Chapter Twenty-Three

Darcy

5 th December 1811

T he week following their tense arrival at Matlock had passed in relative peace, though an uneasy undercurrent still lingered between Darcy’s aunt and Elizabeth. Lady Matlock, with her sharp tongue and carefully veiled criticisms, had largely withdrawn, choosing to occupy herself with other matters and keeping her distance from Elizabeth. The tension between them was unmistakable, but both women appeared to have settled into an unspoken truce, steering clear of one another for the sake of decorum.

Darcy, meanwhile, felt a profound sense of relief that no further troubles had befallen them since their dramatic arrival. No mysterious figures had appeared, and there had been no further threats to Maggie’s safety, for which he was sincerely thankful. His uncle, ever thorough and dependable, had made enquiries through his connections, while his cousin, Richard, had promised to send word from Brighton the moment he uncovered anything more about the girl’s origins. But for now, there was little more to do but wait.

And so, Darcy and Elizabeth took to exploring the grounds of Matlock together, with Maggie often scampering along beside them. The vast gardens and trees offered a welcome respite from the tension inside the house. Now, with winter upon them, the landscape had transformed. The trees stood bare, their branches glinting with frost. Occasionally, a light snow would fall, blanketing the world in white, only to be washed away by a brief thaw. Darcy found unexpected solace in the crisp air and the quiet companionship that had developed between him and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth. She was Elizabeth to him now. The face still heartened him each time he thought of her name. It was curious how quickly one’s heart could change. Where once he’d been vexed by her at every turn, he now admired her. No, it was more than admiration but that was a thought for another day.

Amidst the uncertainties of their situation, the sound of Maggie’s laughter and their easy conversations brought him a rare sense of peace.

But even as he enjoyed these moments, Darcy’s mind remained preoccupied. He could not shake the worry that had settled within him; there was still so much they didn’t know about Maggie, the bandits, or what might yet come. And now, his aunt’s disapproval added yet another layer of difficulty, which he knew would not be easily dismissed.

One cold December evening, as the house settled into its usual rhythm, the peace was broken once more. Darcy sat in the library with his uncle, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth, as Lord Matlock unfolded a letter that had just arrived.

“I have word from a friend in the north” Lord Matlock said quietly, scanning the letter. “It seems that Maggie may not be the only child to have been targeted. Several other families have had to contend with similar threats.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “Where has this taken place?”

Lord Matlock looked up, his expression grave. “In Northumberland, near the Scottish border. These incidents have mostly occurred there. So far, none have succeeded, but the reports are worrying.”

Darcy’s mind raced. “The Scottish border? But Maggie was found in Hertfordshire, well to the south. It hardly seems plausible the same villains would operate in both regions.”

Lord Matlock nodded slowly. “You are quite correct. But there are also tales of children taken into servitude against their will, some sold. In the north as well as the south. Which leads me to believe that Maggie is one of those. If she were high born, there would have been notice of her disappearance by now. The families affected by these incidents are not the sort to endure their losses quietly.”

Darcy thought of the little girl with her dark curls and wide, innocent eyes. He had grown quite attached to her, and the thought that she might simply be an unfortunate, caught in some ill-fated scheme, filled him with frustration. Just as he was about to speak, the door opened, and Lady Matlock entered the room with a letter in hand, a satisfied look on her face.

“I’ve had a letter from Lady Catherine,” she announced, as though her news were of great importance.

Darcy felt a jolt of unease at the mention of his formidable aunt. He knew Lady Catherine’s opinions were rarely mild, and he had no desire to endure one of her sharp critiques. His aunt Matlock could be kind when she chose to be but she was often under the influence of Lady Catherine and it brought out a side of Lady Matlock Darcy dreaded.

Lord Matlock, however, remained composed. “And what does my sister have to say?”

Lady Matlock’s smile grew ever so slightly. “She has recently been to London, where she called on the Hursts at Grosvenor Square. Apparently, she heard of some rather interesting developments—namely, Darcy’s involvement in the affairs of his friend, Mr Bingley.”

Darcy felt his jaw clench. He had taken care to keep his actions on Bingley’s behalf discreet, but it appeared discretion had failed him. “My involvement?”

Lady Matlock gave a faintly triumphant nod. “Yes, it seems your decision to discourage Mr Bingley’s attachment to Miss Bennet was a topic of much discussion. Mrs Hurst, it seems, relishes such news.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened further. How had private matters become the subject of gossip? “And Lady Catherine’s view?”

Lady Matlock’s expression turned smug. “Naturally, she applauds you for your discernment. The Bennets are hardly suitable companions for someone of Mr Bingley’s standing. It is commendable that you sought to protect your friend’s interests. I do hope, though, that you apply the same care to your own associations with the Bennets.”

Darcy’s breath caught. The unfairness of Lady Catherine’s judgement—and now his aunt’s support of it—was infuriating. He was about to defend the Bennets, knowing Elizabeth in particular did not deserve such judgement, when the door opened again.

There, framed in the doorway, stood Elizabeth. Her face was pale, her lips pressed tightly, and her eyes shone with restrained anger.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, rising at once.

“You… you advised Mr Bingley to leave my sister, didn’t you?” Elizabeth’s voice shook, her emotions barely held in check. “You separated them.”

Darcy’s uncle glanced back at his letter, his mouth pursed, while Lady Matlock crossed her ankles, sitting upright as if entirely unbothered by the conflict unfolding.

“Please, allow me to explain,” Darcy said, stepping towards Elizabeth, but she pulled her arm back from his light touch.

“Did you?”

Darcy moved closer, his expression pleading. He felt his relatives’ eyes on him. This was highly irregular of course but in this moment he cared only about one thing. Her. “Elizabeth, I—”

“Do not call me Elizabeth after what you have done,” she snapped and turned, storming out into the hall. Darcy followed quickly, managing to guide her into the library where they could be alone. “Do you deny it? Did you not persuade Mr Bingley to abandon my sister?”

Darcy inhaled deeply, the weight of guilt pressing down on him. “Yes,” he admitted. “I did, but—”

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief, her eyes fierce. “How could you? How could you meddle in something so personal, so sacred? Jane loved him. She still loves him. And now, thanks to you, she’s left with a broken heart.”

“I did not know—” Darcy began, his voice strained.

Elizabeth’s incredulous expression stopped him. “Didn’t know? How could you not? Jane’s feelings were genuine, but you—” Her voice wavered. “You thought her indifferent, didn’t you?”

Darcy swallowed, his voice low. “Yes. I thought your sister was detached. I acted out of concern for Bingley.”

Elizabeth’s face hardened. “Concern? You call that concern? It was arrogance, Mr Darcy. You presumed to understand Jane’s heart better than she did. You judged her worth based on nothing but your own prejudices.”

Darcy stepped towards her, his hands reaching out in an attempt to bridge the gulf between them. “I was mistaken,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I understand that now. But please, believe me, Elizabeth, I never wished to cause you or your sister pain.”

Elizabeth looked at him for a long moment, her eyes cold. “You may have thought yourself in the right, but all you did was cause harm. Jane may never recover. And as for me…” Her voice broke slightly, then steadied. “As for me, I do not know if I can ever forgive you.”

Darcy’s heart clenched, and he took a step forward. “Elizabeth—Miss Bennet—I care for you deeply. More than I have ever cared for anyone.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with anger. “If you truly cared for me,” she said, her voice cold, “you would not have meddled in my family’s affairs.”

Darcy drew a breath, his words coming out hoarse. “I was wrong. I know that now. I cannot undo what I have done, but I would do anything to make it right.”

Elizabeth looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head sadly. “Some things cannot be undone, Mr Darcy. Some wounds cut too deeply.”

She turned, leaving him alone in the library, and closed the door softly behind her. Darcy sank into his chair, the crackling fire providing little warmth as he sat in silence, realising that his actions had driven away the one person he cared for most in the world.