Chapter 30 #2
“My father’s deathbed warning,” Darcy said, almost to himself.
“Never trust a Bennet. I always thought it strange, disconnected from anything I knew. But if he had arranged for you to be hidden with the Bennets, if he feared Thomas Bennet might someday seek justice for his sister…” Darcy looked up, his expression raw with vulnerability she had never before witnessed.
“How can you look at me now, knowing this? Knowing what my family might have done?”
Elizabeth stepped closer, close enough to see the fine lines around his eyes, the shadow of beard along his jaw, the vulnerability he tried so hard to conceal.
“I see a man tormented by his father’s secrets, not someone responsible for them.
I see someone willing to seek truth even when it might destroy everything he believed about his family. ”
“And what of us?” The question escaped him like a confession, raw and unguarded. “This morning, I thought… I hoped…”
“I know what you hoped,” Elizabeth said gently, though her heart ached at the necessity of her words.
“And I would be lying if I claimed your feelings were unwelcome. But how can I give you an answer when I don’t even know who I truly am?
When the man who raised you may have been involved in murdering the people who gave me life? ”
Darcy closed his eyes, accepting the truth of her position with visible effort. When he opened them again, she saw resignation mixed with determination.
“Will you help me discover what really happened?” he asked quietly. “Even if the truth destroys everything I thought I knew about my father? About my family?”
Elizabeth nodded without hesitation. “Yes. But I cannot… we cannot speak of other matters until we know what we’re facing.”
“I understand.” Darcy straightened, summoning the composure that had carried him through years of responsibility. “The upcoming assembly may provide opportunities to gather more information. Several of the original witnesses will be present.”
“Including Mrs. Bingley, who clearly knows more than she’s revealed.”
“I don’t trust the elder Bingleys,” Darcy said. “Mr. Benjamin Bingley involved my father in several deals gone bad. Mrs. Bingley has clearly insinuated herself with you. If she knows your identity, why not testify?”
“Would you have her ruin your family’s reputation?” Elizabeth pointed to the ledgers. “If it came out that the Darcys paid hush money for twenty years?”
“There has to be an innocent reason,” Darcy said. “My father was not… he was stern, certainly, and proud, but I never knew him to be cruel. The man who raised me, who taught me honor and duty—I cannot reconcile that man with one who would orchestrate his own brother’s murder.”
“Perhaps your father believed I was in danger,” Elizabeth suggested, “that whoever truly killed my parents might return to finish what they began if my survival became known.”
Darcy looked up, a faint hope kindling in his eyes. “It’s possible. That has to be it. I doubt he ever shared this with my mother. She would never have agreed.”
Elizabeth heard the desperate need for reassurance and wished she could provide it. Yet the evidence before them offered little comfort.
She glanced at the ledger still spread open between them, its neat columns of figures telling a story neither of them had wanted to read. “What will you do about these payments?”
“Investigate their true purpose,” Darcy replied. “And if they represent my father’s guilt rather than his charity…” He paused, jaw tightening. “Then justice will be served, whatever the cost to the Darcy name.”
The simple statement, delivered without bombast or qualification, revealed the depth of his character more clearly than any declaration of love. Elizabeth felt something shift in her chest—not the dizzying infatuation of new romance, but something deeper and more enduring.
“We should both attempt to rest,” she said, suddenly aware of the impropriety of their situation. “The morrow will bring enough challenges without facing them exhausted.”
Darcy nodded, though his gaze lingered on her face as though memorizing her features. “Allow me to escort you back to your chamber. The corridors can be treacherous in darkness.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm, acutely conscious of the warmth of his body beneath the fine linen shirt. They walked in silence through Pemberley’s shadowed halls, each lost in private contemplation of what the coming day might bring.
At her chamber door, Darcy paused. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, using her Christian name with the same reverence he might accord a prayer.
“Whatever we discover, whatever truth emerges—I want you to know that my feelings remain unchanged. I would rather face devastating truth with you than comfortable lies without you.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes at the quiet conviction in his voice. “I know,” she whispered. “And I… I care for you more than I can safely admit. But until we know the full scope of what we’re facing…”
“You need say nothing more.” Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Sleep well, if you can.”