Page 28 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
UNSTEADY FOOTING
The next morning, Elizabeth stood at her bedchamber window, watching Darcy stride across the yard below with Graham.
The stiff, cautious way he moved—like a man twenty years his senior—twisted something in her chest. His cane pressed into the gravel with each carefully measured step, and occasionally he would pause, his gaze turning vacant as if lost in the foggy landscape of his own mind.
Yesterday’s encounter in the library had left her with a curious mixture of triumph and shame.
The satisfaction of having put him in his place had faded rapidly, replaced by an uncomfortable awareness of her own unkindness.
The man below was not the same one who had dismissed her so casually at their first meeting in Hertfordshire, nor was he the one who had held her with such tenderness at the Red Lion.
He was a man adrift, clinging to the familiar shores of prejudice and propriety simply to stay afloat.
“It was not entirely sporting of me,” she murmured to herself, “to fence with an opponent who does not even know we are engaged in combat.”
William’s babbling from his play area interrupted her self-recrimination. He had arranged his wooden blocks in a teetering tower that, judging by his expression of intense concentration, represented an architectural achievement of considerable significance.
“Is that Pemberley you’re building, my love?” Elizabeth asked, kneeling beside him. “Your father’s grand estate?”
William swept his hands and knocked every block down with a loud commotion, laughing as he went.
Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing along with this son of hers, a combination of Bennet bustle and Darcy determination.
Graham had fashioned the blocks with charming animal figures—sheep, horses, and yes, the occasional dragon—that delighted William’s imagination.
Elizabeth found herself wondering if Darcy had played with similar toys as a child, if he had built towers with the same look of intense concentration his son now displayed.
Only to knock them down.
That path of thought led too easily to memories of Darcy’s intensity focused on her—his dark eyes filled with desire and tenderness as they lay together in that small inn room. Elizabeth shook her head, dispelling the image. Such recollections served no purpose save to deepen her pain.
“We shall go down to the music room,” she announced, as much to herself as to William. “You may bang on the keys while I attempt to remember how young ladies are meant to occupy themselves when not building dragon-infested castles.”
William reached up to be carried, eager for a change of perspective.
At thirteen months, he had already developed a keen appreciation for music, often sitting quietly beside Mary at the pianoforte for extended periods.
Elizabeth suspected this was yet another inheritance from Darcy, whose sister had described his considerable appreciation for music, though he rarely performed himself.
As they descended the stairs, Elizabeth reminded herself to guard her expressions, particularly around Darcy.
His parting comment in the library—that warning about how she looked at him—had struck uncomfortably close to home.
Had she been staring? Had her longing been so transparent?
The thought mortified her. She would not give him further cause to believe her some designing female intent on trapping a gentleman beyond her station.
The music room at Bellfield Grange was a pleasant chamber with tall windows that admitted ample light for reading music.
The pianoforte was not as grand as the one at Pemberley, according to Georgiana, but it produced a warm, mellow tone that suited the intimate space.
Elizabeth settled William on a small stool beside the instrument and opened the sheet music Mary had been practicing.
“There now, young master,” she said, playing a simple scale with her right hand. “Shall we make our fingers dance?”
William giggled, pounding his tiny fist on a key that produced a resonant bass note. He looked up at her, his dark eyes—so like his father’s—alight with pleasure at his accomplishment.
“Very impressive,” Elizabeth said solemnly. “Mozart himself would be envious.”
She began to play a simple folk tune, one she had practiced during her time at Longbourn when accomplishments were expected of young ladies seeking advantageous marriages.
How strange to think of those days now—the constant pressure to secure a husband, her mother’s nerves, and her father’s detached amusement.
That world seemed as distant and unreal as Darcy’s memories.
The door to the adjacent sitting room stood slightly ajar, and through it, Elizabeth heard voices—Mary’s precise tones and, to her surprise, Darcy’s deeper cadence. She had not realized he had completed his inspection of the estate with Graham.
Elizabeth stopped playing, her cheeks burning at her evident eavesdropping.
“I appreciate your candor, Miss Bennet,” Darcy was saying. “It cannot be easy to discuss such delicate family matters with a virtual stranger.”
“Not at all,” Mary replied. “While some might find the subject uncomfortable, I believe honesty serves better than obfuscation. Our circumstances, while unfortunate, are not uncommon. ”
Elizabeth’s fingers remained silent on the keys.
Were they discussing the Bennet family disgrace?
Mary had always been the most pragmatic of her sisters, viewing the world through a lens of moral principles rather than social niceties.
If Darcy had asked about their background, Mary would undoubtedly provide the unvarnished truth as she saw it.
“And your father permitted this?” Darcy asked, his tone carefully neutral. “To cast out his own daughter?”
“My father,” Mary said after a pause, “is a man of complicated character. He values his peace above all else and will sacrifice much to maintain it—including, on occasion, his daughters’ welfare.
When faced with my mother’s hysterics and the threat of social ostracism, he chose the path of least resistance. ”
Elizabeth winced at this clinical assessment of their father, though she could not deny its accuracy. Mr. Bennet had stood on the steps of Longbourn and watched her departure without a word of protest.
“That must have been difficult for you as well,” Darcy said, surprising Elizabeth with the note of genuine sympathy in his voice. “To see your sister treated so, and to remain within such a household.”
“I found it intolerable,” Mary replied matter-of-factly. “Which is why I now reside here, under Mr. Gardiner’s guardianship. Our uncle has shown more paternal concern than our father ever demonstrated.”
William, apparently bored with the pianoforte, slid off his stool and toddled toward the partially open door before Elizabeth could stop him. He pushed it wider with surprising strength for his small frame and burst into the sitting room with a gleeful “Mary!”
Elizabeth had no choice but to follow, schooling her features into polite neutrality as she entered.
Darcy and Mary were seated on either side of a small table where a chess set had been arranged, though it appeared their conversation had superseded any actual play.
Both looked up at the interruption—Mary with mild resignation, Darcy with evident startlement.
“I do apologize,” Elizabeth said as William held his arms up for Mary. “He has developed a particular attachment to both his aunt and that chess set, though I fear he views the pieces as additional building blocks rather than instruments of strategy.”
“It is no matter.” Mary accommodated her nephew on her lap. “Mr. Darcy and I were merely conversing while awaiting our turn at the board.”
Darcy rose at Elizabeth’s entrance—a gentleman’s reflex despite his evident discomfort at her presence. She noted the careful way he straightened and the brief grimace that suggested the movement caused him pain.
“Miss Bennet,” he acknowledged with a slight bow.
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth kept her eyes carefully lowered, remembering his admonishment about the way she looked at him. “I hope we have not interrupted a game of significance.”
“Not at all,” Darcy replied. “Your sister was kind enough to explain the rules, as I find I cannot recall them with any clarity.”
Another small fragment of his life lost to the injury. Elizabeth felt a fresh wave of compassion despite herself. How frustrating it must be for a man of Darcy’s intelligence to discover such gaps in his knowledge, to constantly encounter evidence of his own limitations.
“Mary is an excellent teacher,” Elizabeth said. “Though I warn you, she shows no mercy to her opponents regardless of their disadvantages.”
“I merely believe that artificially diminished competition does not benefit either party,” Mary responded with the faintest hint of a smile. “Mr. Darcy agrees that honesty in all dealings is preferable to well-meant deception.”
William, having assessed and dismissed the chess pieces as insufficiently interesting, wriggled free from Mary’s lap and made his way to Darcy’s chair. Before Elizabeth could intercept him, he had grasped Darcy’s cane where it leaned against the armrest .
“Mine!” he declared, tugging at the polished wood.
“William!” Elizabeth moved swiftly to retrieve both child and cane. “That is not yours, and Mr. Darcy requires it. You must not take things that do not belong to you.”
To her surprise, Darcy did not appear offended by William’s presumption. If anything, a flicker of amusement crossed his features before being replaced by his usual reserve.
“He has a certain… directness… in his approach,” Darcy observed, accepting the returned cane with a nod of thanks.