Page 45 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
“Why, you’ll lead the opening dance, naturally,” Georgiana replied, her eyes bright with secrets he could not decipher. “It’s tradition for the master of the estate to open the festivities by dancing with the prettiest unmarried lady present.”
“But my leg.” Darcy didn’t dare glance at Elizabeth, who in his estimation held that particular distinction.
“Has healed enough that you didn’t need a cane to fetch Miss Elizabeth through the rain,” Georgiana said, beginning to sound as authoritative as Aunt Eleanor. “Brother, I’m confident you have already identified your proper partner.”
That afternoon, Darcy joined the tenant farmers and their families in the south field. Elizabeth was already there with her son who toddled among the assembled children with familiarity. She, too, seemed perfectly at ease despite her genteel upbringing.
Elizabeth had changed from her morning dress into something more practical—a gown of deep blue wool that would not show inevitable stains from their outdoor work.
The color complemented her complexion admirably, while her hair, partially confined beneath a wide-brimmed straw bonnet, framed her face in a way that struck him as almost deliberately alluring.
The sight should not have affected Darcy as powerfully as it did.
Yet watching Elizabeth’s unconscious grace with the tenants—her genuine interest in their conversation, her lack of condescension despite the social gulf that separated them—he felt something fundamental shift within his chest. Here was no artificial performance of benevolent superiority, but authentic engagement with people she clearly valued as individuals rather than social inferiors.
And William… the child’s easy acceptance among children who knew nothing of his irregular birth, his obvious confidence in his welcome wherever he chose to wander, suggested a security that spoke well of his mother’s careful nurturing.
Whatever mistakes Elizabeth had made in her past, whatever weaknesses had led to her current circumstances, she had clearly succeeded in raising a son who possessed both affection and self-assurance.
He wanted this, Darcy realized with stunning clarity.
This warmth, this sense of belonging, this demonstration of family unity that radiated from Elizabeth and her son like heat from a well-tended hearth.
He wanted it with a desperation that terrified him precisely because it flew in the face of every principle that had governed his adult life.
“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Penrose called, her weathered face brightening as she noticed his arrival. “How good of you to join our preparations. Miss Elizabeth was just asking about the traditional patterns for corn dollies. ”
Thus summoned, Darcy had little choice but to approach the gathering, nodding politely to the assembled tenants who responded with varying degrees of pleasure and surprise. Clearly, his presence at such activities was unusual enough to warrant both comment and speculation.
“I confess my knowledge of corn dollies is somewhat theoretical,” he admitted, accepting the space Elizabeth made for him on the woven blanket. “My education was regrettably lacking in agricultural artistry.”
“A grave oversight in any gentleman’s preparation for estate management,” Elizabeth replied. “How does one properly govern rural properties without intimate knowledge of harvest traditions?”
“Through careful delegation to those more competent than oneself,” Darcy replied with deliberate dryness. “A skill I have had ample opportunity to perfect through years of conscious incompetence.”
“Da-da up!” William called, toddling over with arms outstretched in an unmistakable demand for attention.
Darcy should have demurred politely. A gentleman of his standing did not typically serve as entertainment for children, particularly those whose parentage raised uncomfortable questions about propriety and social boundaries.
Yet the absolute trust in William’s dark eyes, the complete certainty that his request would be granted without question or hesitation, made refusal impossible.
“It appears I’ve been recruited for more active participation,” he said, lifting the child, Elizabeth’s son, he reminded himself.
William settled against his shoulder with the contentment of one who had never doubted his welcome. His small hand gripped Darcy’s coat with possessive confidence while his dark curls tickled against Darcy’s neck in a sensation that was both foreign and achingly familiar.
“Such a blessing,” one of the tenant wives said, “to see a family so well-suited to each other. Your wife has such a natural way with the tenants, Mr. Darcy, and young Master William is clearly thriving under both your influences.”
Darcy’s heart fluttered as he cast around for words that would not insult Elizabeth.
Instead, she spoke first, “You are very kind, Mrs. Hartwell, but?—”
“Mama! Da-see!” William interrupted, bouncing against Darcy’s shoulder with enthusiasm that effectively drowned out whatever explanation Elizabeth had been attempting. “Play! Play!”
The child’s babbled demands, delivered with such obvious delight in his current position, seemed to confirm Mrs. Hartwell’s assumption rather than contradict it.
Several other women nodded approvingly at the scene, their expressions reflecting the particular satisfaction that attended witnessing domestic harmony.
“Such a dear boy,” murmured Mrs. Thompson, whose own grandchildren were scattered among the playing children. “And so clearly devoted to his papa. One can always tell when a child feels secure in a father’s love.”
Darcy felt heat rise in his face at the continued misidentification, yet found himself curiously reluctant to issue the correction that propriety demanded.
To be mistaken for William’s father, for Elizabeth’s husband, stirred something deep in his chest that had nothing to do with social embarrassment and everything to do with a longing he barely dared acknowledge.
“Thank you,” he found himself saying, his voice rougher than intended. “William is indeed exceptional.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his failure to correct the assumption, though whether in surprise, dismay, or something more complex, he could not determine. The moment stretched between them, weighted with implications neither dared address directly.
“Come now,” Mrs. Penrose said briskly, “let’s show Mr. Darcy how proper corn dollies are fashioned. Can’t have the master of Bellfield ignorant of such essential skills.”
What followed was a tumult of flying stalks, tangled twine, and increasingly elaborate instructions from Mrs. Penrose that seemed to grow more complex with each failure.
Children darted between the adults, offering unhelpful suggestions and occasionally absconding with critical materials.
William, delighted by the general disorder, participated by flinging stalks and twine at Darcy with equal measure.
By the time they had to return to the house, William had begun to drowse against Darcy’s shoulder, his small body growing heavier with each step.
“I can take him,” Elizabeth offered, reaching for her son.
“Allow me,” Darcy said, surprising himself with the offer. “He seems quite settled.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then nodded. “He’s grown quite heavy for me to carry back from the fields.”
“Then I’m delighted to assist,” he said. “Georgiana is right. My leg has strengthened as has my back. I suppose I can be used as a draft horse for your purposes.”
“Why, Mr. Darcy, I didn’t take you for a jester.” Elizabeth’s laughter stirred a half-forgotten chord inside of him.
He wanted this. Her simple presence by his side. The child in his arms, warm and trusting. The casual comments from the tenants about their assumed domestic happiness.
“There is a place,” he said suddenly, the idea forming even as he spoke. “A spot on the eastern boundary of the estate. A hill with an ancient oak tree at its summit. I used to go there as a boy when I wished for solitude.”
Elizabeth’s expression showed polite interest, though she clearly wondered at this abrupt change of subject. “It sounds lovely.”
“It offers an excellent view of the surrounding countryside,” Darcy continued, committed now to his impulsive plan.
“The autumn colors would be particularly striking from that vantage point. I thought perhaps… that is, if you and William would care to join me tomorrow… a walking party, with Georgiana and Miss Mary as well, of course.”
The invitation emerged with less grace than he had intended. Yet Elizabeth’s expression brightened with what appeared to be pleasure.
“That sounds delightful,” she said. “William loves nothing better than an expedition, and I confess I’ve explored less of Bellfield’s grounds than I should like.”
“Excellent,” Darcy said, inexplicably pleased by her ready acceptance. “We shall make a proper adventure of it.”
They reached the house and parted ways, Elizabeth’s glance back at him as she took her son speaking volumes he dared not interpret. Did she welcome his attention? After he had insulted her? Treated her as beneath him?
And yet, he could not bring himself to regret the impropriety, the entanglement that defied every principle of appropriate conduct he’d been taught. When in her company, he could no longer think of the social chasm between them or the shock and scandal dealt by proper society.
Elizabeth Bennet deserved better than abandonment by a man lacking the courage to acknowledge his own child. William deserved a father figure who would guide and protect him as he grew.
Whatever memories Darcy had lost, whatever past connections remained shrouded in fog, he could still choose his future path. He was falling irrevocably in love with Elizabeth Bennet, and had already surrendered his heart completely to her son.
He would choose Elizabeth and William and defy every social convention he had ever known. So help him, God.