Chapter 17 The Reluctant Protector
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE RELUCTANT PROTECTOR
Darcy stood at the drawing room window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, watching Martha Wickham’s retreat down the gravel drive.
Behind him, Elizabeth Bennet sat rigidly on the settee, her eyes fixed on his back with an intensity he could feel without turning around.
The confrontation had left the drawing room charged with tension.
His chest burned with the complexity of it all. How had his orderly world become entangled with claims of murder, inheritance disputes, and a young woman whose very presence upended every assumption he had held about his family’s history?
Elizabeth’s defense of Mrs. Wickham had been pointed, her sense of justice evident even as she challenged his authority in his own home. That willingness to stand up for someone she believed wronged spoke to a character he might have admired under different circumstances.
If only he could be certain she wasn’t being manipulated by the very people she sought to defend.
The aftermath had left the drawing room in a state of awkward disarray. Caroline paced near the window, her fingers working nervously at her handkerchief. Louisa Hurst had retreated to the far corner, whispering furiously to her husband, who for once appeared fully awake.
Darcy moved to the fireplace, needing the support of the marble mantelpiece as Elizabeth’s words echoed in his mind: You are everything I believed you to be at our first meeting, Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for removing any doubt on that score.
The comment had stung, as if she had hoped for better from him and found herself let down. The thought troubled him more than he cared to admit.
Charles Bingley, ever the peacemaker, hovered uncertainly. He cleared his throat twice before approaching Elizabeth with a cautious step. “Miss Bennet, perhaps a glass of water? Or tea? You must be… that is to say, after such… such a discussion…”
Elizabeth remained unmoved by his stammering solicitude, her posture rigid as marble. She might have been carved from stone, beautiful and terrible in her majestic fury. The only sign of inner turmoil was the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
The silence stretched between them all, heavy with unspoken accusations.
Sons and daughters of murderers. The words echoed in his mind, cutting deeper with each repetition.
The idea that his father—stern but scrupulously honorable—could have been involved in the deaths of John and Rose Darcy was preposterous—bordering on insane—slanderously so.
A fiction concocted by Mrs. Wickham to draw an impulsive young woman into posing as his long-dead infant cousin.
Darcy wheeled around, studying the woman who sat so straight-backed on his settee. Her chin was raised in defiance, but he caught a flicker of uncertainty in her dark eyes that suggested she was not entirely sure of her ground either.
“You truly believe Mrs. Wickham’s claims?” he asked, though his tone carried more curiosity than accusation.
Her answer was a flash of those fine eyes that seemed to pierce him through, though her voice when she spoke was steady. “I believe my father would not have confirmed them lightly. He is many things, Mr. Darcy, but not a liar.”
“Now, Darcy, perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding,” Charles bleated like a lost lamb, earning him narrowed eyes from the rest of the room’s occupants.
The soft creak of the drawing room door and Georgiana’s voice broke the tense silence.
“Brother? Mrs. Reynolds said we had visitors for tea, but I—” She stopped abruptly, her footsteps faltering as she took in the strained atmosphere.
“Georgiana. Yes, we have guests.” Darcy forced warmth into his voice. “Mr. Bingley and his sisters have arrived from Hertfordshire, along with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Oh,” Georgiana said softly, her gaze moving from face to face. “Have I interrupted something important? You all look rather… serious.”
Elizabeth rose stiffly and offered a shallow curtsy. “Miss Darcy. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“As am I.” Georgiana curtsied gracefully. “Are you a friend of my brother’s?”
“Miss Bennet is under my protection,” Charles stepped forward with alacrity. “Isn’t that so, Caroline?”
“Oh, most surely.” Caroline’s smile was the least sincere part of her demeanor. “We had the pleasure of meeting the Bennet family of Longbourn during our journey to Hertfordshire. Such a delightful environ, full of rustic charm.”
Darcy felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. Whatever Elizabeth’s true identity, the situation required delicate handling, particularly with Georgiana present. The entire matter was beyond his sister’s experience, yet if Elizabeth were truly their cousin…
“Georgiana,” he began carefully, “perhaps you should return upstairs. We are discussing matters that—”
“That concern our family,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice carrying a gentleness that had been absent earlier. “If I am correct about my identity, then Miss Darcy has every right to know.”
Darcy paused, struck by the consideration in Elizabeth’s tone. Whatever conflicts they had, Miss Bennet didn’t wish to distress his sister while including her in the conversation.
“I don’t understand,” Georgiana said, looking between them. “What matters concerning our family?” Her gaze settled on Elizabeth with growing curiosity. “I’ve heard the name Bennet before, although I was too young…”
“You have never met Uncle John or Aunt Rose,” Darcy reminded his sister. “Although their portraits hang in the gallery.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth let out a gasp, and Darcy noted her cheeks had reddened. “I should like to… if it’s not too much of an imposition…”
The naked longing in her expression gave him pause. If she were merely a fortune hunter, would she show such raw emotion at the mention of family portraits? The reaction seemed too unguarded to be calculated. Yet he had learned not to underestimate the power of skilled deception.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet claims to be a niece of our aunt Rose,” Darcy said carefully, keeping his gaze fixed on Elizabeth. “She has come to Pemberley to study her family history.”
“Oh!” Georgiana’s face brightened with interest. “How wonderful to meet someone connected to Uncle John and Aunt Rose. I have only ever seen their portraits. I wasn’t born when the tragedy occurred.”
“I am honored to meet you, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth said, her formal tone softening as she addressed his sister. “Your brother has spoken of you with great affection.”
“Has he?” Georgiana glanced at Darcy with surprise and pleasure. “Fitzwilliam is not generally given to sentiment, though I know he cares deeply for family. As do I.” She turned back to Elizabeth with renewed interest. “Tell me, what have you learned about Uncle John and Aunt Rose?”
Darcy felt his throat tighten. Standing side by side, the family resemblance between Georgiana and Elizabeth could not be more striking. The same dark, expressive eyes, the same graceful carriage, even a similar tilt of the head.
“Actually,” Caroline interjected with false brightness, “Miss Bennet has the most fascinating theory about her connection to your family, Miss Darcy. Perhaps she should explain it herself?”
The suggestion carried malicious undertones that made Darcy’s jaw clench. Caroline was clearly anticipating the entertainment value of watching Georgiana’s reaction to Elizabeth’s claims. Such calculated cruelty was typical of her character, but it still rankled.
Elizabeth’s chin lifted slightly. “Miss Darcy, what I am about to tell you may come as a shock. I have recently learned that I may not be who I have always believed myself to be.”
“I beg your pardon?” Georgiana’s brow furrowed.
“Perhaps I should explain,” Darcy said, moving protectively closer to his sister.
Whatever his doubts about Elizabeth, Georgiana’s welfare remained his primary concern.
“Miss Bennet has reason to believe she could be the infant daughter of Uncle John and Aunt Rose. However, only a week ago, when I met her at Meryton, she was unaware of any possible connection.”
The silence that followed was profound. Georgiana stared at Elizabeth, her face cycling through expressions of disbelief, wonder, and something approaching joy.
“Brother, tell me, it’s impossible, isn’t it? I’ve been told that all three of them died in the fire. Everyone said so.”
“That is what we all believed,” Darcy admitted. “However, the evidence Miss Bennet has presented raises questions about that assumption.”
“But if it’s true…” Georgiana’s voice trailed off as she looked between them with growing excitement. “Miss Bennet, do you have proof?”
“Other than Mrs. Wickham’s letter,” Caroline supplied unhelpfully, “I’m sure Miss Eliza will produce baptismal records and such.”
“Which would prove that Elizabeth Rose Darcy existed,” Georgiana said, surprising Darcy with her sharpness, “but not that the woman standing in front of us is our cousin.”
“And that, my friends, is the crux of the matter,” Mr. Hurst harrumphed as if he were the judge.
“The documents may exist. Marriage certificates. The final settlement papers with the fee tail female, but if Elizabeth Rose Darcy died in the fire, then any young lady appearing here before her twenty-first birthday would prove to be an imposter.”
“But I’m not an imposter,” Elizabeth declared. “My father confirmed that I was found in a basket at Longbourn with a note identifying me. There was a locket, too.”
Darcy studied her face as she spoke, searching for any hint of deception. He found only earnest conviction and a vulnerability she tried to hide. Whatever the truth, the young woman in front of him genuinely believed she was their cousin.
“It does explain why Miss Bennet is here pursuing her claim,” Darcy said.