Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elizabeth sat stiffly in the study, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Her fingers ached from the tension, but she dared not relax them.
Mr Darcy and Mr Fitzwilliam stood near the hearth, their coats still dusted with the dirt and brambles of the woods.
Mr Bennet had closed the door behind them, shutting out the worried murmurs of the household.
The clock ticked too loudly in the silence that followed.
Tommy was upstairs. Jane and the younger girls had gathered around him, offering him warmth, comfort, and a sense of safety.
He refused to be left alone. Every creak of the floorboards or gust of wind sent him clinging to Jane’s hand, and his eyes still bore the haunted shadow of fear.
Elizabeth longed to go to him, but she knew she must face this first.
Darcy’s face was unreadable. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, and his gaze fixed on the floor between them.
Mr Fitzwilliam, by contrast, looked openly grave, but his presence still carried a current of strength and assurance.
He and Darcy had returned not long ago, and the entire house had quieted to hear what would come next.
At last, Mr Fitzwilliam broke the silence.
“Wickham is in custody,” he said. “The magistrate has taken our sworn statements. There will be a formal process, of course, but I do not expect much difficulty. Between the evidence and the eyewitness accounts, the case against him is strong. Though child-stealing is not against the law, blackmail is, especially when one of lower class seeks to exploit a gentleman. Besides, Darcy holds enough debts to see him transported.”
Mr Bennet, seated behind his desk, nodded slowly, but there was no triumph in his expression—only weariness. His voice when he spoke was rough with fatigue.
“And what of Miss de Bourgh?” he asked. “Will you tell Lady Catherine?”
Elizabeth’s stomach turned at the mention. She dared not look at Darcy.
“We have not decided,” Richard answered. “Not yet.”
“But you will?” Elizabeth’s voice emerged before she could stop it, and the tremor in her tone betrayed her struggle. She swallowed and straightened in her chair. “She deserves to know. Miss de Bourgh—Anne deserves to be mourned.”
Richard inclined his head. “She does. My aunt may be a proud and difficult woman, but I believe it would bring her great joy to know that a piece of Anne survives. And we can lay her to rest properly now, not as an unknown woman buried namelessly in Longbourn’s churchyard.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, her throat aching with emotion. She could still see Anne’s pale, bloodless face in her memory, the way her voice had broken when she pressed the child into Elizabeth’s arms. “Take him,” she had said. Elizabeth had obeyed without question.
“But,” Mr Bennet said, “to admit the truth means my family loses everything.” His words were slow, resigned.
“The entail. The estate. All of it. If it becomes known that Tommy is not my son, not my heir, then Mr Collins will inherit after all. It would be a blow after all we have done to secure it, though he does intend to marry Mary.”
The room fell silent again. Elizabeth could not breathe.
Darcy remained quiet, seated across from her, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. He had not looked at her once.
“Is there nothing to be done?” Her voice sounded broken, unsure, even to her ears.
Darcy said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, unmoving.
Elizabeth’s heart twisted.
“I understand,” she said after a moment. She rose to her feet slowly and with great effort, as if her limbs had turned to lead. “You must think me the most deceitful woman alive.”
At that, Darcy’s head snapped up. But she did not meet his eyes. She could not bear it.
“I have lied to everyone, passing off another woman’s child as my brother. This deception could ruin my family. I brought danger to our very door. You rescued Tommy, yes—but it was the lies that put him in harm’s way.”
Richard moved as if to speak, but she held up a hand.
“Please,” she said. “Do not defend me. I do not deserve it.”
Then she turned to Darcy. At last, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“If you wish to sever our courtship,” she said, her voice trembling, “I will not fault you for it. I should not have let it begin at all. I thought I could keep the secret buried. But secrets have a way of finding light.”
Darcy’s expression had not changed. There were shadows in his eyes that she could not interpret. That more than anything pierced her heart.
Without waiting for his answer, Elizabeth gave a small curtsy and turned towards the door.
“I beg your pardon. I must… I must see to Tommy.”
She did not look back as she left the room. Her steps were quiet, measured, but each one felt like a blow to her chest. The moment the door closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, her breath catching in her throat.
So that is the end of it, she thought bitterly.
Whatever had begun to bloom between them was now wilted, starved by the truth she had so long hidden.
Still, her heart protested. But he promised.
He promised to love me no matter what. She made her way slowly up the stairs, her shoulders shaking.
She had chosen to love a man of honour—and in doing so, had ensured that he could never truly love her in return.
Darcy watched Elizabeth leave the study, her retreating form brisk and full of restrained emotion.
The click of the door echoed in the silence she left behind.
He blinked, startled, uncertain what he had done wrong.
Had he not stayed by her side? Had he not rescued the boy and pledged his support?
And had he not, with every action, shown that he would not abandon her?
He sat frozen for a moment, trying to make sense of her sudden departure. Then, understanding began to dawn, slow and unwelcome.
She believes I no longer want her.
The weight of it struck him like a physical blow.
She thought his silence meant disapproval.
But he had been silent only because he had not yet found the words—not because his affections had wavered.
His thoughts had been turning over and over, trying to find a solution to this problem that allowed a happy ending for all involved. And he believed he had found it.
Darcy stood and turned to Mr Bennet, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to lose.
“I believe I have a solution,” he said. His voice, though quieter than usual, carried steady conviction. “It will not be easy, but it may satisfy all parties. Lady Catherine must be involved—perhaps even Mr Collins.”
Mr Bennet looked up from his chair. “Collins? You cannot mean to…?”
Darcy raised a hand. “Not to reveal the whole truth. At least not immediately. But I believe we may resolve this without disgrace, and without denying the child his rightful name and inheritance.” Briefly, he outlined his idea to Richard and Mr Bennet.
Mr Bennet studied him carefully, considering. “Will it work?”
“It will depend on the lady’s mood,” Darcy said with a grim smile. “But I will speak with her myself. I will depart tomorrow at first light. With any luck, I shall return within three days—with her blessing.”
Bennet granted him a tight smile.
Darcy glanced towards the door. “I should like to leave a letter for Miss Elizabeth before I go.”
“Go ahead. I shall see that she receives it.”
Darcy hesitated. He longed to see her again, to reassure her, to undo the damage caused by her misinterpretation of his silence.
But time was slipping away. He had much to prepare for the journey.
So he did the only thing he could. Darcy sat down at Mr Bennet’s desk, took up a sheet of fine paper, and began to write.
My dearest Elizabeth,
You left the room before I had the chance to speak—to truly speak—and that pain will linger with me until I can find you again.
I fear you believe my silence to be rejection.
That is far from the truth. The truth, Elizabeth, is this: I love you.
I have loved you through every trial we have faced together, and I will love you still through every hardship that may yet come.
I am leaving for Rosings at first light.
I go to speak with Lady Catherine and Mr Collins in the hope of creating a future that will protect your family, preserve the boy’s safety, and perhaps give us a chance to begin again.
Though I do not know what I will face there, I will face it for you.
Whatever may come, I want you to know that my heart is yours.
If you will have me, I will return not only with answers—but with renewed hope.
Ever yours,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
When he finished, Darcy folded the letter carefully, sealed it with wax, and left it with Mr Bennet.
“Give this to her,” he said quietly. “When she returns.”
Mr Bennet nodded and clasped his shoulder with unexpected warmth.
Darcy left Longbourn with a heavy but determined heart.
Elizabeth came downstairs after several hours.
The house was quiet, and it was late. She had seen the gentlemen leave from her window and her heart ached that Darcy had not so much as bid her farewell.
Then again, she had fled from his presence.
On her way down the stairs, she encountered a maid. “Is my father in his study?” she asked.
The girl nodded, and Elizabeth made her way there, her slippers brushing softly against the floor of the corridor.
She opened the door and found her father seated alone, reading. He looked up and smiled faintly.
“You have returned, I see.”
“Yes.” Her voice was faint. “Has everything been resolved?”
Mr Bennet did not speak immediately. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a folded letter. He extended it to her wordlessly.
Elizabeth took it with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the name on the seal before she broke it open.
As she read, tears welled in her eyes, not from sorrow this time—but from overwhelming relief and something far deeper. Hope bloomed quietly within her chest. He still loved her. And he was coming back.
Darcy bid farewell to the occupants of Netherfield immediately before retiring for the night.
He promised his sister he would return as soon as possible.
The next morning, he departed after imparting a few final instructions and reassurances.
Georgiana clung to him for a long moment before letting go.
She did not need to speak; the trust in her eyes was enough. Richard clapped him on the back.
“You will succeed, Darce,” he said with a grin. “I pray you have a quick journey.”
By the time Darcy climbed into his carriage, the sun had risen fully over the wintry fields, glinting off the last frost that clung to the hedgerows.