Chapter 10

D arcy lay in his bed, the room shrouded in darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. He turned restlessly, the fine linen sheets tangling around his legs as his mind churned with the events of the evening. His decision to marry Elizabeth Bennet, had been made with a sense of duty, and it still filled him with a tumult of conflicting emotions.

What would society think? The son of the prestigious Darcy family, master of Pemberley, marrying a woman of no significant fortune, no grand connections? A country girl, whose family, though respectable, lacked the refinement and status that were so deeply ingrained in his world. The thought of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, flashed through his mind—her disapproval would be fierce and unyielding. She had long harboured plans for him to marry her daughter, Anne, and the thought of Elizabeth Bennet, with her sharp wit and independent spirit, would be an affront to all that Lady Catherine held dear.

And what of Georgiana? His sweet, innocent sister, who looked up to him in all things. How would she perceive this union? Would she be disappointed, even scandalized, by his choice? She had gone through enough already. Darcy could almost see her wide, questioning eyes, her confusion at his decision to marry a woman who, by society's standards, was far beneath him. Would she, too, be the subject of whispers and gossip, merely by association with his choice? He doubted that though. Georgiana was the better version of himself, and he couldn't see her hating Elizabeth in any way, regardless of what society had to say.

He turned again, staring up at the ceiling, his mind a relentless storm of doubts and fears. He had always prided himself on making decisions with careful deliberation, guided by duty and the expectations placed upon him by his birth. And yet, tonight, he had been driven by something else—something that stirred within him whenever he thought of Elizabeth Bennet. Something that made him agree to a pressure he could have easily fought.

Elizabeth Bennet. Her name echoed in his mind, conjuring an image of her face—the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence, the graceful curve of her mouth when she spoke, the fierce independence that set her apart from other women. Darcy had to admit, she possessed a beauty of her own, one that went beyond mere physical appearance. It was a beauty of spirit, of character, that captivated him in ways he had not anticipated. There was something in the way she challenged him, questioned him, that both unsettled and intrigued him.

Could it be that he had been too hasty in dismissing her as unworthy? Had he allowed his pride and societal expectations to cloud his judgment? The more he thought of her, the more he realized how much he admired her strength, her wit, and her refusal to be cowed by his haughty demeanour. She was unlike any woman he had ever known, and that, perhaps, was what drew him to her so powerfully.

Yet, even as these thoughts took root in his mind, the doubts lingered. What would it mean to marry her, to bring her into his world? Could she navigate the complexities of his life, withstand the scrutiny and judgment of those who would undoubtedly look down upon her?

Darcy sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he tried to quiet his restless thoughts. He had always believed in doing what was right, in upholding the honour of his family. But tonight, the line between duty and desire had blurred in a way that left him uncertain.

But what choice did he have? He had made his decision, and there was no turning back. He would protect Elizabeth's honour, even if it meant defying the expectations of those around him. And perhaps, just perhaps, this marriage, born of necessity, could be something more. He could see now that there was a strength in Elizabeth that matched his own, a meeting of minds that could lead to a union of respect and, in time, perhaps even affection.

With a final, resolute sigh, Darcy closed his eyes. He would do what he must, not just for the sake of duty, but because, in some inexplicable way, he was drawn to Elizabeth Bennet. There was a beauty in her that had caught his attention, a brilliance in her eyes that challenged him in ways he had never before experienced. She was not the woman he had imagined himself marrying, but perhaps, she was exactly what he needed.

With that thought, Darcy finally drifted into sleep, the image of Elizabeth Bennet lingering in his mind, as much a source of conflict as it was of a strange, newfound determination.

****

When Elizabeth entered her bedchamber, she found Jane already waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed, her face gloomy with pity. Elizabeth closed the door behind her with a sigh, already feeling the weight of the conversation she knew they were about to have.

Jane rose as Elizabeth began to unbutton her gown. "Lizzy," she said gently, her voice laced with worry, "I've been waiting for you. I couldn't sleep, not knowing how you were after everything that has happened tonight."

Elizabeth offered her sister a small, weary smile as she continued to undress. "I suppose it has been quite the evening," she replied, her tone light, though the gravity of the situation was far from lost on her. She carefully laid her gown over the back of a chair and began to change into her nightwear.

Jane watched her sister with soft eyes, wringing her hands in her lap. "Lizzy, there must be some other way. You shouldn't have to marry Mr. Darcy if your heart is not in it. Perhaps we could write to Aunt Gardiner and Uncle—they might persuade Mama and Papa to reconsider."

Elizabeth slipped on her nightdress, her movements slow and deliberate as she considered Jane's words. "I will write to them, Jane," she said finally, "but not to ask for their intervention. I will write to inform them of my impending marriage." She let out a wry chuckle, though it was clear her heart was not in it. "Who would have thought I would marry before you? And to Mr. Darcy, of all people."

Tears rolled down Jane's eye, and she moved closer, grasping Elizabeth's hands. "Lizzy, you don't have to do this. Please, don't feel as though you must sacrifice your happiness for the sake of the family. I am sure Mr. Darcy could explain things to Mr. Bingley, and the rumours would be dispelled."

Elizabeth squeezed her sister's hands, but she gently shook her head. "Oh, Jane, always so quick to believe the best in everyone. But this isn't just about me. Think of Kitty, Lydia, and Mary. A scandal could ruin all of their prospects as well."

She walked over to the dressing table and began brushing out her hair, her movements brisk, as though she could brush away the burden of her situation along with the tangles in her hair. "No, Jane, this is something I must do—for the family, for our future."

Jane looked down, her heart heavy with the weight of her sister's words. "But Lizzy," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "must you bear this burden alone?"

Elizabeth paused in her brushing and turned to face her sister, her expression resolute. "Yes, Jane, I must. And I will." She managed a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Now, you should go to bed. You need your rest, and I will be just fine."

Jane hesitated, her concern evident, but she nodded and rose to leave. She embraced Elizabeth tightly before heading to the door. "If you need anything, Lizzy, I am here for you."

"I know," Elizabeth replied softly, watching as Jane left the room.

Once the door closed behind her sister, Elizabeth turned back to the mirror, staring at her reflection with a troubled heart. Her father's words from earlier echoed in her mind, and a small seed of doubt began to take root. Had she been too quick to judge Mr. Darcy? Could there have been more to Mr. Wickham's story than she had first believed?

She shook her head, unwilling to dwell on the possibility. "No," she whispered to herself. "I know what I saw. Mr. Darcy is proud, aloof, and far too full of his own importance."

Elizabeth reached into one of the drawers and retrieved a small bottle of ointment. With careful hands, she applied it to her sprained leg, suppressing a wince as the balm touched her tender skin. Once her task was done, she returned the ointment to its place. When she settled into bed, her thoughts remained unsettled, refusing to be calmed. Her father's gentle words lingered in her mind, urging her to view Mr. Darcy in a more generous light. Could it be that she had misjudged him? The question troubled her, and despite her best efforts, she found no easy answer.

Elizabeth sighed, pulling the covers up to her chin, while resolving not to let her uncertainty get the better of her. She would do what was needed to be done, for the sake of her family, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. Yet as she closed her eyes, the thought of Mr. Darcy's intense gaze and the softness of his touch when he held her swirled up in her mind, leaving her more unsettled than ever before.