Elizabeth rose carefully, keeping Ambrose secure in her arms despite his growing weight. “Mrs Younge, I cannot pretend to understand what motivated your involvement in Wickham’s original scheme, but I shall be forever grateful for what you have done today. You have saved our child from further suffering, and that is a debt we can never fully repay.”
The older woman’s face crumpled with emotion. “I ask only that Master Ambrose be allowed to remain where he is truly loved and cherished. He has endured enough upheaval for one so young.”
“He will never leave us again,” Elizabeth promised with fierce certainty, pressing a kiss to Ambrose’s forehead. “Whatever legal battles must be fought, whatever prices must be paid—our son will never again be subjected to such cruelty.”
Elizabeth’s mind was already planning the care Ambrose would need. A warm bath to wash away every trace of his ordeal, nourishing food to restore his strength, and countless hours of patient love to heal the wounds that could not be seen but ran deeper than any physical harm.
“Shall I prepare Master Ambrose’s room, madam?” Mrs Reynolds asked, appearing with the swift efficiency that marked excellent household management.
“Yes, and please ask Cook to prepare some simple, nourishing foods. Nothing too rich initially, as his stomach may need time to adjust. And send word to Dr Whitmore that we should like him to examine the child at his earliest convenience.”
As they climbed the familiar stairs, Ambrose’s small voice carried a question that made Elizabeth’s throat tighten withprotective fury. “Mama, will the bad man come to take me away again?”
“Never,” she whispered against his ear, meaning every syllable with the force of a sacred vow. “You are home now, my precious boy, and nothing will ever separate us again.”
Behind them, Mrs Younge followed at a respectful distance, her face bearing the exhausted relief of someone who had finally acted according to her conscience after too long a period of moral compromise. Whatever her past sins, she had redeemed herself in the most meaningful way possible—by placing a child’s welfare above all other considerations.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“He will not accept this quietly,” Elizabeth said as she settled Ambrose more comfortably in the morning room, her voice barely above a whisper despite their son’s apparent absorption in the wooden soldiers she had retrieved from storage. “Wickham’s pride will never allow him to simply let us keep what he considers his legal property.”
Darcy stood by the window, his posture rigid with the tension that had marked his bearing since Ambrose’s return. “No doubt he is already discovering the boy’s absence and making enquiries. We must prepare ourselves for his inevitable arrival.”
The knowledge that their happiness hung by the most tenuous of threads cast shadows over what should have been a moment of pure joy. Every creak of the house, every sound from the drive made them both start with apprehension, expecting at any moment to see Wickham’s familiar figure demanding the return of his supposed son.
“I brought these from our picnic,” Elizabeth said softly, offering Ambrose one of the scones she had so carefully prepared that morning—a lifetime ago, it seemed now. “Would you like to try one whilst we wait for Cook to prepare your proper meal?”
The boy’s thin face lit up with the first genuine smile she had seen since his return. “You made these yourself, Mama?
“Yes, indeed,” she confirmed, her heart brimming with tenderness.
She watched with fierce maternal satisfaction as he bit into the still-warm pastry, noting how he savoured each morsel with the care of a child who had learned not to take such simple pleasures for granted. His appetite, at least, seemed unimpaired by his ordeal, though she could see how the sharp angles of his face spoke of too many missed meals.
“Mrs Younge made certain I had food most days,” Ambrose said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. “She would bring me bread and milk when the others forgot. But nothing tasted as good as the meals here, Mama.”
From across the room, she caught Darcy’s eye and saw her own emotions reflected there—gratitude towards Mrs Younge for whatever protection she had managed to provide, fury at those who had forgotten to feed a child, and overwhelming relief that their boy was safe in their arms once more.
“Mrs Younge showed great kindness,” Elizabeth said. “We are very grateful to her for watching over you.”
As if summoned by their conversation, Mrs Younge appeared in the doorway with the hesitant air of someone uncertain of her reception. “Forgive the intrusion. I wondered… might I have a word regarding Master Ambrose’s situation?”
“Certainly,” Darcy replied, though his tone carried wariness. “Please, sit. We are eager to hear whatever counsel you might offer.”
The older woman perched on the edge of a chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I have been considering our legal position. Mr Wickham’s conduct in Yorkshire provides clear evidence of neglect and unfitness as a guardian. Surely such testimony, properly presented to the courts, might serve to overturn the previous ruling?”
“You would be willing to testify against Wickham?” Elizabeth asked, surprised by the offer despite the woman’s recent actions.
“I have already compromised my principles too far by remaining silent about his treatment of the child. If my testimony could help secure Master Ambrose’s welfare permanently, I would consider it a small step towards redemption.”
Darcy moved away from the window with sudden purpose. “Morrison, please send word to my solicitor immediately. Mr Oswald must come to Pemberley at once—tell him it is a matter of utmost urgency regarding custody proceedings.”
As the message was dispatched, Elizabeth felt a flutter of hope despite their precarious circumstances. With Mrs Younge’s eyewitness testimony and the evidence of Ambrose’s physical condition upon his return, surely even the most conservative magistrate would recognise Wickham’s unfitness as a parent.
***
Mr Oswald arrived within three hours, his composed demeanour showing signs of the haste with which he had travelled. After hearing their account of recent events, however, his expression grew increasingly grave.
“I fear the legal situation remains complex,” he said with obvious reluctance. “While evidence of neglect is certainly damaging to Mr Wickham’s character, the fundamental issue of paternal rights has not changed. A father’s claim to his legitimate child is considered nearly absolute under current law.”
