Page 60 of The Same Noble Line
“As far as I know, Mr. Bennet died some years ago,” Fitzwilliam said. “He had a son who manages the estate now.”
“Though we did not know whether he was the same son who left from Warwickshire with him,” Darcy hurried to add.
Fitzwilliam met Darcy’s gaze with a look of relief. That had been close. Why would they have asked whether Mr. Bennet’s son had lived if they already knew he was managing an estate in the south? “Good thinking,” his cousin muttered when the vicar’s back was turned.
“Ah, well, he was at least a decade my senior, and I have outlived even many who were younger than me. Even my curate died a few years back. I have a younger man as curate now, the same age as I was when Mr. Bennet was here. He is extraordinarily helpful.” Mr. Compton sighed. “Would you be so kind as to relay my best wishes and gratitude to the remaining Bennet family?”
“Of course,” Darcy replied.
The vicar smiled. “If there is anything further, I might help you with, do not hesitate to ask.”
They took their leave, the vicar’s words echoing in Darcy’s mind as they stepped outside. The wind carried a sharp bite, but it was nothing compared to the relief—nay, the joy—surging within him.
The moment they were out of doors, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy. “There can be no doubt now,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Mr. Bennet isnota Darcy. You are free of any obligations beyond what courtesy demands.”
Darcy’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “I am heartily glad to be wrong.”
As they both entered the carriage and took their seats, Fitzwilliam added, “I will be glad never to hear the name Bennet again.”
Darcy stiffened slightly but said nothing, his mind drawn to the image of Miss Elizabeth he always held close. Fitzwilliam’s remark had struck an uncomfortable chord. Unlike his cousin, Darcy found he could not so easily dismiss the Bennet name. At least, not one of the women who bore it.
“Let us return to Netherfield,” Darcy said briskly. “Bingley’s wedding awaits, and we ought not leave Georgiana in suspense any longer.”
Darcy’s thoughts remained on Miss Elizabeth in a way they had been unable to before this journey. The restraint that had bound him these past weeks was no longer necessary. For the first time since finding his grandfather’s journal, he allowed himself the pleasure of considering the Bennets without apprehension.
Those weeks had humbled him, and he looked upon position and connections very differently now. He would not allow them to stand in the way of his happiness.
He was free to return to Miss Elizabeth with no secrets, no guilt—only the hope that she might regard him as something more than a friend of her soon-to-be brother. The burden that he had carried these past months was gone, leaving him lighter than he had felt since that fateful moment at Netherfield. Now that he could allow himself to think on it, he knew what he wanted to do.
He wanted to marry Elizabeth Bennet.
The wind howled outside, but Darcy hardly noticed. He even, at last, was able to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
The evening before Jane’s wedding was upon them, and at last the house was quiet. Everyone was long since abed except for Elizabeth, who sat with Jane in her bedchamber, a candle flickering softly on the table between them. Jane’s wedding gown hung from the wardrobe, its delicate folds shimmering in the dim light. Elizabeth had spent countless hours ensuring every embroidered stitch was perfect, but now her mind was once again preoccupied with how their lives would change tomorrow.
Jane folded her hands neatly on her lap. “Lizzy, do you suppose Mr. Darcy will return in time to stand with Mr. Bingley? He has been such a good friend to Charles, and I know he would feel hurt if he had to ask someone else, and at the last moment too.”
Elizabeth hesitated, her own thoughts too entangled to offer immediate comfort. “I do not know,” she admitted quietly. “I had thought he would have returned by now.”
“Charles has been so excited about the wedding, but I know this uncertainty bothers him. Mr. Darcy promised he would return as soon as possible, and London is not so far away. I can see that he is worried, even if he does not speak of it. He values Mr. Darcy’s friendship so highly.”
Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt twist within her. She had told herself it was better to speak plainly, to warn Mr. Darcy of the difficulties he might face if he considered a closer connection to her family. But now, she regretted the timing. Had she waited until after the wedding, she might not have complicated matters for Jane and Mr. Bingley.
She turned to her sister. “Jane, I am sorry. I fear I may have said something to Mr. Darcy that caused his departure. I thought I was doing what was best, but now I wonder whether I was mistaken.”
“Lizzy,” Jane replied, shaking her head, “you must not blame yourself. Mr. Darcy is his own man and must make his own decisions. If he has chosen to remain away, it is not your fault but his.”
“But if I had waited, he might be here now,” Elizabeth persisted. “I might have spared Mr. Bingley this disappointment.”
“Charles understands more than you think. And I am certain Mr. Darcy’s reasons, whatever they may be, are not yours to shoulder. He is a man of honour, and if he is not here tomorrow, it will not be because of anything you said.”
Elizabeth wished she could believe that, but the unease within her remained. She forced a smile for her sister’s sake and reached for her hand. “You are too kind, as always.”
“And you are too exacting upon yourself, as always,” Jane replied with a small laugh. “Come, let us think of happier things. Tomorrow will be a beautiful day, Lizzy, and nothing will diminish it.”
She reached out to take Jane’s hand and held it tightly. “You are right, of course. Oh Jane, how happy you will be!”
