Page 16 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

E lizabeth adjusted her new winter gloves and pulled her woollen cloak around her as she stepped out of doors. The sky was clear, a light blue with a bright sun. It was cold, but her restless energy demanded an outlet.

Usually, the brightness would have lifted her spirits, but the latest revelations about Mr. Wickham, knowledge that her Aunt Phillips had been only too pleased to relate, had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had known about the debts, though the amount being spoken of was more than she had originally heard—but the girls! How had she ever been taken in by such a deplorable man and missed the goodness in Mr. Darcy?

Here she allowed herself some grace, for Mr. Darcy was so changed from last autumn. He was no longer proud or haughty. Was it having his family with him that had made him kinder? Had his manner been similar when they first met, she believed she would not have disliked him at all, but perhaps it was just as well. His occasional glances—stares, really—lingered in her mind longer than she cared to acknowledge. It was becoming uncomfortable, trying to determine whether she ought to explore her burgeoning feelings for the man or keep them wrapped up tight until—unless—he spoke to her about his own.

As her path led her toward the copse at the far edge of the gardens, Elizabeth tried to shake off her introspection. She would not allow Mr. Darcy to dominate her thoughts. Yet, despite her resolve, her thoughts strayed once more, and her steps slowed as she considered the peculiar exchange she had seen between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham in town.

Mr. Darcy’s disdain for the officer had been as unmistakable as Mr. Wickham’s discomfort in his presence. And though Colonel Fitzwilliam had maintained a veneer of civility, the tension between the men had been impossible to miss. Their interaction, though brief, had left Elizabeth with more questions than answers. And now it had all come out. Mr. Wickham’s debts were far more serious than she had initially been told, and Mrs. Hill’s cautions had proved prescient.

A sudden rustling among the trees drew her attention. Elizabeth turned, half expecting to see one of her younger sisters darting through the branches to surprise her. Instead, she was startled to see Mr. Darcy himself striding toward her.

He stopped short. Apparently, he had no more expected to see her here than she had him. “Miss Bennet,” he greeted her, and offered a slight bow.

Elizabeth blinked but recovered quickly. “Mr. Darcy. Once again, I did not expect company on my walk.”

He smiled, a slight but genuine smile, and her heart fluttered. She warned herself not to be foolish.

“Bingley has come to see your sister, but”—he glanced about— “I found myself in need of some air.”

“Even after your ride here in the carriage?”

He paused, his expression thoughtful as he glanced first one way, then the other. “The countryside here is particularly fine in winter.”

She chuckled at the awkward gesture and banal remark. “Indeed, though I am surprised to hear you speak of it so favourably. I was under the impression that the charms of Hertfordshire failed to meet your standards.”

A flicker of guilt passed over his face before his features settled into their usual reserve. “I was too hasty in my judgement. Alas, it would not be the first time.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose at the admission. But she could not allow it to stand alone. “I misjudged as well.”

Mr. Darcy’s gaze, steady and contemplative, lingered on her, and something between them seemed . . . different.

“I trust your family is well?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

She smiled, thinking he could have just entered Longbourn and had his question answered. “Quite well, thank you. And yours?”

“They are well. My sister is enjoying her time in the country,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “She finds your family’s hospitality most agreeable.” He motioned back to the house. “She is no doubt already sitting with your sisters.”

Elizabeth studied him carefully. He was no thinner, but he still appeared tired. Before she could inquire about his own health, Mr. Darcy spoke again.

“I understand that the news about Lieutenant Wickham has been spoken of in the neighbourhood,” he said, his tone carefully measured.

She stiffened at the mention of the lieutenant, her earlier musings rushing back with renewed force. “It has.”

There was something in his manner, an edge of determination beneath his calm exterior, which made Elizabeth pause, and she searched his face, uncertain of what to say. The memory of her misstep with Mr. Wickham weighed heavily on her pride. She drew herself up, folding her hands tightly before her. “I imagine you must feel vindicated, sir, given all that has come to light.”

Mr. Darcy shook his head slowly, his expression sombre. “Vindication is a cold comfort when measured against the harm Wickham has caused. I regret that you, Miss Bennet, were among those he sought to deceive.”

She was startled by the unexpected humility in his voice. “You need not concern yourself with my feelings, Mr. Darcy. While I had already begun to distrust the man, I must bear the responsibility for my own credulity. I trusted a man who was charming but unworthy, even when he said terrible things about you, and for that, I must apologise.”

He took a step closer, the frost crunching beneath his boots. “If there an apology to be made, it ought to be mine. I was dreadfully vague at the ball when we spoke of the man. And even before that, it was you at the Meryton assembly, was it not, when I uttered those unkind, untrue words?”

Her breath caught. So, he was aware that she had overheard. She inclined her head slightly, allowing him to continue.

“I was unforgivably proud,” he said, his jaw tightening. “To dismiss those I did not know with such arrogance, and in your hearing, no less. I had not realised it was you right away, though I do not know how. I looked directly at you.” He shook his head. “Until the Netherfield ball, I did not even consider that you might think ill of me, but how could you not? I assure you I have thought of both moments often and with great regret.”

Elizabeth hesitated, her heart softening at the penitence in his tone. “I cannot deny that your words coloured my opinion of you, but you have shown yourself to be a better man than I first believed. If you require my forgiveness, you have it.”

Mr. Darcy gazed steadily at her. “Thank you,” he said quietly, after a moment. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I am grateful for it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the stillness of the winter morning enveloping them. Elizabeth glanced away, gathering her thoughts. When she was more composed, she spoke. “There is something else I must ask, Mr. Darcy. Why did you not expose Mr. Wickham’s true nature when he first arrived in Meryton? It might have spared many from his falsehoods.”

Mr. Darcy tugged at his cuffs. “At first, I thought it unnecessary. I thought it best not to drag Georgiana’s name into a public quarrel, and I hoped that his true character would reveal itself in time, as it has done.”

“Miss Darcy? But how . . .” Elizabeth gasped. “Oh.”

Mr. Darcy nodded grimly. “She was spared, but he intended to elope with her in the hopes of accessing her fortune.”

“Which I must presume is splendid.”

“It is.”

“And Miss Darcy so young. When . . .?” She trailed off, recognising her impertinence.

He shook his head. “I trust in your discretion, Miss Elizabeth. It occurred last summer. I settled her with my aunt and uncle in town just before arriving here to visit Bingley.”

Well, his arrogance made more sense now. He had been upset and angry. He ought not to have taken out his frustrations on those around him, but at least it was the result of a dreadful event and not his typical behaviour.

“I did not wish to meet with him, and he wisely avoided me. I heard no ill of him and did not, I am sorry to say, give him much thought. When I learned from Colonel Forster how much damage Wickham had caused due to my desire to avoid him, I was ashamed. And once I spoke with him, I was also concerned.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Concerned? For what reason?”

“Wickham is perceptive in ways that make him dangerous. He discerned that I held you . . . your family in regard, and he sought to exploit that. It was not merely an attempt to harm me, but to sow discord where he knew I cared.”

Her chest tightened at his words. She had not missed his original intent. “You care for my family?”

He hesitated, his expression unreadable. “Yes.”

Elizabeth’s breath hitched, her cheeks warming against the winter chill.

Mr. Darcy stepped back slightly. “I have no wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Elizabeth shook her head quickly, her voice unsteady as she replied, “You have not. It was unexpected, but I thank you for the compliment.”

They stood in companionable quiet for a moment before Mr. Darcy offered her his arm. “Shall we return to the house?”

Elizabeth hesitated but then took his arm, her gloved hand resting lightly against his sleeve. “Yes, let us return.”

Later that evening, as she sat in the parlour at Longbourn, Elizabeth’s thoughts returned to the events of the day. Her feelings toward Mr. Darcy were more conflicted than ever. Her father entered the room, his expression amused. “I hear your friend Mr. Wickham has found himself in quite a predicament,” he said, settling into his favourite chair.

Elizabeth frowned. “He is no friend of mine, Papa.”

“Indeed?” Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose. “You were once his staunchest defender.”

“I was deceived,” she admitted, her voice tight with regret. “And I am not the only one.”

He chuckled softly. “A handsome face and a glib tongue can do much to blind the unwary. But do not be too hard on yourself, Lizzy. We are all fools for something.” He opened the book he had brought with him and began to read.

Her mother’s voice floated in from the hallway, filled with indignation. “A disgrace, that is what it is! Such a charming young man, and now this? It is all Mr. Darcy’s fault, I am sure of it.”

Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath and rose, her feet carrying her to the doorway before she fully considered her actions. “Mamma, you cannot possibly blame Mr. Darcy for Mr. Wickham’s misdeeds,” she said firmly, stepping into the hall where her mother was speaking with Lydia.

Her mother turned, her face flushed with agitation. “And why not? Mr. Darcy has never had a kind word for poor Mr. Wickham. It is no wonder he would spread tales to ruin the man’s character.”

Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly, willing herself to remain calm. “Mamma, no one can send a man to the Marshalsea without evidence. It is not Mr. Darcy who has ruined Mr. Wickham, but Mr. Wickham himself.”

Her mother’s lips pursed as she narrowed her eyes. “I cannot fathom why you, of all people, would desert poor Wickham.”

“Indeed, Lizzy,” Lydia teased. “For Mr. Darcy said you were too plain to stand up with.”

“Tolerable” had been the word. But that hardly mattered now.

Elizabeth shook her head. “He has since apologised.” She did not say he had only done so earlier that day. She again recalled her Aunt Gardiner’s advice. “I merely wish that we not assign blame where none is due. It is not fair.”

“Fairness,” Mrs. Bennet scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Fairness will not mend Mr. Wickham’s prospects.”

“And what of the prospects of the merchants he cheated?” Elizabeth asked, exasperated. Had she not already had this conversation with her younger sisters? “Surely you must see that had Mr. Darcy not paid Mr. Wickham’s creditors, many of them would have been at risk of losing their businesses. And if the businesses failed, we would all have to search farther away for the things we need, which means they would cost more to obtain. We should be thanking Mr. Darcy, not insulting him.”

Her mother was quiet for a moment and then studied Elizabeth shrewdly. “You had best not consider him, Lizzy. I begin to think a man with Mr. Darcy’s fortune would never ask, and a man with his pride would never suit you in any case.”

Neither would the bumbling, idiotic Mr. Collins, but her mother had not hesitated to push Elizabeth at him.

Lydia parroted Mamma’s warning. “Mr. Darcy thinks himself too fine for us. He is not at all like his sister.”

“I am not considering Mr. Darcy in any way other than a friend to us all,” Elizabeth replied, but it was futile to argue further. Her mother’s opinions were unyielding, and Lydia was becoming just like her. With a quiet sigh, Elizabeth retreated to the parlour.

Her father glanced up from his book as she re-entered. “You look troubled, Lizzy. I trust you have not let your mother’s ramblings disturb your peace.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “Not entirely, Papa.” She lowered herself into a chair near the hearth and stared into the flames. “It is simply difficult, sometimes, to have her so thoroughly misunderstand matters.”

Mr. Bennet turned a page. “Your mother means well, in her way. It is best not to dwell too deeply upon it.”

Elizabeth reached for her sewing. “Do you never tire of her pronouncements, Papa?”

He glanced at her briefly over the top of his book. “I find it far more restful to let her speak than to engage her in endless debate. But you are young, Lizzy. Perhaps you will find more success in trying to change her mind.”

She exhaled slowly and focused on her work, the needle gliding in and out of the cloth in a soothing rhythm. But she still felt lonely. How was that possible in a house full of family?

Before she could lose herself entirely in melancholy, Jane appeared in the doorway. “Lizzy, would you come upstairs? I should like to speak with you.”

Elizabeth set her sewing back in the work basket and rose, grateful for the reprieve, and together, they climbed the stairs. Once inside her chamber, Jane closed the door softly and turned to her sister, her expression contrite.

“Lizzy,” she began earnestly, “I fear I have been a poor sister to you of late. When I heard of Mr. Wickham’s trials, I realized that I have been so consumed with Mr. Bingley that I have neglected you.”

Her heart softened, and she shook her head. “Jane, there is no need to apologise. You have done nothing wrong.”

“Even so,” Jane pressed, reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. “Tell me, how are you?”

She sank onto the edge of the bed beside her sister. “Confused. Changed. My opinions have altered in ways I scarcely understand. I think Mr. Wickham deserves every bit of his punishment and more.” She paused, then added, “And I think far better of Mr. Darcy than I ever imagined I would.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He has apologised to me for his faults, and I have apologised to him for mine.” She took Jane’s hand. “I have been such a fool.”

A smile played at the corners of her sister’s lips. “And what of your feelings, Lizzy? Have they altered as well?”

“I only know that he is not the man I once thought him to be.”

“That is a fine thing to realise, is it not?” Jane squeezed her hand gently.

“Perhaps. But it is also a frightening thing, Jane, to understand how blind I have been. If I had not been so prejudiced against him . . .”

“What do you hope for, Lizzy? In your heart?”

Elizabeth hesitated before answering, her voice quiet but steady. “I hope for honesty, for kindness, for someone who sees me as I truly am and values me for it. I hope for someone I can trust with the whole of myself, as imperfect as I am.”

“Then I believe you are on the right path, my dear sister.” Jane pulled her into a light embrace. “And I will always be here, should you need me.”

Elizabeth lingered in Jane's embrace, drawing comfort from it. They parted and Jane sat in her chair by the dressing table. Elizabeth moved to help.

“Jane,” she began, her fingers taking down and weaving her sister’s golden hair, “what if my hopes are misplaced? What if I lose my heart to a man who has no intention of giving me his own?”

Jane’s brow furrowed, her gaze soft with concern. “We are speaking of Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth met her sister’s eyes in the glass and nodded once.

“Do you believe Mr. Darcy incapable of such feelings?”

“It is not that.” Elizabeth continued weaving the braid. “There are moments when I feel sure he cares, but others where I do not. And what he will do about those feelings, if indeed he has them, is a mystery to me. He is so guarded, Jane. I cannot tell if his reserve is born of pride, or if he fears something.”

Jane met Elizabeth’s gaze in the glass. “You are brave, Lizzy, braver than anyone I know. You must trust that time will reveal his heart.”

Elizabeth looked up at her sister, her expression tinged with both hope and uncertainty. “And if it does not? If I am wrong about him?”

“Then you will be no less brave for having dared to feel,” Jane said gently. “But I do not believe you are wrong. I have seen how he watches you.”

Elizabeth’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Your faith in his intentions is greater than my own, Jane.”

Jane’s answering smile was warm. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply see in him what you are beginning to see—someone who values you for the extraordinary woman you are.”

Elizabeth tied off the braid and leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of Jane’s head. “You are too kind to me, Jane.”

“Nonsense,” Jane replied. “You deserve every happiness, Lizzy, and I have no doubt you will find it, whether it is with Mr. Darcy or with someone else.” She smiled. “Mr. Bingley has other friends too, you know.”

Elizabeth laughed softly.

When Jane bade her goodnight, Elizabeth removed to her own room. She could not deny that her feelings for Mr. Darcy had grown warmer, but neither could she quiet the fear that she might lose herself to him, only to find him unwilling to do the same.

As the candle sputtered and cast long shadows across the room, Elizabeth resolved to keep her heart safe, even as it began to betray her. She would not allow herself to hope too freely, not until she knew with certainty whether Mr. Darcy’s own heart was hers to claim.