And in a few days’ time, he would see her again.
The late-morning sun broke through the haze that lingered after an early rain, painting golden light across the dewy fields surrounding Netherfield. Inside the breakfast parlour, the scent of toast and fresh coffee lingered, though breakfast ended some time ago. Darcy had little appetite. His attention was fixed on the fire, the flames offering a poor distraction from the storm of decisions churning inside him.
Fitzwilliam dropped into the chair beside him with his usual irreverent grace, stretching his legs and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You have been brooding for days. I take it today is the day you do something about it?”
Darcy did not pretend to misunderstand. “It is.”
Fitzwilliam arched a brow. “So you mean to secure a set with Miss Elizabeth at the ball?”
“Yes. And more than that.” Darcy’s voice was steady, firm. He folded his hands and met his cousin’s gaze without hesitation. “I intend to court her.” He did not know when precisely he had resolved to no longer wait, but it felt right to inform his cousin in that moment.
There was a beat of silence. Then Fitzwilliam leaned back with a low whistle. “Well done. You really are in love with her. I am very happy for you!”
Darcy allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “It is not a decision I have made lightly. But it is the right one. She is everything I have ever wanted.”
“Have you made peace with the possibility that…everything you suspect may still be true?” Fitzwilliam’s tone had softened now, more thoughtful than teasing.
“I have.” Darcy’s voice dropped. “Whatever the truth may be, I would rather face it with her than walk away with doubt. I have spent enough time second-guessing my heart.”
Fitzwilliam studied his cousin for a long moment, then clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then let us hope she is amenable.”
Moments later, Bingley burst into the room, flushed with enthusiasm. “Darcy! Fitzwilliam! I was just about to send a servant, but if you are not otherwise engaged, shall we ride to Longbourn? The invitations are ready, and I told Caroline I wished to hand-deliver the Bennets’.”
Darcy stood, already reaching for his gloves. “Wonderful. We shall prepare to depart at once.”
The three gentlemen mounted their horses and rode out under the sun, hooves drumming against the softened earth. Bingley led the way with energetic eagerness, humming under his breath, whilst Darcy remained contemplative, the reins firm in his gloved hands. Fitzwilliam rode beside him, eyes skimming the hedgerows, the thatched roofs in the distance, the sprawling quiet of the Hertfordshire countryside.
Longbourn came into view—its modest charm softened by ivy-covered walls and the scent of wild roses blooming in the garden.
As they approached, Darcy's horse slowed of its own accord. His eyes had caught movement in the little wilderness bordering the house.
Three figures darted between the hedges: two young ladies and a child. Lydia and Kitty Bennet, easily recognizable, were laughing loudly as they attempted to catch the little boy between them. He was tall and gangly forhis five years, with curly hair and strong, lithe limbs. His laughter rang out clear as bells.
Then the child turned, the sun hitting his face full-on.
Richard pulled his horse to a sharp stop.
Darcy, already dismounted, turned. “What is it?”
His cousin did not respond. He simply stared, breath caught mid-inhale. His expression was unguarded—stunned. Pale.
The child, Tommy, broke free of his sisters’ mock chase and ran towards a patch of wildflowers, his laughter trailing behind him.
“Good heavens,” Richard whispered, barely audible. “It is like seeing…”
Darcy walked to his cousin’s side and followed his gaze. The same blow that had struck him upon first laying eyes on the boy now landed anew in the pit of his stomach. Cherubic curls, the mouth—the Fitzwilliam mouth, unmistakably. Even the set of the shoulders. It was all there, in miniature.
“You see it too,” Darcy said, low.
Richard dismounted stiffly, his movements wooden. “I did not believe you when you spoke of a resemblance. But now—” He shook his head slowly. “It is like looking into the past. He hasourfeatures. Our family’s blood.” His voice was barely a murmur. “I do not understand… How can this be?”
“I do not know.” Darcy’s voice was tight with restraint. “But I wish to find out.”
Richard turned away from the scene, scrubbing a hand over his face. “If that child is who you suspect he is… what has been done? What of Anne?”
Darcy placed a steadying hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “That is why I want to speak with Elizabeth. Not to accuse. Notto interrogate. But to understand. She is protective—and I do not think she will part with the information easily. Do you see my predicament now?”
From the direction of the house, the front door opened. Mrs Hill emerged and began to descend the steps, clearly recognising the gentlemen.
