Page 47 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

Behind them, William’s delighted squeals punctuated the air as Mary and Georgiana swung him between them, each holding one of his small hands as they ascended the path.

Their unlikely partnership in childcare—the serious, practical Mary and the gentle, artistic Georgiana—had produced an ease that transformed both young women in William’s presence.

Even Mary’s typically solemn countenance had softened into genuine amusement at the boy’s antics.

“Take care not to launch him into flight,” Elizabeth called back, though her warning held more amusement than concern. “He already believes himself capable of scaling trees without assistance.”

“We shall keep him earthbound,” Mary assured her, though she made no move to cease the swinging that clearly delighted her nephew.

At the summit, the view expanded in a panorama of autumnal splendor.

Rolling hills stretched to the horizon, patch-worked with fields in various stages of harvest. The village of Millby was visible in the distance, its church spire rising above the cluster of stone cottages.

Closer at hand, Bellfield Grange nestled in its sheltering valley, smoke rising from the chimneys to mingle with the clear air.

“It is even more beautiful than I remembered,” Darcy said. “Some things, it seems, remain unchanged despite the passage of time.”

His eyes drifted from the landscape to meet Elizabeth’s, lingering there with an intensity that sent a tremor of awareness through her. Was he speaking only of the view? Or had some deeper meaning slipped past his conscious guard?

Elizabeth’s breath caught, and her heart performed a series of treacherous skips. She had spent weeks maintaining careful distance, guarding against precisely this sort of moment—when hope might override caution, when the connection between them seemed to transcend his fractured memory.

“Beauty has that quality,” she managed to reply, her voice steadier than she felt. “Of remaining true to itself regardless of who beholds it, or how many times.”

His gaze drank her in, as if he considered the permanence of truth, whether recollected or not.

For a heartbeat, she imagined he saw her once again, as a maiden in Meryton, a country lass verbally jousting with him at Netherfield, and the woman he chose to protect at the Red Lion, the one he’d promised to cherish…

The spell was broken by William’s excited squeal, demanding a biscuit from Georgiana.

“Come,” Georgiana said, spreading the blanket Mrs. Honywood had provided. “Let us enjoy the refreshments at this picturesque viewpoint.”

Mary unpacked the basket, revealing an assortment of bread, cheese, apples, and small cakes. Soon, William’s hands were full as well as his chubby cheeks. Elizabeth wiped his hands and face fussily, with him squirming out of her grasp.

“I should not be concerned about the amount of dirt he enjoys.” Darcy winked, reminding Elizabeth of Lady Anne’s pronouncement on dirt related to fun.

“Then I suppose William will rival your ability on both measures.” She let her son go, keeping an eye on him as he scattered dry leaves with a stick.

The conversation flowed with unexpected ease, ranging from local history to music to literature.

Elizabeth found herself drawn into a lively debate with Darcy about the merits of Wordsworth’s latest publication, surprised by the depth of his literary knowledge and the thoughtfulness of his opinions.

“You disagree with my assessment?” Darcy asked, his tone suggesting interest rather than offense at her contrary view.

“I believe Wordsworth captures something essential about the relationship between nature and human experience,” Elizabeth replied. “His simplicity is deliberate, not a failure of craft.”

“Yet one could argue that true mastery lies in expressing complex ideas with precision rather than simplicity,” Darcy countered.

“Unless the idea itself is best conveyed through simple language,” Elizabeth returned. “Some experiences are diminished by excessive ornamentation.”

Darcy considered this, his expression reflecting genuine engagement with her perspective. “A fair point. I concede that there are instances where simplicity serves the subject better than elaboration.”

“Mark this day in history,” Georgiana declared with sisterly amusement. “Fitzwilliam Darcy has conceded a literary argument.”

“I yield only to superior reasoning, never to sentiment,” Darcy replied with mock severity, though his eyes held a warmth that belied his tone.

Elizabeth found herself laughing, caught up in the unexpected pleasure of intellectual exchange with a worthy opponent.

How long had it been since she had engaged in such conversation?

At Longbourn, her father had been her only real partner in literary discussions, and even he had grown increasingly withdrawn in the years before her departure.

It was only as the laughter subsided that Elizabeth realized William was no longer visible.

Panic flooded her veins and she rose to her feet, calling, “William. William, where are you?”

Elizabeth’s heart began to race, her mind immediately conjuring images of steep drops, hidden hazards, her curious son venturing too far from safety.

“He was just here,” Mary said, also standing to survey the surrounding area. “I saw him not two minutes ago.”

“William!” Elizabeth called again, her voice sharper with rising concern.

Darcy was on his feet in an instant, his expression shifting from relaxed to alert. “He cannot have gone far,” he said with calm authority that Elizabeth found surprisingly reassuring. “We shall find him.”

“He may have gone down the path we came up,” Georgiana suggested, already moving toward the woodland trail.

“Or around the other side of the hill,” Mary added, pointing to where the ground sloped more gently toward a meadow.

“We’ll separate,” Darcy decided quickly. “Georgiana, check the path we ascended. Mary, the meadow to the west. Elizabeth and I will circle the hilltop. He’s likely still nearby.”

“William!” Elizabeth screamed, running in circles around a massive oak. Her eyes darted from rock to bush to wooly clumps of grazing sheep.

“He’s always following the sheep dogs,” Elizabeth said, pointing down toward a small flock visible in a lower pasture. Her feet were already taking her down the slope, slipping and sliding. Darcy held her hand as they descended toward the sheep pasture.

What if he had fallen? What if some stranger had—no, she would not allow herself to consider such possibilities. Not yet .

“There!” Darcy’s voice cut through her spiraling fears, his hand touching her arm briefly to direct her attention. “By the stone wall.”

Relief flooded through Elizabeth as she spotted a small figure seated on a fallen log, apparently deep in conversation with a particularly woolly sheep that regarded him with placid curiosity from the other side of the low wall.

“William!” she called, quickening her pace.

The boy looked up at the sound of her voice, his expression brightening. “Mama! Ba-Ba-Ba.”

Elizabeth reached him in moments, kneeling to gather him into a fierce embrace that likely communicated more of her fear than she had intended. “You must not wander off like that,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts at composure. “We were worried.”

“Da-see!” William beseeched his intervention. “Ba Ba See. Up!”

“Perhaps, young man, you should inform your mother before embarking on sightseeing missions to neighboring kingdoms.” Darcy reached down and placed William on his shoulders so he could get a better view.

Elizabeth caught her breath, fanning herself, embarrassed by her panic. William was safe. The sheep had proved to be a benign companion.

“Are you well?” Darcy asked quietly, his perceptive gaze noting her unsteadiness.

“Yes,” Elizabeth assured him. “Though I find my knees somewhat less reliable than before.”

Darcy, ever the gentleman, offered Elizabeth his solid arm. They met Georgiana and Mary on the path.

“We should return to the house,” Mary suggested, practical as always. “William has had enough excitement for one day, I think.”

They reached Bellfield as the afternoon light began to soften toward evening. William, drowsy from the day’s adventures, had fallen asleep against Darcy’s shoulder during the final portion of their walk.

“I can take him now,” Elizabeth offered as they entered the house.

“Allow me,” Darcy replied quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. “He is no burden.”

Something in his tone, in the protective way he cradled William against his chest, caused Elizabeth’s carefully maintained composure to waver. This was how it should have been from the beginning—Darcy holding his son, caring for him, sharing the responsibility of his upbringing.

She led the way to William’s nursery, Darcy following with his precious burden. The boy did not stir as Darcy gently placed him on his small bed, his expression peaceful in sleep.

“He is remarkably trusting,” Darcy observed softly as they withdrew to the corridor. “To sleep so soundly in the presence of others.”

“Children who feel secure in their surroundings can surrender to sleep without fear,” Elizabeth replied. “It is a gift I have tried to ensure he never loses.”

Darcy studied her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “You are an excellent mother, Miss Bennet. William is fortunate indeed.”

The compliment, delivered with evident sincerity, touched Elizabeth more deeply than she had anticipated. “Thank you. That means a great deal, coming from you.”

They stood in the corridor, the quality of silence between them shifting from comfortable to something more charged. Elizabeth found herself acutely aware of his proximity, of the way the afternoon light illuminated the strong planes of his face, the warmth in his dark eyes.

“Today has been…” Darcy began, then paused as if searching for the right words.

“Enlightening?” Elizabeth suggested with a small smile.

“Yes, and enjoyable, despite William’s adventure. Your son is a remarkable child, Miss Bennet.”

Our son , Elizabeth thought but could not say. He is our son, and he carries your determination, your intelligence, your sensitivity beneath his childish enthusiasm.

“I think so,” she said instead. “Though I admit to considerable bias in the matter.”

“A mother’s privilege,” Darcy acknowledged. “I can only aspire… perhaps.”

His gaze held hers, so intense like the night he cradled her in his arms. It would so simple to tell him the truth. But she held back. It wasn’t because of Dr. Harrison or Eleanor’s theories of memory.

No. It was fear. Fear of his reaction. His possible rejection. That she was a liar. A fortune hunter. A woman who would entrap him.

“Miss Bennet,” Darcy cleared his throat. “If I have offended you.”

“No offense, Mr. Darcy.” She couldn’t look away, aware of her boldness. “I’m storing memories of this expedition. Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I treasure these moments.”

“And I too.” His fingers grazed her cheek, drawing fire through her veins. “Elizabeth, do you think it’s possible? To have feelings without remembering their cause? To miss someone one cannot specifically recall?”

“Yes…” she barely breathed, gazing at him through watery eyes. “I think the heart forms connections separate from thought. A mother’s love experienced before memory exists. The arms that holds one through the night, felt but not seen, the love that persists even when the moments are lost.”

“Yes…” His gaze lowered to her lips. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

And there, outside of their son’s nursery, he kissed her, softly and then with greater ardor, inch by inch reclaiming the connections lost from his mind, but felt nonetheless by the pulsing of their hearts.