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Page 6 of Darcy’s Redemption (Holidays with Darcy and Elizabeth)

Chapter Six

U pon his return from the parsonage on Sunday evening, Lady Catherine attempted to corner Darcy, pressing him once more to acknowledge the supposed engagement between himself and his cousin Anne. As he had done countless times before, he refused. But this time, another voice rose in his defence.

“Lady Catherine, you know as well as I do that Anne Darcy made no such promise,” Bishop Baines interjected, striding into the room unannounced. He had not bothered to knock—he was well aware of the lady’s intentions, having heard his godson speak of them on numerous occasions.

Lady Catherine’s eyes flashed with indignation at the visitor. “What do you mean by barging into a private conversation uninvited, one that does not concern you at all?” she demanded.

“Aye, but it does concern me, since it pertains to my godson, and his happiness is at stake,” the bishop said calmly, his measured tone a stark contrast to Lady Catherine’s indignation. His burr softened his words, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath them. In his anger, his accent was far more pronounced than it had been earlier that day when he spoke from the pulpit.

“My friend, George Darcy, told me o’ yer attempts to force his hand—how ye brought a marriage contract to him in the very days after his wife’s passing. Aye, ye carried it wi’ ye to the funeral itself and tried to insist Anne had wished for the match. He spoke to me o’ it then, and we discussed it many a time after, for that wasnae the only occasion ye sought to finagle him into doin’ as ye wished.”

Her anger mounting, Lady Catherine gestured with her cane to silence him, but he disregarded the motion and took a step forward. “I came here because I ken I had a message to deliver,” he said, but his voice was softer than usual, forcing Lady Catherine to remain silent in order to hear him. “I believe the message intended for my godson has been conveyed although I didna know it was him who needed it until I saw him this mornin’. But now, I have one for ye as well.”

He paused, ensuring Lady Catherine was paying close attention. “Ye’ve set yerself up here like a queen, meddlin’ in the lives of those beneath ye. Yet, ye do nae good for anyone. That fool of a parson should never have been ordained and certainly nae with ye as his patroness, for ye’ll ruin him. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous sermon as I did this mornin’, and I sense yer hand in it. I admire Mrs. Collins too much to have the man defrocked, but I’ll see to it he gets some guidance—and perhaps a bit o’ time away from ye and yer influence.”

“My godson will nae be forced to marry yer daughter. Neither she nor he wish to marry each other, and I believe the woman Darcy here has set his heart upon will do him much good.” He turned to his nephew then. “Ye’ve decided, have ye nae? Ye willnae let foolish notions separate ye from one who is so ideally suited to ye?”

“I will not, Godfather,” Darcy replied. “I bungled it at first, but I will do what it takes to win her. She is a rare jewel.’

“What is this?” Lady Catherine demanded. “What is this jewel you speak of?”

To her astonishment, Darcy refused to reply, other than to say, “You are hardly someone in whom I would confide, Aunt. You will know when it is time, but not before. Bishop Baines, might I show you to your room? Your sermon this morning has left me with much to contemplate, and I would like to ask you a few questions. How long do you intend to remain in the area?”

With that, Darcy led his godfather out of Lady Catherine’s formal sitting room and upstairs to the guest wing where his godfather’s room was located. He had also asked the servants to move his things to a room near his godfather’s so the two would share a sitting room for the duration of his stay. Lady Catherine would be incensed when she learned what he had done, but Darcy found he no longer cared.

The two men spent a great deal of time talking that evening as Darcy confessed many of his fears and assumed failings. He had not seen the bishop in several years, since not long after his father’s death and wished he had done a better job of keeping in contact with the man. Perhaps he would have made fewer mistakes if he had.

The next morning, Darcy rose early and went for a walk in the gardens and groves surrounding Rosings. Though he did not intend to meet Elizabeth there, he could not deny that he hoped to encounter her.

After walking for some time without seeing her, he considered turning back to Rosings. Later that day, he and the colonel could call on the parsonage, for he wished to speak with her. Following his conversation with his godfather the previous night, he knew he needed to apologise once more—for the whole of their acquaintance in Hertfordshire that autumn—and hope for a fresh start.

The previous evening, Baines had urged him to set aside his concerns for Georgiana’s future if he married Elizabeth; Darcy could still hear him say, “Stap yer haverin’, lad, and go after the lass.” He had laughed—not at the sentiment, but at the phrasing, so reminiscent of something his godfather had once told him when, as a boy, he had questioned his ability to one day manage Pemberley.

More importantly, Baines had reminded him that his worries stemmed from valuing status and wealth over qualities such as character and genuine affection. Darcy recalled an instance when he heard his father and godfather speak of their own late wives. It had occurred when Darcy was in London for part of the season, not long after he had entered society; his father had invited him to share a glass of brandy before they left for an engagement. Darcy had dreaded the demands of society and had accepted the invitation, hoping to delay their evening.

He had contributed little to the conversation, instead listening as the men reminisced about their wives and how deeply they missed them. Interwoven with their memories were admonitions for him to consider more than beauty, status, and wealth when choosing a wife. Would she be someone he could bear to spend weeks at a time with? Would she be a true partner rather than a mere adornment?

That evening, Darcy had approached social gatherings with a new perspective, more determined to engage with the women he met and to make himself agreeable. Yet in the years that followed, he had allowed others to inflate his pride until status and wealth once again became his chief concerns. His godfather’s words had reminded him of what marriage truly meant—and what it could be when shared with someone he loved.

The only remaining concern was whether his new resolve would be enough to win Elizabeth’s heart and persuade her to give him her hand.

As Darcy trod the familiar paths around Rosings, he unexpectedly came upon a walled garden. He thought he must have only seldom walked this way before, for he had no memory of ever seeing it before that moment. The ancient stone walls, partially veiled in ivy, lent the place an air of secrecy, as if it belonged to another world entirely. Drawn forward by curiosity, he reached out and found the door unlocked. With a gentle push, it swung open on silent hinges, revealing the hidden sanctuary within.

There, in a corner of the garden, seated on a low stone bench, was Elizabeth.

Darcy froze. As much as he might have mocked another man for such fanciful notions—and likely had—he felt, in that moment, as though time itself had halted. The soft light filtering through the trees bathed her in a golden glow, illuminating the dark tendrils of hair that had escaped her bonnet. She was unaware of his presence, her gaze lowered to the book in her lap, her expression serious as she seemed to write something in it.

His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. He had thought himself prepared to face her, but now, in the quiet beauty of this secluded garden, he found himself disarmed. Even had he wished to speak, he could not. His tongue was tied in knots; all he could do was stand there, drinking in the sight of her, feeling as though the very ground beneath him had shifted.

For several minutes, he stood motionless, simply watching her. Then, she murmured something under her breath—too softly for him to hear—before closing her book and rising. The movement seemed to break the spell that had held him frozen, and he stepped forward.

She had only just straightened when their eyes met across the distance.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, surprise threading through her voice.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his tone grave and solemn.

A silence stretched between them, neither looking away.

“I have forgiven—” Elizabeth began.

At the same moment, Darcy spoke. “Please forgive?—”

They both stopped short, surprise flickering across their faces. Then Elizabeth exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said. “Please, continue.”

Darcy hesitated. He had hoped to see her and to make amends, yet now, standing before her, words failed him. What was an apology in the face of all that had passed between them? Especially in light of yesterday’s sermon and the many revelations of the day.

“No,” he said at last, his voice softer. “Please, what were you going to say?”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment, her green eyes searching his as she debated momentarily exactly how to speak. Then she clasped her hands before her and spoke.

“It was wrong of me to continue to hold a grudge after your apology the other day,” she admitted. “I was going to say that I have forgiven you. For everything.”

Darcy felt as though the breath had been stolen from his lungs. Of all the beginnings he had imagined to this conversation, this was not among them. He had expected civility at best, indifference at worst, but not this—this wholehearted absolution that he knew he had not yet earned.

“You are generous,” he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. “Far more than I deserve.”

A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. “I cannot say that I have forgotten everything. It is a fault of mine, to hold a grudge for entirely too long and to be unwilling to change my mind once it is made up,” she paused before continuing. “We have both made mistakes, Mr. Darcy.” There was no accusation in her tone, only reflection. “Though I suspect you would insist that yours were greater.”

He exhaled a short, humourless laugh. “I would, and I would be right.”

To his astonishment, she laughed in return—a genuine laugh, light and unguarded. The sound sent warmth flooding through his veins, so unexpected yet so welcome that he could scarcely believe it.

“I hoped to come upon you this morning,” he admitted. “I wished to apologise,” he continued, seizing the moment before it could slip away again. There was something about offering his apology here, in this garden, that felt right—as though the very air around them was conducive to a fresh start. “For my words in Hertfordshire, for my presumption, for all the ways I wronged you and misjudged you.” He paused, then added, “For causing you pain in any form.”

Elizabeth’s expression grew thoughtful. “I find I must apologise as well.”

Darcy frowned. “For what?”

“For actively seeking to believe the worst of you,” she admitted. “My own pride blinded me to the truth.” She glanced away briefly, as if gathering her thoughts. “I was so certain of my own judgement that I never considered I might be wrong. My father looks at the behaviour of others to find amusement, and I have adopted his habit of looking down on those around me. I believed myself to be too intelligent to be taken in; yet, that is exactly what happened. Instead of questioning the impropriety of that man revealing to me such personal details, I was flattered to believe that he thought well enough of me to confide in me. It never occurred to me that he might be using me in an attempt to spread a story that would paint you even more of a villain than my neighbours considered you to be.” She winced as the words left her mouth, but she could not retract them.

He shook his head when she opened it to apologise. “No, I deserved that. You had every reason to think ill of me.”

“Perhaps.” Her gaze returned to his. “But I should have questioned my certainty. I have learned much since then,” she laughed softly, “in large part due to your godfather’s timely arrival. When he said he had a message for someone, I never dreamed he meant me.”

“I have learned much in the last few days as well,” he murmured. “We had lost touch after my father’s death, but I was glad to see him; more so now, since he has been instrumental in both of us coming to a better understanding of matters.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The hush of the garden wrapped around them, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves.

Then Elizabeth drew a steady breath and offered him a small, tentative smile. “It is time I return to the parsonage, Mr. Darcy. Would you like to accompany me?”

Something inside him eased, as though a weight he had carried for months had shifted, allowing him to breathe more freely. He managed a nod.

“Yes,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

Side by side, they left the walled garden, speaking of trivial things as they walked. Neither had enjoyed the company of the other so much as they did that morning.