Chapter 36
Darcy stood in the drawing room at Rosings, the last quiet moments of the small celebration settling about them.
The ceremony had passed without incident.
Anne stood near the hearth, pale but composed, her hand still lightly resting in Richard’s. There was a fragility to her, but also—Darcy thought—a steadiness he had not seen before.
The parson, persuaded to remain for a slice of cake, accepted it with modest pleasure.
Darcy stepped forward. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” he said, inclining his head and giving her a soft smile.
Anne’s gaze lifted to his, a flicker of nervousness passing through her before she steadied it. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
She hesitated, then added, with quiet effort, “I must apologize. For not coming down sooner. For your wife being… excluded.”
Darcy’s expression softened. “There is no need. My wife is both kind and understanding. She would wish nothing but your comfort.”
Anne’s shoulders eased slightly at that.
“I should like to meet her,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps… not today. But… ten minutes, in a sitting room, one day… I might be able to manage that.”
“She would be very happy to oblige you, I am certain.”
The parson soon took his leave, offering his congratulations once more before departing.
Anne murmured her farewell, and for a moment, the room seemed to settle into something almost peaceful. Darcy was eager to find Elizabeth, however, as this was the longest they had been apart in nearly a week.
He started to make his way to go upstairs when the sound of wheels upon gravel reached them. Anne tensed, and Darcy pivoted to go to the window and look out at who was coming.
A pair of boots descended from the carriage, and Darcy felt his blood run cold. His voice cut sharply through the room. “Richard—Mr. Bennet is here.”
Richard went still—then instinctively, his hand went to his hip, as though seeking the absent weight of a sword.
“Blast,” he muttered.
He turned at once, pressing a quick kiss to Anne’s cheek. “Go upstairs. All of you. Now.”
Lady Catherine did not argue. Lady Anne moved at once, gathering Anne with her, Georgiana close behind.
Darcy had already turned from the window.
“I must find Elizabeth—”
But then he looked again.
And saw her.
Outside.
Alone.
With him.
Darcy’s heart lurched violently in his chest. “Elizabeth is out there, too!”
He did not wait.
He was already moving—already out of the room, down the hall, through the front of the house with a speed that defied propriety.
Behind him, he heard Richard following.
The door flew open.
Darcy stepped out into the light—
And saw Mr. Bennet grasping Elizabeth’s arm.
Something cold and furious snapped into place.
“Remove your hands from my wife, sir!”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth scarcely had time to draw breath before her father was upon her.
His hand closed about her arm—tight, unyielding. “You are coming back to Longbourn now, Elizabeth.”
For one wild moment, she could not move—could not think. The familiar voice, the familiar authority, and yet nothing in it felt familiar at all.
Her heart began to race.
“Papa, I—”
She drew in a breath to cry out—
The front door burst open.
Darcy.
He came down the steps with a speed that stole her breath, Richard close behind him.
“Remove your hands from my wife, sir!”
The force of it—the command in his voice—startled her father enough that his grip loosened.
It was all Elizabeth needed.
She wrenched free, gathering her skirts, and fled.
Darcy met her halfway, one arm coming around her at once, drawing her behind him.
He planted himself in front of her, acting as a shield.
Richard moved to Darcy’s side, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder, tall and unyielding, their presence a barrier her father could not simply sweep aside.
Her heart pounded wildly, but she nearly wept with relief. Warmth spread through her as she basked in the safety she felt from Darcy’s protective stance.
“You are on private property and trespassing, sir,” Darcy said coldly. “Leave now before I summon the magistrate.”
Elizabeth pressed closer behind him, her hand gripping his sleeve.
Her father’s face flushed with anger. “And you have kidnapped my daughter! My daughter who is not of age.”
“She is no longer your daughter,” Darcy returned, without turning. “She is my wife.”
“An illegal marriage,” Mr. Bennet snapped. “I did not give my permission. It will be annulled immediately.”
Darcy did not move.
“There are two problems with that,” he said, his voice steady. “The first is that you did give your permission. You signed the settlement and authorized the common license by which we were married.”
Elizabeth’s heart seemed to hear the words itself; it no longer thundered in her ears.
“And the second,” Darcy continued, more quietly, “is that even if you were to attempt such a thing, it would place her in a far worse position—particularly if she were already carrying my child.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
Heat rushed to her face, but she did not protest. She could feel the intent behind his words—not to shock, but to protect. Her father stared at him, stunned—then turned to her.
“Elizabeth—” His voice changed, softened, almost pleading. “Child, there are things you do not understand. You are not safe here. The Fitzwilliams—”
“The Fitzwilliams, what, Thomas?”
A sharp voice cut through the air like a blade, and they all turned to look. Lady Catherine stood at the top of the steps, her figure rigid with authority.
Mr. Bennet’s expression hardened. “And who, madam, are you, to address me so familiarly?”
“I am the mistress of this house,” she said. “The widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”
She descended one step further, her gaze fixed upon him.
“And I was once known by another name.”
A pause.
“Catherine Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth swung around to look at her father, whose face drained of color. Her heart sank within her.
“So, it is true?”
She stepped out from behind her husband, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to steady it. Darcy took her hand, and she took strength from his firm grip.
“You are not my father, but my uncle?” she asked. Her gaze shifted to Lady Catherine. “And she… is my mother?”
Mr. Bennet’s shoulders sank.
“I suppose there is no purpose in maintaining the secrecy any longer,” he said quietly. “I have failed you, my child. I am so sorry. Freddy would be sorely disappointed in me.”
“No, he would not.” Lady Catherine’s voice was firm and unyielding. “You have not failed. I assure you, your niece—my daughter—is in no danger here.”
Mr. Bennet gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “How can I trust that? She has now married into the very family that killed my brother!”
Killed. The word pierced Elizabeth’s soul. Darcy’s hand tightened slightly around hers.
Lady Catherine opened her mouth to respond, but Elizabeth spoke first.
“It seems,” she said, though her voice was not entirely steady, “that we are in need of a conversation of some length.”
She drew in a breath, gathering what composure she could.
“Perhaps we might have it in a more comfortable setting. If we are to have our nerves so thoroughly tried, we may at least spare our feet the indignity of standing through it.”
Richard let out an incredulous guffaw, and Darcy gave a quiet huff of laughter.
“Only you, my love,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips, “could find wit in such a moment.”
The gesture steadied her, and she cast her gaze between her father and Lady Catherine. The latter inclined her head.
“Very well. You may enter, Mr. Bennet—but I will have no more of this talk of removing Elizabeth from my house.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression was one of resignation. “No,” he said, more quietly now. “It is clear there is little I may do.”
There was something in his voice, something weary, that struck unexpectedly at Elizabeth’s heart. Despite everything he had done, it hurt her to see him so defeated.
Darcy’s hand remained firmly around hers as they entered the house. Servants scattered as they came in the front door, causing Lady Catherine to raise an eyebrow and shake her head in disgust.
“Vultures,” she muttered. “I ought to sack the lot of them.”
“Then who would bring you your nightly cordial?” Richard asked in a teasing voice.
Lady Catherine glared at him.
“What?” Richard spread his hands innocently. “If Elizabeth can make a joke, why can I not find the humor in the situation as well?”
“Because she has more sense than stuffing in her head,” Lady Catherine retorted, though a small smile crept across her face.
She led the company past the main drawing room and into a smaller salon that was more private and contained.
“Before we begin, I think we are all in need of sustenance,” Lady Catherine said, ringing the bell.
“My wedding cake was not sufficient to soothe your nerves?” Richard jested.
“I think I would much rather have a stiff drink than tea,” Mr. Bennet said.
“You and me both,” retorted Lady Catherine.
Elizabeth giggled, and Mr. Bennet glared at her.
“I am sorry, Papa, but it is clear that my wit has come from more than just the Bennet line.” Her face fell slightly. “I… I suppose I ought not to call you that anymore.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Catherine said. “He gave you a home. He raised you. He loved you. That means more than any blood connection. Or would you say that Lady Anne is not your husband’s mother? Or that my Anne is not my daughter.”
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Bennet, whose face lit with gratitude.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said hoarsely. “I have always considered Elizabeth as my own daughter. In fact, I had nearly forgotten that she was not the babe my wife gave birth to all those years ago… until I heard Mr. Darcy’s first name.”
A light scratching sounded from the door, and the room fell silent as a maid came in, bearing a tray filled with tea and scones. The company looked at one another in awkward silence until the girl had curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.