23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

E lizabeth woke with a dull, throbbing ache behind her eyes. She squinted against the pale morning light streaming through the window, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat. Too much punch last night. Too much dancing, too little sleep, and far too much happening. The last half of the evening had been a blur of emotions and confusion, and now she paid the price.

She rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position, but images from the previous evening crowded her mind. Darcy's intense gaze, Wickham's charming smile, Charlotte's laughter... and Collins. Ugh .

Elizabeth groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to block out the memories. She had hoped to steer Mr Collins toward Charlotte, knowing how desperately her friend needed a secure future. Charlotte, however, was too distracted by Wickham to make an earnest attempt at catching Collins' notice when they finally danced. Elizabeth had watched in dismay as Collins hardly paid attention to her, deciding instead to fix his attention on Elizabeth's sisters.

A sudden knock on the door made her sit up, and she winced at the involuntary movement. "Lizzy? Are you awake?" Jane's voice called from the other side.

"Yes, come in," Elizabeth croaked, her voice rough with sleep and headache.

Jane entered, looking far too bright and alert for someone who had attended the same ball. "Mama wants us downstairs. There is something... well, something important happening."

Elizabeth frowned, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Important? What do you mean?"

Jane hesitated, a troubled look passing over her face. "It is Mr Collins. He is... he is proposing to Mary."

Elizabeth's heart sank. "Proposing to Mary? But... but he should be proposing to Charlotte! "

"I know," Jane said softly, sitting beside her. "But he was determined to ‘settle the companion of his future life' this very morning, and Mama steered him away from both you and me."

"She did? I thought she wanted Collins to pursue me!"

"Yes, until she saw you and Mr Wickham dancing last evening. She quite has it fixed in her head that you will be the next mistress of Netherfield."

Elizabeth squinted. "But I danced with half a dozen others, too. What about Mr Darcy?"

"Oh, she was terribly put out over that. Did you not hear her? All through supper, she could only lament how you should have been with ‘someone who could appreciate your wit, like Mr Wickham, not some prideful, dull fellow like Mr Darcy.'" Jane thinned her lips and rolled her eyes at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sagged deeper into her mattress. "Mr Darcy is not dull. Prideful, perhaps, but not dull."

"Well, it matters little, anyway. Mama is entirely persuaded that she will have three daughters married before Christmas, and Mr Darcy is not one of the men she fancied for a son-in-law. She has already begun listing houses for Mr Bingley to consider leasing—after he proposes marriage, of course."

Elizabeth dropped her face into her hands. "Of course. Well, what of Mr Collins? Why is he suddenly pursuing Mary? I thought he scarcely noticed her."

Jane shrugged. "He danced the first with her but, to my knowledge, never spoke to her the rest of the night."

"Exactly! Why would she even consider accepting?"

Jane frowned. "Because he asked, and... well, Mary seems to think it's her duty."

"And Mama left Mary as the sacrificial lamb. I have to stop this," Elizabeth muttered, standing quickly and regretting it as her head spun. "Only think how pedantic and intolerable Mary will become if she marries a man like Collins! Charlotte might make him a sensible sort of fellow—at least, she will not be ruined by him—but Mary is—"

Jane reached out, gently gripping her arm. "Lizzy, it's too late. Mary has already accepted."

The weight of those words nearly crushed the air out of Elizabeth's lungs. Mary, dutiful and serious Mary, had accepted Collins's proposal. It was done. There was no undoing it now. Elizabeth felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, a mixture of frustration, disappointment, and guilt for not intervening sooner. For being too distracted last night to help her friend.

"Come, Lizzy," Jane said gently, helping her to her feet. "We must go downstairs."

Elizabeth nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to steel herself. She dressed quickly and followed Jane down the stairs, each step sending a jolt of pain through her head. Her mother's voice floated up from the parlour, cheerful and triumphant.

"Oh, Mr Collins, this is such splendid news! I knew you would make the right choice. Mary will be a perfect wife for you."

Elizabeth felt a surge of anger. How could her mother be so blind? So selfish? This was a dreadful choice for Mary! She wanted to scream, to tell them all how wrong this was, but it would do no good. The decision had been made.

As they entered the parlour, Elizabeth saw Collins beaming with self-satisfaction and Mary sitting primly beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked content, even satisfied. Elizabeth's heart ached for her sister, for Charlotte, for the future that might have been.

"Congratulations, Mr Collins," Elizabeth said, forcing a smile. "Mary, I hope you will be very happy."

Mary nodded, her eyes meeting Elizabeth's with a hint of gratitude. "Thank you, Lizzy. I... I believe this is the right path for me."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, unable to say anything more.

The rest of the morning was frantic oblivion. Congratulations were exchanged, plans were made, and all the while, Elizabeth felt a growing sense of despair. She had tried to do the right thing, to help her friend, but it had all gone so horribly wrong. Collins was now part of her family, and there was no escaping the reality of it.

When the initial excitement had settled, Elizabeth found a moment to slip away. She needed air, needed to clear her head. She wandered out into the garden, the crisp morning air a welcome relief from the stuffy parlour.

She found a quiet corner and sank onto a bench, burying her face in her hands. The headache throbbed mercilessly, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside her. She thought of Darcy, of his own headaches and the strange, intense look he had given her at the ball. She had tried to extend sympathy, to understand his pain, but it had all gone so wrong. What had he meant by those cryptic words? Had he been trying to tell her something important, something she had missed? If that had been his intention, he had succeeded only in sounding petulant and hyperbolic .

She squeezed her eyes shut against the weak morning sunlight and the pounding reminder of the amount of punch she had consumed last evening. She could barely even manage to think, to say nothing of holding a conversation with anyone. If this was any fraction of how Mr Darcy's head must have been feeling, perhaps she could understand a little bit of petulance.

E lizabeth took a deep breath as she approached Lucas Lodge, her feet dragging down the familiar path. Charlotte had been fragile enough of late, and this would shatter her newfound hopes.

Charlotte greeted her at the door, her eyes bright and a smile lighting up her face. "Lizzy! I was just thinking of you. Come in, come in! We have so much to talk about."

Elizabeth forced a smile, her stomach knotting with dread. "Charlotte, you seem in good spirits."

"Oh, I am," Charlotte said, leading her into the cosy sitting room. "Last night was... well, it was wonderful, was it not? Mr Wickham was so attentive, and did you see how well Mr Collins danced with me? I really think your plan might work, Lizzy."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, the words feeling like stones in her throat. "Yes, the ball was... quite the event."

Charlotte bubbled on, her enthusiasm undiminished. "I have been thinking about ways to cross Mr Collins' path now that we have got to know each other a little. Perhaps if I come to ‘call on you' this afternoon? And you could ‘ask' me for help with some of your needlework—oh, say it is something for the charity basket for the parish. That might impress him and give me a reason to visit Longbourn more frequently."

Elizabeth's heart ached as she listened. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say. "Charlotte, there is something I need to tell you."

Charlotte paused, her smile faltering slightly as she took in Elizabeth's serious tone. "What is it, Lizzy? "

"Mr Collins..." Elizabeth hesitated, searching for the right words. "Mr Collins has… ah… made his intentions known."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "His intentions? Oh, Lizzy, you were right! How wonderful! I can hardly believe—"

"Charlotte," Elizabeth interrupted gently, her voice breaking slightly. "He proposed to Mary this morning. And she accepted."

For a moment, Charlotte stood frozen, the colour draining from her face. The joyous light in her eyes flickered and went out, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief. "Mary?" she whispered. "But... I thought..."

Elizabeth stepped closer, reaching out to her friend. "I am so sorry, Charlotte. I truly am. I had hoped—"

Charlotte turned away, her stare glassy and unseeing as her hands drifted to the wall to guide her around the corners of the hallway.

Elizabeth's heart broke at the sight of Charlotte's defeated expression. She followed behind. "Charlotte, you deserve so much better. I should never have brokered hope when it was not mine to offer. I just wanted to help you find security and happiness."

Charlotte's weak smile wavered, and she shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Lizzy, it is not your fault. I allowed myself to think I might have a chance, and now… now it feels like a cruel joke."

Elizabeth's chest tightened with guilt. "I feel terrible for pressuring you. I thought—"

"You thought Mr Collins might see sense," Charlotte interrupted. "But he's chosen Mary. Mary, of all people! How could he..."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I am so sorry. I only wanted you to have the happiness you deserve."

Charlotte's tears spilled over, and she wiped them away angrily. "And what do I deserve, Lizzy? A life of being overlooked? Passed over for someone younger, prettier, more agreeable? Heavens, Mary is no prettier or livelier than I am! And I do not even deserve fair consideration there!"

Elizabeth reached out, taking Charlotte's hands in hers. "No, you deserve to be loved for who you are. You are intelligent, kind, capable... any man would be lucky to have you."

Charlotte pulled her hands back, her expression a mixture of hurt and resignation. "But that is not the world we live in, is it? We have to be practical. We have to make do with what we can get."

"I hate that you feel this way," Elizabeth said, her voice cracking. "I hate that I could not do more to help you."

Charlotte's shoulders slumped, and she let out a weary sigh. "You have done more than anyone, Lizzy. But we cannot change the way things are. We just have to accept it."

Elizabeth felt a surge of frustration and helplessness. "It is not fair. You deserve so much better than Mr Collins."

"Fairness doesn't come into it," Charlotte replied quietly. "I should have known better than to let myself hope. You may as well go home now, Lizzy."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but Charlotte held up a hand. "I am quite serious, Lizzy. Just go—let me alone."

Elizabeth thinned her lips. "Very well."

E lizabeth left Charlotte's house with a heavy heart. As she walked home, her head hung low, and her thoughts churned with guilt and frustration. The bright afternoon sunlight seemed incongruous with her dark mood, each cheerful chirp of a bird feeling like a personal affront.

As she turned a corner, she encountered Lydia and Kitty, walking arm-in-arm along the road. Their laughter rang out, and they seemed utterly absorbed in some juvenile joke. The sight of their carefree mirth made Elizabeth's heart ache even more. She wished she could share in their light-heartedness, but the events of the morning had left her too drained.

"Lizzy!" Lydia called out, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Where have you been? You look as if you've lost your last shilling."

Kitty giggled, nudging Lydia. "She's probably been off having another serious talk with Charlotte. You know, if you were not so serious all the time, perhaps Charlotte would smile more often."

Elizabeth set her teeth into a grim line. "Where are you two going? "

Lydia skipped ahead, her curls bouncing. "We're off to see Maria Lucas. Come with us, Lizzy! We have all sorts of news."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I was just at Lucas Lodge, and I mean to return home."

Lydia pouted. "Oh, come now, Lizzy. You cannot be gloomy all the time. Have you not heard the latest?"

Elizabeth sighed, too tired to play along. "What news do you speak of, Lydia?"

"Oh, you will not credit it. At last, we shall be able to visit Netherfield without that grumpy Mr Darcy about!"

A chill ran through her. She stopped in her tracks, her heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

Lydia giggled again, clearly relishing the attention. "Mr Wickham and Mr Bingley came calling while you were out. They said that the ball was a smashing success. Everyone says Mama outdid herself, and not a thing was amiss, except that Mrs Long thought her nieces did not receive proper notice because she thinks Mama slighted them, but who cares about her? And Mrs Canterbury—you remember her, do you not? She said that Mrs Ellington said that—"

"Lydia, what is this about Mr Darcy?" she interrupted.

"Oh." Lydia shrugged. "Mr Wickham says that Mr Darcy has returned to London suddenly."

Elizabeth's heart sank. Mr Darcy gone? Whatever for? Her thoughts stumbled, recalling their strained conversation, his pained expressions, and the odd intensity in his eyes. She had sensed a connection, a glimmer of understanding between them, and now he had left without a word.

"Isn't it wonderful, Lizzy?" Kitty asked. "Now we can visit Netherfield and not have to worry about Mr Darcy looking down his nose at us. A pity he did not go before last night. Everyone was talking about it, how they were afraid to even approach the man. Better if he had gone before the ball, but at least he knows where he is not wanted."

Elizabeth barely heard her. She felt a deep sense of loss, an inexplicable feeling that she had failed Mr Darcy in some crucial way. He had been suffering, she knew that much. And he had wanted something from her, though she knew not what. She had been unable to reach him, to offer the comfort he so clearly needed.

"He... he left without saying goodbye?" she asked, more to herself than to her sisters.

Lydia shrugged. "Why would he? He's such a sour man. I'm glad he's gone. Now Mr Wickham need not be at such pains to entertain him. "

Elizabeth's chest tightened. She had failed Charlotte, and somehow, she was quite sure that she had disappointed Mr Darcy too. Now she would never understand what he wanted from her, but she had sensed his need, his pain, and had done nothing to alleviate it. Had she pushed him away with her harsh words? Had she missed a chance to know a good man?

"Lizzy, are you entirely well?" Kitty asked, her tone more serious now as she noticed Elizabeth's distress. "Should we walk with you back to Longbourn?"

Elizabeth forced a nod, though her throat tightened. "Yes. You two go on ahead. I… I would like to be alone for a while."

Lydia and Kitty exchanged a glance, but Lydia shrugged and pulled Kitty along. "Suit yourself, Lizzy. Come, Kitty, let us race!"

As they dashed away, their laughter echoing down the lane, Elizabeth stood still, her mind awhirl with guilt and sorrow. She had thought herself strong, capable of helping those she cared about. But it was all ash. She felt powerless, her attempts at aid ending in failure and disappointment for people who would have done better not to listen to her.

D arcy sat at his desk, the letter trembling slightly in his grip. Richard's familiar handwriting flickered a faint smile on his lips. Chatham. Munitions. Supplies for the army. The words blurred as his mind wandered. Richard's second letter from his new post in Kent was something of an anchor to everything familiar, but now his cousin's cheerful presence felt achingly far away. The quiet of the room pressed in, broken only by the rustle of paper. He tightened his hold on the letter, wishing he could summon Richard's calm and clarity to dispel his own turmoil.

Darcy,

Chatham is a far cry from the battlefield—glory and honour and all that—but I daresay I am grateful for it. The endless shipments and inventorying of supplies keep me occupied. Just yesterday, a shipment of gunpowder arrived three days late, causing quite a stir. The quartermaster nearly lost his wig in frustration! It took all my persuasion to calm him down and assure him that we would manage without causing Wellington to lose the war. Though I sometimes yearn for more direct action, there is never a dull moment here.

You will be pleased to know that it is highly unlikely I will be sent to France. Our duties here have been deemed "critical to the war effort," and it seems my skills are more useful behind a desk than in a trench. I have become quite adept at navigating the bureaucracy, though I do miss the camaraderie of the field. The other officers here are a decent lot, but not one of them could fight his way out of a wet sackcloth. I am left to wonder whether I was assigned here because I was the only man with valuable battle experience or because I have been deemed as useless in the field as the rest of the lot. My own hubris requires it to be the former, and I shall thank you not to disabuse me of the notion.

I hope this news finds you in good spirits, dear cousin. I think often of the fine sport we missed this autumn at Pemberley, and I must solemnly charge you to keep my room ready for the moment I am granted leave. Until then, know that you are in my thoughts.

-Richard

Darcy sighed, his fingers tracing the edges of the paper. Richard's words brought a measure of relief, knowing his cousin was safe and not directly in harm's way.

He toyed with the idea of replying, of confiding in Richard about the tumour that plagued him, but the words would not come. What could he say? That he was dying? That he could not promise a waiting room at Pemberley because he had no way of knowing how much time he had left? It felt too soon, too raw. Richard had enough to worry about with his own responsibilities. And Georgiana... he could not bear to burden her with this news just yet.

His eyes wandered to the unopened letters on his desk, one from Lady Matlock and another from Georgiana. He had not yet informed them of his return to London three days earlier. What could he say? How could he explain his abrupt departure from Meryton or the secretive way he kept the knocker off his door? How could he reveal the truth of his condition without causing them undue distress?

Darcy stood and moved to the window, looking out over the bustling streets of London. He felt adrift, caught between the need to protect his family and the growing fear of this thing consuming him from the inside out.

"A second opinion," Doctor Westing had advised. "It is always wise to seek another perspective, particularly when the circumstances are so grave."

He could not continue in this state of limbo, waiting for the inevitable. He had to act, to seek answers. Darcy returned to his desk, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write a note to Westing, requesting him to arrange an appointment with another physician. Perhaps this new doctor would offer some hope, some clarity.

As he sealed the letter, Darcy's thoughts drifted back to Elizabeth Bennet. Her image, her voice, haunted him still. He had left Meryton with a heavy heart, knowing he had not made amends, that he had left things unsaid to the one person he seemed to be able to speak to at all. If he had only managed to find the right words, he might even now have the right to go to her as a friend, a future partner for what remained of his days, and one with whom to share the depths of his pain and fears.

As the only one who could truly make him smile just now.

Did she think of him? How had she taken the news that he had gone? He snorted and kneaded his forehead. She probably scarcely noticed his absence, and if she did, she could have no possible inkling of the true conflict that had driven him away, or the regret with which he went.

But there was no time for such thoughts now. No time for anything, truly. He had to focus on the present, on the steps he needed to take. Darcy placed the letter on his desk, ready for his steward, and sank back into his chair.