“A grievous misunderstanding, no doubt.” Mr Collins swallowed, his complexion paling. “That I am involved with the scandal befalling a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a woman your aunts have taken to protect out of a surfeit of Christian charity, I daresay. A falsehood so thoroughly repugnant to my principles and sacred calling that I cannot comprehend how such a slander gained credence among respectable society.”
“You dare deny your role in Miss Bennet’s downfall?” Darcy’s voice lowered dangerously. “That you sought to correct it by offering for her hand, and that when she rejected it, no doubt out of capriciousness, that you never rectified it, not even when she became heavily with child?”
The color drained completely from Collins’s face, leaving him pale as parchment. “Sir, I swear before Almighty God, I have never… that is, I would never… the very suggestion is abhorrent to every principle I hold sacred!”
“Your principles,” Darcy spat, “appear to be as flexible as your courage. You compromised a gentlewoman and abandoned her to bear the consequences alone. You destroyed her reputation, forced her family to cast her out, and left an innocent child to grow up without his father’s name or protection.”
“No!” Collins’s voice cracked with desperation. “Mr. Darcy, I implore you to believe me—I have never touched Miss Elizabeth Bennet or any other woman inappropriately. I am a man of God, bound by sacred vows of moral conduct. The very accusation you make is a crime against everything I represent!”
“Yet your own actions betray you,” Darcy countered relentlessly. “The timing is unmistakable, the child bears your name, and your sudden departure from your parish suggests a consciousness of guilt.”
“My departure was precipitated by your aunt. Lady Catherine, upon hearing these slanderous reports concerning my conduct with Miss Elizabeth, withdrew her patronage. Without her support, I could not maintain my position at Hunsford.” His voice cracked slightly. “I was shunned by Hertfordshire society entirely. Even the Bennets, my own relations, refused to receive me. All for an offense I never committed!”
“Your denials ring hollow, Mr. Collins,” he said with cold finality. “However, I am prepared to offer you an opportunity to make amends for your past failings.”
“Amends?” Collins seized upon the word with pathetic eagerness. “Yes, sir, anything! What would you have me do?”
“The boy—William—requires legitimacy and social standing. I am prepared to adopt him as my ward, to provide him with every advantage of education and position that his natural intelligence deserves.” Darcy fixed Collins with a steely gaze. “In exchange, you will sign legal documents renouncing any claim to paternal rights, thereby clearing the way for his advancement.”
Collins stared at him with uncomprehending horror. “Paternal rights? Sir, you speak as if I have acknowledged this child, when I maintain my complete innocence in his creation!”
“Yet someone fathered Miss Bennet’s child,” Darcy countered, the words sharp with accusation. “A child who bears the name William Bennet. A curious coincidence, would you not agree?”
“I know nothing of Miss Elizabeth’s circumstances since I left Longbourn. You ask me to account for events of which I have no knowledge!” Collins insisted, wiping his forehead with a grimy handkerchief. “Perhaps… perhaps there was another gentleman whose attentions Miss Elizabeth favored? The militia was quartered near Meryton at that time, I recall. Several officers were frequent visitors to Longbourn.”
The militia. Something stirred in Darcy’s memory—red coats, laughter, Elizabeth’s sparkling eyes as she conversed with ahandsome officer. The image vanished before he could grasp it fully, leaving only a vague unease.
“If you are innocent of what you’ve been accused,” Darcy said, regaining his composure, “then I regret the damage to your reputation. However, the fact remains that Miss Bennet and her son have suffered considerable hardship as a result of their abandonment.”
Collins nodded eagerly, sensing an opening. “A most unfortunate situation, to be sure. One for which I have been unjustly blamed, resulting in my own considerable hardships. Perhaps, sir, with your influence, the truth might be established? Lady Catherine might be persuaded to restore my living if you were to speak on my behalf?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened at this transparent attempt to secure his intervention. “My concern is not for your career prospects, Mr. Collins, but for the welfare of Miss Bennet and her son.”
“Of course, of course,” Collins agreed hastily. “Most commendable. The Christian duty of protecting the unfortunate, particularly those of the fairer sex who have been led astray by… whoever the actual father might be.”
The obsequious tone grated on Darcy’s nerves. “In fact,” he said, a sudden decision forming, “I intend to ensure their security personally. I am prepared to make William my ward, providing for his education and future prospects, if the matter of his paternity can be definitively settled.”
Collins’s eyes widened at this pronouncement. “Most generous, indeed! Though… does this not require the biological father’s formal relinquishment of rights? Something I cannot provide, being entirely unconnected to the child’s conception?”
“A legal technicality that can be addressed,” Darcy replied dismissively. “The important matter is ensuring the boy’s future security.”
“And… Miss Elizabeth?” Collins inquired with poorly concealed curiosity. “What provision would be made for her?”
The presumption of the question ignited Darcy’s temper anew. “That, sir, is none of your concern. My arrangements for Miss Bennet are between her and myself.”
“Of course, of course,” Collins backpedaled hastily. “I merely sought to understand the full scope of your charitable intentions. Lady Catherine always speaks most highly of your generosity toward those less fortunate.”
“Lady Catherine,” Darcy said coolly, “is not present in this conversation, nor is her opinion relevant to my decisions regarding Miss Bennet and her son.”
“However, a word from you, Mr. Darcy, as an honest witness.” Collins replied, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Surely you’ve seen Miss Elizabeth and her sisters conversing with those dashing militia officers? Lieutenant Wickham was particularly attentive to the young ladies of the neighborhood, as I recall.”
“Wickham,” Darcy repeated, the name bitter on his tongue.
“Yes, an amiable gentleman, most charming in his manners,” Collins continued, oblivious. “I believe Miss Elizabeth found his company particularly agreeable. There was some talk of an attachment, though nothing formal that I observed before my departure.”
Each word drove the knife deeper. Elizabeth and Wickham? Could it be possible? The timing would align as neatly as it had with Collins, and Wickham’s character was certainly consistent with such behavior. Yet something in Darcy rebelled against the notion, some deeper knowledge that insisted this explanation, too, was wrong.
“Your speculation,” Darcy said, closing his fists underneath the desk, “is neither helpful nor welcome. I suggest you depart Bellfield immediately. Your presence here serves no purpose.”
