Mr Darcy’s Legacy

Chapter 19

D arcy left the dining room hand in hand with Elizabeth, and he turned to her in the hall. “I need to have this conversation in my apartment.”

Elizabeth understood, perhaps even more profoundly than he did, that the library, where he spent countless happy moments with his father, was a place he could not visit until he made order in his thoughts and feelings.

“I know you do, my dear,” she said, following him without complaints.

Elizabeth was eager to discover what happened, but she knew she would have to learn to be gentle and patient that night and for the rest of her life.

Darcy was confused, obviously, and found it difficult to accept the changes in his life. Still, that night would have been infinitely more dramatic without Elizabeth in his life. From time to time, she looked at him with a loving yet worried gaze that was enough to restore a part of his universe.

“The Duke of Blandford is my father,” he said as if he expected the ceiling to fall on them. But nothing happened.

Elizabeth moved to stand closer and took his hand, caressing it. “I know, my love.”

He startled and looked at her, incredulous. “How? When? Why did you not tell me?”

“Come,” she said softly. Despite all his questions, Elizabeth did not lose her composure. She gently led him into her parlour, where the duke’s portrait was still revealed; strangely, the earlier scene from the duke’s ballroom repeated as she had him stand beside the painting.

“You look so much alike, my love. Yesterday, you would stroll around the portrait, which was obvious to anybody looking at you…and him.”

“Why did you not say anything?”

“It was an impression—nothing more than a hint. I could not tell you such a thing based on a feeling.”

“I need to know all your feelings from now on!” He spoke in the same arrogant tone he used when they first met.

“Careful, my love, that you do not behave like a spoiled lad!”

“I am a spoiled lad,” he said, half smiling, and he kissed her hand.

“Yes, and unfortunately, I love you as you are,” she replied, happy that he still had the wish to joke.

“Let us go back to my parlour,” he said. It was difficult to breathe with all the secrets surrounding his mother—secrets that still lived.

He took Elizabeth’s hand, and they hurried to his apartment again.

Once in his chamber, he opened the floor-to-ceiling doors and led her onto the balcony despite the cold. He held out his arms, and she filled them with her soft presence.

“I am freezing,” she laughed, and he wondered how he did not feel the cold. They returned to the room and closed the door, yet did not move away from the window, for the moon and the stars bathed their chamber in delicate light while veiling it in a shadow of mystery, much like the moments they lived.

“I just want to feel you, the only certainty in my life. Since this afternoon, everything I have known has been shattered into pieces I do not recognise. I fear I shall never be myself—or be whole—again.”

Elizabeth embraced him with all her strength and love; she wanted him to trust her and be confident that she would be with him from that day on to every day and night still to come.

“I am here, my love, forever. No matter what may happen, I shall be at your side—unconditionally.”

He held her at arm’s length, looking into her eyes. “I need to see you.” The outside light illuminated the space between them, and he could clearly see her face as he said, “I could be the next Duke of Blandford.” Even to him, those words were strange and had little meaning.

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth was stunned for an instant, and he smiled at her astonishment.

“It is true, my love,” he said, but then he spoke with a determination that filled his body with liveliness. “I cannot stay away from you a minute longer. Let us get married.”

But Elizabeth, with her wisdom, caressed his face and whispered, “Let us first see how this… matter will be resolved, and on the following day, we shall marry, I promise you.”

Darcy nodded, satisfied with her response. He had to first accept that his father was the Duke of Blandford. But could such a truth be accepted without casting a dreadful stain upon his mother? Unfortunately, that was the reality—he could no longer deny it. The resemblance between them was no mere coincidence. Yet a lingering dilemma remained: had his father known? And each time he pondered this, he felt a dagger pierce his heart. The pain was sharp, as though physical, for it seemed to him that fate had cruelly wronged his father.

He would have preferred his father never to know.

But if his father had known, then Darcy’s love for him was even greater, for he had raised a child who was not of his own blood as if he were, making him the heir not only to his fortune but also to the virtues he had imparted to him day by day.