His face was still, but he had not immediately drawn back from her. She could see that he was thinking, considering. He still held her hand.
His thumb softly stroked her knuckles.
She waited.
The waiting became terrible. She tried to pull her hand away from him. “So, you see. You see now. You must see. Now you can see.”
He kept that thoughtful frown.
She finally pulled her hand away from him. She gripped her hands together and then wrapped her arms around herself. “You see.”
“I do not see.” When Mr. Darcy spoke, it was with steady solidity and friendliness of his manner. “I do not doubt what you said. It offers an explanation to much of the mystery around your birth—though not all. Why does myauntseem to have some awareness of your past? I asked her last night, and she made a pretense of knowing nothing, but it was clear that she thinks she knows something. But as for the rest, no I do not see at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why would this...” He paused. He took her hand and kissed it. “Poor, poor Lizzy. This has been a terrible burden. A thing you have borne alone—Does Mr. Bennet know that you know?”
“I told him once that I knew. But only recently, in the last six months.” She shook her head. “But we’ve never spoken of it since. No, no. But it’s always, always...”
“You always told yourself,” Darcy said, “that you must be grateful to Mrs. Bennet. Because you were a natural child, andyou could expect nothing else. But that is not right. The sin of the father and mother does not pass down to the child.”
“Is that all—” Elizabeth’s throat caught. “You do not say anything else about it?”
“Elizabeth, I know you. I know your character. Your character is what matters to me. And your character is such that no one who knows it could ever rightly despise you.”
It was like this knot that had been tight in her chest for as long as she could remember, at least since she was seven or eight and had asked Mrs. Bennet what a “bastard” was, was releasing. It was still there. It was still tight. It could not disappear completely ever.
But she had told one person who was dear to her.
And he did not turn from her with disgust.
Another deep breath.
“This is why I’ve always known I could never marry,” Elizabeth said.
“Those who are illegitimate marry every day. There is no legal barrier barring a natural child from any position in England. I do not see what bearing it has on that.”
“No, no. Not that. It is...I am presented to everyone as legitimate. I do not blame Mr. Bennet for this, please understand. It is merely—I could never marry someone while they were under such a misapprehension of my ancestry.”
“No that would be a form of disguise.” Mr. Darcy was smiling at her fondly.
“I hate it. I hate this. I hate that Mary does not know. That no one knows but Mr. Bennet. And this is why I could never accept such an offer as you suggested. Were the parents to know that a teacher at the school was a bastard—illegitimate, they would rightly be unhappy.”
“I do not think it is a matter of such moment as you think.” Darcy said that almost offhandedly. He had a thoughtful frown again.
“Never, unless it was known by everyone what I was. I cannot, I will not enter into any advantageous position if it is notknown.”
“And I say again that you deserve everything.” Darcy smiled at her. “But there is something odd in the whole thing. A part of the mystery that does not make sense. But Mr. Bennet confirmed the matter? It is not just a deduction—but a settled fact.”
“I have this memory; it is one of my earliest ones. A man beating me, shouting ‘bastard, the child is a bastard’ again and again as he struck me.”
Cold quiet. Wind blowing. Birds silent.
Darcy looked startled at what she said. He frowned at her. But then he shook his head. He took a deep breath. “Oh, poor Elizabeth. And that is how you knew? You remembered that?”
“Mrs. Bennet slapped me when I asked her what the word meant. I think I was seven or eight. Mr. Bennet was so angry at her afterwards.”
“I am glad to hear that—besides beating a child for an honest question could never sit well with me.”
