20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

" N o!" Darcy exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief. "This must be some mistake! Harry was loyal—honest! He would never betray his country. He could not even betray a dog!" His fists clenched on the arms of his chair as he glared at his uncle. "What is the nature of this absurd claim?"

The Earl of Matlock sighed. "There was an incident during the siege at Badajoz. Harry—you recall, he was then a lieutenant—and his men were in the thick of it, taking heavy fire on the wall."

Darcy's breath strangled. His mind filled with the image of his younger brother, Harry, in the hellish chaos of battle. "Badajoz..." he murmured, his voice faltering as he struggled to imagine the violence and bloodshed his brother had witnessed. His chest tightened painfully. "Go on."

The earl hesitated. "It was bloody—though they claimed it a victory. But even in London, we heard of the tremendous casualties, so one can only imagine how hideous..."

Darcy could only nod. His throat felt dry, unable to swallow. He could picture it now: Harry standing against the storm of gunfire, defiant in the face of death. But there was more, and Darcy dreaded hearing it.

"During that battle," the Earl continued, "there is a claim—one made by an undersergeant, mind you—that Harry gave the order for his men to stop firing. To retreat. To give way and let the enemy surge over the wall they were defending."

Darcy's brow furrowed deeply, the shock giving way to anger. "What?" he barked, standing abruptly. "Why would he do that? He would never!"

"I do not know the reasons, but that is the accusation. Harry is said to have ordered a retreat at the most crucial moment of the battle."

Darcy's mind whirled as he paced the room. "Harry was made captain after that battle," he said through gritted teeth. "For his valour! How can they now accuse him of treason?"

The earl shook his head. "It was political wrangling, from what I can gather. The undersergeant made his accusation, but Harry, with his connections, his name, managed to... redirect the narrative. He undermined the evidence, retelling the tale in a way that cast him as the hero."

Darcy stopped in his tracks, his breath coming fast and shallow. "You expect me to believe that Harry—my brother—would threaten others to save his own skin? It's preposterous!"

"I agree. It does not sound like Harry," the earl said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation. "But I have had this confirmed by credible sources, Darcy. This is not something we can simply dismiss."

Darcy was left stunned. Further, the thought of his brother's honour being questioned like this was nearly unbearable. He looked up sharply. "Harry was no traitor. You knew him as well as I—he had principles. His loyalty to his men was unmatched. He would never abandon them."

The earl fell silent for a long moment, then spoke softly. "I am sorry, Darcy."

"Sorry?" Darcy's voice was sharp, his eyes flashing. "Sorry for what?"

The earl exhaled slowly, his expression grim. "For the storm you will face when you next return to London. It is already making its rounds. You will receive the cut direct. The Darcy name is tarnished—forever."

Darcy could not believe what he was hearing. His entire body shook with anger. He rose to his feet, pacing once more. "And do you think I care a jot about society and their bloody opinions? I have lost my only brother—a man of honour and courage—and now he is vilified in death by vultures who envied him. What does that say about them, Uncle? It says nothing of Harry's honour and everything about their jealousy!"

The earl raised his hands, trying to calm his nephew's fury. "Darcy, you must listen. You cannot let this consume you. You cannot fight the entire ton ."

"Names, Uncle," Darcy demanded, his voice a low growl. "Give me their names. I will confront them myself."

"It is on everyone's lips, Darcy. Impossible to trace it back to a handful of sources. The accusations are everywhere." He paused, then added, "You could write to the colonel if you wish to hear the full tale. But I do not recommend it. The details are ugly."

Darcy continued to pace, his rage barely contained, when a knock interrupted the heated silence.

"What is it?" he barked, his voice harsher than he intended.

The door opened a crack, and Elizabeth peeked her head in, looking startled. "I did not think my knock was so offensive, Mr Darcy," she said with a teasing smile. But her eyes quickly flicked to the earl, and her expression turned more serious. "Forgive me, I did not realise you had company. I can return later."

Darcy immediately softened, the sight of her unwinding some of the tension coiled in his chest. "No, do come in," he said, stepping aside to welcome her. "Allow me to introduce my uncle, the Earl of Matlock. Uncle, this is Mrs Darcy."

The Earl stood, his eyes sharp as he took in Elizabeth's presence. His expression remained guarded, particularly after Darcy shot him a stern glare, but he bowed stiffly in greeting. "Mrs Darcy."

Elizabeth curtsied. "It is a pleasure, my lord."

The Earl raised an eyebrow, as if testing her mettle. "The pleasure must be all mine, I am sure. Tell me, madam, how are you adjusting to life at Pemberley?"

"It is a most beautiful place, and I find the people here to be kind and welcoming. I could not ask for better company."

"And," the Earl replied, his tone deceptively mild, "how do you find the management of such a large estate as Pemberley? It must be... quite different from what you are accustomed to," the Earl finished, smiling as though awaiting a misstep.

Elizabeth did not miss a beat. "Indeed, it is a great deal to manage, my lord," she said with a serene smile, folding her hands before her. "But I have had the excellent guidance of Mrs Reynolds and Mr Darcy to steer me through it. I find that one cannot help but rise to the occasion when supported by such capable hands."

The earl's eyes narrowed slightly, as though considering whether to press further. "And you have found no difficulties, then? Have you met any new acquaintances yet?"

Darcy tensed, sending his uncle another warning glare, but Elizabeth caught it with a wry smile.

"The household is in mourning, my lord," Elizabeth reminded him, "but I expect that with time and fair dealings, I might make one or two friends in Derbyshire."

Darcy could see the faint twitch in his uncle's brow, an indication that Elizabeth's composed response had not quite given him the opening he sought. The earl shifted slightly in his chair and, with a glint in his eye, ventured again, "And tell me, Mrs Darcy, what of London? How shall you fare there upon your return? Surely the circles you kept before were... somewhat different."

Elizabeth's smile did not falter. "Different, yes, but people are much the same wherever you go, are they not? The kindness of one's company speaks louder than their title, I have found."

The Earl blinked, clearly not expecting such a reply. "Quite so," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, the wind taken out of his sails.

Darcy hid a small smile. His uncle shifted uncomfortably, his test met and deflected with far more grace than it had been delivered. "Yes, well," the earl muttered, "it seems you have everything well in hand, Mrs Darcy."

Elizabeth dipped her head gracefully. "I certainly hope so, my lord."

As she curtsied and prepared to take her leave, Darcy could see the slight flush of frustration colouring his uncle's face. Elizabeth had answered every question with such effortless charm that the Earl had been left without a foothold.

"Excuse me, Uncle," Darcy said, inclining his head. "Mrs Darcy, was there something you wished?"

"I merely had a question about the household accounts," Elizabeth said, with a glance at Lord Matlock. "But it can certainly wait."

Darcy gave her a small smile. "Then I shall speak with you later."

She nodded, offering a parting glance that seemed to steady him before she slipped out the door.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Darcy turned back to his uncle, his thoughts still swimming with anger and frustration. But her presence had calmed him, as it so often did.

The earl watched her go, his face still slightly pinched with irritation, and Darcy couldn't help the small grin that tugged at his lips. "She is not what you expected, Uncle?" Darcy asked mildly, leaning back in his own chair.

His uncle let out a gruff chuckle, though his eyes narrowed at Darcy. "She is... something of a surprise," the earl admitted, shifting in his seat. "I will give her that. But I warn you, Darcy, the ton will eat her alive, and you with her."

"I look forward to seeing them try."

But the pleasure of congratulating his wife on comporting herself well before a sceptical audience must wait. Darcy paced back to the sideboard, returning his empty glass before turning round to his uncle once more. "What more, Uncle? What is to be done about these rumours?"

The earl sighed, his demeanour stiffening again. "What more can be done, Darcy? Captain Darcy is dead. You cannot undo his mistakes, nor can you save his reputation."

Darcy drew a long breath, forcing his mind to settle. "No," he said quietly, though the weight of his anger still simmered beneath his skin. "But I can try. And I will not let his name be ruined without a fight."

The earl rose from his seat, his expression resigned. "That is not why I came here, Darcy—to send you tilting after windmills. There is no more you can do. I merely felt it best you should hear it from me first, before others have their way with it."

Darcy gave a curt nod. "Thank you, Uncle."

E lizabeth's eyes narrowed on the Earl of Matlock's carriage in the distance as it rattled into view down the drive. She pushed her chair back, rising with a determined breath. Something was wrong. The earl's visit had been a surprise, but it was Darcy's sharp, frustrated shout when she had knocked on his study door… That was not the voice of a man at ease.

Perhaps he needed to talk. Perhaps he would prefer solitude. It was hard to tell with him, but she had learned enough in these few weeks to know that he would not voice his troubles unless pressed.

She made her way to the door, half-distracted by her thoughts, but before she even reached the hall, she froze. Darcy was already there, in the foyer. He yanked on his coat with a ferocity she had rarely seen from him, the hard set of his jaw betraying the storm swirling within him. He smashed his hat on his head, snatched up his walking stick, and moved toward the door, his strides long and brimming with frustration.

The footman barely managed to swing the door open before Darcy charged through it, the heavy wooden door creaking in protest. Elizabeth stood rooted in place, her heart thrumming. Whatever the earl had said to him had left a deep mark. She hesitated for a moment longer before making up her mind.

Slipping back upstairs to her room, she quickly pulled on her cloak and bonnet, tying the ribbons with practised ease. She hurried outside, stopping at the top of the steps to see where Darcy had gone. Halfway across the grounds, she spotted him, his tall figure storming toward the stables. His pace was quick, urgent, but then—without warning—he veered off, changing his direction entirely.

He was headed toward the lake.

That was as good as an invitation. He knew that was her favoured spot to think, and perhaps he had gone there for the same reason. Elizabeth quickened her pace as the lake came into view, her eyes fixed on Darcy's distant figure.

As she neared, his figure came into sharper focus, his pacing agitated, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. Suddenly, he halted, his figure contorting and fists clenching as he let out a sharp, wordless cry of anger that echoed across the water. Elizabeth froze in place, unsure whether to call out or remain silent, but before she could decide, he spun around, his gaze locking onto hers.

His body stiffened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might retreat from her presence entirely. Then, as if some unseen weight fell from his shoulders, he let out a long, shuddering sigh. His features softened, and he met her eyes with an expression that told her everything she needed to know.

"Harry is being accused of treason," he blurted out, his voice thick with outrage.

Elizabeth's breath caught, and her feet faltered for a moment before she hurried forward again. "What? What can you possibly mean by that? Who would even believe such a thing?"

Darcy shook his head, his eyes dropping to the ground as he paced once more, his fists clenching at his sides. "I do not know... I—" His voice faltered, and for the first time, Elizabeth noticed the tremor in his chest, the glimmer of a tear that he blinked away swiftly.

She swallowed, her heart aching at the sight of him like this, and though she slowed her steps, she continued toward him.

Without another word, Darcy reached for her, pulling her into his arms with a quiet desperation. His grip was firm, almost as if he feared she might vanish. Elizabeth slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his chest, feeling the erratic rise and fall of his breath against her.

Neither of them spoke, and for once, words were unnecessary. She could feel the raw emotion, the vulnerability, the sheer agony of hearing the accusations against his brother—and all she could do was hold him tighter, offering her silent support as the heaving in his chest began to slow, and his arms grew tighter still.

E lizabeth turned a page, though her gaze barely brushed the words. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Darcy. His book lay open, untouched. He had not turned a page in ages. The stillness in his posture, the way his brow furrowed slightly, spoke volumes. He wasn't reading. He wasn't even present.

Elizabeth lowered her own book, watching him more openly now. He seemed so far away, lost in the depths of his thoughts, and the blankness of his expression pulled at something deep within her. She knew the reason for his distress—the accusations against Harry still hung over him like a dark cloud. He had barely spoken after their conversation at the lake—not that there had been much conversation, even there—but there had been a shift in their silence. It was a sort of comfort in merely being near one another.

Finally, as if sensing her gaze, Darcy blinked and looked up from his book. His face was a mask of defeat, though he attempted a small, tired smile. "You do not care for your book, Mrs Darcy?"

She met his eyes, offering a gentle smile of her own. "I might ask you the same, sir."

He glanced down at the pages in front of him, then back up at her with a wry expression. "Caught, then. I suppose my mind has been elsewhere."

Elizabeth leaned forward slightly, her book forgotten. "Do you wish to speak of it?"

Darcy hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the fire. "I... It is difficult to know where to begin."

Elizabeth shifted closer. "Perhaps... you could tell me what your uncle said. You were too agitated to explain it earlier."

Darcy's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as the anger and disbelief from earlier began to surface once more. "He said he spoke with a colonel—Harry's commanding officer. Apparently, it was during the siege at Badajoz that these accusations arose. Harry... he was said to have ordered a retreat, to give ground to the enemy, against orders to the contrary. They call it treason."

Elizabeth's heart twisted at the pain in his voice. She took a deep breath, remembering that fight she had witnessed—the threats, the accusations. "Mr Darcy... when I overheard Mr Wickham speaking to Harry, it sounded as if your brother was trying to set right a wrong. Wickham was threatening him, saying that if Harry spoke out, he would be ruined. Could it be that...?"

Darcy's hand clenched around the book in his lap, his knuckles white. "I cannot believe it," he said, his voice low and fierce. "Harry was loyal. He was honourable. He would never—" He stopped, shaking his head as if trying to shake the very idea loose. "To accuse him of treason... it is unthinkable."

Elizabeth hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "But... could there be some truth in it? I do not mean to suggest he betrayed anyone, but perhaps, in the heat of battle, he made a decision that others have misunderstood."

Darcy's eyes flashed with anger as he looked at her. "No," he said firmly. "Harry was made Captain after that battle. He was recognised for his valour. How can they now claim he acted with dishonour?"

Elizabeth's gaze softened as she watched him, his shoulders tense, his entire body vibrating with barely contained fury. "It could be political, then," she murmured. "Someone could be using his death to settle an old score or to cast blame where it doesn't belong."

Darcy's breathing was heavy, his anger visibly mounting with every passing second. "I cannot stand it—the thought of people speaking of him like this. Harry... he—" His voice broke off, and for a moment, he stared down at the floor, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

Without thinking, Elizabeth reached over and gently pulled the book from his hand. Darcy looked up in surprise, his brow furrowing as she took his hand in hers.

"There is nothing more we can do about it tonight," she said softly. "Perhaps... we can find some other way to spend our time. Something more enjoyable."

Darcy's brow smoothed slightly as he gazed at her, the tension in his face easing, though only a little. "More enjoyable?" he echoed, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.

For a fleeting moment, something shifted in his expression—something she couldn't quite place. Was it… desire? Or perhaps a flicker of uncertainty, even fear? Elizabeth's heart skipped, unsure whether to trust the way his eyes seemed to darken, as if his thoughts had leapt far ahead of her words.

Before she could examine that reaction too deeply, she grabbed his hand, rising from the sofa and pulling him up with her. "Come," she said as she led him toward the pianoforte. "I have a suggestion."

Darcy allowed himself to be guided, but his steps were hesitant, his brow clouded. "And what is it you have in mind, Mrs Darcy?"

Elizabeth gestured to the instrument with a playful smile. "We shall play a song together. Harry said once that your mother made both of you learn, so you must play some little."

Darcy blinked, then let out a small, reluctant laugh. "I have not played in at least five years."

"Good," Elizabeth replied, her tone light and teasing. "You will not sound any better than I do, then."

Darcy looked at her with a bemused expression, then glanced at the piano. "Harry was always the better player. He was the more agreeable student." He huffed softly. "And once I reached the age of ten, Father said I had more important things to learn, anyway. But I still played with Mother whenever I could."

Elizabeth's smile softened as she sifted through the sheet music. "Then you must prove her lessons were not wasted. Besides," she added with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I have no intention of playing anything myself. You, Mr Darcy, will be the performer tonight."

Darcy shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You are determined, are you?"

"Absolutely," she said, pulling out a duet from the collection and setting it on the stand. "Now, sit. I shall play along if you pout convincingly enough, but only if you take the lead so your bad playing will obscure mine."

With a sigh of mock resignation, Darcy sat at the piano, adjusting his sleeves as though preparing for a grand performance. "I must warn you," he said, his fingers hovering above the keys, "I shall play terribly."

Elizabeth laughed, taking her place beside him. "Then I shall play terribly with you."

They began to play, but it was clear neither was focused on the music. Elizabeth's fingers stumbled over the keys, misjudging notes, her hand bumping into his again and again. The proximity of him beside her, his solid presence on the narrow bench, was making it impossible to concentrate. Every time his hand brushed hers, it was like a spark leaping between them, a fire that seemed to scorch her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the warmth of the hearth nearby.

"Perhaps," she quipped, grinning as she missed yet another note, "we should perform this duet blindfolded. I suspect it would make no difference."

Darcy chuckled. "I suspect it would only make things worse. I might take your fingers off entirely with my incompetence."

Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head, but the sound of his laughter wrapped around her, curling into her chest. He was so close. Too close. The heat of his leg against hers was sending a flutter through her stomach she had not expected, her pulse quickening with every brush of his hand.

At one point, their hands collided again, both reaching for the same key, and Elizabeth couldn't help but dissolve into laughter. "Are you trying to sabotage me, Mr Darcy? If so, you are doing an excellent job."

He smiled at her, but his gaze lingered a little too long, and Elizabeth felt the heat of it scorching the hair on her scalp. "Sabotage? Never. I would only do such a thing if I believed you had the upper hand." His voice dropped, and the shift in his tone made her pulse skip.

Elizabeth was still laughing, but there was a nervous flutter beneath it now. "I think I might have to accuse you of trying to throw me off, sir. You are clearly distracting me on purpose."

"Distracting you?" Darcy raised a brow, his hand hovering over hers on the keys, the warmth of it nearly burning her skin. "I wouldn't dream of it."

His voice was teasing, but there was something more beneath it, something that made the air between them feel thick as syrup and almost as sweet. Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn't move. The fire crackled softly beside them, but it was the heat radiating from his body that made her feel light-headed, her pulse racing in her ears.

"Then," she said, forcing herself to speak lightly, "I'm afraid we are both hopeless. And I was so certain we would be the finest musicians in all of Derbyshire."

Darcy chuckled again, but this time his smile was softer, more intimate. "Well, I suppose we'll have to settle for being the worst duet in Derbyshire."

Elizabeth felt her heart race as his hand lingered beside hers on the keyboard, neither of them moving to resume playing. "Shall we try again?" she asked, though her voice sounded breathless to her own ears.

"Perhaps," Darcy murmured, his gaze slipping down to her hand resting on the keys. His fingers brushed against hers again, lingering this time, and Elizabeth's heart stumbled over itself.

"You are doing it again," she teased, though her voice was quieter now, softer.

"Doing what?" His eyes flicked up to hers, and for a brief moment, something hovered in their depths. A flash of desire, perhaps… or was it something else? Fear? Uncertainty? Elizabeth couldn't quite place it, but whatever it was, it made the space between them feel all the more charged.

"Distracting me."

For a moment, neither of them moved, the music forgotten, their hands hovering too close on the keyboard. Then, with a quick laugh that broke the tension, Elizabeth leaned back slightly, shaking her head. "I think we are hopeless."

"Hopeless, indeed." But his hand was still too close, and the nearness of him was still too intoxicating for her to focus on anything else.

"Perhaps we should play something less... complicated?" she suggested, but her voice wavered slightly, the words feeling like an attempt to cover up the heat building between them.

Darcy nodded, though he seemed just as distracted. "Perhaps." But neither of them moved to turn the page or choose another piece, their attention caught in something much more subtle, much more dangerous than music.

The silence between them stretched out, heavy with something unspoken. Elizabeth's skin prickled with awareness, every inch of her attuned to his presence beside her. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, more intense than the fire that crackled a few feet away. She glanced at him, only to find his eyes already on her, his gaze dark and searching, pulling at something deep inside her.

"Elizabeth…" Darcy's voice was low, almost hoarse, as if he were struggling to maintain control. He lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before his fingers gently cupped her chin. The touch was soft but sure, sending a ripple of sensation down her spine.

She froze, her pulse fluttering wildly as their eyes locked. The moment hung between them, charged and fragile, like a taut string about to snap. His thumb brushed lightly along the edge of her jaw, and it felt as though the very ground beneath her shifted.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and full of a quiet intensity. His touch was tentative at first, as though he feared to break something delicate. Elizabeth's senses flooded with the warmth of him, the pressure of his mouth on hers sending a rush of heat through her veins. She felt the keys beneath her fingers tremble as her hands rested against the piano, though all her focus was on him.

But just as quickly, he pulled away, his breath uneven, and dropped his hand from her face. They stared at each other, both stunned by the suddenness of it, the air between them almost brittle with everything that remained unsaid.

Darcy swallowed hard, his gaze shifting away from her to the piano, as though he could not trust himself to meet her eyes any longer. Elizabeth waited, expecting him to stammer out some sort of apology. Or, better yet, to throw caution to the wind and kiss her again. Instead, he drew in a sharp breath, then turned back to the sheet music with deliberate composure.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice tight but steady, "we should try something simpler. It seems we are not well-suited for more complicated pieces."

Elizabeth blinked, still reeling from the kiss, but nodded, her fingers trembling faintly as they hovered over the keys once more.

"Yes," she managed to murmur, "something simpler."

Darcy set the music on the stand, but even as they prepared to play again, the air between them simmered with an unspoken understanding. She was not sure what this new closeness meant, but there was no denying that something had deepened between them—something neither of them seemed ready to fully acknowledge, yet neither could ignore.