Page 18 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

Graham knelt, bringing himself to her eye level. “Mrs. Darcy,” he began, then stopped, seeming to wrestle with himself. “Elizabeth. May I speak plainly?”

She nodded, too weary to protest the use of her Christian name.

“I have presumed upon our friendship too long without speaking,” he began, his Yorkshire accent more pronounced with emotion. “But circumstances now compel me to offer what small comfort may lie within my power.”

“Mr. Pullen?—”

“Graham,” he corrected gently. “After all these months, I should be Graham to you.”

“Graham,” she amended, the name unfamiliar on her tongue. “I think I know what you wish to say, and I?— ”

“Please,” he interrupted, holding up a hand.

“Allow me to speak before my courage fails.” He drew a deep breath.

“I know you believe yourself married to Mr. Darcy. I have seen the ring you wear, heard your stories, and witnessed your absolute conviction. But Elizabeth…” His voice dropped low.

“What if you are wrong? What if the ceremony was not legal, or the license invalid, or the witnesses bought? What if Mr. Darcy himself, when he wakes, does not remember you as his wife?”

The questions hit her like stones, each one finding its mark in the secret fears she had tried so hard to suppress.

“You ask me to doubt everything I know to be true,” she said, her voice barely steady.

“I do not know the circumstances, and I know Mr. Darcy to be an honest man, but… could it be the man he supposed to be a reverend had defrauded him?”

“Are you saying I was never married? That it had always been a farce?”

“No, absolutely not.” Graham seemed to strengthen himself. “But the parish registry was empty. I only ask you to consider the possibility and to think about what that would mean for you and your child.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to leak.

They did anyway. As she wiped them, she gazed at this solid, reliable man in front of her.

He wasn’t handsome in the fashionable sense, but he was decent, kind, and rugged in his own right.

A man who did not eschew hard work, and he was watching her with that mixture of hope and desperation she had pretended not to notice.

“What are you proposing, Mr. Pullen?” She resorted to formality, knowing she would have to injure him.

He took a deep breath, as if gathering courage for a leap from a great height. “Marry me. Today, if you’ll have me. I can give you a name, legitimacy for your child, and a home where you’ll never want for anything within my power to provide. ”

The proposal hung between them, simple and sincere and utterly devastating in its reasonableness.

“You would claim another man’s child as your own?” Elizabeth asked softly.

“I would claim you both as mine,” Graham replied without hesitation. “The child would have my name, my protection, and my love. As would you.”

“You are too noble, Mr. Pullen. But you would do this even knowing my heart belongs to another? To Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

“Elizabeth, I know you made vows to another. I know your heart belongs elsewhere. But I also know that Mr. Darcy may never wake to claim you, and even if he does—” he hesitated, treading carefully, “his family seems determined to deny your marriage.”

Elizabeth’s hands moved protectively to her belly. The child kicked vigorously, as if protesting the suggestion that his legitimacy was in question.

“You paint a grim picture of my prospects, Graham,” she said, attempting lightness she did not feel.

“An honest one,” he replied. “But I also offer an alternative. Marry me, and neither you nor the child will ever face the world’s scorn.

You would be Mrs. Graham Pullen, respectable wife of a respectable man.

Your past would become irrelevant. I would count myself fortunate to call you wife and be a father to your child. ”

Elizabeth looked at this good, kind man who was offering her everything she had lost—respectability, security, a place in the world—and felt her resolve waver for the first time since Darcy’s disappearance.

Her practical side recognized the wisdom of Graham’s offer.

What was she now but a cautionary tale? The gentlewoman who believed herself married to a man who lay dying without ever acknowledging her?

She was no longer a lady by society’s standards. An honest life as a steward’s wife was far preferable to existence as a fallen woman forever waiting for recognition that might never come.

And Graham would be kind. He would never mock her situation or speak of her disrespectfully, as society would do. He would never abandon her as her family had done. He would value her mind, respect her opinions, and treat her child as his own.

Elizabeth allowed herself to imagine that life—safe, secure, respected in a humble way. No grand estates or London seasons, but no scorn or rejection either. Just quiet dignity and genuine affection.

“You honor me more than I deserve, Graham.” Her heart ached at what she had to do to him. He was so earnest and hopeful, and she should have known his feelings were on his sleeves. “You are a good man.”

“You deserve everything good this world has to offer,” Graham replied fiercely. “Let me give it to you.”

“And yet, Graham.” She looked at him with eyes swimming in tears. “You deserve a wife who can devote herself to you. One who is not bound to another. It is not merely sentiment that prevents me from accepting. It is a vow I made to Fitzwilliam before God.”

“And if he does not live?” Graham asked quietly.

Elizabeth swallowed her fear, resting her hand on her belly where Darcy’s child rolled around restlessly.

She could not, would not face that possibility, and yet…

rational thought required it. She only wanted to remember—Darcy’s hands in her hair, his voice saying her name as if it were a prayer, the way he had looked at her as if she were the answer to every question he had never dared ask. Those moments had been true.

But Graham deserved an answer, and the pain of losing Darcy before she had started her life with him threatened to overwhelm her. “If that were to happen, then circumstances would indeed be changed. And I would count myself fortunate if your offer still stood.”

Hope flickered across Graham’s face, quickly tempered by the gravity of what such a circumstance would mean. “I pray it does not come to that,” he said, with a generosity that made Elizabeth’s heart ache. “But should it do so, my offer will remain. ”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispered, squeezing his hand before releasing it.

A female gasp from the doorway startled them both. Georgiana stood at the entrance to the wool-sorting room. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide with shock. How much had she heard?

“Miss Darcy, please excuse me.” Graham straightened to his feet, composing himself. “Is something amiss?”

Georgiana’s hands hid something behind the folds of her skirt. “I have something. Something I should have shown you months ago, but I was too frightened, too worried about the scandal…”

Elizabeth’s heart began to race. “What is it?”

Georgiana approached slowly, pulling out a folded paper. “Fitzwilliam wrote to me the morning he… the morning of his accident. He said he had married, but he gave no name, only that circumstances had forced his hand and he would explain everything upon his return to London.”

Elizabeth stared at the letter Georgiana now held out, her hand trembling as she reached for it. “You’ve had this all this time?”

“I’m sorry,” Georgiana whispered. “I showed the letter to Aunt Catherine as soon as Fitzwilliam went missing. But she said fortune hunters would try anything, that the letter wasn’t sealed by his signet ring.

That without a name on the letter, it left it open for any woman to appear and make claims. I was frightened of making a worse scandal. ”

Elizabeth accepted the letter from Georgiana’s hand, and her breath caught at the sight of Darcy’s bold handwriting.

My dearest Georgiana,

Circumstances have compelled me to marry with great haste.

I know this news will shock you, but I beg you to trust in my judgment and know that my choice was made from both necessity and genuine regard for the lady in question.

The particulars I shall explain upon my return to London, but rest assured that while sudden, this union is not unwelcome to me .

I go now to secure transportation for my bride and myself to London, where I shall present her to you with all proper ceremony.

Please give my love to our aunts and prepare them for news that may surprise but should not distress them. I have found what I did not even know I was seeking.

Your affectionate brother,

F. Darcy

The Red Lion Inn, Barnet

December 3, 1811

Elizabeth’s hands shook as she read the final line again. I have found what I did not even know I was seeking. The words were like water to someone dying of thirst.

“He was happy,” she whispered, touching the paper reverently. “When he wrote this, he was happy about our marriage.”

“It would seem so,” Graham said quietly, though his voice held a note of resignation. “But the letter does not provide proof of your marriage. No name is mentioned.”

“In case it was intercepted,” Georgiana replied. “My brother has always been discreet, particularly if a lady’s reputation were at risk.”

“The letter is precious to me.” Elizabeth pressed it to her chest. “It proves he was not ashamed or regretful. That he intended to bring me home.”

“Yes, and we pray that he would recover and complete his desire.” Graham offered his hand. “The shed is getting hotter and you require refreshment.”

“I feel so helpless,” Elizabeth confessed, the words torn from her heart. “He could be calling for me, wondering why I don’t come. He could be…”

The sentence was cut short by a sudden, sharp pain that took her breath away. Elizabeth gasped, her hand flying to her belly as the child seemed to shift and press downward with uncomfortable urgency.

“What is it?” Georgiana asked, alarmed .

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth managed, breathing through the discomfort. “The baby has been restless all morning, but this feels…”

Another pain, stronger this time, made her double over slightly. Had Graham not been at her side, she would have fallen.

Graham did not hesitate, sweeping her into his arms despite her protests.

“Miss Darcy, run ahead and inform Miss Mary to fetch the midwife,” he instructed, already striding toward the door with Elizabeth cradled against his chest. “Tell Mrs. Honywood to prepare the birthing room.”

It was too soon, and yet it was not. As much as Elizabeth wished to wait for Darcy, it was about nine months to the date from that storm-lashed night at the Red Lion Inn.

Georgiana fled across the yard toward the main house, her skirts flying behind her. Elizabeth closed her eyes against the jolting movement as Graham carried her swiftly after.

“It hurts so much,” she cried, clenching her teeth, her breath hissing over the intense pain. “Fitzwilliam should be here.”

“I know,” Graham said softly, his arms secure around her as another contraction gripped her body. “But you are not alone, Elizabeth. You will never be alone while I have breath in my body.”

This was not how Elizabeth had imagined bringing Darcy’s child into the world—far from Pemberley, away from its father. Graham carried her up the steps to the farmhouse where Mrs. Honywood met them, already calling for hot water and clean linens.

Another pain seized her, more demanding than the last, and Elizabeth surrendered to the knowledge that some things could not be controlled or delayed. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s heir was determined to enter the world, regardless of whether its father ever woke to acknowledge it.

And Elizabeth, who had once prided herself on her independence, now accepted with humble gratitude the hands that reached out to steady her on this most difficult journey.

Elizabeth held her hand protectively over her belly. “Hold on, little one.”