Elizabeth’s heart seemed to hear the words itself; it no longer thundered in her ears.
“And the second,” Darcy continued, more quietly, “is that even if you were to attempt such a thing, it would place her in a far worse position—particularly if she were already carrying my child.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
Heat rushed to her face, but she did not protest. She could feel the intent behind his words—not to shock, but to protect. Her father stared at him, stunned—then turned to her.
“Elizabeth—” His voice changed, softened, almost pleading. “Child, there are things you do not understand. You are not safe here. The Fitzwilliams—”
“The Fitzwilliams, what, Thomas?”
A sharp voice cut through the air like a blade, and they all turned to look. Lady Catherine stood at the top of the steps, her figure rigid with authority.
Mr. Bennet’s expression hardened. “And who, madam, are you, to address me so familiarly?”
“I am the mistress of this house,” she said. “The widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”
She descended one step further, her gaze fixed upon him.
“And I was once known by another name.”
A pause.
“Catherine Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth swung around to look at her father, whose face drained of color. Her heart sank within her.
“So, it is true?”
She stepped out from behind her husband, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to steady it. Darcy took her hand, and she took strength from his firm grip.
“You are not my father, but my uncle?” she asked. Her gaze shifted to Lady Catherine. “And she… is my mother?”
Mr. Bennet’s shoulders sank.
“I suppose there is no purpose in maintaining the secrecy any longer,” he said quietly. “I have failed you, my child. I am so sorry. Freddy would be sorely disappointed in me.”
“No, he would not.” Lady Catherine’s voice was firm and unyielding. “You have not failed. I assure you, your niece—my daughter—is in no danger here.”
Mr. Bennet gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “How can I trust that? She has now married into the very family that killed my brother!”
Killed.The word pierced Elizabeth’s soul. Darcy’s hand tightened slightly around hers.
Lady Catherine opened her mouth to respond, but Elizabeth spoke first.
“It seems,” she said, though her voice was not entirely steady, “that we are in need of a conversation of some length.”
She drew in a breath, gathering what composure she could.
“Perhaps we might have it in a more comfortable setting. If we are to have our nerves so thoroughly tried, we may at least spare our feet the indignity of standing through it.”
Richard let out an incredulous guffaw, and Darcy gave a quiet huff of laughter.
“Only you, my love,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips, “could find wit in such a moment.”
The gesture steadied her, and she cast her gaze between her father and Lady Catherine. The latter inclined her head.
“Very well. You may enter, Mr. Bennet—but I will have no more of this talk of removing Elizabeth from my house.”
