Page 54 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE RING OF TRUTH

Elizabeth waited for Darcy to speak, unable to meet his gaze.

She had almost followed Lady Eleanor from the drawing room.

Collins’s insinuations had left her both furious and despondent, worried that Lady Eleanor’s opinion of her might change.

All she wanted was to find William and hold him tight.

To protect her son from the harmful implications that shadowed his innocent young life.

“Miss Bennet.” Darcy’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Elizabeth. I must apologize for subjecting you to that unpleasant scene. Had I known Collins would be so… offensive… I would have refused him admittance.”

Elizabeth looked up, startled by both his use of her Christian name and the sincerity in his tone. “You need not apologize, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Collins’s behavior is his responsibility, not yours.”

“Nevertheless, his appearance has clearly distressed you.” Darcy moved from the fireplace to sit opposite her, his movements careful and deliberate, as if approaching a woodland creature that might startle at any sudden gesture. “I wish to assure you that I place no credence in his accusations.”

“Yet, I wonder, sir, why he seemed most insistent in gaining your agreement.” She noticed his shoulders tighten as he shifted his posture.

“Collins’s accusations aside—and I give them little credence—the fact remains that your situation here at Bellfield is irregular.

” Darcy began pacing before the fireplace, his movements betraying an agitation he was clearly struggling to contain.

“Perhaps now is an appropriate moment to address your condition.”

Elizabeth’s heart began to beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs. His words suggested she suffered from an incurable malady.

She strengthened herself. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

“I must admit,” he began, his hands clasped together as if to prevent some impulsive movement. “When I first arrived, I confess I regarded your presence here with some confusion and, I must admit, suspicion.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Elizabeth murmured, though her throat had gone dry, recalling how he had believed her to be Mrs. Pullen.

“But as we have become better acquainted, I have found myself increasingly drawn to your company. Your intelligence, your wit, your remarkable dignity in circumstances that would break a lesser woman…” He paused, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands before returning to her face.

“In short, Elizabeth, I find myself unable to imagine Bellfield—or Pemberley—without your presence.”

The direction of his speech was unmistakable now, and Elizabeth felt a curious detachment descend over her, as if she were observing the scene from a distance rather than participating in it.

This was not how she had imagined their reconciliation—not with Darcy still ignorant of their true connection, still believing her a fallen woman in need of rescue.

“I am aware,” Darcy continued, his voice gaining confidence as he believed her silence was assent, “that conventional society would regard an attachment between us as… inappropriate. But I find that such considerations weigh less heavily upon me than they once did.”

“How incredibly progressive of you.” Her voice remained level. “ And what, pray tell, are the considerations that since lightened the load you shouldered?”

“I’m referring to your… son.” His expression softened. “William is a remarkable child. Intelligent, spirited, with natural qualities that any man would be proud to nurture. I have grown exceedingly fond of him.”

“Have you indeed?”

“I have,” Darcy confirmed, missing the sharp edge in her tone.

“In fact, I have been considering a formal wardship arrangement that would secure his future. With the proper education and guidance, there is no reason he could not take his place in society as a gentleman, despite the… irregularity… of his birth.”

Each word fell like a stone into the pool of Elizabeth’s soul. “How very generous of you, Mr. Darcy.”

“Not generosity,” he corrected quickly. “It would be my privilege to provide for William’s future. And for yours as well, Elizabeth.”

Here it was—the moment she had simultaneously dreaded and anticipated since his arrival at Bellfield. Elizabeth sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, as Darcy rose and moved to sit beside her on the settee.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “despite the unconventional nature of our acquaintance, I find myself deeply attached to you. Your presence has become essential to my happiness. I would be honored if you would consider becoming my wife.”

He clearly believed he was pressing an advantage, that he had championed her cause. Yet all she could hear beneath the words was the unspoken qualification: despite your past indiscretion, despite your fallen status, despite the child born out of wedlock.

“Mr. Darcy,” she began, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within, “I find myself… amazed by your proposal.”

Hope flared briefly in his eyes before her tone registered. “Amazed? I had hoped for a more positive reaction.”

“How could I not be amazed?” Elizabeth continued, rising from the settee to put distance between them. “You offer marriage to a woman you believe compromised by another man. You propose to make my son—a child you believe illegitimate—your ward. Such… magnanimity… is indeed astonishing.”

Darcy rose as well, confusion evident in his expression. “Elizabeth, I assure you my offer stems not from magnanimity but from genuine attachment. Whatever circumstances led to your present situation?—”

“That is precisely the point, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth interrupted, her composure beginning to crack. “You speak of my ‘situation’ and ‘circumstances’ as if I have committed some transgression for which your proposal offers absolution.”

“I intended no such implication,” Darcy protested, though a flush of color rose to his cheeks that suggested otherwise.

“Did you not?” Elizabeth’s voice remained level, though her heart raced. “You speak of making William your ward—not your son, but your ward. You offer me marriage as if it were a generous concession rather than a mutual commitment between equals.”

“I merely wished to assure you that I understand the complexities of your position?—”

“My position,” Elizabeth repeated, her patience finally snapping. “And what position is that, precisely? A fallen woman? A ruined gentlewoman grateful for any respectable offer? Is that truly how you see me, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy appeared startled by her vehemence. “Elizabeth, I hold you in the highest esteem. Your strength of character?—”

“Did you ever consider,” she interrupted, “that a woman of character would not so casually abandon her principles? That perhaps your understanding of my situation might be fundamentally flawed?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Darcy’s features. “If I have misunderstood?—”

“Did you truly believe me capable of such weakness with Mr. Collins? A man I have always held in contempt?” Elizabeth’s voice shook slightly, though her gaze remained steady.

“Or perhaps you imagined some militia officer turned my head? Either way, you believed me the sort of woman who would surrender her virtue outside the bonds of matrimony, then seek protection from a family of consequence.”

“I never?—”

“You did,” Elizabeth contradicted quietly. “What manner of woman do you imagine would accept the proposal you have just offered? What sort of creature would be grateful to discover herself the object of such charitable consideration?”

Darcy stood speechless, his expression a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension. Elizabeth felt a curious lightness in her chest, as if each word released a burden she had carried far too long.

“I am not, nor have I ever been, in need of your charity, Mr. Darcy,” she said, reaching for the chain she wore beneath her dress. “What I required was your faith in my character.”

She drew forth the silver chain. The Darcy crest gleamed on the signet ring, the one she’d been carrying close to her heart for almost two years.

Darcy’s face went absolutely white. His lips moved soundlessly as he stared at the ring that had once graced his own finger, the symbol of his family’s heritage and his position as master of Pemberley.

“Where did you…” he whispered.

“This ring,” Elizabeth said with crystalline clarity, “was placed upon my finger by my husband on the third of December, 1811, at the Red Lion Inn in Barnet. I have worn it every day since, first as a wedding band, then upon this chain when my condition made wearing it impossible.”

The color drained from Darcy’s face as he stared at the ring, then at Elizabeth, then back to the ring. “Married?” he whispered. “We are… married?”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy. I am already your wife.” Elizabeth’s voice remained steady, though her heart felt as if it might shatter. “William is not a ward to be taken in through charity, but your legitimate son and heir.”

Darcy sank slowly back onto the settee, his legs seemingly unable to support him. “William is my son,” he repeated, the words emerging as a statement rather than a question.

“He is,” Elizabeth confirmed. “William Fitzwilliam Darcy, named for his father and grandfather.”

“But why… why did you not tell me?” Darcy asked, his voice rough with emotion. “When I arrived at Bellfield, why keep such a truth from me?”

“Dr. Harrison advised against forcing memories that must return naturally,” Elizabeth explained, though the justification sounded hollow now that such misunderstandings arose.

“Lady Eleanor believed that presenting you with such significant revelations too soon might cause a setback in your recovery.”

“So you allowed me to believe…” Darcy’s voice trailed off, his expression hardening as the implications sank in. “You watched me struggle with my feelings for you, believing you compromised by another man, and said nothing?”

“I tried, in a hundred small ways,” Elizabeth replied, a crack in her heart widening. “But you were so certain of your own understanding, so convinced of my reduced circumstances, that you could not see the truth before your eyes.”

Darcy’s breathing had become shallow and rapid. He pressed a hand against his temple. “But… the attack… I cannot remember…” his voice broke entirely.

“You cannot remember,” Elizabeth finished for him.

“Yes, I understand. What I cannot understand is how the same man who once held me through a storm-lashed night and promised to protect me could stand in this very room and offer me charity as if I were a fallen creature grateful for his condescension.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes, though her voice remained steady.

“The man I married saw my worth when I was truly fallen—cast out by my family, with nothing but the clothes on my back and no prospects beyond the charity of strangers. He did not offer me his protection grudgingly or with the expectation of gratitude. He offered it freely, as one equal to another, because he believed I deserved better than the world was prepared to give me.”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy began, reaching for her hand, but she stepped back, maintaining the distance between them.

“That man,” she continued, her voice growing softer but no less devastating, “respected me enough to believe I would not throw myself at any gentleman who showed me attention. He knew my character well enough to trust that my affections, once given, were not bestowed lightly or withdrawn easily.”

“I never meant?—”

“What you meant, Mr. Darcy, matters considerably less than what you said. And what you have said, with perfect clarity, is that you consider me a fallen woman in need of redemption through your generous intervention.”

Elizabeth fastened the chain about her neck once more, the ring disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress.

“I find I must decline your generous offer of marriage, Mr. Darcy. I am already married, you see. To a man who once respected me enough to believe in my virtue without requiring proof of it.”

Darcy’s composure cracked entirely, and tears shone in his eyes. “Elizabeth, I… forgive me, I did not understand… Surely we can begin again. I bear true affection for you.”

The plea in his voice nearly undid her resolve, but Elizabeth stood firm.

“For William’s sake, I will acknowledge our marriage publicly.

He deserves his birthright, and I will not allow your injuries to rob him of what is rightfully his.

But do not mistake legal acknowledgment for reconciliation, Mr. Darcy.

The Fitzwilliam Darcy I married respected me. You, sir, are not that man.”

“Elizabeth, please?—”

“For William’s sake, we will present a united front to the world,” she said quietly. “But the heart you once claimed now lies beyond your reach.”

With that, she turned and walked from the room, her steps measured and her back straight despite the trembling in her limbs. Only when she had reached the sanctuary of her chamber, door firmly closed behind her, did Elizabeth allow the tears to fall.