“Perhaps not. Wisely, she no longer wishes for it. Another choice may be found.”
“Another man, you mean. And at what cost? How can we be sure of his character? And Wickham might still spread rumours. We will be beholden to him forever, always susceptible to his blackmail. Oh, that I had told my father what I first heard!”
“The damage was done well before you suspected him, Elizabeth,” Darcy said and pushed a tendril from her face. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered without hesitation.
“I will protect Lydia as if she were my own sister. No one should be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”
“Your sister did not succumb to him,” Elizabeth said. “Why would you take this upon yourself?”
“Surely you must know,” Darcy said, his heart pounding in his chest.
Elizabeth slowly nodded. “I know you to be the most honourable gentleman of my acquaintance, but promise me you will not entangle yourself in this so much that your name becomes tarnished.” She sighed and tore her eyes from his, focusing on her hands. “I could not live with myself — that is you owe us nothing. We could never repay you, but accept my gratitude.”
“Elizabeth.” Darcy stroked her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered at his touch. “I think only of your happiness. Thank me if you wish, but your family owes me nothing. I can only think of you.” He caught a stray tear with his thumb and wiped it away.
“I know you are too honest to accept me from gratitude, nor would you trifle with me. My feelings for you are unchanged, but perhaps I have never expressed them clearly.”
He kissed one cheek and then the other. “Do you not know? Have you not seen how precious you are to me?” He kissed her eyelids and tasted the salt of her tears.
She shook her head.
“Look at me, Elizabeth. I need to see your eyes.”
Shyly, Elizabeth met his eyes. He gathered her face in his hands.
“I love you,” he kissed her forehead. “I love you more than the life within me. There is nothing I would not do for you. Society be damned. I wanted you before this mess with Wickham, and I want you still. Nothing changes that. Be my wife and let me keep you safe always.”
Darcy pressed his forehead against hers, his chest heaving. His whole body tensed as he awaited her answer.
“I cannot,” Elizabeth whispered so quietly he barely caught the words. A sob racked her body, and she flung herself into his arms.
“Do you mean to tell me you feel nothing for me? After all we have shared?”
“No! No, I do care for you. I love you!”
Darcy clutched her closer at her confession.
“But we can never be together. Not now. Not after Lydia. I could never ask—”
Darcy silenced her with a long kiss. “We love each other; that is all we need.”
“No,” Elizabeth shook her head and tears streamed down her face. “No, it is not as simple as that.”
“It is,” he said emphatically. “What is there to stand between us? Your sister’s folly? I say Wickham is the guilty one and I will not hesitate to say it near and far. With my family—”
“That is just it! Your family would never approve. It could hurt Georgiana, and I could never bear with the disapproval of the Baroness.”
“Lady Darcy already wishes for our union. She will not think less of you for the misfortune of your sister.”
“You cannot know that.”
“Come with me. We will visit her together tomorrow and listen to her counsel.”
Elizabeth shook her head again, but Darcy squeezed her hands. “I will not give you up, Elizabeth. Not now, not ever!”
“Elizabeth Belinda Bennet!” Jane exclaimed from the doorway. “You accept him, or I will never speak to you again!”
Darcy and Elizabeth turned in unison.
“If only I had heard a fraction of such love from Mr. Bingley, I would have accepted him in a second. Who cares for the disapproval of others when their opinion will fade? Do not allow true love to pass you by!”
“How can I be sure the trials we will face will not starve it away?” Elizabeth asked Darcy. “I could not bear for you to regret me.”
“I regretted leaving you in Hertfordshire. I hated that I only saw you for a day in London. Encountering you daily at Rosings brought me more joy than I had ever felt before.” Darcy squeezed her hands again. “Trials are halved when shared with the one you love.”
Jane sat on Elizabeth’s other side. “Refusing him only brings you both pain and does nothing to ensure our family’s respectability. There is no sense in your rejection if you love him as you claim.”
“I do,” Elizabeth met Darcy’s eyes; a new, resolved look filled hers. “Thank you. I accept your hand and your love.”
Jane beamed and after congratulating them, left the room. Darcy pulled Elizabeth back into his arms and kissed her as a starving man sought food. She would be his as soon as possible. Nothing could steal his joy now. After several minutes, Mr. Gardiner’s loud throat clearing made them tear apart, Darcy only smiled and decided with a blushing Elizabeth to call on his aunt on the morrow.
*****
The following day, Darcy arrived at Gracechurch Street to convey Elizabeth to his aunt’s home. Georgiana, to whom he had explained the whole of the situation, joined them. Additionally, Darcy had brought the box of his mother’s letters. He and Georgiana had leafed through them the night before and agreed they needed some answers from their aunt. Elizabeth and Georgiana made small talk about music, but the necessity of their visit was never far from their minds.
Upon arrival at the house, a very different scene greeted them than Darcy had witnessed the day before. They were shown to Lady Darcy’s chamber by a very sombre maid. If Darcy had to guess, the house had already entered mourning. The physician and housekeeper sat at the Baroness’ bedside. She lay very still and looked so pale. Darcy focused his eyes watching for a sign of breath. Beside him, Georgiana immediately stiffened.
“Doctor, her niece and nephew have arrived,” the housekeeper informed a middle-aged man with a concerned expression marring his face. He looked up from his patient.
“Not a moment too late, I believe.” The doctor motioned them over. “She had a heart seizure and is very weak. Do nothing to upset her. I have done all I can.”
The housekeeper offered her Ladyship a sip of broth, but the lady meekly refused.
“If she keeps refusing nourishment she has but days.”
The doctor and housekeeper allowed them privacy and left the room. Darcy allowed the ladies to be seated and knelt on the floor himself.
“Aunt,” Darcy said as he grasped her hand. “We are here. Why did you not send for us?”
“I knew you would come,” she rasped. “You always keep your promises.”
“Why do you not eat?”
Her Ladyship shook her head. “No, I cannot bear it.”
“Fitzwilliam, we ought to use our time wisely,” Georgiana said.
“I have brought Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, and the Baroness opened her eyes. “I ask for your blessing.”
“You do not need it. I trust you to do what is best,” she said. This was proof, more than anything else, to Darcy as to how weak she truly felt. The woman was born with an opinion on her lips.
“My lady,” Elizabeth leant forward. “There are complications to resolve, and I have told Mr. Darcy I do not wish to sully his good name.”
“What does she speak of?” Lady Darcy’s head lolled in Darcy’s direction. He recalled the doctor’s orders and dearly hoped his words would not disturb or infuriate her.
“I will tell her,” Elizabeth said and put a hand on Darcy’s arm. “Ma’am, I regret to inform you that my youngest sister has succumbed to a seduction. As of this moment, we do not know if they will marry. For not only does she vow she will not have him, but he has no honour to call upon his conscience to do the right thing. In seven months’ time, all the world will know of the Be
nnet shame.”
Elizabeth hung her head, and this time it was Darcy who lent her support.
Her Ladyship coughed, remarkably close to a stifled snort, but still refused water. “Scandal is nothing new to the Darcy or Fitzwilliam names,” she said. “You have read the letters?”
“Yes,” Darcy wondered at the deviation in their conversation. “Georgiana could not understand the context. My mother speaks of a great scandal she has caused. For a time, depression consumed her, but eventually, she regained her spirits. Her final letters concluded with a renewed vigour for life. That must be when she became a bluestocking.”
“I do not know what Mother did, but her letters were an echo of my own heart,” Georgiana said. “After she returned from France, she was determined to put self-loathing behind her.”
Elizabeth gasped. “The letters,” she whispered. “The letters in my book.”
“What book?” Darcy asked.
“Letters for the Improvement of the Mind,” she murmured. “Do you recall? We were uncertain who C and A.F. could be?”
“Miss Bennet has discovered the truth,” Lady Darcy said with a wan smile. “Can you guess it, Fitzwilliam? I do not believe you can. You are blinded by devotion.”
“What is it?” Georgiana asked, anxiety climbing in her voice.
Darcy stared at his aunt for a long moment. Suddenly, her eagerness to warn him away from Anne at their last meeting made sense. “Georgiana, while visiting Rosings, Miss Bennet learned, and I was reminded, that for much of her life our mother went by the name Clara. She had been named after an aunt named Anne who never married and to differentiate the two, our mother went by her second name. Similarly, Mother became close to our uncle’s wife, a bluestocking. Her married name was Anne Fitzwilliam.”
Georgiana blinked in confusion. “Elizabeth found letters which match ours?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “The letters in the book I found at Rosings were from Anne Fitzwilliam, wife to the second Earl; before your grandfather inherited the title.”
“But what is the scandal?” Georgiana asked.
“Why do you think Lady Darcy insists I do not marry Anne?” Darcy asked his sister.
“Because you love Elizabeth,” Georgiana said as though that would explain everything.
Darcy continued to stare at her.
“Because Anne is unwell?”
“Marriage to Anne would defy God’s laws,” Darcy answered. “Not only because I love another but because of our relationship.”
“But cousins marry all the time,” Georgiana said.
Lady Darcy squeezed Darcy’s hand, and he interpreted it as her desiring to tell Georgiana the truth.
“Anne is his niece. Catherine de Bourgh is your sister,” the Baroness said in a weak voice.
Georgiana gasped. “No! No, that is impossible. How could it be? Mother would have only been—”
“Fifteen,” Lady Darcy answered. “The same age as you when you nearly eloped.”
“But — but why were we never told? How could Aunt Catherine keep it a secret from us?”
“She does not know herself,” her Ladyship answered with laboured breaths and pointed to a small box on a table near her bed. “All is explained in these letters.”
“Pardon me,” Elizabeth said. “I am confused as to how you are privy to all this information. Are you not the aunt of Lady Anne’s husband?”
“I was Clara’s cousin before she ever married George Darcy. It is one reason why he was selected for her.”
“They did not love each other?” Darcy asked, feeling betrayed by everything he had held dear.
“In time, my dear, in time,” her Ladyship answered. “She did not marry until she wished it, but arrangements were made when it was found she was with child. She refused to marry against her heart, or to do your father such a disservice as raising the child of his wife’s lover. In the meantime, she was welcomed into her aunt’s Bluestocking group.”
“But why did no one else tell us?” Georgiana persisted. “Does our uncle not know?”
“No, I am the last living soul, save yourselves now.”
“Who is the father?” Darcy growled out.
“It is no matter,” Lady Darcy said.
“Who?” He pressed.
“Clara had ambitions to be an artist. Hopes not supported by most of the family. When her father commissioned portraits to be done of the family, she fell in love with the artist. A son of George Dance.”
Elizabeth gasped. “The Younger? Or was it Nathaniel?”
Her Ladyship nodded at the latter. “I tire,” she said, and her eyes fluttered slowly. “There is more.” She paused, and tears glittered in her eyes. “It is of no importance other than it might alleviate Miss Bennet’s concerns. Here, child.”
Darcy stood to make way for Elizabeth to sit on the edge of the bed. She gathered his aunt’s hand in hers. “I am here, my lady.”
“I am proof that a girl might make mistakes, but the world does not end. My child was placed with a family but did not live long. Your sister will be well.” She wagged a finger at Darcy. “And you! Do not delay in wedding her. Do not wait for my sake.”
“Aunt, do not talk like that,” Georgiana sniffed.
“No, it is my time.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I will see my darling child again soon. I have waited for so long.” Touching Georgiana’s hand, she slightly turned her head. “You see, not all of us die young. Be sure you leave a legacy. Now, go. Read your letters and write Amelia. I need to rest.”
Lady Darcy closed her eyes, but her breathing remained steady. They did not immediately leave, but soon the housekeeper and doctor returned, shooing them from the room. They returned to Gracechurch Street after visiting the Baroness, each sober with melancholy reflections.
Darcy spoke with Mr. Gardiner for several minutes, making plans for the theatre. They should continue as if nothing was distressing the family. Additionally, if he wished to marry Elizabeth in the dark days before his aunt’s imminent death, then they should act as though her death were unexpected. Upon leaving, he would go to Doctor’s Commons and begin proceedings for a special license. On the morrow, Elizabeth would visit with Georgiana, and in the evening, they would all attend the theatre.
After boarding the carriage to return to their home, Georgiana sighed. “Do you think they will call for us when it is her time?”
Darcy looked at his sister, surprised and proud of how she had borne the stress of seeing their aunt so ill in addition to the news of their mother. “I believe her ladyship has said her goodbyes to us.”
Georgiana shook her head. “It just seems wrong for her to die alone. As if she does not have a family that loves her.”
Darcy reached across the carriage and squeezed her hand. “She must be allowed her own choice.”
His sister mutely nodded and stared out the window for most of the drive through London’s crowded streets. Darcy did not remove his hand, sensing she needed his touch. Finally, as they drew closer to their home, she turned her head toward him. Squeezing his hand, she asked, “Will you sit with me when you read your letter? Our family may be small, but we should be together, do you not think?”
“Of course,” he said and squeezed her hand in return.
They arrived at the house, and after their outerwear had been divested and tea ordered, Darcy sent word to Mrs. Annesley that the siblings needed privacy. In his study, they sat next to each other on the settee and opened their letters from their long dead mother. A part of Darcy railed against his aunt keeping them secret for so long.
If he had hoped for profound or new insights from his mother, he was disappointed. She was as he had ever remembered: loving, graceful, and honest. She encouraged him to marry for love and act honourably toward women. She confessed her youthful mishap. She had imagined herself in love with the painter Nathaniel Dance. However, they would have had nothing to live on, and such a marriage would have ruined his career opportunities. Within months of thei
r daughter’s birth, his father, the famed London architect and artist, died and Dance became a founding member of the Royal Academy. Additionally, his heart had belonged to another.
To consider a man, who he had seen yearly at his visits to Rosings, not acknowledge his daughter — the only child he ever had as his marriage was late in life and had produced no issue — and to know the man had treated his mother so callously, enraged Darcy. However, a more logical part of him recognised that in the spirit of the letter he now held, his mother had no bitterness or regret. Her daughter had been raised well and married a baronet. Darcy’s mother had found love and satisfaction in her marriage to George Darcy.
Anne Clara Darcy’s letter to her youngest daughter was more to the point. There were tear streaks on the parchment as she wrote that if this letter had not been burned, then it must mean she had already perished. She wondered what her daughter would be like and counselled her that youthful folly was not the end of her life, but a new beginning. She encouraged her daughter to look for true love in unexpected places but to trust her guardians and never celebrate her joy in secret. Darcy smiled as Georgiana pressed the letter to her chest and tears streamed down her face. Having never known their mother, reading such timely words written specifically for her had touched her heart more than anything he or Mrs. Annesley might say.
“What do we do now, Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana asked after he had hugged her to his side for a brotherly embrace.
“We live on,” he said in a determined voice.
Having understood his past, he now felt he was clear to make plans for the future. As he readied for bed for the evening, he thought of Elizabeth, and all that was now in his heart. Soon, there would be no more separation, and she would be with him always. There might still be foes to defeat before their happiness was assured, but he now felt confident that they could forge a new path from their love and with the support of their families.
Dearest C—
Words cannot convey how anxious I was to read your last letter. How awful that you were caught in London when the riots began. I will ever be thankful for your survival and good health. God bless G for coming to your aid! When you visit us next you should bring A. My girls would dote on her. Dottie quite misses her friend.
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