Page 99 of The Difference of a Darcy
Once inside their small, shared chamber, Darcy lit the single taper candle near the washbasin while Elizabeth unlaced her bodice and hung her gown. The routine was familiar now—quiet, careful, companionable. But tonight, she sensed something stirring beneath the surface of it all.
She waited until they were both beneath the thin coverlet before speaking.
“Georgiana told me about how she married Wickham today,” Elizabeth said softly into the darkness.
Darcy shifted beside her, his body stiffening. “She did?”
“She said he was kind at first. That he kissed her once, and nothing more, the night before they married. But after…” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “After, he changed. She was afraid.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. She could feel the tension radiating from him.
“I want to kill him,” he said, his voice low and shaking. “I want to find him and rip him apart. But what angers me more—what shames me—is that I did not react much better when it happened at Ramsgate.”
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
“She was just fifteen. And I—I was so full of pride. So angry. I barely heard her explanation. I was too busy being horrified at what might have happened. I accused her of being reckless. Of being foolish. But I never told herwhy. I just said how disappointed I was in her.”
Elizabeth turned toward him, her hand seeking his beneath the covers.
“I was just as bad as Wickham because I was supposed to love her, and instead I just made her feel ashamed.”
“Knowing girls of that age, I imagine it did not go well.”
“She screamed at me,” he continued, voice thick. “Told me that she wished I had never come. That she wished she did not have a brother.” He let out a shaky breath. “I have never forgotten it.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached. “And then I told you that I wished you had never been born.”
Darcy turned his head slightly. A beat of silence passed.
“You did,” he eventually whispered in a voice rough with emotion.
“I did not mean it,” she whispered. “I was angry. But I should not have said it, no matter how angry I was.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek, a day’s bristle scratchy beneath her palm. “You did not deserve it. Not from your sister. Not from me.”
He started to object, but she placed her finger gently against his lips.
“No. Listen to me. You were wrong about many things—so was I. But you have always tried to protect the people you love. You are a good man, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not William?” He let out a shaky laugh. “So formal. I would have imagined we were past such things.”
“No, not when we are here. Not when that name is not who youtrulyare. But if you insist, I shall call you Darcy… or Fitzwilliam, if you would rather.”
His gaze searched hers, and something shifted in his expression—something soft and aching. “Say it again.”
She tilted her head. “Fitzwilliam?”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if the sound of it brought him peace. “Yes. That is who I am. With you, I remember.”
Elizabeth's hand lingered against his cheek. “Then Fitzwilliam you shall be. You are a good man,Fitzwilliam.”
He looked away, blinking hard.
“I remind Kitty of it all the time,” Elizabeth continued. “You cannot blame others for how you behave. Even when Lydia is at her most provoking—and heaven knows she often is—it is still Kitty’s choice to rise above or not.”
Her voice softened further.
“I should have remembered that. I let my anger take over. But you did not force me to say those words. That was my choice. And I am so incredibly sorry for the hurt I caused.”
