“But… I know George kisses women, and he…”
“I went beyond kissing,” Darcy had to admit. “I need to tell you, since Mother is no longer around, but kissing is only the start. It has to do with not letting a man touch you in ways that could… What I did resulted in a child—an illegitimate one—like George.”
“But you could have married her! Did you not love her? Prue said—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me. That means the rumors are true. That you had a secret love, and it was not Elizabeth. It was she—Lady Amelia.”
Darcy could not raise his head. Every word was like coals heaping over his head. And then, Georgiana’s fists connected with his shoulders, and the wail from her mouth was like the keening of an injured beast.
“Brother. How could you? And poor Little Tom.” She flung herself at him. “You made him low-born, and you pushed George away so you could have him to yourself. And you married Elizabeth on a lie! And I have been missing George and calling Little Tom my half-nephew and telling Elizabeth every tiny bit that I imagined resembled George.”
“I am sorry.”
She clutched his coat, shaking in his arms. “You let me believe a lie. You must have hurt Elizabeth badly. I saw her running from the library. She wouldn’t even stop when I called to her. I thought you unleashed your anger…”
“I would never be angry with her.”
“Then why did you do it? Why?” Her sobs made speech nearly impossible, and Darcy found his own voice caught fast.
“I was afraid.” He held her close to his chest. “I wished for a family, for a wife who would accept me, even with mymistakes, and so, I couldn’t tell her, because when I brought her to Pemberley, I did not know how much I loved her already, and once she was here, every time I thought to tell her, I had more to lose, because my love grew faster than what I was willing to risk.”
She lifted her face, eyes still wet. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, that is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“It is the truth. Not an excuse.”
“No. It is not. But a silly truth, that your love grew faster than your lies could keep up. Perhaps you are right.” She wiped her eyes, a glimmer of a smile beneath the glistening on her cheeks. “You were quite the Gothic hero appearing at the rectory. All dark, brooding, foreboding, but your eyes… the way you looked at Elizabeth, like she was Heaven and Hell combined, and you could not distinguish which. Miss Entwhistle and I?—”
“Please, Georgie, no more about Miss Entwhistle and her romantic speculations.”
“But Fitzwilliam, if you aim to win Elizabeth back?—”
“I will win her by fixing everything. I will go to London and find George, whether he is on board a ship or back in town. He will sign papers relinquishing his paternity, and then I will replace the registry entry, pay any penalties, and officially claim Thomas as mine.”
“And Elizabeth?” Goergiana’s brow arched. “She will not be so easily won over. I know that much. But George and I will help you, and I am assured that the household will?—”
“I have told Mrs. Reynolds there is to be no more romantic speculation or matchmaking attempts,” Darcy spoke firmly. “I will need you to be Mrs. Darcy’s friend, a true friend, and be considerate of her feelings and moods. No pressing her for commitments or declarations. She is hurt. Angry and disappointed.”
“So am I, but I know she loves you. She didn’t marry you for money.”
“She did.” Darcy’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I offered a physician for her father, Longbourn’s debts paid, and a new roof over their heads. She hated me while I was in Hertfordshire. She saw all my faults and reminded me of them, and now, I have only added to them. Grievous faults and a complete lack of character.”
“Then you don’t know women as well as you think.” Georgiana had the gall to giggle. “She listed everything she disliked about you precisely because she could not stop thinking about you, and when she came to Pemberley, she, too, found herself falling in love faster than her wit and supposed disinterest could keep up. So, Fitzwilliam, you really should read Lady Renwick’s novels as instruction. George did.”
“Yes, I am aware.” He didn’t tell her that Lady Amelia was Lady Renwick. She would know soon enough when Elizabeth opened the cabinet.
“Then have a safe trip,” Georgiana said, her spirits somewhat renewed. “And tell George I still want one of those Kashmiri shawls, flowered in gold and red.”
He kissed her on the cheek and departed the music room, stepping out onto the terrace where he could look up at the windows of the family wing. A single candle burned in her sitting room, and he stared at the flickering light, drawing the sole comfort that she had not yet left Pemberley.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ALL FALL DOWN
Elizabeth’s cheeksburned as she left the library, her steps measured with the precision of a woman determined not to flee. Her chin lifted, she was perfectly aware of her husband’s gaze upon her back, as if he might summon her for one of those tedious performances husbands so often attempt when caught in their own mischief.
Her vision blurred, but she fixed her gaze forward. To look back would be to surrender, and she was not merely wounded but ablaze with indignation. No retreat to bed, no convenient fit of vapors for her. She had come to Pemberley to mother Little Tom, and she would not be found wanting in that charge.
A serving maid appeared on the landing and curtsied; Elizabeth acknowledged her with the barest tilt of her head, ascending as though the evening had been unremarkable. As though she had not discovered that the man she loved had made her the unwitting mother of his own child, all under the guise of brotherly duty.
Yet she had come to love the child, and could hardly retreat to Longbourn and confess herself defeated in the very art she had always claimed as her own. She, who fancied herself a connoisseur of character, had been outmaneuvered by a manwhose armor was reserve, propriety, and a most elaborate sense of duty.
