Page 139 of The Difference of a Darcy
Georgiana bit her lip, uncertain. He reached for her hand and held it gently.
“You need not decide now,” he said softly. “Think upon it as long as you like. But with the child so near, it might be wise to marry before your confinement. It would secure you, and him.”
She looked at him through her tears. “Could you love a child of his?” she whispered. “An absent father is better than an indifferent one—but I would not wish you to bear the burden.”
He reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Children are the product of how they are raised, not of their sires. Otherwise I would resemble my parents, and Heaven help me if that were so. No, Georgie-girl, I could love this child. Gladly.”
Her lip trembled. “You are very good, Cousin.”
He smiled at that. “Good enough, perhaps, to give your family back its name. I should like your children, and all of us, to take it again—the Darcy name. Lady Anne and George Darcy made Pemberley a place of warmth and love. It is time that name stood for that once more.”
Georgiana hesitated. “But will not your father be angry?”
Richard shook his head. “I will pacify him. If the child is a boy, he shall be called Fitzwilliam; if a girl, Anne Catherine, for our mothers—his sisters. That will soothe his pride.”
Tears welled again, though this time they were gentler. “Then yes,” she whispered. “I would be honored.”
He rose and gathered her carefully into his arms. She leaned against him, resting her head upon his shoulder, and for the first time since Elizabeth had met her, Georgiana’s face held peace.
Darcy pushed back his chair and stood. The motion drew Elizabeth’s attention; his face was composed, but there was something shadowed behind his eyes—something that looked very much like sorrow. His gaze lingered for only a moment upon his sister before he inclined his head and murmured a quiet word of congratulations.
Elizabeth watched him go. The sound of his departing footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, and for a moment the room felt strangely still without him. The colonel and Georgiana remained close together, speaking in low tones, their faces softened by the tender uncertainty of new understanding. Mrs. Reynolds had discreetly slipped away, leaving them to the intimacy of the moment.
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with affection and relief, but also with a pang of sympathy for the man who had just left the room. Darcy’s love for his sister was deep, and his heart—already raw from all that had passed—must ache with a dozen conflicting feelings: pride, gratitude, loss.
She drew a quiet breath, steadied herself, and after offering one last smile to the pair at the table, slipped out into the passage to find him.
Chapter 28
Darcy stood in the corridor, the murmur of voices behind him growing faint as he moved toward the tall window at the end of the passage. The morning light lay pale upon the floor, dust motes floating in the still air. He could hear laughter—a soft, uncertain kind—from the breakfast room below. Richard’s voice, calm and confident, and Georgiana’s gentler reply.
He should have felt nothing but gratitude. His cousin had stepped forward to take control of Georgiana’s future, offering her both protection and dignity. For the first time since that terrible Christmas night when the fae had unmade his existence, Darcy’s sister was safe. Truly safe.
Yet what filled him was not peace. It was emptiness.
For months he had thought of nothing but survival—of repairing the damage his reckless wish had wrought, of setting the world to rights again. Each day had been defined by a single purpose: to protect Elizabeth and to rescue Georgiana.
Now all of it was done.
And there was nothing left.
He stared out over the frost-streaked lawns, the familiar hills of Pemberley stretching in the distance. It had always been his world, his duty, his home—but not here. Not in this shadow ofa life where the name Darcy carried no meaning, and where his sister no longer even knew him as her brother.
Elizabeth’s footsteps came softly behind him. “Are you well?” she asked.
He turned, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I am relieved,” he said quietly. “More than I can say. But—” His voice faltered. “Forgive me. I do not know what to do now.”
She frowned gently. “What do you mean?”
“Everything has been made right,” he said, each word heavy. “Georgiana has her future secured. Richard will be an excellent husband, and she will be safe at Pemberley. But what is left for us, Elizabeth? We cannot go back to Longbourn—by now, your family must have discovered the deception. And we cannot remain here. I cannot endure living in my own home as a stranger. So what purpose remains to me?”
Her hand reached toward him, but stepped back out of reach.
“You should stay here. Georgiana could take care of you in a way that I cannot.”
“What?” He heard her gasp, but he could not meet her gaze.
“I am truly sorry, Elizabeth” he muttered. “You have lost your family because of me. It is my fault. All of it. My foolish wish—my arrogance—has destroyed more lives than it ever mended.”
