The memory of his earnest expression, how he’d been so thoroughly pleased with himself, so convinced of his own nobility in acknowledging what he perceived as her sacrifice. The man who had once held her through a storm-lashed night, who had married her without hesitation when honor demanded it, had attempted to reduce her to the status of a paid attendant.
As if monetary consideration could possibly address the complex tangle of their situation. His words had stung, certainly, but beneath her initial offense lay a deeper understanding of the man who had spoken them—a man adrift, clinging to the principles of propriety when all else in his world had become uncertain.
“At least you recognized your error,” she murmured to his absent figure, recalling how his expression had shifted from righteous certainty to mortified comprehension as she’d explainedthe implications of his offer. There had been genuine contrition in his apology, and in those final moments of their conversation, a vulnerability that had touched her more deeply than she cared to admit.
I shall endeavor to be worthy of your forbearance, he had said.And perhaps, in time, my memory will provide what your discretion withholds.
Was it fair to him that she and Georgiana knew more about his situation than he did? That they withheld information that could have ameliorated his confusion?
The silver chain around her neck felt suddenly heavy, the signet ring that hung from it pressing against her skin like a reminder of all she had lost—and all she had withheld. She had returned Darcy’s writing desk, his neckcloth, his shaving kit, his gloves—all the personal effects he had left behind at the Red Lion Inn. But she had kept his signet ring.
His ring. The one he had slipped onto her finger as a substitute wedding band, promising to replace it with something more suitable when they reached London. The one she had transferred to a chain around her neck when her pregnancy began to show, when her fingers swelled too much to wear it comfortably.
Elizabeth drew the chain from beneath her bodice, holding the ring in her palm. The Darcy crest caught the moonlight, gleaming with the same quiet dignity its owner possessed.
“Should I have given it back?” she asked the empty room. “Is it selfish to keep this from you?”
A gentle knock at her door interrupted her contemplation.
“Elizabeth? I heard you pacing.” Lady Eleanor’s voice came through the wood, quiet but distinct. “Might I have a word?”
Elizabeth hastily tucked the ring back beneath her dress, composing her features into a semblance of calm. “Of course, Lady Eleanor. Please come in.”
The door opened to reveal Darcy’s aunt, still dressed in her evening attire though she had removed some of her jewelry. Her expression held concern and something that might have been understanding.
“I thought you might be awake,” Lady Eleanor said, closing the door behind her. “After such an eventful dinner.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Elizabeth replied with a small smile. “I suppose that’s more charitable than some alternatives.”
Lady Eleanor settled into the chair by the fire, gesturing for Elizabeth to join her. “Georgiana told me about Fitzwilliam’s ill-considered offer. I imagine it was difficult to hear.”
“I fear I was not as gracious as a lady ought to be.” Elizabeth took the seat opposite. “Though I believe he came to understand his error before we parted.”
“He means well,” Lady Eleanor said with a sigh. “Though his execution leaves much to be desired.”
Elizabeth studied the older woman’s face, noting the family resemblance to Darcy in the proud set of her jaw and the intelligence in her dark eyes. “He was trying to be honorable, in his own misguided way.”
“You were gentler with him than many would have been in your position.”
Elizabeth gazed into the low-burning fire. “What purpose would harshness serve? He is already lost, fumbling through shadows of his own mind.” She sighed softly. “Besides, there was something in his manner at the end—a vulnerability I’ve rarely glimpsed in him.”
“Then perhaps this ill-advised dinner had some value after all.” Lady Eleanor’s smile was wistful. “I truly wish for his complete recovery and the realization of his feelings for you.”
“That is… very… insightful of you.” Elizabeth felt a strange twisting of her heart. “Do you truly believe he’ll not only remember but… have affection?”
“He watches you,” Eleanor’s eyes rested on Elizabeth’s hand, the one that had worn Darcy’s ring. “When he believes you are not aware. I find him gazing after William too. Perhaps I’m reading too much but he seems to be searching.”
“For the truth? For his past?” Elizabeth could not imagine not being able to recall every tiny detail of her life.
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “It must be difficult to experience emotions and have no inkling why.”
“What if he never remembers?” Elizabeth gave in to her fears. “Will I be here forever waiting? Will William grow up without ever knowing his father?”
“William will know Fitzwilliam,” Lady Eleanor said. “I’m sure of it. He will have to be told eventually.”
“Of his son? But not of me?”
Darcy’s aunt nodded grimly. “He may react badly to you. Imagine you entrapped him, but he will love his son. I believe he already cares for the boy, although he is unsure of his parentage.”
