She studied his face, noting the regret in his dark eyes, and felt her mild disappointment soften into understanding. “Perhaps we both require time to learn each other’s manner of speaking. I did not take offence, I assure you.”
Before he could respond, the sound of running footsteps interrupted their exchange.
“Mr Darcy! Lizzy!” Ambrose’s joyful cry preceded his appearance around a bend in the path, his small legs pumping furiously as he raced towards them with Miss Francesca following at a more sedate pace behind.
“Master Ambrose!” the governess called with evident exasperation. “You must not run ahead so carelessly!”
The boy paid no heed to her admonishment, his attention focused entirely on reaching his beloved guardians. In his enthusiasm, however, his foot caught on an uneven stone, sending him tumbling forward with a cry of alarm.
Both Elizabeth and Darcy moved instinctively, dropping to their knees simultaneously to catch the falling child. Their hands met as they reached to steady him, fingers intertwining briefly before they lifted Ambrose together, ensuring he remained upright despite his stumble.
“There now,” Elizabeth soothed, brushing dirt from his jacket while Mr Darcy checked for any signs of injury. “No harm done, dear. But you must listen to Miss Francesca about running on uneven ground.”
Ambrose giggled at his narrow escape, seemingly delighted by the adventure rather than chastened by it. “I wanted to catch up with you! Miss Francesca walks too slowly, and I saw you by the water.”
“We were not going anywhere urgent,” Mr Darcy assured him, with a particular gentleness he reserved for the child. “There was no need for such haste.”
Elizabeth became acutely aware that her hand still rested beneath Mr Darcy’s where they both supported Ambrose’s small shoulders. The warmth of his touch sent an unexpected flutter through her chest, while the sight of their joined efforts to care for the boy created an intimacy she had not anticipated.
“The subject of Ambrose,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting hers over the child’s head, “is one matter on which we seem to find ourselves in complete accord. His welfare comes first, always.”
“Always,” Elizabeth said in agreement. They both cared deeply for the little boy and that was enough reason for them to set their differences aside. She glanced down at Ambrose with sudden inspiration. “Speaking of which, there is something I have been considering. Now that we are properly married and truly a family, perhaps it would be appropriate for Ambrose to address us as any child would his parents.”
Ambrose’s eyes widened with excitement. “You mean I could call you Mama?”
“If you wish it,” Elizabeth said gently. “And you may call Mr Darcy Papa as well.”
Mr Darcy nodded in agreement. “Elizabeth is quite right—we are a proper family now, and families have proper names for one another.”
“Oh yes!” Ambrose exclaimed, bouncing with delight. “Mama and Papa! I have wanted this for so long!”
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye over the boy’s head, noting his approval of her suggestion. Beyond the obvious pleasureit would bring Ambrose, such formal acknowledgment of their family structure could only strengthen their position in legal matters. Surely, courts would find it harder to separate a child from parents he addressed with such natural affection.
Their moment of understanding was interrupted by Miss Francesca’s arrival, the governess slightly breathless from her pursuit but maintaining her dignified bearing despite the exertion.
“I do apologise, sir, madam,” she said with a curtsy. “Master Ambrose was most eager to join your walk, but I thought it best not to disturb your private conversation.”
“Quite right,” he replied, though he made no move to send the child away. “Perhaps Ambrose might walk with us for a short while before returning to his lessons?”
The boy’s face lit up with delight at this unexpected reprieve, while Miss Francesca inclined her head in acceptance of her employer’s wishes.
Their return to the house proved more leisurely, with Ambrose chattering about the various sights they encountered and asking endless questions about the swans, the gardeners’ work, and the history of every statue and folly they passed.
As they approached the house, a footman emerged with evident urgency, carrying a silver salver bearing correspondence. “A letter has arrived for you, sir,” he announced. “The messenger indicated it required immediate attention.”
Mr Darcy’s expression grew grave as he recognised the hand that had penned his direction. He broke the seal with swift efficiency, his jaw tightening as he read the contents.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanour.
Without a word, he handed her the letter. The contents proved as disturbing as his reaction had suggested:
Darcy,
Your hasty marriage fools no one who knows your character. It is clear you have recognised your own inadequacy as a guardian and sought to remedy it through desperate means. Yet no amount of feminine influence can disguise the truth: you are unfit to raise my son.
The boy deserves better than a cold, proud guardian who can never be more than a substitute for what he truly needs—his real father. Your recent bride may provide temporary comfort, but she cannot replace the bond between a father and son.
The child craves the connection that only I can provide, yet you selfishly deny him that birthright. No amount of wealth or grand houses can compensate for keeping a boy from his natural parent.
