Darcy remained quiet, seated across from her, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. He had not looked at her once.
“Is there nothing to be done?” Her voice sounded broken, unsure, even to her ears.
Darcy said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, unmoving.
Elizabeth’s heart twisted.
“I understand,” she said after a moment. She rose to her feet slowly and with great effort, as if her limbs had turned to lead. “You must think me the most deceitful woman alive.”
At that, Darcy’s head snapped up. But she did not meet his eyes. She could not bear it.
“I have lied to everyone, passing off another woman’s child as my brother. This deception could ruin my family. I brought danger to our very door. You rescued Tommy, yes—but it was the lies that put him in harm’s way.”
Richard moved as if to speak, but she held up a hand.
“Please,” she said. “Do not defend me. I do not deserve it.”
Then she turned to Darcy. At last, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“If you wish to sever our courtship,” she said, her voice trembling, “I will not fault you for it. I should not have let it begin at all. I thought I could keep the secret buried. But secrets have a way of finding light.”
Darcy’s expression had not changed. There were shadows in his eyes that she could not interpret. That more than anything pierced her heart.
Without waiting for his answer, Elizabeth gave a small curtsy and turned towards the door.
“I beg your pardon. I must… I must see to Tommy.”
She did not look back as she left the room. Her steps were quiet, measured, but each one felt like a blow to her chest. The moment the door closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, her breath catching in her throat.
So that is the end of it,she thought bitterly. Whatever had begun to bloom between them was now wilted, starved by the truth she had so longhidden. Still, her heart protested.But he promised. He promised to love me no matter what. She made her way slowly up the stairs, her shoulders shaking. She had chosen to love a man of honour—and in doing so, had ensured that he could never truly love her in return.
Darcy watched Elizabeth leave the study, her retreating form brisk and full of restrained emotion. The click of the door echoed in the silence she left behind. He blinked, startled, uncertain what he had done wrong. Had he not stayed by her side? Had he not rescued the boy and pledged his support? And had he not, with every action, shown that he would not abandon her?
He sat frozen for a moment, trying to make sense of her sudden departure. Then, understanding began to dawn, slow and unwelcome.
She believes I no longer want her.
The weight of it struck him like a physical blow. She thought his silence meant disapproval. But he had been silent only because he had not yet found the words—not because his affections had wavered. His thoughts had been turning over and over, trying to find a solution to this problem that allowed a happy ending for all involved. And he believed he had found it.
Darcy stood and turned to Mr Bennet, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to lose.
“I believe I have a solution,” he said. His voice, though quieter than usual, carried steady conviction. “It will not be easy, but it may satisfy all parties. Lady Catherine must be involved—perhaps even Mr Collins.”
Mr Bennet looked up from his chair. “Collins? You cannot mean to…?”
Darcy raised a hand. “Not to reveal the whole truth. At least not immediately. But I believe we may resolve this without disgrace, and without denying the child his rightful name and inheritance.” Briefly, he outlined his idea to Richard and Mr Bennet.
Mr Bennet studied him carefully, considering. “Will it work?”
“It will depend on the lady’s mood,” Darcy said with a grim smile. “But I will speak with her myself. I will depart tomorrow at first light. With any luck, I shall return within three days—with her blessing.”
Bennet granted him a tight smile.
Darcy glanced towards the door. “I should like to leave a letter for Miss Elizabeth before I go.”
“Go ahead. I shall see that she receives it.”
Darcy hesitated. He longed to see her again, to reassure her, to undo the damage caused by her misinterpretation of his silence. But time was slipping away. He had much to prepare for the journey. So he did the only thing he could. Darcy sat down at Mr Bennet’s desk, took up a sheet of fine paper, and began to write.
