Page 56 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
The question struck him like a physical blow. Elizabeth’s words echoed once more in his mind: For William’s sake, I will acknowledge our marriage publicly. But the heart you once claimed now lies beyond your reach.
“She has closed her heart to me,” Darcy said, the admission painful even to voice. “She will be my wife in name for William’s sake, but the connection we once shared…” He shook his head, unable to complete the thought.
“Do you love her?” Lady Eleanor asked simply .
“Yes,” Darcy replied without hesitation. “Though I scarcely deserve to claim such a sentiment after how thoroughly I have misunderstood and misjudged her.”
“Then perhaps winning back her trust should take precedence over pursuing Wickham,” Lady Eleanor suggested. “The documents, while important, are secondary to repairing your family.”
Darcy considered this, weighing the competing imperatives that tore at his conscience. “Without those documents, William’s position remains vulnerable,” he concluded. “I cannot secure Elizabeth’s happiness or trust while our son’s future is threatened. The two objectives are inextricably linked.”
Lady Eleanor studied him with the penetrating gaze that had always seen too deeply into his thoughts. “What do you propose to do?”
“I will return to London,” Darcy said, the decision crystallizing as he spoke.
“I will engage the best legal minds to review our options for establishing William’s legitimacy.
I will use every resource at my disposal to locate Wickham and recover what he has stolen.
And…” he hesitated, “I will give Elizabeth space to determine whether she can forgive my appalling behavior.”
“A sensible approach,” Lady Eleanor approved. “Though I would caution against departing too hastily. William has only just found his father. To lose you again so soon would be a cruelty, regardless of the nobility of your intentions.”
The reminder of his son—his son!—sent a surge of emotion through Darcy’s chest that threatened to overwhelm his composure. William’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, those dark eyes so like his own, the small hand reaching trustingly for his.
“You are right,” he conceded, resuming his seat with a heavy exhalation. “I must consider William’s feelings in this as well. Perhaps a few days to establish a plan, to prepare him for my temporary absence…”
“And to attempt some reconciliation with Elizabeth,” Lady Eleanor added pointedly .
Darcy winced at the prospect. “After today’s debacle, I doubt she wishes to speak with me at all.”
“She loves you, you know.”
“Loved,” Darcy corrected with brutal honesty. “Past tense, I believe. The woman who spoke to me in this room made it quite clear that her affections died somewhere between my offering to overlook her supposed moral failings and my generous provision for our son’s illegitimate status.”
Lady Eleanor studied him with the sort of penetrating gaze that had always made him uncomfortable as a child. “You seem remarkably certain of her feelings for someone who has spent the past months being systematically obtuse about the most obvious truths.”
“I am certain because I have just destroyed them,” Darcy replied flatly.
“Whatever regard Elizabeth once held for me, I have successfully poisoned it through my own spectacular blindness. She will acknowledge our marriage for William’s sake, but she has made it abundantly clear that I am to expect nothing beyond legal recognition. ”
“And you accept this judgment as final?”
Darcy met his aunt’s challenging stare with something approaching his old authority. “I accept it as deserved.”
“You underestimate her,” Lady Eleanor said simply. “Elizabeth is hurt and angry, yes, but she is not vindictive. She has protected your connection to William even when you did not recognize it. She has maintained faith in your character despite overwhelming evidence to suggest it was misplaced.”
“And I need to vindicate that faith.” Darcy’s resolve hardened. “Where is Wickham staying?”
“Fitzwilliam, you cannot seriously be contemplating?—”
“Where is George Wickham currently residing, Aunt Eleanor?”
Lady Eleanor studied her nephew’s face, clearly recognizing the futility of argument when confronted with such implacable determination. “His last known address was a series of rooms above a tavern in Southwark. Though given his circumstances, I suspect his residence changes frequently.”
“I shall find him.”
“And then what? Challenge him to a duel? Demand satisfaction like some character from a gothic novel?” Lady Eleanor’s voice carried the sharp edge of genuine alarm. “Fitzwilliam, the man is desperate and dangerous. He has already demonstrated his willingness to commit violence when cornered.”
“Then I shall ensure he understands the consequences of threatening my family.”
“Your family needs you alive and whole, not martyred to your sense of injured honor.” Lady Eleanor rose, moving to block his path to the door. “Elizabeth and William require your protection, not your corpse.”
“They require legitimacy and security, neither of which I can provide while Wickham possesses those documents.” Darcy’s voice carried the cold precision of calculation rather than hot fury.
“I failed Elizabeth once by leaving her vulnerable to his machinations. I will not compound that failure through continued inaction.”
Lady Eleanor stepped aside with obvious reluctance. “If you are determined on this course, at least take Graham with you. And for heaven’s sake, arm yourself properly. Wickham will not hesitate to use whatever weapons come to hand.”
Darcy paused, touched despite himself by his aunt’s concern. “I have no death wish, Aunt. I merely intend to recover what was stolen and ensure that Wickham understands the inadvisability of further interference with my family’s affairs.”
“And what outcome do you truly seek, Fitzwilliam?” she asked, her gaze softening. “Beyond the recovery of documents and Wickham’s punishment. What do you hope to achieve through all this?”
The question caught him off guard, forcing him to look beyond his immediate purpose to the deeper motivation that drove him.
“Most of all,” he admitted quietly, “I wish to be the man Elizabeth married. The Fitzwilliam Darcy who held her through a storm-lashed night at the Red Lion, who saw her value and worth from the first, who accepted her as she was rather than attempting to mold her into what society deemed appropriate.”
“That man still exists within you,” Lady Eleanor said gently. “Perhaps not in your memories, but in your instincts—in the way you responded to William from your first meeting, in your unconscious attraction to Elizabeth despite your belief in her reduced circumstances.”
Darcy nodded slowly, a new resolve hardening within him.
He would recover what Wickham had stolen—not just the documents that secured William’s inheritance, but the trust Elizabeth had once placed in him.
He would become again the man she had married, or perhaps someone better—wiser for his failures and more humble for his mistakes.