Page 164 of Honor Requires

“Yes,” Jane replied. “My father-in-law wishes to know the count better and seemed eager to attend.”

Elizabeth nodded. “And Bramley himself?” She knew, of course, that her brother by marriage would be there, but took pleasure in returning Jane’s teasing.

Her sister gave her a look of gentle reproach. “Of course. He would not absent himself when we are to receive such a guest. You take such delight in vexing me, Lizzy.” Jane chuckled and shook her head.

Elizabeth inclined her head once more, her composure holding, though the anticipation was building within her and she could not entirely still.

She made some attempt, through the hours that followed, to occupy her thoughts. She read, though she retained little of what passed before her eyes. Elizabeth walked briefly in the garden, though she scarcely noticed the blooms that she had so recently delighted in observing. She spoke with Jane, with the children, and her mind returned always to the same point.

He will come. He will speak. It will be known.

At last, the hour arrived. The family gathered in the larger drawing room, the one reserved for more formal occasions, its arrangement both elegant and imposing. The furnishings were placed with careful symmetry, the chairs and settees positioned to encourage conversation, the light falling through the tall windows to illuminate the room without harshness.

Elizabeth took her place beside Jane. She felt the presence of the others keenly.

The Earl sat with an air of unassuming authority, his posture composed, his expression thoughtful. The Countess, though less severe in manner, carried a dignity that spoke of long habit and careful observance. Bramley stood near the mantel, his attention divided between his family and the door, his curiosity not entirely concealed.

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. Soon.

The butler entered. “The Count of Vendicarsi.” A subtle tension in his tone drew Elizabeth’s attention at once.

She looked up.

Darcy entered.

For an exhilarating second, she did not breathe. The beard was gone. The careful alteration that had once obscured his features had been removed, leaving his countenance fully revealed, unchanged in all that mattered. The years had touched him, yes, refining and deepening the lines of his face, but there was no mistaking him now.

He was Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Elizabeth felt the world shift. She had known. She had always known. To see him thus, without concealment and without the barrier he had so carefully maintained, was altogether different.

Bramley swore. The Countess gave a cry and fell back in her chair. Chaos followed.

The Earl rose at once, moving to his wife’s side, while Jane exclaimed in confusion, her gaze darting between Darcy and the others as she sought some explanation that had not been offered.

Elizabeth did not move. She could not. Her gaze remained fixed upon Darcy, upon the face she had carried in memory for so long, now present before her in undeniable truth.

Richard entered behind him, Anne upon his arm. “Close the door,” he said.

The butler obeyed, bowing and withdrawing quickly. Richard himself turned the key. The room settled, though not into calm.

The Countess was revived, her color returning gradually, though her expression remained one of profound astonishment. Anne, seeing Darcy clearly for the first time, broke from Richard’s side and threw her arms around him.

“Fitzwilliam!”

Darcy returned the embrace, though gently, his composure holding even as emotion flickered briefly across his features.

The Countess struggled to sit upright.

The Earl turned, his expression grave. “This requires explanation.”

Richard stepped forward. “It does,” he said. “And it shall be given. Pray, be seated. It is a long story.”

Elizabeth rose. She crossed the room without hesitation and went to Darcy’s side. Her hand found his, her fingers slipping into his grasp with silent confidence. He looked at her, and, briefly, the room, the others, and the entire world seemed to fall away.

He raised her hand and pressed it to his lips. The gesture, simple as it was, steadied her. She led him to the settee and they sat.

Richard spoke first, offering the bare outline of what must be understood before Darcy himself continued. Then Darcy began, his voice calm as he recounted the events that had led to his disappearance, his imprisonment, the years he had endured in silence.