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“A convenient assertion,” Lady Catherine sniffed. “Though I understand Mrs Bennet’s ambitions extend beyond a single daughter’s match. Is it not true that she harboured similar hopes for Jane Bennet and Mr Bingley?”

“Charles Bingley’s connections are his own concern,” Darcy interjected, struggling to maintain composure.

“Indeed, and you have done him a service in extracting him from that entanglement,” Lady Catherine replied with satisfaction.

Darcy watched in horror as the impact of these words registered on Elizabeth’s face. He looked at his cousin who shook his head, face pale.

“I have said not a word,” he said.

“You need not, nephew,” Lady Catherine smiled.

“What do you mean? Done him a service how?” Elizabeth asked, voice shaking.

None spoke until Lady Catherine cleared her throat.

“Shall I tell you, Fitzwilliam?” She did not give him a chance to do so.

“My nephew overheard your mother’s plans for Mr Bingley and Fitzwilliam informed his friend post haste that he needed to extract himself from the entanglement with your sister.

Something he should have done for himself. ”

“Is that true?” she asked, the anguish in her voice cutting through him.

“I… I meant…” He couldn’t say he meant well because in the moment, he had been full of nothing but anger. Instead, he turned to his aunt. “How dare you involve yourself in my personal affairs. And how do you know any of this?”

Lord Matlock cleared his throat.

“You ought to be more careful where you share your private conversation,” he said. “Although in this case, I am glad you were careless and allowed me the opportunity to overhear your conversation in the sculpture garden.”

“You eavesdropped?” Darcy called, throwing his napkin down.

“Hardly. I was there reading a book when the two of you arrived, and what fortune timing it was indeed,” Lord Matlock said.

“Father, this was not your information to share,” Richard said, shaking his head.

“I dare say it was. For it seems poor Mrs Darcy here was unaware of her husband’s machinations, even if she knew of her mother’s.”

“Pray excuse me,” Elizabeth said, pushing her chair back so fast her napkin fell to the ground. “I find myself suddenly indisposed.”

She departed with haste but Darcy saw the trembling of her hands. He started to rise, intent on following her, but his uncle’s hand fell upon his arm.

“Let her go, Darcy,” Lord Matlock murmured. “She will need a moment to collect herself.”

“This is your doing,” Darcy said to Lady Catherine, his voice low with fury.

“I merely shared information that had come to my attention,” his aunt replied, unrepentant.

Darcy stood. “Excuse me. I must attend to my wife.”

He found Elizabeth in the library, standing by the window with her back to the door. Moonlight silvered her profile, revealing a stillness that bespoke profound distress.

“Elizabeth,” he began, closing the door behind him.

“Is it true?” she demanded. “Did you separate Jane and Mr Bingley?”

Darcy inclined his head. “Yes.”

“Why?” The single word hung between them, weighted with accusation.

“I advised Bingley to create distance between himself and your sister, to test if her affections were genuine and would endure separation. I also indicated that her interests in him may be motivated by finances more so than affection.”

“So, you appointed yourself the arbiter of their futures,” Elizabeth said, her voice rising. “You decided, based on your narrow observations, that Jane’s feelings required testing.”

“I acted in what I believed was my friend’s best interest,” Darcy said. “Bingley is easily influenced, quick to form attachments. I wished to protect him from an imprudent connection.”

“An imprudent connexion,” Elizabeth repeated bitterly. “Like your own marriage to me, perhaps? Is that why you have withdrawn these past days? Have you come to regret your proposing to me?”

“That is unfair, Elizabeth. I have never regretted our marriage.”

“Yet you look down upon my family with such disdain that you feel entitled to intervene in their affairs. You play with the happiness of others as if they were mere chessmen.”

“I admit I erred in the case of Bingley and your sister,” Darcy said, struggling to contain his frustration. “I should not have interfered. But can you claim perfect conduct in our marriage? Did you not conceal your acquaintance with Wickham?”

“I did, and I regret it. But my sin was one of omission, not commission. I did not actively seek to harm anyone.”

“Nor did I,” Darcy protested. “I genuinely believed I was protecting Bingley. I overheard your mother pressing you for money and it coloured my judgement. That conversation, combined with my lingering hurt over the Wickham matter, led me to question your family’s motives.”

“You know nothing of Jane’s heart,” Elizabeth said, trembling with indignation. “My sister’s temperament is reserved, her manner is gentle. But her attachment to Mr Bingley was real and deep, as was his to her, before you saw fit to separate them.”

Darcy’s certainty faltered. “If I have misjudged, I shall write to Bingley at once. I shall explain and encourage him to return to Netherfield.”

“It may be too late,” Elizabeth replied, tears glistening. “Jane’s heart is broken, and the neighbourhood has observed Bingley’s departure. His pride may prevent him from returning now.”

“I shall do what I can to rectify the situation,” Darcy insisted.

Elizabeth turned away. “I thought we might build something real. I believed we had discovered genuine regard. But how can I trust a man who would dismiss my sister’s happiness in such a cavalier manner? A man who thinks so little of my family’s integrity?”

“Elizabeth, please—”

“No,” she interrupted. “When we return to London, I shall consult a solicitor regarding an annulment. Our marriage has never been consummated, so there should be no impediment.”

The words struck Darcy like a physical blow. “You cannot mean that.”

“I do,” Elizabeth said, though her voice trembled. “Better to end our arrangement now, before deeper attachments form. We shall honour our agreement as originally intended—one year, followed by an amicable separation.”

Darcy stood motionless, unable to formulate a response that might bridge the chasm suddenly yawning between them. “I ask only that you consider carefully before taking such an irrevocable step.”

With a formal bow, he withdrew from the library, leaving Elizabeth to her solitude.

The remainder of the evening passed in a fog of disbelief.

Darcy retired early, ignoring Lady Catherine’s pointed remarks about Elizabeth’s absence from the drawing-room.

Once alone, he paced his chamber, alternating between self-recrimination and fruitless attempts to compose a response that might salvage their marriage.

Had he truly been so blind? So arrogant in his presumptions?

The conversation he had overheard between Elizabeth and her mother took on a new complexion considering her steadfast defence of Jane.

Mrs Bennet’s deliberations had clouded his judgement, leading him to paint the entire family with the same brush.

Darcy paused in his pacing to gaze out the window at the moonlit gardens. How could he have been so willing to believe the worst of the Bennets? In his pride, he had allowed his prejudices to guide his actions, certain he understood a situation that was far more complex than he had imagined.

Towards dawn, exhaustion finally claimed him, though his sleep was restless and filled with troubling dreams. He woke with the first light of morning, a sense of urgency driving him from his bed. Despite the early hour, he must speak with Elizabeth again.

The passage was silent as he made his way to her chamber. He knocked, receiving no response. With mounting apprehension, he tried the door, finding it unlocked. The room beyond was empty, the bed unslept in.

He opened her armoire and found it too empty.

Sweat broke out on his forehead and he rushed to her writing desk. There, he found a folded note.

I cannot remain here where forces actively work against me and where your aunt looks gleefully down upon me and mine.

I cannot remain where I am constantly reminded of how little I or my family are wanted or valued.

Please do not come for me. I shall provide my location in due course so the annulment of our marriage can be fulfilled.

Elizabeth Bennet

Darcy stared at the letter, a cold dread washing over him. She had signed with her maiden name—Bennet, not Darcy—a symbolic severing that cut deeper than her words of annulment. He sank into the chair by her desk, the letter clutched in his trembling hand.

“Fitzwilliam?” came a voice from the doorway. Georgiana stood there, her expression troubled. “What has happened? Where is Elizabeth?”

Darcy looked up at his sister, his face ashen. “She’s gone,” he said simply. “And I fear it is entirely my doing.”