Chapter Twenty-Five

Darcy

D arcy stepped out of the carriage in front of the church in Kympton the following day. His shoulders were stiff, and his jaw clenched tightly, tension radiating from him as he surveyed the scene. His eyes flicked nervously over the crowd, noting the curious glances cast his way. The murmured conversations of the townspeople seemed louder than he knew it to be, each word a possible judgment. A young child stared at him and touched her face in the place where Darcy's own showed burn marks and he gulped, reminding himself this was a mere child—bound to be curious.

"They are staring," he grumbled as he handed her down.

"They have not seen you in years," she said quietly although they both knew this was not the sole reason for the stares. ‘Do not fret too much, instead think on why we are here."

Taking a deep breath, Darcy nodded. "Thank you," he said softly. It was incredible how much he'd grown to regret his past actions against Elizabeth in these past few days because he could see now that she was as lovely on the inside than on the outside. He took her arm and together, they turned to the church.

It was an old stone building, smaller than Lambton church. Ivy crept up the walls, and the stained-glass windows reflected the morning sunlight in a riot of colours. The churchyard was filled with people milling about, their Sunday best a mix of dark woollen coats and bright bonnets. He'd come here occasionally but it had been a long time.

As they made their way towards the entrance, Darcy continued to feel the weight of countless eyes upon him. He forced a polite smile, nodding in acknowledgment to those who greeted him.

"Mr Darcy," an elderly man said, tipping his hat. "Good to see you back at Kympton."

"Good morning," Darcy replied, trying to keep his tone friendly as he was surprised to receive such welcome. Others mumbled their greetings as well, though it was clear they were examining him. Of course, this was natural. He had been hidden behind Pemberley's walls for many years and he could only imagine what the people had heard regarding his injuries and mood swings. Still, it was uncomfortable.

Elizabeth, apparently sensing his discomfort, leaned in slightly. "Remember, we are here to see Mrs Dillinger. After that, we will sit in the back as we agreed. You need not do anything more."

Darcy nodded again, feeling slightly bolstered by her presence. They continued to the entrance where Mrs Dillinger stood, a small, frail woman with a kind smile. She had grown older these past few years and he recalled hearing about her husband's death the year prior. He'd sent condolences by way of Cogsworth—or so he believed.

"Mr Darcy, Elizabeth," she greeted them warmly. "It is so lovely to see you again." She sounded as though she meant it, which heartened Darcy. He also noted that she referred to Elizabeth by her first name. She seemed to make herself amiable with whomever she met. "Elizabeth, my neighbour said you came looking for me."

"Yes," she said quickly and looked around for a place where they could talk. She indicated for the courtyard and the older woman followed them.

Darcy took a deep breath and began, "Mrs Dillinger, we have come to warn you. We have heard that there are bandits in the woods, plotting to lure you into giving them your earthly possessions." With Elizabeth's help, he told her the story though she looked at him rather dubiously.

Mrs Dillinger's eyes widened in shock, but she quickly dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "Bandits? Here? And what earthly possessions could they want from an old widow like me? It seems rather silly."

Elizabeth joined the conversation, her voice gentle but firm. "Mrs Dillinger, we understand it sounds unbelievable, but there is a real danger. Mr Darcy and I are concerned for your safety."

"Indeed," Darcy insisted. "We are trying to find out who these men are, but until then, if anyone approaches you or tries to deceive you, you must come to me directly. Promise me you will."

Mrs Dillinger looked between them, her scepticism evident, but she nodded. "Very well, Mr Darcy, I promise. Though I still think it's all rather far-fetched."

Darcy gave a relieved smile. "Thank you. Your safety is our priority."

The elderly woman then softened her expression and said, "Mr Darcy, you seem to be returning to the man you once were. It's good to see. Many people will be glad. You were missed."

Darcy was touched by her words. He wondered if he had made a mistake withdrawing from society. There had been some stares and whispers but by and large, everyone seemed pleased to see him. Or at least not displeased. "Thank you, Mrs Dillinger," he said quietly as the church bells began to ring, signalling the start of the service.

They made their way inside. Darcy and Elizabeth found their seats at the back, as they had planned. Darcy's mind was still on Mrs Dillinger's words, pondering whether his retreat from society had been the right decision. Could it have been that it was his absence that allowed such bandits to move into the area? They never would have dared if he had not neglected his duties…

"Is that Mr Darcy? Fitzwilliam Darcy?" a voice whispered from a row ahead of them and he noticed a young woman looking back at him from behind her prayer book.

"It is," the woman beside her said. "He looks grotesque. Like a shadow of his former self. He used to be so handsome."

The words cut through him like a knife. He instantly sank into himself, the earlier confidence and comfort draining away. Used to be handsome—that was exactly what his aunt had said about him once upon a time.

? "You shall not judge lest you be judged," Elizabeth's voice came from beside him and he looked at her, surprised she would speak up for him. The two women instantly turned away and sank lower into their seats as around them disapproving sounds could be heard.

? "You didn't have to," he said quietly.

? "I did. For if I did not, then who would? All it takes is for good people to remain silent for ugliness to prevail." Then, to his utter shock, she placed her hand onto his and squeezed. He gasped and looked at her gloved hand on his, knowing he should move it away and break the spell she'd cast on them but he did not. He did not wish to for it felt good. It felt… right.

She leaned in and whispered, "Remember, you are not alone in this. We face it together." As leaned back he caught the scent of her sweet perfume and his world grew warm. Could it be that his affection for her was growing into something larger than he'd ever anticipated? He parted his lips, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say when the door opened and Wickham appeared. His presence was like a dark shadow sinking over his momentary respite and at last, he moved his hand way from hers, following them instead in his lap as he stared at the man who had made his life a misery—and whom he had allowed in his melancholy, to become the leader of a flock of parishioners.

What had he been thinking? Wickham? A vicar? He should have stopped it, should have refused him the living—alas, as with so many things, Darcy realised his actions had been guided by selfishness, and it was all too late to reverse them now.