Page 68 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

And it was true. A month ago, it might have. Before Elizabeth. Before her fire and her faith challenged everything in him.

“This knowledge,” he said haltingly, “does not alter the truth of your character. It does not make you any less a good man, a man of integrity. Any less a father worthy of respect. It only… forces me to reckon with how small my understanding was.”

Mr. Bennet’s posture eased, just slightly.

“And it does not change the fact that I love your daughter, and want her to be happy.” Darcy drew another breath.

“Elizabeth has made me see things more clearly. I thought… I thought men like you were all like Wickham. But she showed me there is more. That love and decency are not the same thing as conformity. That integrity may wear many forms.”

Mr. Bennet let out a long, slow breath, as though he had been holding it for days.

Darcy glanced up and added, “Indeed, the very fact that you chose to tell me speaks to that integrity.”

“She feared your judgment,” Mr. Bennet said, the fight leaving his voice. “But she also knew her allegiance would pass to you. That she could not enter a marriage with a divided conscience. So Stephens and I agreed—I would tell you. I would bear it, not her.”

Darcy felt tears sting the back of his throat.

“It speaks to her heart,” he said hoarsely, “and to yours. You are far superior to men like Wickham,” Darcy said. “I have known few others… of your persuasion, I mean. And those I did know—well, they were not kind. Not faithful. Not honorable.”

Mr. Bennet made a sound of disgust. “That speaks more to the vice in our upper classes and the liberties taken in the name of privilege than it does to the nature of men like me.”

“That,” Darcy agreed, “is entirely true.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, his mouth tightening briefly. “Elizabeth did not wish to go into marriage with a secret. Otherwise, I would have held my tongue. But she knew her loyalties would one day shift—from me to you. In the eyes of God and law alike. And she was torn.”

“She need not fear,” Darcy said. “Not anymore.”

“I do not know what awaits me on judgment day,” Mr. Bennet said softly. “But I believe in mercy. I believe in grace. And I believe that the Lord does not turn away those who love honestly.”

Darcy felt that truth settle in his chest like something sacred. “I believe you are correct. I may not understand your attractions—in truth, they make me feel a bit ill—but I no longer condemn it.”

Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “You sound like a man who has changed.”

“I am,” Darcy said. “She changed me.”

For a long moment, they simply sat in silence. The fire popped. The clock ticked. The game of chess they had long forgotten now lay in a quiet standoff.

Mr. Bennet reached forward, picked up his knight—and toppled Darcy’s king with a small, decisive thunk.

It was at that moment that Elizabeth opened the study door and stepped inside.

Her eyes flicked between them—her father calm, her betrothed quiet and thoughtful—and then down to the board.

“Papa wins again,” she said lightly.

Darcy looked at her and smiled. “As always. Your father is a man full of surprises.”

∞∞∞

Elizabeth awoke Saturday morning with a heaviness she could not name.

It was not grief, exactly. Nor fear. But something weighty lingered in her limbs, an ache behind her eyes as though she had wept in her sleep.

She lay still in the chilled quiet of her room, listening to the low crackle of coals in the hearth.

No dream remained clearly in her mind, only a gray impression of unease.

Was it her courses arriving soon? The season’s turn to cold and confinement? The loss of her morning walks? Perhaps Mark’s leaving?

None of it fit. Not precisely.

She rose slowly and dressed with Sarah’s help, smiling faintly at the maid’s chatter. Her heart, however, remained low.

Mark left not long after breakfast. He hugged her fiercely, kissed her hair, and promised to write—though they both knew he was abysmal at letters. His eyes lingered on her longer than usual, as though reluctant to turn away.

Mr. Bennet caught her in the hall afterward, his tone unusually gentle. “Lizzy, just a word—” He glanced about and then led her a few paces aside. “I spoke with Mr. Darcy last night.”

She froze.

He must have seen the flicker of worry on her face, for he laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“I told him about Stephens,” he said. “And I want you to know… he took it very well.”

Relief flooded her—swift and disorienting.

“Oh, thank heavens,” she exhaled.

“I know.” Her father gave her a rare, tender smile. “He is a better man than even I first believed. You chose well.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Papa. For everything.”

He lowered his head and kissed her brow. “I could not have parted with you, my dear Lizzy, to anyone less worthy than he.”

A few hours later, Darcy and Bingley came to call, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Elizabeth was surprised—but genuinely pleased—to see Mrs. Hurst engaging kindly with Jane.

There was still a touch of aristocratic polish in her speech, but the effort was clear.

Jane, of course, met her with sweet and gracious warmth.

Darcy, however, was quieter than usual.

He greeted Elizabeth with warmth, but there was something subdued in his gaze—a gravity beneath the civility. It made her pulse flutter, just for a moment, with insecurities.

Did he change his mind, now that he knows?

Her mother broke in then, cheerfully asking after Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy's expression stiffened ever so slightly.

“He is with the militia today,” he said, his voice neutral.

It was enough.

Elizabeth felt a jolt of understanding. Wickham . It was today. The execution.

She looked at Darcy again—closely—and now the shadow in his eyes and the heaviness she carried made sense. Not doubt. Not regret. Grief.

“I wonder,” she said aloud, “if I might show Mr. Darcy something in the garden.”

The room paused.

“The garden , Lizzy?” her mother said, scandalized. “It is snowing!”

“Only lightly,” Elizabeth replied, already motioning for a maid to fetch her cloak and bonnet. “And it will not be long.”

Darcy stood at once. “I would be very pleased to accompany you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth . The weight on her shoulders lightened somewhat at the sound of her name on his lips.

They stepped into the brisk air, boots crunching over snow-dusted gravel. Elizabeth led him through the hedges toward a small bench near the yew trees, their limbs shivering in the wind.

“Are you well?” she asked quietly.

He looked away. “As well as can be expected.”

They walked in silence for several solemn moments, the cold air biting at their cheeks. “It is a sorrowful thing,” she said at last. “To see a life wasted. He might have done so much, if he had only let go of his hate.”

Darcy nodded. “He was… not always like this. As boys, he could be kind. Mischievous. Charming. But he let his envy poison him. And I—” he hesitated, “—I think I was part of that poison.”

Elizabeth turned toward him. “You cannot blame yourself.”

“No. But I regret much.”

Another pause, and then she braved the harder question. “And… my father? Are you… truly well with it?”

“I had suspicions there was someone in your family or close acquaintances with such… inclinations.” Darcy smiled wryly. “Fitzwilliam thought it was your brother, at first. Mark.”

Elizabeth gave a startled laugh. “Oh no. Mark is thoroughly interested in women. I once found some rather scandalous prints hidden in a Latin volume he brought home. And I caught him kissing one of the Lucas maids behind the dovecote when we were fifteen.”

Darcy blinked. “Ah.”

“Papa took him to a brothel shortly thereafter. Not for what you might think—he only spoke with the women there. Told Mark about disease, about consequences, about how intimacy without love often leaves more wounds than pleasure. He told him that monogamy, in its truest form, is a gift. Not a burden.”

Darcy sat back. “I had never thought of it that way.”

Elizabeth turned toward him slowly. “Does that mean… you had not planned to be faithful to me?”

His eyes widened. “No! I—Elizabeth—never think that.”

She waited, her breath curling visibly in the air.

“I am not inexperienced,” he said carefully. “But I was taught never to take advantage, never with servants, never with anyone unwilling. How to protect myself. How to be courteous. But no—those were not… not matters of the heart. I love you. And I intend to keep my vows.”

Elizabeth nodded, trying to absorb that. He had spoken plainly, even honorably—but her mind wandered where her heart did not wish it to go.

What if I cannot please him?

What if he remembers those other women—what they did, how they looked—and finds me wanting?

She forced a small smile. “I understand. I know the ways of the world.”

But even as he lifted her gloved hand to press it to his lips, her thoughts turned inward again, brimming with questions she dared not yet voice.

“It is probably best we return in doors. It is quite a bit colder than I expected.”