Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
Richard exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I thought as much.”
“There is a certain…restlessness,” Darcy said, choosing the word with care. “The mind does not easily relinquish a habit so long maintained.”
Richard’s expression was sympathetic, though his tone remained practical. “It will pass.”
“Will it?”
“I believe so,” Richard replied. “You have carried this for years. It will take time for the absence of it to feel natural.”
Darcy moved, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced once across the room. “I had thought,” he said slowly, “that when the moment came, I should feel…more.”
Richard’s mouth curved faintly. “Triumph?”
“Perhaps.”
“And instead?”
Darcy paused. “Relief,” he said at last. “And a sensation I cannot name.”
Richard nodded. “That is likely for the best.”
Darcy glanced at him. “You think so?”
“I do,” Richard replied. “If you had felt only triumph, I might be more concerned for you.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Darcy’s lips. “Then I am spared your concern.”
“Not entirely,” Richard said dryly.
They fell silent for a moment.
Richard shifted, his tone altering. “With this concluded, there remains another matter.”
Darcy met his gaze. “My family.”
“Yes.”
Darcy turned away briefly, his attention returning to the window, though he did not see what lay beyond it.
“They must be told.”
Darcy drew a breath. “I am aware.”
“They have believed you dead for years. They have mourned you. They have lived in ignorance of all that has been done.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened.
“And now,” Richard went on, “you have the opportunity to set that right.”
Darcy did not immediately answer. It would not be fair to leave them suffering his loss. “There will be questions,” he said at last. “Explanations required. Matters that cannot be easily reconciled.”
“There always will be,” Richard replied. “But they are your family. They deserve the truth.”
Darcy’s gaze lowered. “Can they be trusted to keep it?” he asked.
Richard regarded him steadily. “Do you doubt them?”
Darcy did not respond immediately. “No,” he said. “Not in their loyalty.”
“Then what troubles you?”
Darcy turned back to him. “The consequences,” he said. “The risk of scandal. The possibility that what has been concealed may still be exposed.”
Richard considered this. “There is always risk,” he said. “But there is also necessity. You cannot remain divided forever, Darcy. The man you are and the name you bear must, at some point, become one and the same.”
Darcy inclined his head. “And Georgiana?” he asked.
Richard’s expression shifted. “She has lived beyond our reach for too long,” he said. “Whatever her circumstances have been, they have not included us. That must change.”
Darcy’s thoughts moved briefly to the previous day, to her pale face in the doorway, to the shock and confusion that had marked her expression. “She has suffered,” he said.
“She has,” Richard agreed. “And she has done so without the support of her family. That alone is reason enough to bring her back within it.”
Darcy was silent.
“We are eager to know her again,” Richard enthused. “All of us. My parents, my wife—there is not one among us who would not welcome her without reservation.”
Darcy drew a slow breath. “She may not receive it easily,” he said. “There are years between us that cannot be undone.”
“No,” Richard said. “But they can be bridged.”
Darcy inclined his head, though the uncertainty remained.
Richard rose. “I will leave you to consider it,” he said. “I have no doubt you will come to the right decision.”
Darcy moved toward him. “You return home?”
Richard smiled faintly. “At last. My wife has not seen me since yesterday morning, and I suspect she will have something to say on the subject. I mean to present myself to her before she begins to form her own conclusions.”
Darcy allowed the smallest trace of amusement to touch his expression. “A wise course.”
“I think so,” Richard replied. “And after that, I intend to sleep. A luxury I recommend you attempt as well.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I shall consider it.”
Richard paused at the door, then looked back. “It is done,” he said again. “You are free to move forward now. Do not delay overlong.”
Darcy met his gaze. “I will not.”
Richard nodded once and departed.
The room seemed emptier in his absence.
Darcy remained where he was, the magnitude of the conversation settling into place alongside all that had come before it. The path ahead, once obscured by necessity and purpose, lay clearer now, though not without its own uncertainties.
At length, he turned and made his way to his chambers.
The familiarity of the space, still new but already accustomed to his presence, offered a kind of order that he found himself unexpectedly grateful for.
He removed his coat with deliberate care, setting it aside before moving toward the basin.
His gaze lifted to the mirror.
The beard had served its purpose. It had altered him sufficiently to pass unremarked, to create the distance necessary between who he had been and who he had presented himself to be. It had become, in a sense, part of the disguise that had allowed him to move within society without recognition.
It was no longer required.
He rang for his new valet. Brisby entered promptly, his manner composed, though there remained an awareness in his expression that had not entirely faded since their unexpected meeting at Darcy House.
“You sent for me, sir?”
Darcy inclined his head. “You will prepare the razor.”
Brisby did not question him. “At once, sir.” He moved to comply, setting out the necessary instruments with practiced efficiency. The water was brought, the cloths arranged, the blade inspected with care.
Darcy removed his cravat, loosening the final remnants of the persona he had carried for so long. “It is time,” he said.
Brisby glanced at him briefly, understanding passing between them without the need for further explanation. “Yes, sir.”
Darcy took his seat. The transformation, when it came, would be simple, but it marked the beginning of something far greater.