The Marquess looked as though he meant to throw something.
But Lord Matlock—still behind him—cleared his throat sharply. “Ashwick. Sit down. For God’s sake, we are not at Parliament.”
And the Countess, seated in quiet command, added dryly, “I am afraid if you raise your voice again, I shall be forced to remove Lady Julia from the room. She is impressionable.”
Lady Julia, who had not moved once, glared hotly at everyone.
Elizabeth swallowed the tide of emotion swelling against her ribs and folded her hand back into Darcy’s. For the first time since her father had stormed into the room, she saw the faintest flicker of confusion break through his rage.
Darcy’s voice cut through again. “We can speak as men, Ashwick. Or we can shout. But I believe your daughter has chosen her course.”
He did not say,“And it is not one I asked for.”But Elizabeth heard it anyway.
Ashwick’s chest rose once, sharply. Then again. But his eyes were not fixed on Darcy any longer. They flicked to his daughter—and held.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and tight, “you will not do this. I am your father.”
She met him head-on. “Yes. You are. And when I made my curtsey to the Queen, you promised me I might choose.”
Ashwick bristled. “Among those I deemed suitable! How conveniently you forget that part. This—” He stabbed a hand in Darcy’s direction. “This is not what I meant. This isnotsuitable!”
“Enough,” Darcy said sharply, stepping forward.
Ashwick whirled. “I will not be silenced in my own daughter’s—”
“She is not a child,” Darcy said. His voice was low, even—but there was something steely in it now, something forged. “You may shout, my lord, if it pleases your pride. But do not presume she needs protecting from me. I am merely counseling you not to say something you cannot retract.”
Ashwick drew several heaving breaths, struggling to steady himself.
“So,Lady Elizabeth,“ he growled, turning his fury back to her, “you will shame your mother’s name for this? Your father’s? For this man, who has nothing but a salary and a family name blackened by royal decree?”
Elizabeth stepped forward—past Darcy’s shielding form, not flinching, not blinking.
“His name,” she said, “is the one I will bear.”
He stared at her, as if unable to comprehend it. “Good Lord. It is already too late, is it not? You are already defiled! By this—”
“I assure you, that is not the case,” she interrupted. “He had every reason to take advantage of me once. He had the power, the opportunity. I was alone. Unchaperoned. I threw myself into his arms and begged him to give me any excuse—any hope. And he refused.”
A silence fell, sharp and abrupt. Her father’s mouth seemed to be trying to shape itself around the words she was saying, but he could not comprehend them enough to repeat them.
“He protected me, when no one else would. Not for his gain. Not to force an attachment. Simply because he could. And I would rather tie my life to a man who refuses to profit from another’s pain than all the dukes in Christendom.”
Ashwick swayed slightly. “Unchaperoned… how?“ His voice rose. “When?”
Elizabeth merely raised a brow. “There were times you never heard me, Father, but others listened.Helistened.”
Ashwick blinked and put out a hand to steady himself on the back of a nearby sofa. “No fortune. No title. Not even a home,” he murmured. “You would truly give all that up?”
She only lifted her chin.
Ashwick stared at her. Then looked at Darcy. “And you?”
Darcy’s eyes never left Elizabeth’s. “I would have walked into exile with her and counted myself rich.”
There was a pause. Lord Matlock cleared his throat again. “Well. If no one else will say it,” he muttered, “I suppose I shall. That sounds rather like a settled matter.”
Ashwick looked as though he wanted to punch someone. But instead, after a long silence, he sank into the nearest chair, one hand covering his eyes. “God help me,” he muttered. “You are your mother. This… I cannot mend this, Elizabeth! You have gone too far.”
