Page 42 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE RING SHE KEPT
Elizabeth stood by her bedchamber window, gazing at the moonlit gardens of Bellfield Grange. The evening’s dinner replayed in her mind—not with the fiery indignation she might once have felt, but with a curious mixture of sadness and hope that left her heart aching in a way anger never could.
The memory of his earnest expression, how he’d been so thoroughly pleased with himself, so convinced of his own nobility in acknowledging what he perceived as her sacrifice.
The man who had once held her through a storm-lashed night, who had married her without hesitation when honor demanded it, had attempted to reduce her to the status of a paid attendant.
As if monetary consideration could possibly address the complex tangle of their situation.
His words had stung, certainly, but beneath her initial offense lay a deeper understanding of the man who had spoken them—a man adrift, clinging to the principles of propriety when all else in his world had become uncertain.
“At least you recognized your error,” she murmured to his absent figure, recalling how his expression had shifted from righteous certainty to mortified comprehension as she’d explained the implications of his offer.
There had been genuine contrition in his apology, and in those final moments of their conversation, a vulnerability that had touched her more deeply than she cared to admit.
I shall endeavor to be worthy of your forbearance , he had said. And perhaps, in time, my memory will provide what your discretion withholds.
Was it fair to him that she and Georgiana knew more about his situation than he did? That they withheld information that could have ameliorated his confusion?
The silver chain around her neck felt suddenly heavy, the signet ring that hung from it pressing against her skin like a reminder of all she had lost—and all she had withheld.
She had returned Darcy’s writing desk, his neckcloth, his shaving kit, his gloves—all the personal effects he had left behind at the Red Lion Inn. But she had kept his signet ring.
His ring. The one he had slipped onto her finger as a substitute wedding band, promising to replace it with something more suitable when they reached London.
The one she had transferred to a chain around her neck when her pregnancy began to show, when her fingers swelled too much to wear it comfortably.
Elizabeth drew the chain from beneath her bodice, holding the ring in her palm. The Darcy crest caught the moonlight, gleaming with the same quiet dignity its owner possessed.
“Should I have given it back?” she asked the empty room. “Is it selfish to keep this from you?”
A gentle knock at her door interrupted her contemplation.
“Elizabeth? I heard you pacing.” Lady Eleanor’s voice came through the wood, quiet but distinct. “Might I have a word?”
Elizabeth hastily tucked the ring back beneath her dress, composing her features into a semblance of calm. “Of course, Lady Eleanor. Please come in.”
The door opened to reveal Darcy’s aunt, still dressed in her evening attire though she had removed some of her jewelry. Her expression held concern and something that might have been understanding .
“I thought you might be awake,” Lady Eleanor said, closing the door behind her. “After such an eventful dinner.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Elizabeth replied with a small smile. “I suppose that’s more charitable than some alternatives.”
Lady Eleanor settled into the chair by the fire, gesturing for Elizabeth to join her. “Georgiana told me about Fitzwilliam’s ill-considered offer. I imagine it was difficult to hear.”
“I fear I was not as gracious as a lady ought to be.” Elizabeth took the seat opposite. “Though I believe he came to understand his error before we parted.”
“He means well,” Lady Eleanor said with a sigh. “Though his execution leaves much to be desired.”
Elizabeth studied the older woman’s face, noting the family resemblance to Darcy in the proud set of her jaw and the intelligence in her dark eyes. “He was trying to be honorable, in his own misguided way.”
“You were gentler with him than many would have been in your position.”
Elizabeth gazed into the low-burning fire. “What purpose would harshness serve? He is already lost, fumbling through shadows of his own mind.” She sighed softly. “Besides, there was something in his manner at the end—a vulnerability I’ve rarely glimpsed in him.”
“Then perhaps this ill-advised dinner had some value after all.” Lady Eleanor’s smile was wistful. “I truly wish for his complete recovery and the realization of his feelings for you.”
“That is… very… insightful of you.” Elizabeth felt a strange twisting of her heart. “Do you truly believe he’ll not only remember but… have affection?”
“He watches you,” Eleanor’s eyes rested on Elizabeth’s hand, the one that had worn Darcy’s ring. “When he believes you are not aware. I find him gazing after William too. Perhaps I’m reading too much but he seems to be searching.”
“For the truth? For his past?” Elizabeth could not imagine not being able to recall every tiny detail of her life .
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “It must be difficult to experience emotions and have no inkling why.”
“What if he never remembers?” Elizabeth gave in to her fears. “Will I be here forever waiting? Will William grow up without ever knowing his father?”
“William will know Fitzwilliam,” Lady Eleanor said. “I’m sure of it. He will have to be told eventually.”
“Of his son? But not of me?”
Darcy’s aunt nodded grimly. “He may react badly to you. Imagine you entrapped him, but he will love his son. I believe he already cares for the boy, although he is unsure of his parentage.”
“He asked me about it, the naming. I told him William was named after his father, perhaps grandfather to be precise.”
“Ah, yes, Fitzwilliam’s father. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My brother-in-law, his father, possessed the same remarkable ability to mean well while saying exactly the wrong thing. Lady Anne was forever translating his intentions for those who might otherwise have taken offense.”
The mention of Darcy’s mother created a pang in Elizabeth’s chest. Another relationship lost to circumstance—William would never know his grandmother, who by all accounts had been as kind as she was dignified.
A companionable silence fell between them as both women contemplated the man who connected them. Elizabeth found herself absently reaching for the chain around her neck, her fingers finding the hard outline of the ring beneath her bodice.
Lady Eleanor’s sharp eyes missed nothing. “You gave him back his belongings, I understand.”
“Yes. Everything except…” Elizabeth’s hand stilled at her neckline.
“Except his signet ring,” Lady Eleanor finished for her. “Georgiana mentioned you still have it.”
“I should return it. It’s a family heirloom, passed down through generations of Darcys. ”
“Yet you hesitate,” Lady Eleanor observed, her tone gentle rather than accusatory.
“It’s the only proof I have,” Elizabeth admitted softly. “The marriage license was stolen, the registry page mysteriously blank, and the clergyman vanished. Without this ring…”
She trailed off, unable to complete the thought. Without the ring, what tangible evidence remained of her marriage? What proof could she offer that she was more than a fallen woman with an illegitimate child?
“Is that the only reason?” Lady Eleanor pressed gently. “Or is there something else that prevents you from returning it?”
Elizabeth met the older woman’s gaze, finding unexpected understanding there. “I fear he would explain it away,” she confessed. “That he would create some rational explanation for how his signet ring came into my possession that does not involve marriage.”
“And the truth is too precious to risk,” Lady Eleanor finished for her.
“The truth is that he placed it on my finger himself,” Elizabeth said, the memory so vivid it brought unexpected tears to her eyes. “That he looked into my eyes and promised to return to me, to protect me, to honor our marriage. That for one brief, perfect moment, he chose me.”
Lady Eleanor studied her with gentle understanding. “You still love him.”
It wasn’t a question, but Elizabeth found herself responding as if it were. “How can I? The man I married exists only in my memory now.”
“And yet you do not despise him.” Eleanor’s gaze was steady, knowing.
Elizabeth attempted a deflection. “I never said?—”
“My dear,” Eleanor interrupted softly, “you need not tell me what I already perceive. I have watched you these weeks. The way your eyes follow him when you think no one sees. The way your temper rises only because your heart is already engaged.”
Elizabeth drew back, her cheeks hot. “You mistake pity for affection.”
“Do I?” Eleanor’s smile was kind, almost maternal. “Then answer me this plainly: if you did not love him, would his blundering words wound you so deeply?”
The room seemed to tilt. Elizabeth, who had faced down pompous clergymen, imperious dowagers, and even Darcy himself, suddenly found herself without defense. She pressed her lips together, struggling for composure.
Eleanor’s kind eyes took her in. “There is no shame in love, Elizabeth. Least of all in loving a man who, for all his faults, clearly adores you—even if he cannot yet remember why.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, suddenly weary of pretense. “Yes,” she whispered. “Though it defies all reason and sense. When he looks at me with confusion, trying to reconcile the pull he feels with what he believes to be true… when he struggles to understand why I affect him so deeply…”
“When he promises to be worthy of your forbearance?” Lady Eleanor suggested.
Elizabeth’s eyes opened in surprise. “Georgiana has been quite thorough in her report.”
“She worries for you both. As do I.”