Page 66 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE UNFORGIVABLE BENNETS
The approach to Longbourn revealed a house that stirred no recognition in Darcy’s mind, though he could detect signs of reduced circumstances in the less than meticulous attention to the grounds and exterior maintenance.
Although Mary had described the modest estate to him in detail, his interest in it now lay solely with curiosity about Elizabeth’s childhood home.
This was where his dear Elizabeth roamed as a little girl growing into young womanhood.
“Remember,” he said to Graham as they descended from the carriage, “we need not show particular sympathy for their position. These are the people who cast Elizabeth out in her moment of need. That they could be so callous for a daughter…”
“Understood, sir,” Graham replied, his expression somber.
The housekeeper who admitted them appeared startled by the idea of visitors.
“Why, Mr. Darcy, sir!” she exclaimed. “I shall inform Mr. Bennet of your arrival immediately.”
They were shown to a drawing room that appeared shabby, dusty, and cluttered. A pianoforte leaned near the wall, laced with spiderwebs, and various pieces of abandoned needlework lay scattered on the furniture.
“Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bennet’s voice cut through his thoughts. The older man stood in the doorway. “This is unexpected.”
“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy acknowledged with a cool nod, feeling no need to display warmth toward the man who had cared so little for his daughters. “I apologize for calling without prior notice. May I introduce Mr. Graham Pullen, steward of Bellfield Grange in Yorkshire?”
“Yorkshire,” Mr. Bennet repeated, his gaze sharpening with sudden intensity. “Where my daughter Mary currently resides, I believe.”
“Indeed, sir,” Darcy confirmed, noting the conflicting emotions that played across Mr. Bennet’s features at this confirmation. “She is well, despite having been exiled from her family home for the crime of supporting her sister.”
Mr. Bennet’s mouth tightened, but before he could respond, Mrs. Bennet’s voice carried from the hallway, growing in volume as she approached the drawing room.
“Hill says Mr. Darcy has called! Mr. Darcy, here at Longbourn! What can he possibly want after all this time? Oh, my nerves cannot bear such unexpected visitors!”
Darcy winced at the shrillness of her tone, wondering how Elizabeth and her sisters could have endured such a force of nature.
“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat as she swept into the room. “Have you come to torment us further? Is it not enough that we have lost two daughters through these dreadful events?”
“Lost?” Darcy repeated, his voice carrying an edge of ice. “An interesting choice of words, Mrs. Bennet, for daughters who were driven from their home rather than lost through any accident of fate.”
Mrs. Bennet sank into the nearest chair, a handkerchief appearing in her hand. “Oh! That ungrateful girl! To bring such shame upon her family after all our efforts to establish her properly! ”
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet interjected, “perhaps we might hear what Mr. Darcy has to say before indulging in recriminations.”
“What purpose brings you to Hertfordshire, sir?” Mr. Bennet asked dryly.
“Justice,” Darcy replied simply. “I have reason to believe that Mr. Wickham deliberately created a false narrative regarding Elizabeth’s departure—a narrative designed to destroy her reputation while concealing his own crimes.”
Mr. Bennet’s gaze sharpened with sudden interest. “What evidence do you have of this claim, Mr. Darcy? And why, after so much time has passed, do you concern yourself with my daughter’s reputation?”
“Elizabeth is my wife,” he said simply, deciding that directness would serve better than elaboration.
“We were married by special license on December third, 1811, at the Red Lion Inn near Barnet. I was then attacked on the road while securing transportation to London. The marriage documents were stolen, along with other valuables, and I was left for dead.”
The silence that followed this announcement was absolute. Mrs. Bennet’s handkerchief hovered forgotten halfway to her face, while Mr. Bennet’s expression transformed from skepticism to shock to something approaching calculation.
“You expect us to believe,” Mr. Bennet said finally, “that you secretly married our daughter during the very period when she disappeared from Longbourn? Without family present, without announcement, without any of the usual proprieties?”
“The circumstances were unusual,” Darcy acknowledged, meeting the older man’s gaze steadily.
“Elizabeth had been cast out following her refusal of Mr. Collins. I encountered her at the Red Lion, where she had been denied accommodation due to her solitary state. Given the compromising nature of our situation—sharing quarters during a violent storm—marriage became the honorable solution.”
Mrs. Bennet’s gasp cut like the snap of a whip. “Married! My Lizzy, married to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley! Ten thousand a year! And she never said a word!”
“She could not speak of it,” Graham interjected quietly. “With Mr. Darcy unconscious and the marriage documents stolen, she had no proof of the connection.”
“We had heard you were indisposed,” Mr. Bennet said. “However, with our social isolation, no one mentioned you were unconscious. What exactly happened?”
“I was injured gravely and awoke with no memory of the events preceding the attack. It is only recently that I have begun to recover fragments of that missing time—including my marriage to Elizabeth.”
Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair, his expression transforming as he absorbed this information. “So when my wife received that letter from London,” he mused, “the one claiming Lizzy had been compromised by Wickham and fled to escape the consequences…”
“It was a deliberate fabrication,” Darcy confirmed. “Designed to destroy Elizabeth’s reputation.”
“And Wickham?” Mr. Bennet asked, his voice sharpening. “What became of him after this attack?”
“He disappeared from Hertfordshire shortly thereafter,” Darcy explained, “leaving considerable debts and a trail of falsehoods. I am currently tracing his movements, with the intention of recovering the stolen documents and bringing him to justice for his crimes.”
Mrs. Bennet burst into tears—not the affected weeping she typically employed, but what appeared to be genuine distress. “My poor Lizzy!” she wailed. “Abandoned in her time of need!”
Darcy regarded her coldly, unmoved by this belated display of maternal concern. “Indeed, Mrs. Bennet. Abandoned by the very people who should have protected her, regardless of her choices.”
“You cannot understand,” Mrs. Bennet protested, dabbing at her eyes. “We were desperate! With no son to inherit, the girls’ marriages were our only security!”
“A security you were willing to purchase at the cost of Elizabeth’s happiness and dignity,” Darcy observed. “An interesting calculation of maternal affection.”
Mr. Bennet, apparently recognizing the futility of self-justification, changed tactics. “You mentioned your marriage to Elizabeth. What of her current circumstances? Is she… well?”
“Elizabeth is safe and well,” Darcy replied, his voice softening at the mention of his wife. “She resides at Bellfield Grange under the protection of my aunt, Lady Eleanor Blackmore.”
“And Mary?” Mr. Bennet asked, his voice containing an unfamiliar note of vulnerability. “You mentioned she was well. Is she… content in her exile?”
“She seems quite at home at Bellfield,” Graham offered, his tone respectful but cool. “She has taken an interest in the estate records, showing considerable aptitude for organization and arithmetic. The Honywoods—who manage the household—speak highly of her character and contributions.”
Mr. Bennet nodded slowly, a mixture of relief and regret crossing his features. “That sounds like my Mary. Always seeking order, meaning in mundanity.”
“There is one other matter,” Darcy said, judging the moment right to introduce the most significant revelation. “One that may alter your understanding of these events considerably.”
“What more could there possibly be?” Mrs. Bennet asked, her eyes wide above her damp handkerchief.
“Elizabeth and I have a son,” Darcy stated, unable to keep a note of pride from his voice. “William Fitzwilliam Darcy, born in August of 1812. A fine, healthy boy of fifteen months now, with every indication of a strong character and quick intellect.”
The stunned silence that followed this announcement lasted several heartbeats before Mrs. Bennet shattered it with a cry that seemed to contain every emotion possible—joy, grief, shock, indignation, and a strange, wild exultation.
“A grandson!” she exclaimed, rising from her chair in agitation. “ A Darcy grandson! And I have never laid eyes upon him! Oh, Mr. Bennet, our first grandchild, and we did not even know of his existence!”
“We had heard vicious rumors,” Mr. Bennet said. “But of course, we had refused to believe them.”
Or cared enough to verify them, Darcy thought. Nope, these were not the parents Elizabeth would be proud of.
“Well, well,” Mr. Bennet finally said, adjusting his spectacles with fingers that were not entirely steady. “It seems our Lizzy has been rather more occupied than we imagined. A wife and mother—and to one of the foremost families in England, no less.”
“Both reactions would be understandable, sir,” Darcy acknowledged, recognizing the complexity of emotion beneath Mr. Bennet’s sardonic exterior. “Though I would suggest that your exclusion from these events is largely of your own making.”
A flash of something like respect crossed Mr. Bennet’s features.
“I failed her,” he said abruptly, his voice losing its ironic edge.
“When she refused Collins, I should have stood firm against my wife’s hysterics, against that pompous parson’s wounded pride.
Instead, I retreated to my library and allowed her to be cast out like some biblical scapegoat, bearing the sins of our collective folly into the wilderness. ”
“We all failed her in different ways,” Darcy acknowledged, though his tone remained cool. “I promised to return to her and did not. You permitted her exile rather than defending her choice. The challenge now lies in making amends for those failures, not in dwelling upon them.”
“Wise words for a young man,” Mr. Bennet observed, though the irony had returned to his tone. “And what amends do you propose, Mr. Darcy? Beyond this belated recognition of your marital obligations?”
“Justice,” Darcy replied without hesitation.
“For Elizabeth, for William, and for all others who have suffered through Wickham’s machinations.
I intend to recover the stolen documents, establish our marriage beyond question, and ensure that William’s position as my heir is secured against any future challenge. ”
“A worthy goal,” Mr. Bennet agreed, though his expression remained skeptical. “And if these documents cannot be recovered? What then?”
“They must exist. Wickham would not destroy anything with monetary value,” Darcy replied. “I intend to buy up all his debts and present him with a choice. The paperwork or debtor’s prison.”
“And then what?” Mrs. Bennet asked. “When will you bring them home?” she demanded, her voice sharp with unexpected authority. “Lizzy and Mary and the child—when will they return to their family?”
The question caught Darcy off guard. In his focus on securing William’s inheritance and bringing Wickham to justice, he had given little thought to Elizabeth’s eventual wishes regarding reconciliation with her family.
“That,” he said coldly, “must be Elizabeth’s decision to make. I would not presume to dictate her relationship with parents who cast her out, however justified my legal authority might be.”
This response seemed to satisfy Mr. Bennet, who nodded slightly, but Mrs. Bennet’s expression crumpled into fresh distress. “She will not forgive us,” she predicted mournfully. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, but you must make her see?—”
Darcy offered no comfort to this self-pitying outburst. Instead, he turned the conversation to more practical matters, gathering what additional information the Bennets could provide regarding Wickham’s activities in the neighborhood.
By the time they departed Longbourn, Darcy had a long list of people, any one of which would wish to see Wickham hang.
“To Meryton next?” Graham suggested as they settled into the carriage once more. “We should have time to speak with several of the merchants before nightfall. ”
“Every debt purchased is legal leverage against him,” Darcy explained, watching the Longbourn estate recede behind them with no twinge of regret or nostalgia. “And a step toward justice for Elizabeth.”