Page 23 of Love Among the Shadows
I should do something.
Elizabeth wanted to do something. Anything.
Just as Elizabeth was about to make a move, Darcy’s voice broke the stillness. "I would rather leave than listen to this travesty," he said, his tone filled with disdain.
Elizabeth stood at the edge of the room, her gaze lingering on the retreating figure of Mr Darcy. His presence had been like a shadow over the evening, and now, just as he was about to take his leave, her carefully laid plans seemed to crumble. Her mind raced with thoughts that darkened her countenance.
This washerplan, after all. To draw him out, to expose him for what she believed him to be—a man who posed a threat to everyone. A killer. She had resolved to provoke him subtly, to set him at odds with himself, and then slip away to Jane's room at Longbourn. There, she would lie in wait, prepared to catch him should he attempt some ill-intentioned venture under cover of night. Surely, he would be caught, his true nature revealed to all. Yet now, Wickham had stepped in, and everything was unravelling before her eyes.
Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling with a surge of indignation. No, she would not allow this. Wickham’s outburst, though theatrical, had done little more than stir the room into whispers and, perhaps, place him in unnecessary peril. On second thought, Elizabeth reminded herself, the two men were already sworn enemies. Mr Wickham had made that perfectly clear. If Mr Darcy, with all his pride and cold reserve, had not acted against him before, would he now?
Darcy, his expression inscrutable, turned sharply on his heel. His broad shoulders, held rigid with a pride that seemed unyielding, marked his intention to depart without further engagement. Yet, as he moved toward the door, Elizabeth felt the words burning on her tongue.
She stepped forward, her heart racing, and her voice, steady and resolute, cut through the low murmurs of the room.
"Mr Darcy," she called, her tone commanding enough to halt him mid-stride.
Darcy paused, his back still to her, before slowly turning to meet her gaze. His dark eyes, deep and unreadable, settled on her with a gravity that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
The room grew hushed, the tension palpable as all eyes turned to witness the unfolding scene.
"Are we to live like this, Mr Darcy?" she demanded, her tone cutting through the tension. "How long are we to live in fear of you and your so-called curse? Are we to cower before a man who thinks himself above everyone else?"
Her mother, who had been standing nearby, gasped in shock, her hand flying to her mouth in an effort to silence her daughter. "Elizabeth! What are you saying?" she hissed, but Elizabeth ignored her, her eyes fixed firmly on Darcy.
"Why should we fear a man," she continued, "when we know there is no curse, only a man who would stop at nothing to denigrate those he deems beneath him?"
A murmur spread through the room, and all eyes were now on Darcy, whose expression had frozen in place at her words. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but then, as though reconsidering, he closed it again. The look in his eyes was unreadable, and after a moment, he turned on his heel without a word, Colonel Fitzwilliam following at his side. Bingley, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, followed quickly after them, and soon the entire Darcy party was making its way to the door.
Just like that, the party was over.
The guests began to leave, some in silence, others exchanging hurried whispers. Elizabeth stood in the middle of the room, her heart racing. She could feel the weight of everygaze upon her, but she did not look away. For once, she had spoken her mind, and she had not been afraid to do so. The night, once full of promise, had ended in a flurry of confusion and bitter words, and yet Elizabeth felt a strange sense of satisfaction, even in the midst of it all.
Fourteen
“Why did you do that?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice pierced the quiet of the parlour as the family gathered at Longbourn after returning from Lucas Lodge. Her face was flushed with a mixture of frustration and worry, her hands wringing the lace edge of her handkerchief.
Elizabeth, standing near the hearth, lifted her chin with quiet defiance. “Do what, Mama?”
Mrs. Bennet huffed dramatically, her gaze darting around the room as though seeking allies in her indignation. “Humiliating Mr Darcy before all of Meryton! Speaking to him in such a manner! Have you no care for our family’s reputation? What if he takes offense? What if he retaliates?”
Before Elizabeth could respond, Mr Bennet, who had thus far remained silent in his armchair by the fire, cleared his throat. “Lizzy,” he said calmly, his gaze steady, “why did you speak to Mr Darcy as you did?”
The weight of her father’s inquiry made Elizabeth pause. Unlike her mother’s frantic scolding, his question carried a depth of concern that demanded an honest answer. She clasped her hands before her, her voice steady but laced with conviction. “Because I believe him to be responsible, Papa. Two men have died after quarrelling with him. It cannot be mere coincidence.”
Jane, ever the voice of reason, leaned forward, her brows furrowed with worry. “Lizzy,” she said softly, her tone both pleading and reproachful, “you still have no proof. I warned you not to make accusations without evidence.”
Elizabeth turned to her sister, her frustration evident. “It is not an accusation made lightly, Jane. The pattern is clear. He argues with them, and soon after, they are dead.”
Before further debate could ensue, a sharp knock echoed from the front door, startling the room into silence.
Moments later, the footman entered, his expression carefully composed. “A visitor, sir.”
Mr Bennet glanced up, mildly surprised. “Who is it?”
“Mr Darcy, sir.”
Elizabeth's heart froze as a sudden dread gripped her chest. "Mr Darcy?" she murmured, barely audible, her voice quivering with disbelief.
