“Got you!”
Tiny hands tugged at the blindfold. The cloth fell, and the boy looked up.
Darcy froze.
Time seemed to contract. The boy’s features—broad brow, determined chin, and above all, those unmistakable brown eyes—sent a jolt down Darcy’s spine. His breath hitched. The boy's face seemed hauntingly familiar.
Richard’s eyes. Georgiana’s mouth. That hair—dark gold with a hint of curl.
Recognition struck like lightning. He had seen that face before.
The child blinked up at him, sensing something was wrong. Then, without a word, he turned and darted away, running straight to Elizabeth. He buried his face in her skirts, clutching her as if seeking refuge.
Elizabeth looked up from her charge and met Darcy’s gaze—still, silent, and stricken. In that instant, Darcy read too much. Her arms wrapped protectively around the boy. A flicker of guilt—or fear—passed through her features, gone so quickly he might have imagined it.Surely, I imagined it!
“Thomas,” she said gently, brushing a hand through the boy’s hair. “You must not run into guests.”
The child peeked out, then turned his face back into her gown.
The others caught them up, breaking the tension—Miss Bingley with a frown, the Hursts with mild curiosity. Miss Bennet’svoice was sweet as ever.
“Is it not lovely here in the autumn? The colours have held so well this year.” She touched a flower that still had its petals intact. It was as if she could sense Darcy’s turmoil and sought to find safe ground.
Darcy could not answer. He could only watch Elizabeth, her expression composed now, though her arms remained around the boy.
An explanation, whatever it was, hovered just out of reach.
He could not move. He could not draw breath as speculation ran rampant through his thoughts.
It was as if the boy had reached into the past and dragged something long-buried into the sunlight. His heart thundered in his chest, the sound loud in his ears. The child’s face lingered in his vision like an afterimage. Those eyes—he knew those eyes.I am being nonsensical,he scolded himself.
Still, he stood rooted, his limbs stiff, his expression frozen into something unreadable. Beside him, Miss Bingley shifted impatiently, but even she seemed aware that something had altered the air.
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, her voice a touch too steady, “allow me to introduce my brother, Thomas Bennet.”
He blinked and tried to speak but failed.
“This is Mr Darcy, Thomas,” she continued, “and Mr and Mrs Hurst, and Miss Bingley. You know Mr Bingley, of course.”
Darcy bowed mechanically, but his gaze never left the child.
Thomas peeked out from behind Elizabeth’s skirts again, those wide eyes brimming with curiosity and confusion. The resemblance struck again—so sharply, so perfectly.He could be my brother…or my cousin.The child looked up, his little fingers fisting in Elizabeth’s gown.
Elizabeth shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, stepping in front of him. A protective movement. Defensive.
“Lydia, Kitty, would you be so good as to take Thomas back to the house?” Her voice was gentle but firm. “I believe Cook promised biscuits if he was good today.”
Kitty frowned. “But—”
“Now, if you please.”
There was a moment’s pause, then Lydia gave an exaggerated sigh and took the boy’s hand. “Come along, Tommy. We shall race you to the back door.”
Thomas hesitated, glancing once more at Darcy before turning away. As he walked off between the girls, he picked up a fallen stick from the grass and began to swing it idly in his left hand, striking leaves as he passed.
Darcy’s breath caught again.Anne used to do that. When she was young and wild, before her health supposedly declined—always swinging twigs, fencing with imaginary foes, laughing when Richard pretended to duel her. And Richard—Richard is left-handed too.
Both had been instructed to use their right hand, but Richard had defied his parents. Anne’s writing was as awful as Bingley’s because she tried desperately to use her other hand.Come to think of it,Darcy thought,had not Bingley said he had initially begun to write with his left hand?Wickham, too, and his mother had been left-handed.
