Page 62 of The Difference of a Darcy
Not that stiff, barely-there smile he used when nodding at society acquaintances, but a real, unguarded expression of amusement. His eyes sparkled as he listened to Kitty’s retelling of a spoiled pudding at Aunt Philips’s, and he even let out a short laugh when Mr. Bennet quipped about a neighbor’s prize pig being smarter than the man who owned it.
Elizabeth could only stare. She had never seen him like this. Not at Rosings. Not even at Netherfield.
He was at ease. Relaxed. Human.
And her heart—already too full from the day’s revelations—twisted painfully.
If things had been different—if this were the true world, and they had come together not through magic or misfortune, but choice and affection—would he have sat here beside her, proud and certain, as her betrothed?
Would she have watched him tease Lydia with dry wit and exchange thoughtful glances with her father across the table?
Could this have been their future?
The ache of it almost made her miss her own laugh when he raised a brow and offered her the last bit of stewed apple with a silent“Shall I?”She nodded and smiled, and he passed it to her with a faint smirk, as though they had been married ten years and this was merely another evening meal in a life shared.
But it was not. None of it was real. And the laughter around the table, though genuine, could not erase the truth: her family did not know her.
As Jane quietly declined another helping and looked down at her plate, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned once more to her sister. Should she remain? Should she stay behind and help Jane bear this burden? There was a strong sense of duty in her heart—after all, what kind of sister would abandon her in such a moment?
And yet…
The very idea filled her with dread.
Staying would mean accepting this new reality. Settling into it. Making it her own.
And she could not—would not—do that.
To stay would be to surrender. To believe that this strange new life, where she was married to a man she barely knew and her sister carried another man’s child in secret, was permanent.
No. She would not give up hope. Somewhere—somehow—there must be a way back.
In any case, there was already a solution for Jane—Mrs. Collins would claim the babe as her own. If Elizabeth chose to remain at Longbourn to help Jane, there would be too much danger of her being discovered in her lie. She had neveractuallymet Mrs. Collins, and as soon as Jane met that woman at the Gardiner’s home, everything would unravel.
Besides… the idea of parting from Darcy left her far more unsettled than she dared admit. He was the one person in this world who knew her—truly knew her. The only one who shared her memories, her past, her pain.
To leave him behind would be like stepping into darkness without a lantern.
She glanced at Darcy again, watching the way he engaged Mr. Bennet in quiet conversation about land use and crop rotation. His intelligence was evident, but so too was his restraint. He asked questions. He listened. He offered observations rather than declarations.
He is a good man, she thought, with a ripple of awe.
Not only principled, butinfluential. She had seen it now with her own eyes—how his friendship had steadied Bingley, tempered him, perhaps even kept him from becoming the kind of man who would seduce a gentlewoman and abandon her at the first sign of consequence.
Darcy had not even realized the impact he had on his friend. His influence was subtle. Steady. Guiding.
But powerful.
He could be arrogant—yes. And brusque. And absolutely dreadful with strangers.
A smile curved her lips.
But beneath it all, he was loyal. Decent. Kind.
She had been so blind to it before. She had not understood what kind of man he truly was. And now that she did, she could feel the truth blooming within her like a fragile flower uncurling in the cold.
She was starting to fall in love with him.
She lowered her gaze to her plate, startled by the force of it.
