She did not immediately dismiss it.” The admission tasted bitter. “She came to me with questions, doubts. When I learned that James Morton had orchestrated the entire encounter, I… I lost my temper.”
Bingley stared at him in amazement. “She doubted your character based on accusations from James Morton? The same man who tried to force her sister into an unwanted marriage?”
“Wickham also claimed that you were present when I supposedly refused him aid a second time. That you supported my decision to cast him out.” Darcy met his friend’s eyes.
“What?” Bingley’s voice rose, drawing glances from nearby tables. “I was never present for any such encounter! I barely know the man beyond your warnings about his character!”
“I know that. You know that. But Elizabeth…”
“Elizabeth should have known it too!” Bingley’s indignation was fierce. “How could she doubt either of us so readily? Surely, she must have realised Wickham was cut from the same cloth as Morton—willing to say anything to cause harm?”
Darcy was quiet for a long moment, staring into his wine glass. “I never told her about Wickham. About what he did to Georgiana.”
“What?” Bingley’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. “But surely you mentioned—”
“I alluded to something that had made me feel like a poor guardian to my sister, but I gave her no details.” Darcy’s drummed his fingers on the table. “I could not bring myself to speak of that shameful episode again. I blamed myself enough for failing to protect Georgiana properly.”
“Darcy,” Bingley said. “You cannot blame yourself for Wickham’s manipulations. He fooled your father for years, fooled Georgiana completely. The man is a master of deception.”
“Nevertheless, I should have warned Elizabeth. If she had known Wickham’s true character, she would never have entertained his accusations for a moment.”
“Perhaps not, but—” Bingley paused, studying his friend’s face with growing understanding. “You are not truly angry with Elizabeth for doubting, are you? You are angry with yourself for not preparing her to face such lies.”
Darcy lifted his eyes to meet Bingley’s concerned gaze. “I am angry with myself for many things. But yes, I am also hurt that she did not trust me enough to dismiss such accusations immediately.”
“Have you spoken to her since the quarrel?”
“No. What would be the point? She has shown me exactly how much faith she has in my character.”
Bingley leaned back in his chair. “My friend, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you love her?”
The question hung in the air between them. Darcy’s chest loosened at finally hearing the words spoken aloud.
“Yes,” he said. “I love her more than I thought it possible to love anyone.”
“Then go to her.” Bingley’s voice was strong. “Pride is a cold bedfellow, Darcy. If you love Elizabeth Bennet, then fight for her. Explain about Wickham, help her understand why she was vulnerable to his lies. Do not throw away your chance at happiness over a misunderstanding.”
“It was more than a misunderstanding—”
“Was it?” Bingley interrupted. “She was approached by lies designed to wound her, delivered by your enemy in alliance with her family’s greatest threat.
She had no knowledge of Wickham’s true character to protect her from his deceptions.
And when confusion arose, she came to you rather than simply accepting the accusations.
Does that not speak to some level of trust? ”
Darcy considered this, turning the events over in his mind from a different angle.
Elizabeth had not believed Wickham immediately—she had brought her doubts to him, seeking the truth.
It was only his anger at learning Morton’s involvement that had prevented him from providing the explanations she sought.
“You may be right,” he admitted.
“I am right. Now finish your wine and go to her before you lose her to your own stubborn pride.”
***
An hour later, Darcy stood before the familiar entrance to Darcy House, his steps quickening as he approached. He would seek Elizabeth at the Gardiners’ immediately, armed with the full truth about Wickham and a thorough apology for his own poor handling of their quarrel.
Morrison met him at the door with obvious relief. “Mr Darcy, sir. You have a visitor in the morning room.”
“I cannot receive anyone at present—”
“It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sir. She arrived with Miss Georgiana an hour ago.”
Darcy’s heart stuttered. “Miss Bennet is here?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Georgiana took her to the morning room whilst they waited for your return.”
Darcy strode towards the morning room, his pulse quickening with each step. As he approached, he could hear the soft murmur of feminine voices through the partially open door.
“…should not blame yourself,” Georgiana was saying. “Wickham has always been extraordinarily skilled at deception. He convinced our father of his worth for years, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Even I believed his lies completely.”
“But I should have seen through him immediately,” Elizabeth replied, her voice thick with regret. “Especially knowing that James Morton was involved. I should have trusted what I knew of Mr Darcy’s character.”
“Wickham is very charming when it serves his purposes,” Georgiana said.
“When he… when he convinced me he loved me, I believed every word. I was fifteen and foolish, but he made me think I was the most important person in his world. It was only when Fitzwilliam arrived in Ramsgate that I learned the truth.”
“You were so young,” Elizabeth said. “Your innocence was not foolishness.”
“Perhaps not, but it taught me how persuasive Wickham can be when he wishes to cause harm. You should not fault yourself for being deceived, even briefly.”
Darcy paused outside the door, his hand frozen on the handle. Elizabeth was here, speaking with Georgiana about Wickham. His sister was revealing the very secrets he had been too proud to share.
“Elizabeth.” Georgiana’s voice brightened as she noticed him in the doorway. “Fitzwilliam has returned.”
Elizabeth rose from her chair, her face pale but determined. “Mr Darcy.”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
They stared at each other across the morning room whilst Georgiana glanced between them with obvious concern.
“I shall leave you to speak privately,” Georgiana said, moving towards the door. She paused beside her brother, reaching up to squeeze his arm. “Be kind to her, Fitzwilliam. And to yourself.”
When they were alone, both began speaking at once.
“I must apologise—”
“I owe you an explanation—”
They stopped, sharing a tentative smile despite the tension.
“Please,” Darcy said, gesturing towards the sofa. “Allow me to explain about Wickham.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Georgiana has told me everything. About Ramsgate, about his attempt to elope with her for her fortune. I understand now why you could not speak of it before.”
“I should have told you,” Darcy said, moving closer. “I should have warned you what manner of man he was. If I had overcome my own pride and shame about failing to protect Georgiana properly, you would never have been vulnerable to his lies.”
“And I should have dismissed his accusations immediately.” Elizabeth’s voice was thick with emotion. “I should have trusted what I knew of your character instead of allowing my own fears to cloud my judgement.”
“Your fears?”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands. “I have been so happy these past weeks. So content in your affection. Perhaps I was expecting something dreadful to happen, because such happiness seemed too good to be true.” She lifted her eyes to meet his.
“I realise now that I have never cared for anyone the way I care for you, and it frightened me. I began to doubt whether I deserved such good fortune.”
Darcy’s chest ached. “Elizabeth, you are the finest woman I have ever known. If anyone deserves happiness, it is you.”
“I was a fool to listen to James Morton’s poison, even for a moment. I knew what manner of man he was, knew he would stop at nothing to strike back at us. Yet when he appeared with Wickham and those letters…”
“The letters were forgeries,” Darcy said. “Every word of them.”
“I suspected as much almost immediately. There were no addresses, no specific details that could be verified. But by then, the damage was done. I had already shown you how little faith I had in your character.”
Darcy reached for her hands, relief washing through him when she did not pull away. “We have both made mistakes, Elizabeth. But perhaps we can learn from them. Be more open with each other going forward, more trusting.”
“I should like that very much.” She squeezed his hands. “Though I confess, there is something else I must tell you. Something that may change how you regard our future together.”
Darcy’s heart clenched. “What is it?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I discovered who wrote the original notices to the scandal sheets. It was my mother.”
“Your mother?” Darcy stared at her in shock. “But how could she have known about the ball we attended? You and Jane were still at Longbourn when it took place.”
“She did not know anything specific about the ball,” Elizabeth explained, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“She simply assumed there would be social events during the season. She knew from Lydia that Caroline was fond of dancing, and she gambled that you would both attend some gathering or other.”
Darcy’s mind reeled. “She fabricated the entire story?”
“She wrote to multiple newspapers, hoping one would print her tale. When the first notice appeared, she followed it with additional rumours to keep the story alive.” Elizabeth’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“She wanted to force you into an uncomfortable situation, the way you had forced Jane into one with your interference between her and Mr Bingley.”
“Good God.” Darcy began to pace the room, running his hands through his hair. “Your mother orchestrated this entire scheme out of revenge?”
“Yes. Though she never intended for it to become what it did between us. She was quite surprised when I claimed to be Miss B, but pleased when she thought something genuine might develop.” Elizabeth watched him anxiously. “Are you very angry?”
Darcy stopped pacing and turned to face her. To Elizabeth’s amazement, his lips were twitching with suppressed amusement.
“I suppose I should be concerned,” he said, “that my future mother-in-law despised me enough to spread false rumours through the London papers in order to trap me in an unwanted marriage.”
Elizabeth’s own lips curved upward. “She has changed her opinion of you since then. She thinks you are quite wonderful now.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” Darcy’s smile widened. “Though I suspect this will make for entertaining dinner conversation in years to come. Our children will certainly be thoroughly amused by the tale of how their grandmama engineered their parents’ courtship through scandal and deception.”
“Children?” Elizabeth’s voice was barely a whisper.
Darcy moved to stand before her. “Elizabeth, surely you do not think I would wish to end our engagement over such revelations? I have told you already—I love you. Not because of how we came together, but because of who you are. Your intelligence, your loyalty to your family, your courage in facing adversity. I love your quick wit and your generous heart. I love the way you challenge me to be better than I am.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shone with tears. “I love you too, Fitzwilliam. I think I have loved you for weeks, but I was too frightened to acknowledge it. Too afraid that someone like you could not truly care for someone like me.”
“Someone like me?” Darcy cupped her face in his hands. “Elizabeth, I am a proud, stubborn man who nearly threw away the greatest happiness of his life over wounded pride. You are everything good and bright in this world. I am the one who is unworthy.”
“Then we are perfectly matched in our unworthiness,” Elizabeth said, tears flowing down her cheeks. “And perhaps that is what will make us worthy of each other.”
Darcy leaned down and kissed her then, soft and gentle at first, then with growing passion as Elizabeth’s arms came around his neck. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless.
“I have a confession,” Darcy murmured against her hair. “I never want this to end. Will you marry me, Elizabeth? Truly this time, not for convenience or scandal, but because you cannot imagine a future without me as I cannot imagine one without you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered. “Yes, with all my heart.”
As they stood together in the morning room of Darcy House, holding each other close, both knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. Their love had been tested by deception, misunderstanding, and their own stubborn pride, but it had emerged stronger than ever.