Page 63 of Darcy's Guarded Heart
“He isn’t,” Elizabeth replied, her voice firm. “I know him. He is not a man to chase wealth, and certainly not at the expense of someone he truly loves. He has little to offer her in terms of fortune, but what he gives is honest and constant.”
Mr Darcy was silent again, clearly absorbing her words.
“I spoke with Lady Catherine before we left for London,” he said at last. “She warned me—as she always does—that birth, wealth, and reputation are the only true measures of a match. But seeing Jane and Bingley, and now Georgiana, I begin to doubt whether that has ever been true at all.”
Elizabeth looked at him. “I don’t believe it ever was.”
He met her gaze. “I am afraid for Georgiana, yes. But I will not stand in her way. If her happiness lies with Thomas, then I must do all I can to support it.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, something warm stirring within her. It was not only his words, but the sincerity behind them. For the first time, she saw in him not just honour and principle, but humility.
A call from the stable signalled that the horses were ready.
They turned back towards the inn.
Much remained uncertain. But in that brief moment, beneath the grey sky and the looming journey ahead, Elizabeth felt something shift between them—just enough to give her hope.
Chapter Thirty
Darcy
The road north stretched endlessly before them, hedgerows blurring past in streaks of green and brown. The light had begun to fade as the carriage rattled on, the clouds thickening overhead with the promise of rain.
Inside, the three passengers sat in uneasy quiet. Mr Bennet dozed lightly beside the window, his hat tipped forward, while Elizabeth sat opposite, her gaze turned outward, lost in thought. Darcy, seated beside her, was too restless for sleep.
He had not spoken for some time. Words felt useless now—he had made a great mess of things, and every mile they travelled brought that truth into sharper relief.
He had failed Georgiana. He should have trusted her more, listened to her, given her the dignity of her own judgement. Instead, he had acted out of fear—fear of what Wickham had nearly done, fear of losing her, of being cast aside again. He had interfered in Bingley’s happiness, in Thomas’s prospects, in Elizabeth’s family. And now, he rode in silence, close enough to Elizabeth to see the gentle curve of her brow, the quiet strength in her posture—yet unable to say a word of how he felt for her.
It was wretched.
He shifted slightly and found Mr Bennet watching him with a calm, keen eye.
“I ought to say again,” Mr Bennet began, “how grateful I am for your warning about Wickham. I had always found the man rather too charming. Thomas had his suspicions as well, but it was your word that truly opened my eyes.”
Darcy nodded faintly. “He has done damage, I fear, that I may never fully repair. But I am glad, at least, that Georgiana was spared.”
“You were right to be cautious,” Mr Bennet said. “It seems he’s not stopped his schemes. I’ve heard from my brother Gardiner that he recently married Miss King.”
Darcy looked up, startled. “Miss King?”
“A young girl who came into her fortune some years ago,” Mr Bennet confirmed. “He pursued her rather quickly after leaving Meryton, and from what I hear, she is… not entirely happy.”
Darcy pressed his lips together. “That poor girl. He must have charmed her family, as he always does. I only hope she has friends about her.”
Mr Bennet nodded. “She does, though none with enough sense to have stopped it. Still, not all fault lies with you. Georgiana’s escape was due to your care, and no one can question your loyalty to her.”
“I begin to wonder if I’ve been too protective,” Darcy said quietly. “Too fearful. I have thought so long that shielding her was the same as loving her. But perhaps I’ve been smothering her instead.”
Mr Bennet considered this. “You may have been. But if I’ve erred, it was in the opposite direction. I let my daughters choose freely, but I didn’t always think where their freedom might lead. Sometimes, protection is a kindness. Sometimes, it is needed.”
Darcy looked towards Elizabeth again. She was still silent, her fingers loosely entwined in her lap.
He sighed. “I keep thinking—if I had simply trusted her. If I had trusted Bingley. If I had trusted myself.”
Mr Bennet arched a brow. “That, I think, is the very root of the matter.”
Darcy managed a faint smile. “I’ve spent years trying to uphold honour and reputation, and in doing so, I nearly lost all the people who mattered to me.”
