Page 65 of Darcy's Guarded Heart
Darcy
The road wound on, mile after mile, the air growing cooler as afternoon wore into evening. The carriage rocked steadily over the uneven path, but Elizabeth scarcely noticed the motion. Beside her, Darcy sat deep in thought, his hands clasped, gaze fixed on the distant horizon. It was not until the next change of horses, while Mr Bennet had stepped away to speak with the postmaster, that she turned to him.
“I meant to say,” she began, “I was taken aback by what you said earlier. You were… honest. More honest than I expected.”
Darcy looked at her, his expression unreadable. “I have little left to lose by telling the truth.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Were all your actions—towards Thomas, towards Jane—truly driven by what happened when you were young?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. I saw it all playing out again—my early life repeating itself. Thomas became Wickham in my mind, and I… was once more cast aside. But I see now it was all imagination, coloured by old wounds and a family legacy that overvalued station above sense.”
Elizabeth watched him quietly.
“My father,” he continued, voice softer now, “was a good man, but not without fault. His mistake was not in taking inWickham, for there is nothing dishonourable in helping those less fortunate. His mistake was preferring him to me—blind to Wickham’s flaws, unwilling to see what lay beneath his charm.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I agree. And yet… I can understand why you made the comparison. Mr Wickham and Thomas were both wards. It would have been difficult not to see shadows of the past. If I had known your story earlier, I might not have judged you so harshly.”
Darcy turned to her. “Thank you. But it is I who owe the apology—for judging Thomas, and your family, by standards shaped by my own pain.”
He drew a breath. “There is something else. I see now that all I have done—interfering with Bingley, sheltering Georgiana, scorning Thomas—was born from fear. Fear of losing those I love. But I should have trusted them. Especially Georgiana. I should have told her everything—about Wickham, about what truly happened. Not just the dry facts, but the truth of it. That he tried to elope with her for her fortune. That he used my father’s trust against us.”
Elizabeth looked down, then said quietly, “I must confess something to you. I told Thomas about Mr Wickham. About what he did to Georgiana. I broke your confidence. I’m sorry.”
To her surprise, he did not react with anger.
“I’m not upset,” he said simply. “You had a right to tell him if you believed it necessary. I understand.”
She hesitated, then added, “I only told him because I believed it would help him see why you acted the way you did. I am disappointed in him… because even knowing that, he still took Georgiana. He knew the risk. And he took it anyway.”
Darcy frowned. “I didn’t know Thomas was aware of any of it.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. “He is. Everything you told me—about Mr Wickham, your father—he already knew. He heard it from Georgiana herself.”
Darcy was silent for a long moment, visibly shaken.
“I thought she was still a child,” he murmured. “I thought she would not understand.”
Elizabeth’s voice was gentler now. “Sometimes we forget our younger siblings are no longer quite so young. And we underestimate them.”
He nodded. “I’m beginning to see that now.”
She looked at him closely. “When we find them—what will you do? Will you force her to return to Pemberley? Forbid her from seeing Thomas again?”
Darcy turned his gaze towards the hills beyond. “No. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I cannot impose my will on those I love. I will tell her the truth—my disappointment, my fear—but I will also admit my fault. If we reach them before they marry, I will not stop her. I will ask only that they do it properly. That she marries him at Pemberley, if that is her choice. With whatever family is willing to attend.”
Elizabeth smiled then, the smallest curve of her lips. “You truly have changed.”
Darcy looked at her, and the expression in his eyes shifted—deepened. “There is more.”
She raised an eyebrow. “More?”
“There’s something else I’ve not done. Something my pride—and my prejudice—against Thomas and your family kept me from. Something I wanted desperately to do.”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped. She felt herself grow very still.
“I told myself I disliked you. I told myself you were unsuitable—your family loud, your connections lacking, your opinions far too free.” His voice softened. “But the truth is, I was lying. I have long admired your kindness, your clarity, your devotion to your family and friends. I admired your courage to speak plainly—even to me. And I…” He paused, searching for the words. “I wanted to ask you to be my wife.”
Elizabeth stood very still. He had not asked her, not quite, but the words hung there—weighty, powerful, and impossible to ignore.
