Page 7 of Mr. Darcy’s Honor (Darcy and Elizabeth Forever: Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

ROOM FOR REGRET

Elizabeth learned that social disgrace possessed a peculiar rhythm, beginning with shock, progressing through defiant anger, and finally settling into a grinding awareness of just how thoroughly her world could crumble.

Three weeks had passed since Mrs. Phillips’ disastrous dinner party, and each day brought fresh reminders of the Bennet family’s fallen status.

The morning’s walk to Meryton had been particularly instructive.

Mrs. Long crossed to the opposite side of the street, while the milliner’s wife suddenly developed urgent business in her back room when Elizabeth entered the shop.

Even the lending library, once her sanctuary, now felt hostile—the proprietor’s wife had regarded her with such obvious suspicion that Elizabeth had abandoned her search for new reading material entirely.

“It is most peculiar,” Kitty observed as they walked home along the familiar lanes, “how everyone seems to have urgent business elsewhere whenever we appear.”

“Not everyone,” Lydia said defiantly, though her usual exuberance had dimmed considerably. “Mrs. Forster still speaks to us when the officers are not about.”

The heat of July provided some excuse for the lack of formal entertainments, but Elizabeth was painfully aware that garden parties and intimate dinners continued among their former acquaintances.

She had spotted the Lucas carriage heading toward the Gouldings’ on Tuesday, had seen Mrs. Long entertaining the Phillips family on Wednesday, and had watched from Longbourn’s windows as their neighbors continued their social rounds without them.

Most painful of all had been glimpsing Wickham in Meryton the previous week. He appeared not to have seen her as his attention was focused on a Miss Mary King, whose grandfather’s recent death had improved her financial prospects considerably.

Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering if this was how scandal worked—not with dramatic confrontations or public denunciations, but with this slow, suffocating isolation that left its victims to contemplate their mistakes in increasingly narrow circles.

And she had made mistakes. In the solitude of Longbourn’s gardens and during long walks to Oakham Mount, Elizabeth realized that she was responsible and that her impulsive actions had contributed to their downfall.

What she had intended as a bit of a jest, an alleviation of her discomfort brought on by Darcy’s hurtful words, had provided ammunition for every gossip and wag in the vicinity.

No wonder Darcy preferred to deny the entire encounter. Far better to pretend it had never happened than to have one’s most private feelings dissected by an entire neighborhood, to know that his careful proposal had become the subject of drawing room entertainment.

She still blamed him, however, but found it harder to stir the anger and hatred she’d felt when Wickham showed her his words. Many a night, she, too, had wished the entire evening at Hunsford had been nothing more than a nightmare, swiftly forgotten.

These sobering reflections occupied her mind as she arranged the morning’s correspondence—another pitifully small collection consisting mainly of bills and one letter from Aunt Gardiner expressing cautious concern over “disturbing reports.” She was sealing her response when the sound of approaching hoofbeats made her glance toward the window.

Charles Bingley rode toward Longbourn as though the past months of separation had never occurred. Elizabeth watched him dismount and speak briefly to their groom, noting the way his gaze lingered on the house with unmistakable longing.

“Jane,” Elizabeth called toward the morning room, where her sister sat pretending to read while staring forlornly out at the garden. “We have a visitor.”

“Oh?” Jane’s voice carried a note of hope that made Elizabeth swallow hard. “Who might it be?”

“Our near neighbor from Netherfield.”

“Mr. Bingley?” Jane rose so quickly that her book tumbled to the floor. “But I thought… that is, we had not expected…”

“No, indeed,” Elizabeth said dryly. “One hardly expects visits from gentlemen whose closest friends have recently branded one a delusional fabricator of romantic fantasies.”

“Lizzy, please.” Jane’s gentle reproof carried undertones of desperate hope. “Perhaps he comes with good intentions.”

Mrs. Bennet had spotted their visitor from her bedroom window, for she appeared in the hallway with remarkable speed, her cap slightly askew and her face flushed.

“Mr. Bingley!” she gasped. “Oh, my dear Jane, you must compose yourself immediately. This could be—oh, I hardly dare hope.”

“Mama,” Elizabeth said firmly, “perhaps we should receive Mr. Bingley with our usual courtesy and refrain from speculation.”

“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Bennet smoothed her gown with shaking hands. “Though surely his visit suggests… oh, what could it mean?”

“Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Hill announced, “requests the honor of calling upon the family.”

Bingley entered the drawing room, his gaze finding Jane immediately with a flash of warmth. He glanced around the room and seemed apprehensive of a larger audience. Fortunately, Lydia, Kitty, and Mary were visiting their Aunt Phillips to school them on the social graces a young lady should possess.

“Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing with careful formality. “I hope I find you all in good health.”

“Indeed, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Though these have been challenging times for our family.”

“So I have heard,” Bingley said, his eyes returning to Jane. “It is actually regarding these difficulties that I have come to call.”

Elizabeth’s chest tightened, apprehensive of his purpose. Her father roused himself from his newspaper and appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said. “This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe the honor?”

“Mr. Bennet, I come seeking understanding regarding recent allegations that have caused such distress to your family.” Bingley’s directness was admirable, though Elizabeth noted the careful neutrality of his phrasing.

“Allegations,” Elizabeth repeated quietly. “A diplomatic term, to be sure. Does Mr. Darcy maintain his stance that I imagined our entire encounter?”

“Lizzy!” Jane’s soft reprimand carried a note of desperation.

Bingley straightened his cravat, clearly uncomfortable. “Mr. Darcy has never discussed this encounter with me. He forbids mention, despite Caroline’s persistent inquiries.”

“So honorable of him to maintain his denial while hiding behind the walls of propriety,” Elizabeth continued. “I’ve seen the letter, written in his own hand.”

Bingley coughed. “I understand Miss Elizabeth’s position is difficult.”

“Difficult?” Elizabeth repeated with a sharp laugh. “What an admirably diplomatic term for ‘ruined beyond repair.’”

“Nothing is beyond repair,” Jane said. “Mr. Bingley has come seeking truth, not to judge.”

“Indeed,” Bingley agreed, his expression brightening at Jane’s defense. “I merely wish to understand what has transpired. That is why I have come to hear your account directly.”

“What purpose would that serve?” she asked wearily. “My words against his. And we all know whose word carries greater weight in society.”

“Nevertheless,” Bingley insisted, “I would hear your version, Miss Elizabeth.”

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity that reminded her why she had once thought him the best of men—persuaded her.

With a deep breath, Elizabeth began recounting the events at Hunsford one more time: Darcy’s unexpected arrival at the parsonage, his declaration of love despite his better judgment.

As she spoke, a strange sensation washed over her—a wave of shame that grew with each word. For the first time since this ordeal began, she heard herself through another’s ears. The private moment she described—a gentleman laying bare his heart, however poorly expressed—had been sacred in its way.

She skipped over most of his declarations and his most horrendous moments.

“He left, clearly disgusted with himself,” she said, and to her horror, felt tears welling in her eyes.

“And I… I should have kept his confidence, regardless of my feelings about his manner. It was a private moment, and I—” The tears spilled over, trailing down her cheeks despite her desperate attempt to maintain composure.

“I treated it as an amusing anecdote to be shared. Whatever Mr. Darcy has done since, I must acknowledge my own fault in this.”

Jane immediately moved closer, slipping an arm around her. The room fell silent, save for the soft sounds of Elizabeth’s ragged breathing as she fought to regain control.

“Forgive me,” she said finally, wiping her cheeks with trembling fingers. “It seems the strain of recent events has affected me more than I realized.”

Throughout her account, Bingley had listened attentively, his expression revealing nothing. Now, faced with her unexpected tears, a flicker of genuine sympathy crossed his face.

“There is nothing to forgive, Miss Elizabeth,” he said gently. “Such a situation would test anyone’s composure.”

“But I have wronged Mr. Darcy. I let my temper rule my tongue. Earlier, while he was stumbling around for words, I regretted that I would have to wound him with my refusal, but as he tried to explain himself, cataloging his honest struggles while wounding my pride, I unleashed my full fury on him in the most cruel manner. It’s no wonder he wishes to pretend this entire scene had never transpired.

” She gasped through her sobs. “And, I find myself with exactly the same sentiments.”

Bingley’s expression softened considerably as he watched Elizabeth’s genuine distress. He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a tone of brotherly understanding.

“Miss Elizabeth, I have five sisters of my own. I can understand how a young lady might feel when faced with such a… let us call it an imperfectly delivered proposal. Your reaction, while perhaps regrettable in its consequences, was entirely natural.”

Mrs. Bennet drew herself up indignantly. “Imperfectly delivered? Mr. Bingley, that man insulted our entire family while supposedly declaring his affections. He told my Lizzy she was beneath his station.”

“Mama,” Jane murmured diplomatically, “I am certain Mr. Bingley means no offense to our feelings.”

“None whatsoever,” Bingley assured them quickly.

“I merely meant to say that Darcy, despite his many admirable qualities, has never been particularly eloquent in matters of the heart. Indeed, he is of all men the most honest—sometimes brutally so. I suspect he believed that acknowledging his struggles openly would give greater weight to his declaration. That overcoming such obstacles proved the strength of his attachment.”

Elizabeth wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, her breathing gradually steadying. “His honesty was… comprehensive,” she admitted with a watery attempt at humor. “He detailed every objection with remarkable thoroughness.”

“That sounds like Darcy,” Bingley said with a sympathetic grimace. “He has always believed that complete candor, however uncomfortable, is preferable to pleasant deceptions.”

“Then why is he persisting with the lie?” Mrs. Bennet remarked. “Why not acknowledge that he left my Lizzy in a precarious state?”

“That, I cannot know,” Bingley said. “I suppose the wound to his pride was too great.”

“But the harm has already been done,” Elizabeth said, her voice breaking again.

“It seems that in these matters, a gentleman’s reputation possesses a remarkable resilience, while a lady’s is as fragile as morning frost. Mr. Darcy will emerge from this unfortunate business quite unscathed, while I must bear the consequences of both our indiscretions. ”

“Perhaps,” Bingley said gently, his gaze fixed on Jane, “but that does not mean there can be no going forward. Time has a way of healing even the deepest wounds, and people are capable of forgiveness when given the opportunity.”

Elizabeth managed a wry smile. “You are very kind, Mr. Bingley. I confess I have little experience with forgiveness in matters of such complexity. Perhaps time will prove you right, though I cannot imagine how such a tangled situation might ever be unraveled.”