Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand facade of Rosings Park, its stone exterior as imposing as ever, though to Darcy’s eyes, it seemed colder than he remembered.
The loss of Anne had drained something from the house, as though its very heart had been carved out when the young mistress was taken.
Dismissing the footman, Darcy stepped out and ascended the stone steps.
He was announced promptly, and Lady Catherine received him in the same drawing room where he had once endured lectures on propriety and rank.
She was seated stiffly in her high-backed chair, wrapped in a dark shawl, her hair touched more heavily with grey than the last time he saw her.
Though her posture remained straight, her face betrayed her grief—deep lines etched in her cheeks and beneath her eyes, which now regarded him with the wary gaze of one who had grown accustomed to disappointment.
“Darcy,” she said quietly. “You did not send word.”
“I thought it best to come at once, Aunt,” he replied as he sat across from her. “There is something of the gravest importance I must tell you.”
Lady Catherine nodded once. “Then speak it.”
He hesitated for only a breath before diving into the account. “I believe—Richard and I—have finally uncovered what became of Anne.”
Her hands gripped the arms of her chair, but she remained silent, her brows drawn tightly.
“Just days ago, we saw a writing box that belonged to Anne. It contained letters from George Wickham, expressing…affection and sympathy. It appears his last visit to Rosings left Anne with child. In the recovered letters, he pressed her to elope. She initially refused, but when concealment was no longer possible—when she could no longer hide the child and your plans to hire a companion came to light—she relented.” He continued, explaining his discovery in Hertfordshire and all that had transpired since.
Lady Catherine’s eyes grew bright with unshed tears, but her mouth remained firm. “I knew she had changed in those last months. There were arguments…silences… I thought she was simply weary of my company. Foolish woman that I am.”
Darcy softened his voice. “You are not to blame. Wickham is an expert manipulator. Anne loved you, Aunt.”
Lady Catherine swallowed hard. “And the child? Is it certain?”
“I have no doubt,” Darcy said. “He bears the Fitzwilliam brow and Anne’s mouth. His name is Thomas, and he has lived these five years as Thomas David Bennet.”
“Bennet?” she repeated, incredulous.
Darcy explained carefully about the carriage accident, how Elizabeth Bennet had found the child and raised him as her brother.
How no one else at Longbourn but her father knew his origin until Wickham recently attempted to blackmail them with the knowledge.
Lady Catherine’s expression darkened at the mention of Wickham, but Darcy raised a hand.
“There is more, Aunt. I must ask something of you—something that will benefit not only Thomas but you as well.”
“Go on.”
“I love Elizabeth Bennet. I intend to marry her. But I will not risk the Bennet family’s reputation, nor will I allow this child’s birth to bring shame upon them.”
Lady Catherine tilted her head, intrigued. “Then what do you propose?”
Darcy outlined the plan with deliberate care.
“You will come to Hertfordshire for Christmas. During your visit, you will ‘form a bond’ with Thomas. In the spring, after the planting season, you will invite the Bennets to Rosings to stay for the summer. It will appear that you have come to care for the child and wish to provide for him in your declining years. Eventually, you will adopt him. He will be known as Thomas Bennet de Bourgh, and he will inherit Rosings.”
Lady Catherine drew a long breath. “He is my grandson in all but name. I have no heir. Anne’s son should have it all.
Yes…yes, this pleases me. We shall have to arrange for guardianship, for tutors,” Lady Catherine said, more to herself than to Darcy.
“Legalities can be addressed in due course. But this boy…Anne’s boy…
he will be safe. He will be mine.” Her face glowed with happiness.
A flicker of warmth bloomed in Darcy’s chest. This had gone better than he dared to hope.
"Mr Bennet wishes to raise him until his death," Darcy said slowly. "But I believe we can arrange it so that the child spends at least half his time in Kent. Will that suit?" She nodded, and he sent up a prayer of thanks that she was being so reasonable.
“We must send word to the family that Christmas at Rosings is cancelled. I shall come to Hertfordshire before the holiday,” she said. “Inform the Bennets of my arrival. And Darcy…” She paused, her eyes shimmering with emotion she did not often display. “Thank you. For finding my Anne.”
Darcy rose, bowed, and said, “It was my honour, Aunt.”
As he left the drawing room, he allowed himself one deep, satisfying breath. The plan had begun. Now, all that remained was to see it through—and to return to Elizabeth.
The snow began to fall two days after Mr Darcy left.
It came gently at first—soft flakes floating through the grey sky, coating the dead grass and bare hedgerows in a powdery white.
Elizabeth stood at her bedchamber window, arms wrapped around herself, watching the world transform.
With each passing day, the silence that followed Mr Darcy’s departure pressed more heavily on her heart.
He had left with promises, yes, but years of anxious worries would have their say.
She wished for his return, and grew more agitated with each passing day.
She tried to busy herself with Christmas preparations.
The holly was gathered and placed about the mantelpieces, ribbons were tied around the bannisters, and the girls worked together to sew little gifts for the servants.
Jane, ever steady, took over the baking, and Kitty and Mary practised carols to sing on Christmas Eve.
Elizabeth smiled and praised their efforts, but her mind was never truly present. Her thoughts were with him.
Tommy, at least, was recovering well. He bounced back faster than any of them could have imagined.
He had been quieter at first, clinging to Jane or Elizabeth constantly, but now he was playing again, chasing the cat and pretending to be a soldier with an old wooden sword.
Mr Bennet, watching the boy gallop through the hall one evening, remarked dryly, “Children are absurdly resilient. They could be tossed in a river and come out singing.” But his eyes shone too brightly, and Elizabeth knew he had wept in private more than once.
Five days. It had been five long days.
Then, at last, word came. Darcy was approaching—and he was not alone.
Elizabeth stood frozen at the front window as the carriage rolled into the drive.
The black horses pawed at the snow, their breath visible in the cold air.
She saw Darcy dismount and assist a tall woman with a commanding posture but tired steps.
Her cloak was deep plum and trimmed in fur. Elizabeth’s heart pounded.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Within moments, the drawing room was alight with introductions. Elizabeth curtsied deeply when she was presented, unsure of how to address the formidable lady. But before she could say anything, Tommy piped up from near the hearth, “Are you the queen?”
Lady Catherine blinked, stared down at him, and after a long pause…smiled.
“No, young sir,” she said, retrieving a small sweet from her reticule, “but I do believe I shall like you very much.”
Elizabeth nearly fell over in astonishment. The bond between grandmother and grandson was instantaneous.
Once everyone was settled, Lady Catherine, Darcy, and Mr Bennet retreated to the study. Elizabeth followed at a nod from her father, her nerves twisted into a tight knot.
The fire was already lit, casting a warm light across the room. Lady Catherine removed her gloves slowly and then turned to Elizabeth.
“So,” she said at last, her voice steady but quieter than Elizabeth expected. “I have you to thank for uncovering the truth. You saved my grandson. I am forever in your debt.”
Elizabeth swallowed, her cheeks flushing. “It was nothing, ma’am. Anyone would have—”
“It was everything,” Lady Catherine interrupted. “You saw what no one else could see. And you kept him safe. That…I shall never forget.”
Her father stepped forwards and explained the plan formulated between him and Mr Darcy—how Thomas would remain a Bennet for the time being, but come spring, the family would visit Rosings, and Lady Catherine would take him as her heir, legally and openly.
The boy would have everything Anne would have given him—and more. The great lady profusely agreed.
Elizabeth felt something swell in her chest. Hope.
“Now,” Lady Catherine said, rubbing her brow, “I am fatigued from the journey. I should like to rest before dinner.”
Mr Bennet offered his arm, and they exited together, leaving Elizabeth and Mr Darcy alone in the flickering study.
Silence settled between them like snow on stone. The ticking of the clock was the only sound. Elizabeth looked at him, unsure of what to say. Then, in a soft voice, she admitted, “I feared you might not return.”
Darcy turned towards her fully, his face shadowed with disbelief and affection. “Elizabeth…I will always come back to you.”
He took a step closer, then another. “From the moment I met you, my life has not been the same. I resisted it—I was a fool—but I have long since given up the struggle. You are my heart, my peace, my strength.”
He reached for her hand, eyes never leaving hers. “I love you. Not in part, not in fleeting affection, but in soul and certainty. I love you for your courage, your wit, your loyalty, and your fire. And I would be honoured, above all things, if you would consent to be my wife.”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Yes, a thousand times, yes.”
He smiled—a smile of pure joy—and gently drew her into his arms. The weight of the past weeks melted between them. Whatever trials lay ahead, they would face them together.