Darcy closed the door and crossed the room in three swift strides. Ignoring propriety, he sat on the bed at Elizabeth’s side. “Elizabeth—” His voice softened, his eyes searching her face. “Are you well?”
“I… do not know,” she admitted faintly.
He turned at once to Lady Catherine, his expression hardening.
“Aunt—what does this mean?” he demanded. “What have you been saying to her?”
She met his gaze calmly. “Merely the truth.”
“That you are her mother?” He shook his head incredulously. “Have you taken ill, perhaps? Struck your head? Shall I send for the doctor again?”
Lady Catherine stiffened. The look she gave him would have quelled a lesser man entirely. “My faculties,” she said icily, “are in perfect working order, I thank you.”
Darcy was unconvinced, and his doubt must have shown on his face because Lady Catherine drew herself up further.
“I have merely informed Elizabeth Bennet here the truth of her parentage: that she was born after I married Frederick Bennet in a secret Catholic ceremony.”
“It is impossible,” he replied.
“It is inconvenient,” Lady Catherine corrected. “But not impossible.”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth. Surely she would deny it outright—laugh at it, dismiss it as absurd—
But she did not.
Instead, she gave a small, helpless sort of shrug. “I… cannot say that I believe it,” she said carefully. “But—” She hesitated. “It would explain some things.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “What things?”
“My father, for one,” she said quietly. “His sudden… change. His determination to prevent the marriage at any cost.”
Darcy felt something cold settle in his chest. Lady Catherine watched them both closely.
Darcy turned back to her. “And you expect us to accept this on your word alone?”
“Yes, because ladies typically admit to giving birth to a child out of legal wedlock and then committing bigamy,” Lady Catherine said dryly.
Elizabeth gave a sharp burst of laughter, then slapped a hand of her mouth.
Lady Catherine gave her a quelling look, then abruptly asked, “What became of Freddy?”
Elizabeth blinked. “I do not know,” she admitted. “I did not even know he existed until a few months ago. Jane mentioned—almost in passing—that perhaps my coloring came from our Uncle Frederick. My sisters all have fair hair and blue eyes, you see.”
She gave a faint, uncertain breath. “I had never heard of him before. She told me he died many years ago. There is very little spoken of him. Indeed—very little known at all. I… I am sorry.”
Lady Catherine’s shoulders slumped down. “I suppose it was too much to hope that he had survived after all these years.”
The three sat in silence for a long while before Elizabeth asked in a small voice, “So what does this mean for us?”
Darcy gave her a blank look. “I… I do not understand the question.”
She waved a hand between the two of them. “This. Us. What is going to happen? My father has rescinded his permission—but it is possible he is not actually my father. We were supposed to be married this morning, but instead we fled. And to discover that I am… well, that I was born out of wedlock…”
Her voice trailed off, and Darcy’s heart clenched at the sound of tears in her voice. “You may not… that is, I cannot imagine you wishing to connect yourself to someone with such a history.”
He gaped. “Are you trying to… to cry off?”
“No,” she cried out. “I simply do not wish to bring you down with me.”
