Page 58 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“I am well. Mr Bingley, I must ask you a favour.”
“Of course. Is there anything I might do to help?”
“I need you to relay a message to Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “I need you to return to Netherfield at once.”
“To Mr Darcy?” Mr Bingley asked, his brow furrowing. “Of course, but why?”
“Tell him…tell him…” Elizabeth faltered.
She could not tell anyone what had happened, for that would mean betraying Georgiana Darcy’s secret. She did not know what to do, her head was reeling and her world felt as though it had shifted around her.
“Tell him Mr Wickham saw.”
She left with the briefest curtsey, charging into the house. She heard Mr Bingley calling after her, and she was aware that her sister’s voice joined his. She did not stop, walking through the hallways until she almost collided with their unwelcome visitor.
“My dear cousin,” Mr Collins began. “How wonderful it is to…”
“Not now, Mr Collins. Please, not now.”
“Lizzy!” Jane’s voice followed her as she charged upstairs.
She retreated into their shared bedroom, pacing until her sister placed her hand on her shoulder.
“Lizzy, this must stop! What has happened?! You look dreadful, and you are scaring me.”
Lizzy threw herself down onto the bed, burying her face in the mattress as she tired to regain her composure. She felt Jane’s soft, soothing touch on her back. She relented, rolling onto her back and staring up into her sister’s worried face. She did not deserve her compassion!
“I have made such a mess of things. A terrible, terrible mess.”
“Whatever has happened cannot be so bad.”
“It is. It is.”
“Does it have something to do with Mr Darcy?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I can think of no other reason you would ask Mr Bingley to deliver a message to the man,” Jane said gently. “Please, Lizzy - there are no secrets between us. Whatever it is, tell me. Unburden yourself.”
Elizabeth did not speak at first. Her lips parted, but the words would not come; not until the silence grew unbearable. Then, as though a dam had broken, the story poured out of her in a tumble of hurried, uneven words: the diary, the temptation, hertheft, Darcy’s confession, the kiss, the shame; and finally, the encounter with Wickham.
She watched as Jane’s expression shifted with each word - first confusion, then shock, then horror. By the time Elizabeth reached the end, Jane had gone deathly pale, her knuckles white where her hands lay tightly clenched in her lap.
“Say something,” Elizabeth whispered.
“I... I do not know what to say,” Jane replied, voice barely audible. “I think I need a moment to understand it all.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “Please, Jane. Say you do not hate me.”
“Hate you?” Jane blinked, stricken. “Oh, Lizzy, no. I could never hate you. Not for anything in the world.”
“I have done so many terrible things. I read a man’s private thoughts. I lied. I gave in to feelings I swore I would never have. I let myself want him. I still want him.”
A long silence stretched between them. Then, to Elizabeth’s astonishment, Jane asked—very quietly, almost embarrassed:
“What was it like?”
Elizabeth stared.
