12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

D arcy sat rigidly in the library, attempting to focus on the book before him, though its words blurred under the wheel of his thoughts. Across from him, Colonel Fitzwilliam reclined in his chair, absorbed in his own reading—or so it appeared.

Yet Darcy could not shake the sensation of his cousin's quiet judgement, simmering just beneath the surface. The words Richard had spoken earlier still seared his mind, stinging more than they should. His cheeks burned each time Richard turned a page, even though the colonel never lifted his gaze from the text. Still, Darcy felt his cousin's unspoken rebuke, his unwelcome opinions, like an iron pressing against his skin.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to bury himself in his book. But then, the muffled sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the stillness. Darcy glanced up, his senses sharpening as he heard voices outside the door. Elizabeth's voice—frantic, edged with something he could not quite place—sent a jolt of apprehension through him.

"Is Mr Darcy inside?" Elizabeth's voice rang through the hallway, urgent and breathless.

The footman outside the door replied, "Yes, Mrs Darcy, the master is in the library."

An instant later, the door opened, and Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, her entire posture trembling.

A nameless dread seized Darcy's heart, and he rose to his feet at once, striding towards her. "Elizabeth! Are you unwell?"

She shook her head, but her gaze darted past him, landing briefly on the colonel seated behind. "I need to speak with you," she said in a low voice, her expression still stricken. "Alone. It is urgent."

Darcy glanced over his shoulder, catching Richard's raised brow, but without a word, he turned back to her and nodded. "Of course," he said quietly, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. "Come with me."

He led her out into the hall, the pit in his stomach deepening as they made their way to his study. What could have overset her so?

Elizabeth's hands trembled in his as they walked into his study. Darcy closed the door behind them and led her to the centre of the room, but she seemed unable to find the words right away. Her breath hitched in her throat as she fought to calm herself.

Darcy stepped closer, eyes searching hers. "What has happened?"

Elizabeth gulped some air. "A—a woman came to my room just now. A Mrs Watson—did you know of this?"

Darcy stared at her, his mind struggling to keep pace with her words. Watson? Oh … yes. Mrs Watson. That made perfect sense—he had sent for Mrs Watson himself, arranging for a tactful, capable woman to take stock of… well, Mrs Darcy's health. It was only right that he should have sent for someone.

But why was Elizabeth looking at him like this, pale and wide-eyed, trembling on the spot?

"Yes," he nodded slowly. "I sent for her. I was assured she was competent and discreet. Why are you alarmed? Did she harm you?"

Elizabeth shook her head, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to him. "No, she did not harm me. But..." She swallowed, her voice thick with emotion, as if she could barely get the words out. "I fear you are under a serious misapprehension."

Darcy frowned. "What misapprehension?"

Elizabeth's hands twisted before her, her face paling even further. "I... I am not with child. I have never been."

The air in the room shifted, as if all the breath had been sucked out. For a moment, Darcy could do nothing but stare at her, frozen in place as her words slowly sank in.

Not with child?

But… that made no sense! Of course, she was! Why else would he have had to marry her? He blinked, his throat tightening, and the room seemed to tilt.

"You are not... pregnant?" His voice came out in a strangled laugh, as if he could not even believe the words when he spoke them aloud.

Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes filled with a burnished glaze that threatened tears. "No. Why did you think I was?"

His mind reeled, grasping for explanations that slipped further from reach with every passing second. His heart pounded in his chest, fury and disbelief warring within him. Not pregnant?

"I thought you were because your very manner confirmed my suspicions! The day we met, you asked me if I knew of your… reproach."

"And you said you did! I thought you knew the truth, the facts of what happened! You did not say anything about me being with child."

Darcy hissed, stalking a short circle and then rounding on her again. "I did not think I had to! You vomited all over the floor yesterday! The ill-fitting clothing, your sickness—how are those not dead giveaways?"

She paled, her mouth slackening as she looked at him like he had grown an arm sprouting out of his forehead. "Coincidences! A borrowed gown and a bit of travel sickness, exacerbated by sheer terror of the size of this house! And you took these as proofs that I was pregnant ?"

"What about the scandal?" he demanded, pacing away from her again, unable to face the truth unravelling before him. "Why did Bingley insist? Why did Gardiner practically beg me to marry you?" His thoughts raced, flashes of that chaotic moment returning—the letter, the rumours, Gardiner's desperation.

Elizabeth tried to speak, her voice breaking as she stumbled over her words. "There was an… an incident. Harry… that is, Captain Darcy, he—"

Darcy cut her off, his frustration boiling over. "The letter! The letter from Gardiner, accusing Harry... telling him about how he had wronged you... what, then? What about that?"

She blinked, confusion clouding her expression. "What letter?"

His anger surged, and he strode to his desk, yanking open the drawer where he had stashed the wretched thing. He pulled it out and practically threw it into her hands. "This letter! The one I found among Harry's papers. Read it!"

Elizabeth fumbled with the paper, her hands shaking as she unfolded it. He watched her face as she read, her lips moving silently over the damning words. He saw the colour drain from her cheeks, the way her shoulders sagged as the weight of the letter's contents hit her.

"Harry... betrayed me?" she whispered, the words barely audible, her voice cracking with disbelief. "He… who is this girl?"

Darcy snatched the letter back, fury coursing through him. "Is this not about you? Is this not your uncle's hand? Is this not why Gardiner was so eager to marry you off? Why everyone was so bloody insistent that you needed protection?"

Elizabeth shook her head frantically. "No, no! It is not my uncle's hand, I swear. Nor my father's. I would know if it were—I had no cause for anyone to make such accusations. Do you think they made this up to… I don't know what! But this is not… not about me."

Darcy's vision blurred, the room spinning around him as his world collapsed in on itself. "Bingley," he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "That fool! His stupidity has done this. He swore there was some great secret, some private catastrophe that warranted my personal attention. What the devil was it? Did Harry step on the lace of your ball gown? Spill his wine on your fichu?"

"Mr Darcy, please! Mr Bingley was right when he said… well, I suppose I do not know what he said to you, but matters truly were quite desperate!"

"Aye, desperate, indeed. You had no dowry. No other prospects, and the one you had got your hooks into inconvenienced you by dying before he could be leg shackled. What bothersome timing!"

Elizabeth straightened, her eyes suddenly blazing with a fire he had never witnessed. "I am no fortune hunter. Take it back!"

"Why should I? It is the truth, is it not?"

Her features flushed. "Do you think I wanted to find myself here? Stuck with a man who hardly speaks to me? Given no opportunity to refuse because of the misdeeds of others?"

He barked a caustic laugh. "Refuse! There is a good joke. You would refuse me? My wealth? The comforts of being Mistress of Pemberley? Tell me something I could believe."

Her mouth twisted into a dark scowl. "You cannot conceive it, can you? Do you think I planned to entrap you? That I would not a thousand times rather run back to Longbourn this instant, back to the comforts of my family and far away from your condescension?"

He slammed his fist on the desk, the sound echoing in the room. He couldn't stop himself, couldn't hold back the torrent of emotion that poured out of him. "You are a fine one to talk. You think you have been inconvenienced? What about me? I was swindled! Fooled into sacrificing my honour on a broken altar! Now, I am bound to a woman I never intended to marry over a child that never existed!"

The words spilt from him, sharp and bitter, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking of the humiliation, the endless shame. Egad, what was he to tell Richard now? What about the rest of the world? This could not be undone!

His chest heaved with fury, the betrayal cutting deeper than anything he had imagined. He had done this to himself, bound himself to a lie, to a woman who—

No. He couldn't think of her now.

"What am I to do now?" he shouted, the anger erupting from him like a storm. "In Heaven's name, what am I to do? " His voice broke, and for a moment, the room fell silent, save for the sound of Elizabeth's outraged sob.

"How dare you, sir," she whispered. "You think only of your own misfortune? You blame me for this?"

"Indeed, madam. Who else is there?"

Elizabeth drew herself up once more, but her composure was shattered. More sobs quaked in her chest, and the cords of her neck flickered under her skin as she choked on what remained of her courage.

And then she gushed into a gasping torrent of rage and grief—a wordless fit of humiliation and despair that broke freely over her face.

He couldn't bear to hear it. The tears, the apologies she owed him but was surely too proud to render. He could not stomach any of it. They only made it worse, reminding him of how deeply entangled he had become. He turned away from her, his hand gripping the back of a chair, his knuckles white with the force of it.

"Just... leave me," he said, his voice hoarse.

He heard her stifled sob as she hurried from the room, the door closing softly behind her, leaving Darcy alone with the bitter taste of betrayal and his own unbearable regret.

E lizabeth barely remembered how she had managed to slip out of the house. Her heart pounded, her chest constricting as she fled down the steps, past the hedgerows, and toward the garden maze. She had no idea how to pass through it, had never had a chance to explore it. She only knew that she had to escape the suffocating walls of Pemberley, the biting lash of her husband's words still ringing in her ears.

It felt as if the world was closing in around her, each step carrying her further into a labyrinth of emotions she had no strength to navigate. The autumn breeze whipped against her face as she stumbled through the gravel paths, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. How dare he? How could he hurl such accusations at her as if she were a schemer, a fortune hunter, and not a victim of circumstances?

Reaching the entrance of the garden maze, she hesitated, then plunged into its quiet, hoping the high hedges would shield her from the eyes of the household staff. She needed to be alone. She needed to scream, to shout, to demand answers from a world that had suddenly betrayed her in the worst possible way.

The sharp edges of the maze walls blurred as she pushed deeper inside, past the clipped hedges and neatly ordered paths. Oh, how she hated them all! Hated their unfamiliarity, hated their perfection. Hated the man who had brought her to live among them.

Yes, that was the word she was searching for. She hated Fitzwilliam Darcy.

But that was still his ring on her finger. His name she had legally taken, in desperation for some sort of way out of the chaos her life had suddenly become. All because she had tried to help someone.

Harry. Oh, Harry! How could he put her in this position?

But it was worse than the scandal that had ruined her life, wasn't it? There was more… oh , so much more. Stopping suddenly, she pressed her hands over her face and let out a sharp breath.

"How could he?" The words screamed from her lungs before she could stop them. Harry had promised her—no, shown her —that he was honourable, dependable. Yet, here she was, left reeling with the knowledge that he had wronged someone else, that he had carried a secret she had never suspected. She dropped her hands, staring blankly at the hedge in front of her.

Her breath hitched, the searing disbelief mingling with the anger still pulsing through her veins. He had seemed so genuine, so noble, but that letter—that vile, cruel letter—had revealed a truth she could scarcely comprehend. Another woman? A child? How could the man she'd thought so honourable have hidden something so terrible from her?

Was no one to be trusted?

She stopped at a bend in the path, her breath coming in ragged bursts, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady herself against the cool stone of a nearby bench. The tears she had fought so hard to keep at bay now spilt over, hot and furious, racing down her cheeks.

How had it all come to this?

Darcy had married her out of pity—no, worse—out of obligation to some false idea, bound by a sense of honour to a mistake he had never intended to make. And now... now she was trapped in a marriage with a man who despised her, all because of Harry's lies and Darcy's pride.

And such abominable pride! What did he think she had done? Rejoiced at the news of Harry's death so she could deceive and entrap the wealthier brother? How could anyone even dream up such an accusation? But Fitzwilliam Darcy seemed ready to believe it of her. He had said as much, had he not?

She sank onto the bench, burying her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body. It was not only Darcy's cruel words that cut so deeply. No, it was the sting of Harry's betrayal, the realisation that even the man she had been willing to trust, to marry, had deceived her. If Harry was capable of such duplicity, who was left in this world to trust?

Her sobs quieted, though the ache in her chest refused to subside. She raised her tear-streaked face to the sky, her eyes narrowing against the fading light. It all felt so hopeless. What was she supposed to do now? Stay locked away in this miserable arrangement, waiting for a future she could not shape or understand?

D arcy was still trembling with fury as Elizabeth fled the room, the soft click of the door closing barely reaching his ears. For a moment, he stood rooted in place, his hands still gripping the edge of his desk as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Not pregnant?

The words echoed in his mind, colliding violently with every assumption, every justification that had driven him to this unwanted marriage. How had it all gone so wrong? His fists clenched, the raw indignation flaring in his chest like a flame that refused to be snuffed out. She had deceived him— they had deceived him!

Without another thought, Darcy pushed himself from the desk and stormed toward the door. He needed to be out, to breathe, to get away from the suffocating weight of the truth that had just shattered his world. His thoughts were a hopeless jumble, clouded by a contempt that grew with every passing second.

Elizabeth Bennet was not Harry's beloved. No longer could he think of her as the woman who, in his imagination, had at least had some claim on his brother's heart. No, she was merely a woman Harry had felt obliged to pledge himself to for some nebulous reason, just as Darcy had done. But Harry had failed to keep his promise, leaving Darcy to shoulder this wretched burden alone.

She had trapped him, bound him to her under false pretences, and now he was stuck. The thought sickened him.

Reaching for the door, Darcy flung it open, striding purposefully toward the stables where the wide-open air might give him a shred of clarity. But then, in the distance, he saw her.

Elizabeth.

She was running, her figure disappearing toward the gardens, her skirts gathered in her fists as she fled. There was something wild in her movements, something desperate, but Darcy could not bring himself to care. If she wanted to escape, then so be it. She could run, cry, scream—none of it would change the fact that she had made a fool of him. That she had tricked him into believing he was saving her from ruin when, in truth, there had been nothing to save.

His breath came short and fast, the rage still simmering under the surface, but he turned sharply on his heel. He could not bear to follow her, to confront her again in this state. No, what he needed was something to expel the fury that was building in him, something to crush beneath his hand. The stables would not suffice. He needed to vent this rage in a place where no one could see, where no one could hear the depth of his humiliation.

The billiards room. He stalked down the corridors, his long strides eating up the distance as his chest heaved with every step.

Once inside the familiar room, the dark wood panels and gleaming green felt barely registered in his mind. His eyes locked on the cue sticks arranged neatly on the wall, and without thinking, he snatched one from its holder. The smooth wood was cool against his hand, grounding him for a brief moment, but it was not enough. The storm inside him still raged, and he needed something to release it. His gaze flicked toward the table, the memories of Harry and him playing together rushing back, unbidden, unwelcome.

He twisted the stick in his hands as the rage bubbled forth in a wrathful howl. "Harry, you idiot! How could you leave me with this?"

Darcy's grip tightened on the cue, his knuckles going white as he fought the urge to snap it over the edge of the table. He had done it once before, and the desire to repeat the motion surged within him. But this time, something held him back. It would have been too easy to break the cue, to smash it into splinters and pretend it was enough to release the fury inside him.

But he could not do it.

His hand trembled as he raised the cue stick, and then, with a guttural cry, he brought it down hard on the table, stopping just short of breaking it. His whole body shook, the muscles in his arm straining as he held the stick above the felt, frozen in a moment of indecision.

He wanted to destroy something, anything, but for some reason, he could not bring himself to act on the impulse. His restraint mocked him, a bitter reminder that even in his darkest moments, he could not let go. The fury roiled within him, trapped with no outlet, until finally, in a fit of impotent rage, he hurled the cue stick across the room.

"Damn it, Harry!" Darcy shouted, the sound of his voice reverberating off the walls, filling the empty space around him. His chest heaved, and for a moment, the only sound was the harsh rhythm of his own breathing.

A moment later, the door to the room swung open, and Richard hurried inside, his expression a mixture of alarm and confusion. "Darcy! What the devil has happened?"

Darcy stood rigid, still trembling with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He couldn't answer at first, couldn't find the words to articulate the depth of the betrayal he felt.

"Darcy?" Richard pressed, stepping closer. "Talk to me, man! What is it?"

Darcy's jaw worked, the words struggling to emerge as he turned away, pacing to the far end of the room. His mind was a whirlwind of rage and confusion, too chaotic to form into coherent sentences. But Richard wouldn't leave. He stood there, waiting, his presence a reminder that Darcy could not run from this.

" She lied! " Darcy finally managed to choke out, his voice low and venomous.

Richard frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Who lied? Elizabeth?"

Darcy turned on him, his face contorted with fury. "She was never with child. The whole reason—the entire reason I married her was based on a lie! There was no child. There was never a child!"

Richard's eyes widened in shock. "What? You're saying… that none of it was true?"

Darcy let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and hollow. "She confessed it to me just now. Said she had no idea why I thought she was pregnant." He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the room once more. "I thought I was saving her, Richard! I thought I was doing what Harry couldn't. And now… I'm shackled to a woman I never intended to wed, all for a lie."

Richard stared at him, thunderstruck, as if he didn't know how to respond to the sheer force of Darcy's anger. "Darcy, I—"

Darcy cut him off, his voice cracking with frustration. "I've never been so humiliated in my life! I—" He stopped, his chest heaving as he struggled to contain the raw emotion spilling out of him. His hands shook at his sides, and he turned away, unable to face his cousin's pity.

For a moment, there was only silence between them, the weight of Darcy's confession hanging in the air.

Darcy stalked the room, his thoughts a chaotic whirl that he couldn't seem to control. What was he supposed to do now? He had tied himself to Elizabeth Bennet, believing all the while that he was saving her from disgrace, preserving his brother's honour. And now… now it was all a lie.

"What are you going to do?"

Darcy whirled around, teeth clenched. "What can I do, Richard? I'm married. Bound to a woman based on a deception. And for what?" His voice shook with the force of his anger. "I've made a promise—no, a solemn oath! You ask what I'll do? I'll keep it, damn it."

Richard stood still, assessing him. "There is still the option of an annulment."

Darcy let out a derisive laugh, stalking toward the far wall as if the suggestion itself were an insult. "An annulment?" he snarled, raking his hands through his hair and tugging hard as if to wrench some sense of order from the chaos in his mind. "You think that would solve it? Break my vow as if it meant nothing?"

Richard crossed his arms, leaning against the billiards table. "The vow was made under false pretences, Darcy. You didn't know the truth."

Darcy froze, his back to Richard, staring at the dark panelling on the wall as if it could somehow hold the answers he sought. His body was still trembling with rage, but beneath it all was a deep, gnawing confusion. He couldn't see a way out of this.

Richard continued, his tone calm but firm. "You could release her, settle her somewhere else, far from Derbyshire. Give her the chance to start anew without your name binding her. It wouldn't be breaking anything if the promises were made based on lies."

How convenient he made it sound! Darcy let out a slow, tortured breath. An annulment . It would be the easiest path, would it not? He could wash his hands of the whole wretched affair. Give her some settlement, send her away, and forget this ever happened.

But even as the idea began to settle in his mind, something recoiled in him. The very thought of breaking a vow, even one made in ignorance, was unbearable. His father had raised him to honour his word, no matter the circumstances. How could he turn back now when he had sworn to protect her? To give her the life his brother could not?

He clenched his fists at his sides, his head hanging low. "I cannot… I will not…" His voice faltered, but he forced himself to continue. "I cannot annul the marriage, Richard. She is my wife now. For better or worse."

Richard exhaled slowly, clearly trying to gauge his cousin's resolve. "Are you sure, Darcy? No one would blame you for wanting to undo this. Even the law would be on your side."

"I don't care about the law!" Darcy snapped, his anger flaring again as he turned to face Richard. "I gave my word. Whether or not it was based on a lie, I will not be the man who casts his integrity aside as if it were nothing."

Richard studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he pushed himself off the billiards table and nodded slowly. "If that's your decision, I'll respect it." He turned toward the door but hesitated before stepping out. "But, Darcy… this isn't something you can carry alone. If you need—"

"I don't need anything," Darcy interrupted, his voice cold, final. "Just… leave me be for now."

Richard nodded, though his expression held a hint of reluctance. Then, without another word, he stepped out of the room, leaving Darcy alone with the crushing agony of his thoughts.