“Yet she found refuge with the Gardiners,” Graham pointed out, “and eventually with Lady Eleanor. Not all avenues were closed to her.”
“Through her own resourcefulness, not any mercy on Wickham’s part,” Darcy corrected. “Had Elizabeth been of a less determined character, his scheme might have destroyed her completely.”
Graham studied Darcy’s face for a moment before speaking. “If Imay say so, sir, your admiration for Mrs. Darcy is evident in every word. Despite the circumstances of your reunion, that foundation remains unchanged.”
The observation, delivered without sentimentality but with evident sincerity, caught Darcy by surprise. “Is it so apparent?” he asked, a rueful smile touching his lips. “I had thought myself rather reserved on the subject.”
“To most observers, perhaps,” Graham agreed with a slight smile. “But I have had the privilege of watching you both these past weeks. The connection between you transcends memory—it exists in your instinctive responses to one another, in the way young William bridges the gap between you.”
Darcy gazed out the window, considering Graham’s words. “It is a peculiar torment, to discover that I have already lived the life I would have chosen, only to have it stolen. To learn I married for love rather than duty or advantage. To find I have a son who somehow recognizes me despite my absence from his life.” He tightened his hand around the leather portfolio containing their evidence. “I feel I am chasing shadows of my own life, pursuing memories that belong to me yet remain tantalizingly out of reach.”
“Not shadows, sir,” Graham corrected. “Mrs. Darcy and your son are flesh and blood, waiting for your return. The documents we seek matter for legalities, but they cannot create or destroy the bond that already exists between you.”
“You speak of the bond I felt with Elizabeth from the first moment at Bellfield,” Darcy said, his voice low and intent. “Even before I knew who she was to me. Even believing her compromised by another man.”
“Precisely.”
“Then let us ensure that bond receives its proper recognition in the eyes of the world. William deserves his birthright, and Elizabeth deserves the dignity of her true position as the Mistress of Pemberley by right and by choice.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE UNFORGIVABLE BENNETS
The approachto Longbourn revealed a house that stirred no recognition in Darcy’s mind, though he could detect signs of reduced circumstances in the less than meticulous attention to the grounds and exterior maintenance. Although Mary had described the modest estate to him in detail, his interest in it now lay solely with curiosity about Elizabeth’s childhood home. This was where his dear Elizabeth roamed as a little girl growing into young womanhood.
“Remember,” he said to Graham as they descended from the carriage, “we need not show particular sympathy for their position. These are the people who cast Elizabeth out in her moment of need. That they could be so callous for a daughter…”
“Understood, sir,” Graham replied, his expression somber.
The housekeeper who admitted them appeared startled by the idea of visitors.
“Why, Mr. Darcy, sir!” she exclaimed. “I shall inform Mr. Bennet of your arrival immediately.”
They were shown to a drawing room that appeared shabby, dusty, and cluttered. A pianoforte leaned near the wall, laced withspiderwebs, and various pieces of abandoned needlework lay scattered on the furniture.
“Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bennet’s voice cut through his thoughts. The older man stood in the doorway. “This is unexpected.”
“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy acknowledged with a cool nod, feeling no need to display warmth toward the man who had cared so little for his daughters. “I apologize for calling without prior notice. May I introduce Mr. Graham Pullen, steward of Bellfield Grange in Yorkshire?”
“Yorkshire,” Mr. Bennet repeated, his gaze sharpening with sudden intensity. “Where my daughter Mary currently resides, I believe.”
“Indeed, sir,” Darcy confirmed, noting the conflicting emotions that played across Mr. Bennet’s features at this confirmation. “She is well, despite having been exiled from her family home for the crime of supporting her sister.”
Mr. Bennet’s mouth tightened, but before he could respond, Mrs. Bennet’s voice carried from the hallway, growing in volume as she approached the drawing room. “Hill says Mr. Darcy has called! Mr. Darcy, here at Longbourn! What can he possibly want after all this time? Oh, my nerves cannot bear such unexpected visitors!”
Darcy winced at the shrillness of her tone, wondering how Elizabeth and her sisters could have endured such a force of nature.
“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat as she swept into the room. “Have you come to torment us further? Is it not enough that we have lost two daughters through these dreadful events?”
“Lost?” Darcy repeated, his voice carrying an edge of ice. “An interesting choice of words, Mrs. Bennet, for daughters who were driven from their home rather than lost through any accident of fate.”
Mrs. Bennet sank into the nearest chair, a handkerchief appearing in her hand. “Oh! That ungrateful girl! To bring such shame upon her family after all our efforts to establish her properly!”
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet interjected, “perhaps we might hear what Mr. Darcy has to say before indulging in recriminations.”
“What purpose brings you to Hertfordshire, sir?” Mr. Bennet asked dryly.
“Justice,” Darcy replied simply. “I have reason to believe that Mr. Wickham deliberately created a false narrative regarding Elizabeth’s departure—a narrative designed to destroy her reputation while concealing his own crimes.”
