Chapter 28 #2
“Very well. Though I reserve the right to point out that you followed me without invitation, which some might consider equally presumptuous.”
“Duly noted.” Darcy took the reins, leading the horse along a path that would circle back to Pemberley through more scenic routes. “I trust your search was not entirely fruitless?”
“Entirely so, I’m afraid.” Elizabeth sighed, gazing out at the woods around them.
“Martha Wickham has either concealed whatever evidence she possesses or fabricated its existence altogether. I found nothing resembling a hiding place that hadn’t already been thoroughly emptied.
As I’m sure you already know, since you were watching me. ”
“I was ensuring your safety,” he corrected, though he felt heat rise in his cheeks.
“How long?”
“Long enough to observe your… thorough methodology.”
“And long enough to determine that I was in no immediate danger before Mr. Wickham’s arrival.”
Darcy found himself in the uncomfortable position of being caught in careful surveillance. “I was exercising caution.”
“You were spying,” Elizabeth said, though her tone held more amusement than accusation.
“I was protecting,” he countered.
“From what? Hostile books? Dangerous fireplaces? Or do you not wish me to discover the truth?”
The sky, which had been threatening since dawn, chose that moment to fulfill its promise. A spattering of raindrops fell through the leaves above them, gentle at first but quickly gaining intensity.
“We should seek shelter,” Darcy said, eyeing the darkening clouds. “There’s a gazebo by the lake not far from here. We can wait out the worst of it there.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement, and he quickened their pace, leading Maximus through a copse of beech trees and emerging onto a small rise overlooking Pemberley’s lake. The gazebo stood on a slight promontory, its white-painted wood stark against the steel gray of the water.
Darcy secured Maximus under the partial shelter of a large oak nearby, then joined Elizabeth in the dry sanctuary of the small structure.
“Now then,” Elizabeth said, her gaze direct and uncompromising. “Pray, enlighten me about your rationale for protecting me from the truth.”
The rain intensified, a wall of water separating them from the world beyond their small sanctuary. Darcy found himself grateful for its isolating effect, creating a momentary pocket where truth might be spoken without consequence.
“I wish,” he said carefully, “for justice to be done. If you are indeed Elizabeth Rose Darcy, then you deserve to know your heritage and claim what is rightfully yours. And if not, you deserve to understand why you were led to believe otherwise.”
“A diplomatic answer,” she observed, “but not, I think, an entirely honest one. No man surrenders his birthright willingly.”
“Perhaps not,” Darcy acknowledged. “But I find my priorities have… shifted in recent days.”
“In what manner?”
The moment stretched between them, pregnant with possibility. Darcy was acutely aware of Elizabeth’s proximity, the sound of her breathing just audible beneath the rain’s symphony, the faint scent of lavender from her hair.
“Yesterday evening,” he began, his voice lower than before, “I spoke of solutions that might serve both justice and other considerations. You understood my meaning, I believe.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught slightly. “I thought I might have.”
“Then you must also understand that such solutions spring from feelings that have grown beyond mere duty or protection.” He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “What I could only hint at then deserves more honest expression now.”
Elizabeth’s hands gripped the gazebo railing, her knuckles white. “Fitzwilliam…”
“I have come to care for you, Elizabeth,” he said, her Christian name feeling both dangerous and right upon his tongue.
“More deeply than I ever thought possible. Whether you are heiress or penniless, Darcy or Bennet—the name signifies nothing to me anymore. A rose remains fragrant, whatever we choose to call it.”
“My identity cannot be so easily cast aside,” Elizabeth replied, her brows drawing together.
“Whether I am a Darcy or Bennet affects the choices available to me.” She studied him carefully.
“And why should it matter so little to you? A fortnight ago, you could scarcely bring yourself to acknowledge a country gentleman’s daughter.
Now that evidence suggests I might be a Darcy heiress, you suddenly declare it to be inconsequential, and in such poetic terms? ”
Darcy’s heart clenched at the pain beneath her skepticism.
“Your doubt wounds me, though I acknowledge I have earned it. I was proud—unconscionably so—when we first met. I judged by station rather than character.” His voice grew thick with feeling.
“But I have watched you face uncertainty with courage, defend your dignity against every challenge, and bring light to Georgiana’s eyes where there was only shadow.
The woman who accomplished this would command my devotion whether she arrived as heiress or governess. ”
Elizabeth’s expression wavered, though something flickered in her eyes—a warmth quickly guarded. “You speak of devotion so easily, but—”
“Not easily,” Darcy interrupted, taking another step closer. “Against all logic and expectation, against my own attempts at restraint—I have fallen in love with you, Elizabeth. Deeply and irrevocably.”
The color drained from her face before rushing back in a wave of pink that spread from her cheeks to her throat.
“I confess I am not entirely surprised by your sentiments,” she said quietly. “But I cannot…”
Darcy’s stomach clenched with sudden doubt. Had he presumed too much? Moved too quickly?
“I have never spoken more sincerely,” he interrupted, his voice steadier than his hammering heart. “Your presence at Pemberley feels right, as though you belong here—with or without legal claim.”
“But that is a giant leap…” she began, then stopped, shaking her head as if to clear it. “You must understand I did not come to Pemberley to seek such attachment.”
Darcy’s heart sank. He had been too precipitous, too confident in his reading of her regard. The poor woman looked as though he had struck her rather than declared his love.
“Please forgive me…” he attempted to mollify her. “I only meant to alleviate…”
“You meant well,” she said. “But I cannot answer such a declaration. It would make me appear exactly the sort of designing woman your initial judgment suggested I might be.” She hesitated, then added softly, “Though I will say this: if I were to inherit Pemberley, I would never see Georgiana dispossessed. Nor you. I would share everything—you must know that.”
“Your generosity speaks to your character,” Darcy said, “but I ask nothing of Pemberley. I ask only for the chance to stand beside you.” He paused, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made ordinary words feel insufficient.
“These past days have taught me what truly matters. The stones and lands of Pemberley can be replaced. You cannot.”
The admission seemed to surprise them both. Elizabeth’s eyes softened with something that might have been tenderness. Her breathing was still unsteady, and Darcy could see her working to regain her composure.
“I confess,” she said, her voice stronger with a slight tremor, “that I had not anticipated… that is, I never imagined you could regard me with such…” She paused, seeming to search for words. “Your declaration has quite overwhelmed me, sir.”
Relief flooded through Darcy—she was not rejecting him outright, merely shocked by the intensity of his feelings.
She continued, “Your kindness to Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, your support of my investigation despite your own interests, your willingness to risk your reputation for my protection—these are not the actions of the proud, unfeeling man I first encountered.”
“Perhaps you have inspired me to better behavior.”
“Or perhaps I was mistaken in my initial judgment.” Elizabeth’s smile held a reassuring warmth. “I have been wrong before, though I confess it with reluctance.”
“Never let it be said that Elizabeth Bennet lacks courage in any endeavor,” Darcy observed. “Even the courage to admit error.”
“Elizabeth Bennet or Elizabeth Darcy,” she corrected with gentle irony. “The question remains unresolved.”
“The question is irrelevant,” Darcy said firmly. “You are yourself, whatever name you bear. That is what matters to me.”
“I understand your sentiments, though I insist upon continuing my search for the truth.”
“I agree and respect your choice,” Darcy said. “And I insist upon providing protection, no matter the outcome. You have become dear to me, Elizabeth, and I hope that in time…”
“In time?” she prompted softly.
“In time, you might return my regard.” The admission cost him something, revealing vulnerability he had never shown another soul.
“You have declared yourself falling in love with a woman who may be your cousin and who claims your inheritance,” Elizabeth observed, a hint of her usual spirit returning. “Some might call that presumption indeed.”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said, unable to prevent a smile at her forthrightness, “I find that conventional wisdom has little application to our situation.”
“True enough.” She met his gaze directly. “Then I shall be equally unconventional in my response. I came to Pemberley seeking answers about my parentage. Yet I find myself moved by your declaration in ways I had not anticipated.”
“And?”
“And I believe we must proceed with caution. The All Hallows’ Eve assembly approaches. Mrs. Bingley clearly has designs involving her son. Martha Wickham demands marriage to George as her price for testimony. We are surrounded by those who would manipulate us for their own ends.”
“You suggest we keep our understanding private?” Darcy asked, both disappointed and relieved by her pragmatism.
“I suggest we allow events to unfold without adding unnecessary complications,” Elizabeth clarified. “If I truly am Elizabeth Rose Darcy, there will be time enough for… other considerations once that matter is settled.”
Darcy inclined his head, accepting her wisdom while privately resolving that he would not allow her to face the coming storm alone. “As you wish.”
The rain had nearly stopped, and sunshine streamed through the remaining clouds, creating a gleaming path across the lake’s surface. Pemberley stood in the distance, golden in the morning light, its windows flashing like jewels.
“It truly is the most handsome house in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth murmured, following his gaze.
“It would welcome you as mistress,” Darcy said quietly. “Whether by inheritance or… other means.”
She glanced at him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You are persistent, Mr. Darcy.”
“Merely truthful,” he replied. “Shall we return? I believe we may avoid the worst of the mud if we follow the ridge path.”