Chapter 24 Unlikely Allies #2
“Anything related to the Wickhams troubles me.” His finger tapped the paper where the warning about danger lay.
“Particularly, the language bothers me. These melodramatic warnings about murderers still hunting you—‘your safety depends upon their continued ignorance’—and this urgent deadline that you must act before your birthday or lose everything forever. Such language is designed to provoke immediate, perhaps reckless action.”
Elizabeth had not considered the letter’s manipulative tone. “You believe it was calculated to send me rushing headlong into danger?” The idea stung as she had always prided herself on seeing through artifice.
“Or into an alliance with whoever sent it.” Darcy’s expression darkened. “The instruction to ‘choose wisely whom to trust’ coupled with the convenient appearance of helpful guides suggests a trap rather elegantly laid.” He returned the letter. “I assume you spoke to your father about this?”
Elizabeth nodded. “He advised me to ignore it and to let the deadline pass. He cared more for my life than for the inheritance.”
“But you clearly disobeyed him. I’ve heard you had help from Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth felt heat creeping up her neck, not from shame at her actions but from the mortification of having her missteps laid bare. She glanced at Georgiana, whose wide eyes suggested a fascination rather than censure.
“I should not have borrowed the five pounds from Mr. Wickham, but necessity made for strange bedfellows, Mr. Darcy,” she replied with pointed archness.
“My uncle Philips proved disappointingly practical about inheritance claims without evidence, and my father’s solution was to marry me to my cousin Mr. Collins—a man whose conversation has all the sparkling wit of lukewarm tea.
Between an unwanted marriage in Hertfordshire and possible danger in Derbyshire, the choice seemed rather clear. ”
She allowed a glimmer of self-mockery to enter her smile. “Though I confess my judgment regarding Mrs. Younge proved somewhat less than impeccable. She abandoned me at the inn after relieving me of what remained of my traveling funds—apparently finding my company less compelling than my purse.”
“Wickham and Mrs. Younge are most untrustworthy,” Darcy said grimly. “While his father served admirably as steward here, the son has ill-used my family more times than I care to recall. I find it difficult to trust anything they say or do.”
“I believed him to be a friend in Meryton,” Elizabeth said, surprised at his candor. “But just because Mrs. Wickham wrote me and George aided me doesn’t mean my claim is not true. I could still be Elizabeth Rose Darcy, and they only meant to take advantage of that fact.”
“By forcing you to marry Mr. Wickham before she would give her testimony,” Darcy said, shaking the letter. “You should be aware that she testified that you’d died in the fire.”
“Yes, but since she wrote me, she obviously knows I survived,” Elizabeth countered. “Unless she has developed a remarkable talent for corresponding with the deceased—in which case her services would be in high demand indeed.”
“Or she’s presenting you, an imposter, as Elizabeth Rose Darcy.” Darcy’s brows furrowed. “That is what my solicitor believes. The birthday is upcoming, and she’s found a suitable candidate.”
“However, my birthday is truly November first, and I’ve always been Elizabeth Rose Bennet,” Elizabeth argued.
“My father’s reluctance to aid me on my quest speaks volumes.
He told me that I was left in a basket on the doorstep of Longbourn with his sister’s locket and a note, warning him to hide me from his sister and brother-in-law’s murderers.
He and Mrs. Bennet chose to raise me as their own, convenient in age between Jane and Mary.
Rather more compassionate than leaving an infant to the parish, wouldn’t you say? ”
Darcy’s jaw worked as he absorbed her words. “The locket could have been stolen. Even if your account is true, you still face the challenge of impartial witnesses. Your father—Mr. Bennet—is hardly disinterested in the matter.”
“What about Hodge?” Georgiana interjected suddenly, leaning forward with unexpected boldness. “Brother, you haven’t shared what he told you.” Her eyes darted between Elizabeth and Darcy. “Molly specifically mentioned that only two bodies were discovered at Rose Cottage, not three.”
Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly displeased at being cornered. “Hodge confirmed that particular detail,” he admitted reluctantly. “The absence of the child’s remains suggests several possibilities—that the infant survived, or was carried off by wild dogs.”
“I assure you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth was compelled to respond, “despite my occasional snap, I am not descended from canines. My teeth, while serviceable, are hardly suited to tearing raw meat.”
A startled laugh escaped Georgiana, quickly stifled behind her hand. More surprising still was the twitch at the corner of Darcy’s mouth—not quite a smile, but dangerously near one.
“Your ability to find humor in the most macabre circumstances is unexpected,” he said.
“A necessary talent when one grows up with my mother’s nerves and my father’s sarcasm,” Elizabeth replied. “One either laughs or goes quietly mad.”
Darcy smiled, a tentative bridge forming where barriers had stood. Elizabeth felt the subtle shift—not friendship exactly, but the possibility of it, hovering like the fragile promise of spring after a harsh winter.
“The rain appears to have stopped.” Darcy glanced toward the window. “Perhaps a turn about the grounds would be beneficial after such heavy conversation.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Elizabeth agreed, rising from her chair. As Georgiana moved to collect her shawl, she turned to Darcy with a more serious expression. “What would it take, Mr. Darcy? For you to believe I am who I claim to be?”
He studied her face with an intensity that might have unsettled her had she not been so determined to meet his gaze. “My belief or disbelief is ultimately irrelevant, Miss Bennet. The burden of legal proof remains with you, regardless of my personal conclusions.”
“You evade the question admirably. But I am asking about Fitzwilliam Darcy the man, not Fitzwilliam Darcy the master of Pemberley.”
Something shifted in his dark eyes—a recognition, perhaps, of being seen beyond his position.
“In truth, Miss Bennet, I’m not certain anything would convince me entirely.
The locket would be compelling, yet it could have been taken from Rose Cottage.
Your father’s—Mr. Bennet’s testimony carries weight, yet he has reason to protect you.
Mrs. Wickham’s account is compromised by her demands. ”
He looked away momentarily, seeming to gather his thoughts. “There is no absolute proof to be had in such matters. Only the weight of circumstantial evidence and character testimony.”
“Are you saying my quest is hopeless?”
His eyes returned to hers, surprisingly gentle.
“If you are indeed Elizabeth Rose Darcy, then you have suffered an immeasurable loss—parents who by all accounts would have cherished you, a birthright that was your due. I hope that loss was mitigated by the love of the Bennets. Were they kind to you? Did you find happiness at Longbourn?”
The unexpected tenderness in his question caught Elizabeth off guard. It was not the legal consideration of the master of Pemberley, but the human concern of a man who understood loss.
Elizabeth swallowed, her throat suddenly thick. “My father called me his favorite daughter, but my mother was annoyed with me. Said I had a stubborn streak unlike my sisters. My sisters love me, but don’t you believe I still have a right to my heritage? If I’m truly a Darcy?”
“Yes, I could not deny that to you,” Darcy admitted. “Although the courts might differ. Even though we might never get to the truth, we can still seek answers.”
Elizabeth nodded, accepting the honesty of his response. His unexpected kindness made her want to take his hand and accept his protection. Feeling out of sorts and unable to meet his gaze, she glanced out at the misty grounds, where sunlight was beginning to break through the clouds.
“I should like to visit the cemetery to see their graves. I’ve never had the chance to… to know them, even in that small way.” The vulnerability in her voice surprised her almost as much as the gentle understanding in Darcy’s expression as he offered his arm.
“The family plot is on the eastern slope, overlooking the valley. If you wish to go, I will accompany you.”