Page 61 of The Difference of a Darcy
“Youpreventedhim from acting on his weaker impulses,” she said softly. “I imagine your friendship steadied him. But without you… he strayed.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. “Then I am to blame for both. For misjudging your sister—and for this terrible wish, causing me to fail in guiding my friend.”
“No,” Elizabeth said firmly. “You are not to blame. We each have responsibility for own actions, even Jane.”
“What will they do now?” he asked.
“When I—the other me—rejected Mr. Collins, Jane considered accepting him. But when I—that is, theotherme—bother! This is all quite confusing.”
“I think I can follow,” Darcy said with a cheeky smile, attempting to lighten her mood. “Idohave more understanding than your husband,Mrs.Collins...”
She sniffed in mock affront, then sobered and continued, saying, “Well, whenIdiscovered Jane’s plan and its cause, I still thought Mr. Bingley might return, and I did not wish for Jane to be trapped. So, I accepted Mr. Collins, in order to give Jane time to wait for her beau, and I would offer a chance for escape if he did not come back.”
“And he has not.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No. The plan is for Jane to go to the Gardiners, and the other me will join her there and pass the child off as her own.”
There were tears in Elizabeth’s eyes as she spoke the last. Without thinking, Darcy reached for her hand and pulled her into his arms. He did not speak.
He did not need to.
He knew her heartbreak, for it mirrored his own over Georgiana’s marriage to Wickham.
“Would you like to remain?” he asked. “To assist your sister? I can continue to Pemberley on my own.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could snatch them back. His heart froze at the very idea of being parted from her.
Even now—just the thought of journeying to Derbyshire without her by his side, without her steady voice and fierce gaze—left him feeling unmoored.
But he would never ask her to choose between him and her sister.
Not when he knew what it was to fear for someone you loved.
Elizabeth was looking at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. He did not want to go without her.
He wanted her to say no.
To say she would come with him.
To say that they would face whatever came next—together.
But before either of them could speak further, the door to the house creaked open.
“Dinner is served!” came the call, cheerful and oblivious.
Elizabeth turned her head toward the voice, then looked back at Darcy. “We can speak more on the subject later,” he whispered in her ear, leaning down.
She gave him a small nod.
Wordlessly, he offered his arm. She took it, and together, they stepped back inside.
∞∞∞
The dining room at Longbourn was just as she remembered it—dimly lit with tall tapers, the scent of roasting meat and rosemary thick in the air. A steaming joint of mutton rested proudly at the center of the table, flanked by potatoes, stewed apples, and a loaf of brown bread. It was modest fare, but hearty, and to Elizabeth it felt achingly familiar.
They took their places, and Elizabeth found herself seated across from Darcy. Mr. Bennet took his customary chair at the head of the table, while Mrs. Bennet presided opposite him, fluttering napkins and directing Hill with exaggerated graciousness. Jane sat beside her mother, a pale shadow of the sister Elizabeth remembered, though she still offered soft encouragements to Kitty and Lydia as they chattered on.
And Darcy—dear heaven, Darcy—was…smiling.
