Chapter Thirty-Two
Elizabeth
Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the cabin, her dark eyes wide with shock at the scene before her.
But she was not alone. Behind her stood Lord Hartford, his expression thunderous, flanked by two burly footmen from Longbourn.
Lady Lydia hovered at the edge of the group, tears streaming down her face.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy breathed, her name a prayer on his lips.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the scene before her—the squalid cabin, the empty wine bottles, the silver candlesticks she recognised from their own dining room.
Lydia really had looked after Wickham here as she’d hastily told them on the ride.
What had he wanted from her? Had he attempted to compromise her also?
No, he could not be that foolish. He had to have planned to take her for all he could, like her father assumed.
What a scoundrel. What a blackguard.
But it was not Wickham she looked at, not him her gaze lingered on. It was Darcy’s face, from the raw pain etched in every line of his features. She had heard his words to Wickham, heard him speak of loving her truly, heard him confess the torment her absence had caused him.
“Mr Wickham,” Lord Hartford’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “You will come with us immediately.”
Wickham struggled to his feet, swaying slightly from the wine. “Now see here, Lord Hartford. I have done nothing wrong—”
“You have trespassed on my property, stolen from my household, manipulated my youngest daughter, and attempted to trick Lady Elizabeth and compel her into marriage, that is quite enough,” Lord Hartford replied coldly. “James, Thomas—apprehend him.”
The footmen moved forward, but Wickham turned desperately to Lady Lydia, then to Elizabeth, his voice growing frantic.
“Lady Elizabeth! Surely you will tell them this is all a misunderstanding? What happened between us was nothing more than a moment of misplaced affection. Tell them how you encouraged my attentions, how you welcomed my—”
But Elizabeth found herself unable to speak, unable to tear her gaze away from Darcy.
He was standing right there, close enough to touch, and she had heard everything he said to Wickham.
Every word of love, every confession of suffering, every admission of the torment he had endured.
This was the second time she had overheard a conversation not meant for her ears, but while the first had closed her heart, this one had opened it completely.
He loves me, she thought, the knowledge flooding through her like warmth after a bitter winter. He truly loves me.
Lydia’s voice cracked as she spoke. “You used me for money and shelter while you spoke of me as nothing more than a convenient fool?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I heard what you said about me, George. Every cruel word.”
Wickham’s face went white. “Lady Lydia, I did not mean—”
“You meant every word,” she said. “You never cared for me at all. I was simply useful to you.”
As the footmen seized Wickham’s arms, he looked wildly between the assembled group. “This is madness! I am not some common criminal—I am the son of a respectable steward!”
“You are a wastrel and a scoundrel,” Lord Hartford replied. “The constables are already on their way to Netherfield to collect you. You will answer for your crimes.”
As Wickham was dragged from the cabin, still protesting his innocence, Lord Hartford turned to his daughters. “Lydia, you will return to the house with James. We shall discuss your part in this matter later.”
Lydia nodded miserably and stopped at her side.
“I beg your pardon, Lizzy. I was horrid to you but seeing your reaction earlier opened my eyes and made me confront thoughts I already harboured. I hope you can forgive me.”
Eliabeth squeezed her arm and then Lydia followed one of the footmen into the night. Lord Hartford’s gaze moved between Elizabeth and Darcy.
“I believe you two have much to discuss,” he said quietly. “I shall await you at Netherfield when you are ready.”
And then they were alone.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words that had been spoken and those that had yet to be said. Elizabeth stepped further into the cabin, her eyes never leaving Darcy’s face, her heart still racing from what she had overheard.
“I heard what you said to him,” she said finally. “Is it true? Do you… do you love me?”
Darcy’s throat worked as he struggled to find his voice. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “God help me, yes. But I do not expect you to ever forgive me, Elizabeth. Not after the lies I told you. Not after what I’ve put you through.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched at the pain in his voice, the way he held himself as though braced for a blow.
“I was very hurt by you,” she said slowly. “Heartbroken, even. The deception cut deeper than I thought possible.”
Darcy closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “I know. I have no excuse—”
“But,” Elizabeth continued, stepping closer, “I am not entirely certain I would not have done the same thing in your position. To protect my father, I might have made similar choices.”
“No,” Darcy said firmly, opening his eyes to meet hers. “You would not have, because you have integrity. True integrity, not the hollow pretence I have been living with.”
Elizabeth took another step forward, close enough now that she could see the exhaustion etched in every line of his face, the guilt that had been eating at him for months.
“You speak of integrity,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. He started at the contact but did not pull away. “What you did for old Mr Wickham, protecting him from the knowledge of his son’s true nature—that was not without honour, Fitzwilliam.”
“Lying is not honourable—”
“You showed loyalty to a man who raised you, who loved you as a son. You protected him from heartbreak in his final years. That speaks to your character, not against it.”
Darcy shook his head. “I deceived you. I made you believe—”
“You lied, yes,” Elizabeth interrupted, her grip on his hand tightening. “That cannot be undone. But after hearing what you said to Wickham just now, I know the cost this deception has exacted from you.”
“Elizabeth—”
“I can forgive you,” she said. “If that is what you want.”
For a moment, Darcy simply stared at her, as though he could not quite believe what he was hearing. “You would forgive me? After everything?”
“But I believe we can learn from our mistakes. I believe we can do better. I have been haughty at times, unkind. I treated you harshly when we first met. Those were mistakes I atoned for. You can do the same. This can be in our past.”
“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” Darcy whispered, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I do not deserve you at all.”
“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth said with a small smile. “But I find I do not care about deserving. And the truth is, I love you too, Fitzwilliam. Despite everything, because of everything—I love you.”
The words hung between them for a moment, precious and fragile. Then Darcy pulled her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a kiss that tasted of desperation and hope and promises yet to be made. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
“I love you,” Darcy said against her forehead. “I have loved you for so long, and the thought that I had lost you—”
“You have not lost me,” Elizabeth assured him, her hands fisting in his shirt. “We have found each other, truly this time.”
They held each other in silence for a moment, the weight of the past weeks finally beginning to lift from their shoulders.
“What will happen to Wickham?” Elizabeth asked eventually.
“He will face the consequences of his actions,” Darcy replied grimly. “He has stolen from your family, trespassed, and taken advantage of Lydia’s youth and naivety. To say nothing of trying to trick you into marriage. The magistrate will not be lenient.”
“And his father?”
Darcy’s expression grew pained. “It will be difficult for him. But I think I underestimated Mr Wickham strength. He is tougher than I gave him credit for, and perhaps it is time he knew the truth about his son.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “There is something I have been thinking about,” she said. “Perhaps we might invite Mr Wickham to stay with us. And Georgiana as well—she is a gentleman’s sister now and should not have to work as a maid unless she chooses to.”
Darcy’s eyes brightened at the suggestion. “You would do that? After everything?”
“Mr Wickham is important to you, and therefore important to me,” Elizabeth said simply. “As for Georgiana, she is my sister now. Family takes care of family.”
“Your generosity astounds me,” Darcy murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Elizabeth laughed suddenly, the sound bright in the dim cabin. “My mother will truly need her vapours now. She had already set her cap on a viscount’s second son for my next husband.”
Darcy’s laughter joined hers, the first genuine laugh she had heard from him in weeks. But then his expression grew serious again, his hands framing her face.
“Elizabeth,” he said solemnly, “I should like to marry you again. Properly this time. With our families present, with the full knowledge of who we are and what we mean to each other.”
Elizabeth’s heart swelled at the sincerity in his voice, the love she could see shining in his dark eyes. “Are you proposing to me, Mr Darcy?”
“I am,” he said, dropping to one knee right there in the shabby cabin, taking her hands in his. “Lady Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife? In truth this time, with love as our foundation?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, tears of joy sliding down her cheeks. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. A thousand times yes.”
He rose and kissed her again, slower this time, sealing their promise with all the tenderness and passion they had been denying themselves for so long.
As they made their way back through the woods towards Longbourn, Elizabeth felt as though she were walking into an entirely new life.
Behind them lay deception and heartbreak, but ahead stretched the promise of a love built on truth, forgiveness, and the hard-won knowledge that they had chosen each other not out of convenience or desperation, but out of genuine, abiding love.
The road would not always be easy, but they would travel it together. And that, Elizabeth thought as Darcy’s fingers intertwined with hers, made all the difference in the world.