Page 29 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
“A diplomatic way of noting his lack of manners,” Elizabeth replied, settling William on her hip despite his squirming protests. “I assure you, we are working diligently on the concept of other people’s property, with limited success thus far.”
“Children develop at their own pace,” Darcy said. “My sister was much the same at his age—quite convinced that anything within her reach had been placed there specifically for her amusement.”
This casual reference to Georgiana’s childhood—a memory apparently intact despite his other losses—caught Elizabeth off guard. For a moment, she glimpsed the brother Georgiana had so often described: fond, indulgent, protective.
“You have been most patient with our disruptions, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, finding herself actually meaning the courtesy rather than merely performing it. “We shall leave you to your game.”
“Actually,” Mary interjected, “I was about to seek you out, Lizzy. Lady Eleanor has requested our assistance with planning the harvest festival. Apparently, it is something of a tradition at Bellfield Grange.”
“The harvest festival,” Darcy repeated, his brow furrowing. “Yes, I believe I recall something of it. The tenants gather for a supper, do they not?”
“And dancing,” Mary confirmed. “Lady Eleanor mentioned your mother was particularly fond of the tradition.”
A shadow passed over Darcy’s face—grief, perhaps, or frustration at another fragmentary memory. “Yes,” he said quietly. “She enjoyed seeing the community gathered together.”
His expression moved Elizabeth greatly. Despite his injury, despite his apparent disdain for her, he remained a man capable of deep feeling—for his sister, for his mother’s memory. The reminder was unsettling.
“I should be happy to assist Lady Eleanor,” Elizabeth said, directing her response to Mary while giving Darcy a moment to compose himself. “William enjoys the preparations for any festivity, though his contribution mainly consists of testing the quality of whatever foods are being prepared.”
“A critical role,” Darcy said with what might have been the faintest trace of humor. “Quality assurance is essential to any successful endeavor.”
Elizabeth glanced up, startled by this unexpected pleasantry, and found Darcy watching William with an expression she could not quite interpret—curiosity, perhaps, or puzzlement, as if trying to place the child in some mental catalog.
“Yes, well,” she said, disconcerted by this brief glimpse of the man she had married, “he takes his responsibilities very seriously, particularly where cake is concerned.”
An awkward silence fell. Elizabeth shifted William to her other hip, acutely aware of Darcy’s presence and her own resolution to maintain appropriate distance.
“Miss Mary,” Darcy said suddenly, turning back to her sister, “I have been considering our earlier conversation regarding your family’s circumstances.
It occurs to me that while society can be unforgiving, there are circles where a young lady of your evident refinement would be welcomed despite… associated difficulties.”
Elizabeth tensed, anticipating some condescending remark about Mary’s prospects being damaged by her sister’s disgrace.
“I may have connections in Yorkshire society who value intelligence and musical accomplishment,” Darcy continued. “They might prove amenable to making your acquaintance, should you wish to extend your social circle beyond Bellfield Grange.”
Mary appeared surprised by this offer. “That is… most considerate of you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not at all,” he replied with a dismissive gesture. “It seems unjust that you should suffer continued isolation due to circumstances beyond your control.”
Elizabeth stared at him, forgetting her resolution to guard her expressions. This unexpected kindness toward Mary—plain, awkward Mary, whom even her own family had often overlooked—revealed a generosity of spirit she had not anticipated.
Darcy caught her gaze, and an unspoken communication passed between them—almost as if he’d read her mind. Then his expression closed once more, becoming the cool mask of polite indifference she had grown accustomed to.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, rising carefully from his chair, “I find I am somewhat fatigued. Miss Mary, we shall continue our game at another time.”
With a formal bow to both sisters, he departed, his cane tapping a measured rhythm on the polished floor.
Elizabeth watched him go, her emotions in turmoil.
How was she to maintain her righteous indignation when he showed such unexpected kindness?
How was she to protect her heart when glimpses of the man she had loved continued to appear without warning?
“He is not what I expected,” Mary observed. “From your descriptions of your encounters in Hertfordshire, I had anticipated someone more… consistently disagreeable.”
“He contains multitudes, it would seem,” Elizabeth replied, setting William down to explore the room under her watchful eye.
“Though I confess I am surprised by his offer regarding Yorkshire society. I would not have thought he considered our family connections worth acknowledging, given his current opinion of me.”
“We spoke at some length about our family circumstances,” Mary said. “I explained that while you had been cast out, the rest of us had suffered various degrees of ostracism by association. He seemed genuinely troubled by the injustice of it.”
“Did you tell him the nature of my supposed disgrace?” Elizabeth asked carefully.
“Only that you had refused Mr. Collins and been punished for it,” Mary replied. “I saw no reason to elaborate on the subsequent events at the Red Lion, as Lady Eleanor advised against forcing recollections he is not prepared to receive.”
Elizabeth nodded, torn between relief and disappointment.
Part of her wished Mary had simply told Darcy everything—the abandonment, their marriage, his disappearance.
Yet another part recognized the wisdom in Lady Eleanor’s caution.
Darcy’s mind had to be convinced of a memory to be authentic, and not imposed on by others.
“He did express particular concern for how the situation affected me,” Mary continued, with her characteristic bluntness. “He said it must be difficult to have one’s reputation tarnished through no fault of one’s own, merely through familial association.”
The barb—unintentional on Mary’s part—struck home.
In Darcy’s view, Elizabeth was the family disgrace, the fallen woman whose actions had damaged her innocent sister’s prospects.
That he could feel sympathy for Mary while maintaining contempt for Elizabeth was perfectly consistent with his character as she had first known it in Hertfordshire—capable of justice and generosity, yet blinded by pride and prejudice where his personal feelings were concerned.
“How very… considerate of him,” Elizabeth managed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
Mary, never particularly attuned to emotional undercurrents, merely nodded. “Indeed. Though I assured him I have little interest in extensive socializing, I appreciated the sentiment behind his offer.”
William, having completed his inspection of the room’s furnishings, returned to Elizabeth’s side and tugged at her skirts. “Up,” he demanded, raising his arms imperiously.
As she lifted him, Elizabeth caught sight of their reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece—a young woman with a child who bore an unmistakable resemblance to the man who had just departed. The irony might have made her laugh if it were not so painful.
“Come, William,” she said, turning away from the reflection. “Let us find Lady Eleanor and see what tasks she has for us regarding the harvest festival.”
“I believe you misunderstand Mr. Darcy’s intentions,” Mary said abruptly as Elizabeth moved toward the door.
Elizabeth paused, glancing back at her sister. “I beg your pardon?”
“Regarding his offer to introduce me to his acquaintances,” Mary clarified. “You assume it stems from pity for my association with your supposed disgrace. I believe it comes instead from recognition of shared experience.”
“Shared experience?” Elizabeth repeated, puzzled.
“We are both siblings whose lives have been disrupted by circumstances beyond our control,” Mary explained. “His injury has left him as adrift in his own way as I have been since leaving Longbourn. There is a… kinship… in such displacement.”
Elizabeth considered this perspective, so typical of Mary’s unusual way of viewing the world. Could it be true? Was Darcy reaching out to Mary not from condescension but from mutual commiseration?
“Perhaps you are right,” she conceded. “Though it changes little regarding his opinion of me.”
“Does it not?” Mary raised an eyebrow. “If he can recognize humanity in those society deems uncomfortable or inappropriate, perhaps his current judgment of you is not as fixed as you believe.”
With that surprisingly insightful observation, Mary returned her attention to the chess set, rearranging the pieces to their starting positions as if closing the conversation.
Elizabeth departed with William, her mind turning over this new possibility.
She had been so certain of Darcy’s irredeemable contempt, so resigned to his permanent disdain, that she had not considered he might be capable of reassessing his judgments—as he had once before, when he had proposed to her at the Red Lion.
“Your father,” she whispered to William, who was contentedly playing with a button on her dress, “is a far more complicated man than I sometimes remember.”