Chapter Thirty

Darcy

27 th December 1811

T he days after their rather magical Christmas remained among the most pleasant of the year for Darcy, as he and Elizabeth took to spending more time together. He knew that their relationship had changed and that she too felt something for him that went beyond friendship—but he also knew that his actions regarding her sister would serve as a barrier between them. A barrier he sought to break down.

The morning was brisk, as he walked along the paths through the garden, the collar of his great coat turned up when a hurried footfall came to his ears. Maggie came rush towards him with a wide smile.

“Darcy!” she called and waved her doll. “Look! She wants to play in the snow.”

“Does she? Well, we should play then. But how about we find Elizabeth first.”

Maggie shook her head. “She is reading,” she said. It had been almost a Christmas miracle, the way young Maggie had started talking again. She spoke almost without fail as if she were trying to make up for lost time. However, she had yet to tell them what happened to her, where she’d come from, or what her family name was. Whenever such questions were posed to her, she fell silent again and retreated into the cocoon of silence from which she’d just recently escaped.

“And where is she reading?”

“Over there,” Maggie said and pointed to the archway by the rose garden. Indeed, Elizabeth stood there, bundled up in her shawl, and held a letter in her hand.

“Would you excuse me for a moment, Maggie? I shall be right back,” he said and as Maggie returned into the house, he made his way to Elizabeth.

Her face was aglow, a smile illuminating her features in a way he had rarely seen. She glanced up, catching his eye, and her smile broadened, as though she had been waiting just for him.

“Good morning, Mr Darcy,” she greeted, her voice warm with excitement. “I hoped I might see you.”

“Elizabeth,” he replied, unable to hide the delight her presence stirred within him. “You look very pleased—has something happened?”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes bright. “I received a letter this morning from Jane, and I could not contain my joy! Mr Bingley has returned to Longbourn. I do hope you will forgive her for writing to me here directly. Bingley told her where I am, he told her not to write as you did not wish anyone to know that Maggie and I are here, but she was so excited.”

Darcy’s heart leapt at her words, but he struggled to contain his expression, fearing that any display of his own relief might betray more than he intended. “Of course, of course. But pray, do not keep me in suspense. What is this about Bingley? Returned to Longbourn? And… he spoke with Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth nodded, a gentle laugh escaping her. “Oh, Mr Darcy, it seems you have been part of his decision to return. He sought Jane out, and he told her everything—how he felt he had been a fool to leave her. They have… they have reconciled! They are to wed!”

The words spilled out in a rush, and Darcy felt a warmth spread through him. The knowledge that Bingley and Jane had found their way back to each other, that his friend’s happiness was finally within reach, was a relief he could scarcely express.

“That is wonderful news,” he said quietly, looking at Elizabeth with a softness in his eyes that he could not hide. “Miss Bennet deserves happiness. And Bingley—” He stopped suddenly, for Bingley had not yet returned a letter to him. Was his dear friend angry? So much so they could not reconcile? As if sensing his worry, she placed a hand on his arm.

“Jane tells me Mr Bingley wrote to you also, the same time she wrote her letter. You should have his within a day or so as they were sent on the same day.”

“I am pleased and relieved, Elizabeth. Thank you,” he said, genuinely delighted to hear this.

Elizabeth hesitated, studying him with an expression he could not immediately place. She glanced down at the letter in her hand, her fingers brushing over the parchment.

“Mr Bingley mentioned something else in his conversation with Jane,” she said, her tone softening. “He told her… he told her that you had written him a letter, taking responsibility for the way you had advised him. She was astonished.”

“I told you that I wrote to Bingley,” he said.

“I know it, but I did not know what your letter contained and I did not know if it would make a difference. However, it appears it has. Your words must have been moving and I cannot thank you enough.”

Darcy felt his pulse quicken, though he met Elizabeth’s gaze steadily. “Yes,” he admitted after a pause. “I could not let him persist in a misunderstanding that I had so thoroughly influenced. And though I cannot change my actions, I thought he deserved to know the truth of my motivations.”

Elizabeth regarded him, a trace of awe in her expression. “You humbled yourself for the sake of your friend, even if it meant risking his opinion of you.” She shook her head, an admiring smile lighting her face. “That is… an uncommon courage.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a faint smile. “But it was necessary. Bingley is too good a man to have been deprived of happiness because of my pride and misjudgement. And I believe I owe it to him, and to Miss Bennet, to make amends. And you, of course, for you have opened my eyes to my faults.”

Elizabeth’s gaze softened as she looked up at him. “Your sincerity, it is something I did not expect, and yet, in these past weeks, I have come to see it in you. I think you have changed.”

“Changed?” Darcy repeated, feeling the weight of her words. He searched her face, uncertain if he dared hope that her opinion of him had softened as well. “Perhaps you are correct. Or perhaps I am only beginning to know myself.”

A gentle silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional chirp of birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Darcy took a step closer to her, his eyes studying hers with a newfound tenderness.

“Elizabeth,” he began, his voice low and careful, “if I have changed, it is because I have met someone who has encouraged me—shown me that I could be better than I was.”

She met his gaze, her eyes widening slightly. She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then turned her head to the gardens, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. “I am glad that we have had this time here together. I feel as if I have come to know the true nature of the man who once… I had not fully understood.”

The memory of their early misunderstandings—hung between them, a shadow made faint by the morning light. Darcy felt a pang of regret, but as he looked at her, he saw no bitterness, only acceptance.

“Then I am grateful for that,” he said softly. “Grateful that you were willing to see past my… faults.”

“I can only wonder,” she said at last, breaking the silence, “how different things might have been if… if we had understood each other better from the beginning.”

Darcy took a breath, the confession forming before he could stop it. “I often think of that as well. But I would not trade what we have now for any different past.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes reflecting both curiosity and warmth. “Neither would I,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The words settled over them, drawing them closer. Darcy could scarcely breathe, but he allowed himself to imagine that perhaps she shared the same sense of hope he had guarded so carefully in his heart. For the first time, he felt that his affections were not in vain, that perhaps the future held something more for them.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments longer before Elizabeth glanced back towards the path. “Shall we return to the house? I believe Maggie will be looking for us soon.”

“Of course,” Darcy replied, though he reluctantly rose, wishing he could linger a while longer.

As they made their way back through the garden paths, Darcy’s thoughts drifted to the possibilities that lay before them. His hopes, though fragile, felt brighter with each passing day. And as they walked side by side, he felt that he was closer to the life he truly desired—a life that included Elizabeth and the quiet joy that she brought with her.

Upon reaching the house, Darcy turned to her one last time, unable to resist the words that rose within him. “Elizabeth… thank you. For understanding, and for giving me a chance to be more than I was.”

She looked at him, her expression tender. “And thank you, Mr Darcy, for being willing to change, and for doing so for the sake of those you love. Jane and Mr Bingley owe you much happiness—and I… I am grateful for it as well.”

Darcy felt his heart swell, and though he knew he must hold back, he allowed himself one last lingering look at her. With a nod, he left her to the house, a newfound hope lifting his spirits.