Bellfield Grange came into view—a substantial stone farmhouse surrounded by outbuildings, barns, and rolling pastures dotted with sheep. It was handsome in a rustic way, Darcy conceded reluctantly, though nothing like the elegant architecture of Pemberley.
Darcy noted the property’s condition. The stone buildings were well-maintained, the fencing sound, and the sheep visible in distant paddocks appeared healthy and numerous. And, as if alerted to his inspection, Graham Pullen himself strode into view, carrying a small boy on his shoulders. His wife carried a basket of apples, and to Darcy’s inexplicable shock, the woman dropped it and tore into a run. Had she left a pot boiling?
Darcy couldn’t help admiring her health and the way she leaped gracefully over the stiles and hedgerows. But he caught himself. Perhaps his eye had become roving after his head injury. More likely, he was unable to focus and hence it appeared to women that he was studying them when he was retreating into the safety of his mind.
“They’re there,” Georgiana bounced on the squabs excitedly as the carriage pulled to a stop. “I cannot believe how big William has gotten.”
“Allow me.” Darcy picked up his cane and hobbled off the carriage as the gentleman to hand the ladies down. Even though his legs tingled with numbness, he leaned on the cane and assisted first his aunt and then his sister who leaped off with grace as she rushed toward the woman who’s eyes remained fixed on him.
Her cheeks were pink and windblown. Her hair had fallen from its pins. She wore no bonnet, and her hems were torn and muddy. If he were Graham, he would…
But no, this was not his place. He would greet his steward and be introduced, as proper.
“Elizabeth, sister,” Georgiana shouted in a most unladylike manner as the two women joined hands.
Darcy turned away to pay his respects to their hosts, theHonywoods who had raised his Aunt Eleanor when her parents sent her away due to a superstition about twins. He’d decided that if he were ever blessed with twins, he would pray over both and keep them together in the same cradle.
But he would never enjoy that blessing. He was a shell of the man he was, plagued by rumors of compromise and dozens of unrecognized heirs. Indeed, how could one man sweep the countryside in a matter of months, all conveniently within the three months of lost memory?
Graham was fortunate. A wife and child. Life had continued for everyone while Darcy had lain unconscious. People had married, had children, moved forward while he remained trapped in fragments of the past.
“Da-da, car!” The child’s voice drew his attention.
How curious. The boy was as dark as Graham was fair, and that discriminating scowl? So unlike his steward’s openly kind disposition.
It was the woman, however, who discomposed him. She approached him, with Georgiana, staring most unseemly at him as if expecting recognition. Her fine eyes held an intensity that was entirely inappropriate for their stations.
Impudent chit.
He turned away, sparing her a “good day,” embarrassed for his steward. Life in Yorkshire evidently bred a certain informality that would never be tolerated at Pemberley.
Georgiana’s eager greeting of the woman puzzled him further. His sister had never been one to form attachments easily, yet she embraced this disheveled country girl with genuine affection. Had his prolonged absence resulted in such a complete abandonment of proper distinctions? He would need to address this with Georgiana privately. Compassion for one’s dependents was commendable, but excessive familiarity only created confusion and impropriety.
“Mr. Darcy.” Pullen approached with a respectful bow, the childstill balanced on his shoulders. “Welcome to Bellfield Grange, sir. We are honored by your presence.”
“Pullen,” Darcy acknowledged with a nod. “I understand you have managed the property capably in my absence.”
“I have endeavored to do so, sir,” Pullen replied, his Yorkshire accent more pronounced than Darcy remembered from their university days. “The flocks have prospered, and this year’s wool fetched excellent prices at market.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Darcy’s gaze moved to the child. “I see congratulations are in order. You have been… productive… in other areas as well.”
Pullen’s face turned to stone. His wife went pale, while Aunt Eleanor and Georgiana exchanged one of their meaningful glances.
“I am not married, sir,” Pullen said carefully. “Young William here belongs to…” He paused, seeming to search for appropriate words. “That is, he is in the care of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
All eyes turned to the inappropriate woman who at least had the grace to lower her gaze. Her color deepened. Georgiana had moved to his side, and behind the woman stood a stern gentlewoman holding a Bible.
Aunt Eleanor stepped smoothly into the void.
“Allow me to make proper introductions,” she said. “Fitzwilliam, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her sister, Miss Mary Bennet. They have been residing at Bellfield Grange these past months as my guests. And this young gentleman,” she added, gesturing to the child, “is Master William Bennet.”
“Ah, the Bennets of Yorkshire?” Darcy mumbled, raking his memories. “Or perhaps Sheffield?”
“No sir. Hertfordshire.” The woman curtsied and received her son from Pullen.
“A county I’m unfamiliar with,” Darcy replied conversationally, trying to put her at ease. “Although I have heard the landscape is quite picturesque. I apologize for my misapprehension, Miss Bennet.”
Was it his imagination or did she flinch at his pronunciation of her name? Her expression remained carefully controlled, but Darcy detected a flash of something in her fine eyes—hurt, perhaps, or disappointment. Why his mistake should affect her so deeply, he could not fathom.
