Page 62 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
“Should have trusted what, Lizzy?” Mary’s voice remained gentle, but her gaze had grown uncomfortably penetrating.
“That you would not have compromised yourself with a clergyman? Based on what information? You told him yourself that you had refused a gentleman’s offer and been cast out by your family as a result.
What other conclusion was he to draw when confronted with a child named William born nine months after such an incident? ”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, then closed it as the full implications of Mary’s observation struck her.
She had indeed told Darcy about Collins’s proposal and her family’s reaction to her refusal.
She had spoken of her disgrace, her exile, her reduced circumstances.
From his perspective, with no memory of their actual history, what other explanation would have made sense?
“I never told him Collins was William’s father,” she said weakly.
“You never told him Collins was not William’s father,” Mary countered.
“You never told him about your marriage, about the attack, about any of the actual circumstances. You allowed him to construct his own explanation based on incomplete information and then punished him for reaching the wrong conclusion.”
“I could not simply announce that we were married,” Elizabeth protested. “Not without proof, not when he clearly had no memory of such events. I would have appeared mad, or worse, opportunistic.”
“Yet you punished him for failing to remember what you refused to help him recall.” Mary resumed their march toward the farmhouse, and Lizzy was forced to stay abreast. “Did it never occur to you to share memories that might have helped restore his own? To speak of your time in Hertfordshire, to mention mutual acquaintances, to provide the sort of gentle guidance that might have eased his confusion?”
Elizabeth felt the foundation of her righteous anger begin to shift beneath her feet. “I… that is, Dr. Harrison advised against forcing memories…”
“Dr. Harrison advised against shocking revelations, not against gentle conversation that might naturally prompt recollection.” Mary’s voice remained patient, but Elizabeth detected a note of firm correction. “There is a considerable difference between demanding recognition and offering assistance.”
“You do not understand the delicacy of the situation,” Elizabeth began, but Mary interrupted with uncharacteristic firmness.
“I understand that you were hurt and frightened and protecting yourself from further pain. I also understand that your protection came at the cost of his continued suffering, and that you seemed rather… satisfied… to witness that suffering as payment for what he could not remember doing to you.”
The accusation, delivered with Mary’s quiet precision, struck Elizabeth with devastating accuracy.
She had taken a certain bitter satisfaction in Darcy’s confusion, had felt justified in allowing him to struggle with questions she could have helped answer.
She had told herself it was caution, wisdom, appropriate guarding of her heart—but Mary’s gentle dissection revealed the less admirable truth beneath such noble justifications.
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said stiffly, “you might have shared these observations sooner, if you found my conduct so objectionable.”
“I found your conduct understandable,” Mary corrected.
“You had endured months of uncertainty and fear, believing yourself abandoned by the man you loved. When he returned with no memory of you or your marriage, it must have felt like abandonment all over again. Your anger was natural, Lizzy. But anger, however justified, can blind us to our contributions to the very problems we protest.”
Elizabeth sank onto an overturned crate Graham had left on the pathway for rest while she was heavily with child. “You believe I was cruel to him.”
“I believe you were hurt, and that hurt sometimes makes us cruel without intending to be.” Mary moved to sit beside her sister on a fallen log, her expression reflecting compassion rather than judgment.
“I also believe that Mr. Darcy loves you deeply, despite his confusion and mistakes. His pain at your coldness was quite evident to anyone who cared to observe.”
“His pain,” Elizabeth repeated hollowly, thinking of the wounded confusion in Darcy’s eyes whenever she had treated him with icy politeness, the way he had flinched at her formal address, and the careful distance he had maintained as if afraid of causing further offense.
Elizabeth buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed by the weight of her sister’s careful observations. “You must think me a horrible person.”
“I think you are a person who has been hurt and who responded to that hurt as most people do—by protecting yourself and, perhaps, seeking a measure of revenge against the one you believed had caused your pain.” Mary’s voice carried no condemnation, only compassionate understanding.
“The question now is whether you wish to continue down that path or choose a different direction.”
“What other direction is there?” Elizabeth asked miserably, covering her face with shame.
“I have treated him abominably, made it clear that I expect nothing from him but legal acknowledgment. That he had forever lost my heart. Why would he wish to repair a relationship with someone who has shown him such little mercy?”
“Perhaps,” Mary suggested carefully, “because he loves you? Because he is fighting to recover not just legal documents but the family he lost through circumstances beyond his control? Because he recognizes, as you are beginning to, that both of you have made mistakes that contributed to this situation?”
Elizabeth looked up at her sister through her fingers, noting the gentle wisdom in Mary’s expression, the absence of judgment despite the harshness of her observations. “When did you become so perceptive about matters of the heart?”
A soft blush colored Mary’s cheeks. “Observation, as I mentioned, provides excellent education. Almost two years. First with Mr. Pullen and his careful tending of you and William, and now both men gone to rescue your dignity, to repair your disappointment, and yes, to restore William’s rightful place. But mostly, I suspect, to please you.”
“Mary!” Elizabeth kicked at the fallen apple basket in reflex. “How dare you speculate about Mr. Pullen’s affections. He has only ever been a friend to me and William.”
“Is this not something we may discuss?” Mary asked, her expression genuinely curious. “Mr. Pullen’s feelings have been evident to anyone with eyes to see. Even Mr. Darcy noted them, I believe.”
Elizabeth picked up her end of the basket, her cheeks hot despite the cool air. “It is not a topic I choose to address. Mrs. Honywood will be waiting on these for the apple tarts William loves so much.”
“Because it complicates matters,” Mary suggested, keeping pace beside her. “Or because it forces recognition of certain… inconsistencies… in your own conduct?”
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth’s voice sharpened with indignation. “What inconsistencies might those be?”
Mary sighed, her breath forming a visible cloud in the chill air. “Before Mr. Darcy’s arrival, you permitted Mr. Pullen considerable closeness with William. He carved toys for him, held him when he took his first steps, became a figure of stability and affection in his life.”
“Graham was kind to us when kindness was in short supply,” Elizabeth defended, though a flicker of unease stirred in her chest at Mary’s observation. “I was grateful for his friendship.”
“Of course,” Mary acknowledged. “Yet when Mr. Darcy arrived, that friendship was redefined. Mr. Pullen was returned to his proper place as steward, while William was encouraged to form attachment to his father—a father who did not know him as such.”
“Mary, you cannot possibly suggest?—”
“I suggest nothing. I merely observe. As the quietest of five sisters, I have had ample opportunity to watch from the corners of rooms while the rest of you circle in constant commotion. One develops a certain clarity of vision when one is seldom the center of attention.”
They had reached the kitchen door, but Elizabeth found herself reluctant to enter, to end this unexpectedly challenging conversation. Instead, she set the basket down on a nearby bench, gesturing for Mary to do the same.
“You believe I have treated Graham unfairly,” she said, framing it as a statement rather than a question.
“I believe,” Mary replied carefully, “that you have treated him inconsistently. He was permitted closeness when it served William’s needs for a male presence, then relegated to his proper station when Mr. Darcy arrived—without acknowledgment of what that demotion might cost him.”
“I never encouraged his… personal feelings,” she said, though the defense sounded empty.
“Perhaps not explicitly,” Mary agreed. “Yet you must have recognized them.”
Elizabeth sighed, gazing out across the kitchen garden where frost had transformed the remaining herbs into crystalline sculptures. “I did. Though I made it clear from the beginning that my heart was not free to offer.”
“Because it remains with Mr. Darcy,” Mary stated. “Despite everything.”
“Despite everything,” Elizabeth echoed, her fingers moving to touch the chain around her neck where Darcy’s signet ring rested beneath her dress. “Though at present, that attachment brings little joy to either of us.”
“Perhaps it is time to face your own culpability in your affairs.” Mary avoided her gaze, pretending inordinate interest in a dried rose. “That you are not only the affronted one, that you are quick to point out offense from others but do not comprehend the contribution of your own actions.”