He turned with his cousin towards their waiting horses, but could not resist one last glance back. Miss Elizabeth stood at the gate, hand lightly resting on the iron latch, her face unreadable.
Darcy did not know what it meant. Only that he would be thinking of it long after they had returned to Netherfield.
“Out with it.”
The door shut with a soft thud, and Richard dropped unceremoniously into the armchair opposite Darcy. The sitting room between their adjoining bedchambers was quiet save for the low crackle of the hearth and the rustle of pages as Darcy closed his book—though he had not truly been reading for the last quarter hour.
“I do not know what you mean,” Darcy replied stiffly, setting the book aside with deliberate care.
Richard gave a scoff. “You knowpreciselywhat I mean. Don’t play coy—it doesn’t suit you. You like Miss Elizabeth. I daresay you never took your eyes off her the entire walk through Meryton.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, tamping down the twitch of discomfort behind his brow. “You are mistaken.”
Richard only grinned, rubbing his hands together as though preparing for a celebratory toast. “Mother will be beside herself with glee. She’s been harping on about wantingoneof us married before her hair turns completely grey. I suppose she will not care which of us delivers.”
“I am not courting Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said flatly, though his tone lacked conviction even to his own ears.
“But you would like to, would you not?” Richard leaned forwards with a gleam in his eyes. “Come now, Darcy. She is comely, clever, and the daughter of a gentleman. What obstacle remains?”
Darcy hesitated, jaw tightening. There were many obstacles, all tangled in memory and suspicion, and none that could be easily explained. He studied the shadows dancing across the hearthrug for a long moment before speaking.
“You will think I am mad.”
Richard’s brows lifted, his expression expectant but not mocking. “I already do. Speak anyway.”
So he did.
Darcy unfolded the entire series of doubts that had grown like thorns in his mind since his arrival in Hertfordshire—how the boy resembled someone he dared not name at first, the fragments of conversation, the subtle evasions. How Miss Elizabeth’s tenderness towards the child had struck him not just as sisterly, but as fiercely maternal. Or how the child’s appearance—his golden hair, the cut of his brow—had arrested him with familiarity. None of it made sense unless…
He swallowed. “If the child is not a Bennet, then they are knowingly depriving Mr Collins of his inheritance.”
Richard straightened in his chair, the warmth in his expression cooling to something more serious. “You believe that Thomas Bennet—thatchild—is related to the Fitzwilliam line?” His tone was more incredulous than accusatory, but still firm. “Darcy, that’s a staggering conclusion.”
“Is it?” Darcy stood, crossing the room to pour a brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. He turned the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. “I considered… alternatives. A seduction of one of the Bennet daughters. Even Mrs Bennet, before her death. But your father—my uncle—has always been consumed with bloodlines and propriety. I cannot imagine you, or the Viscount, engaging in such dishonour. So I thought again.”
He turned back, his voice quieter now. “That leaves only Anne.”
Richard blinked, stunned. Darcy could see the calculations spinning behind his cousin’s eyes.
“You remember the maid,” Darcy continued. “She said Anne had not had her courses. We all suspected… but we accepted the quietness that followed as proof that nothing came of it. What if we were wrong?”
“But if the Bennets have the boy…” Richard’s voice was taut. “Where is our cousin? What could have happened to her? And how would they conceal such a thing for so long?”
Darcy did not answer at once. His heart was pounding in his chest too loudly. “Disguise of any sort is my abhorrence,” he said at last, more to himself than to Richard. “If I am to court Miss Elizabeth—if I am toloveher—how can I do so whilst suspecting her of such a deception? What kind of man would I be if I ignored these doubts?”
Richard snorted softly and shook his head. “You are asking the wrong question, cousin. The question is not whether you can court her in spite of your doubts. It is whether those doubtsmatterif you already care for her.”
Darcy sat again, the weight of the evening settling across his shoulders. “I do care for her,” he admitted. “She is witty and bright. There is a fire in her spirit that is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. And her eyes…” He trailed off, a small smile betraying him. “She is perfection.”
Richard laughed and leaned back, satisfied. “There it is. I knew you were a lovesick fool. And make no mistake, cousin—we areallfools in love.”
Darcy sighed, caught between irritation and reluctant agreement.
Richard’s expression grew more thoughtful. “If you fancy her, ask to court her. If other truths come to light, we will face them together. But I doubt the boy is one of ours. Resemblances are easily conjured when emotions are high.”
“You have not seen him,” Darcy said quietly.
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps we should.”
