“No, but I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t wait to ask you.”
Darcy moved to the desk, his expression tightly controlled as he looked down at the open ledger. “May I see what has so captured your attention?”
Elizabeth stepped aside, allowing him full view of the damning evidence. She watched his face carefully as he examined the entries, searching for signs of guilt, of deception, of foreknowledge.
What she saw instead was shock.
His fingers traced the neat rows of figures, his color draining visibly even in the candlelight. “These payments began immediately after the fire,” he said, his voice hollow. “And continued quarterly thereafter.”
“For twenty years,” Elizabeth confirmed quietly. “Far more than ordinary charity would suggest. You never questioned why Mrs. Wickham remained at Rose Cottage all these years?”
“I inherited many long-standing arrangements when my father died,” he replied, his voice carefully measured. “Mrs. Wickham was among several former servants who received pensions in recognition of their service. I saw no reason to disturb those provisions until her recent… activities… suggested a breach of trust.”
“These are not mere pensions,” Elizabeth pressed, gesturing to the substantial sums recorded. “This is something else entirely.”
Darcy turned several pages, examining entries with growing disquiet. “Indeed,” he agreed quietly. “And the timing…” He paused, seeming to gather himself. “My father maintained various charitable arrangements for staff who had served the family loyally. But these payments to Mrs. Wickham began precisely when?—”
“When your uncle and aunt died in a fire,” Elizabeth finished for him. “What do you suppose was the purpose?”
Darcy sank into his chair, the ledger still open before him. For the first time since she had known him, he looked truly shaken.
“I… It’s hard to say.” His head shook as if in disbelief. “Perhaps for services rendered, like…”
“Secreting me away from Pemberley,” she suggested. “And then purchasing her silence.”
“No, I can’t believe that,” Darcy said, flipping through the ledger pages. “My parents would have taken you in. Raised you as their own… It makes no sense unless…” He did not complete the thought, though its implication hung between them.
Elizabeth rose from behind the desk, moving around it to stand closer to him. The pain in his voice called to something deep withinher, overriding her own turmoil. Whatever William Darcy’s sins, his son bore no responsibility for them.
“Whatever decisions your father made, whatever knowledge he possessed—you cannot blame yourself for actions taken in your childhood.”
“Can I not?” Darcy’s gaze met hers, and she saw the weight of generations pressing down upon him. “I have spent my entire life honoring his memory, upholding his principles, following his guidance. If he was complicit in murder…”
“You were eight years old when the fire occurred,” she said gently. “Georgiana wasn’t even born. Whatever sins may have been committed, they are not yours to bear.”
“My father’s deathbed warning,” Darcy said, almost to himself. “Never trust a Bennet. I always thought it strange, disconnected from anything I knew. But if he had arranged for you to be hidden with the Bennets, if he feared Thomas Bennet might someday seek justice for his sister…” Darcy looked up, his expression raw with vulnerability she had never before witnessed. “How can you look at me now, knowing this? Knowing what my family might have done?”
Elizabeth stepped closer, close enough to see the fine lines around his eyes, the shadow of beard along his jaw, the vulnerability he tried so hard to conceal. “I see a man tormented by his father’s secrets, not someone responsible for them. I see someone willing to seek truth even when it might destroy everything he believed about his family.”
“And what of us?” The question escaped him like a confession, raw and unguarded. “This morning, I thought… I hoped…”
“I know what you hoped,” Elizabeth said gently, though her heart ached at the necessity of her words. “And I would be lying if I claimed your feelings were unwelcome. But how can I give you an answer when I don’t even know who I truly am? When the man who raised you may have been involved in murdering the people who gave me life?”
Darcy closed his eyes, accepting the truth of her position withvisible effort. When he opened them again, she saw resignation mixed with determination.
“Will you help me discover what really happened?” he asked quietly. “Even if the truth destroys everything I thought I knew about my father? About my family?”
Elizabeth nodded without hesitation. “Yes. But I cannot… we cannot speak of other matters until we know what we’re facing.”
“I understand.” Darcy straightened, summoning the composure that had carried him through years of responsibility. “The upcoming assembly may provide opportunities to gather more information. Several of the original witnesses will be present.”
“Including Mrs. Bingley, who clearly knows more than she’s revealed.”
“I don’t trust the elder Bingleys,” Darcy said. “Mr. Benjamin Bingley involved my father in several deals gone bad. Mrs. Bingley has clearly insinuated herself with you. If she knows your identity, why not testify?”
“Would you have her ruin your family’s reputation?” Elizabeth pointed to the ledgers. “If it came out that the Darcys paid hush money for twenty years?”
“There has to be an innocent reason,” Darcy said. “My father was not… he was stern, certainly, and proud, but I never knew him to be cruel. The man who raised me, who taught me honor and duty—I cannot reconcile that man with one who would orchestrate his own brother’s murder.”
