Page 165 of Honor Requires

Elizabeth watched. She did not need to hear the details again to know their value. She had seen enough, understood enough, to grasp the extent of what had been taken from him—from all of them. As he spoke, she became aware of the others—their reactions, their shifting expressions, the gradual transformation of disbelief into comprehension.

The earl listened intently, his features set in a stern line, though there was a depth of feeling beneath it that he did not entirely conceal. The countess, now recovered, watched with a mixture of shock and sorrow, her gaze never leaving Darcy’s face. Jane sat very still, her confusion giving way to dawning understanding, her eyes moving between Elizabeth and Darcy with increasing clarity.

Bramley stood apart, his posture rigid, his attention fixed upon his cousin with an intensity that spoke of both astonishment and relief.

When Darcy spoke of Lucien, there was a brief pause.

“Where is Mr. Dantès?” the earl asked. “If that is indeed his name.”

Darcy inclined his head.

“Lucien thought it best that the family have this moment without him,” he said. “He is, however, a man of the highest character, and I claim him as a brother in all but blood.”

Richard nodded in agreement.

The countess spoke next. “And Georgiana?” she asked. “Have you told her?”

Darcy’s expression softened. “I have not,” he said. “Not yet.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Will you accompany me?” he asked.

She agreed at once. “Yes.”

The earl spoke again, his tone thoughtful. “You have considered the implications of your return?” he said. “The questions that will be raised? The potential for scandal?”

Darcy met his gaze. “I have,” he said. “And I have made provision for it. There is a means by which I may reclaim what is mine without inviting undue scrutiny, though I am not ready to provide more information than that.”

The earl inclined his head, accepting the answer for the moment.

A few more words were spoken, and more questions asked. Through it all, Elizabeth held Darcy’s hand, trying not to be distracted as he drew circles on her palm with his fingers. After a time, Darcy rose and said it was time for him to call upon Darcy House. Elizabeth, too, stood, and they excused themselves.

“I shall await you by the door, my dear.” Darcy smiled, and Elizabeth nodded.

She returned to her chamber and called for her walking things, her movements quick but composed. As she fastened the final clasp of her cloak, she became aware of Jane’s presence.

Her sister sat upon the edge of the bed. Elizabeth met her gaze in the mirror. For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Jane said, “How long have you known?”

Elizabeth turned. “From the first moment I met him as the count,” she replied.

Jane’s brows lifted. “You were certain?”

Elizabeth smiled, happy and assured. “A heart does not forget,” she said.

Jane rose. She crossed the room and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Then I shall not delay you,” she said. “You had best not keep your gentleman waiting.”

Elizabeth laughed. She gathered her things and left the room. Her steps were light as she descended the stairs, her heart full, her thoughts clear. Darcy waited below.

Elizabeth had not thought herself easily shaken. She had faced loss, endured uncertainty, and borne with constancy the long years in which hope had seemed little more than a fragile indulgence. As she stood upon the step before Darcy House, her gloved hands clasped lightly together, she found a nervousness take hold that she could neither dismiss nor wholly explain.

Beside her, Darcy stood composed. There was a stillness about him, a resolve borne of his trials that spoke not of indifference, but of purpose held firmly in check. His presence steadied her, even as her thoughts turned toward the scene that must soon unfold.

Georgiana. The image rose before her at once. Pale, gentle, so recently bereaved. Elizabeth had seen her only days before, had witnessed the depth of her sorrow, the confusion that clouded her understanding of her husband’s death. To bring her now face to face with a brother she believed lost—such a revelation might comfort or overwhelm.

Elizabeth drew a slow breath. She must know. She deserves to know.

Darcy glanced at her. “You are certain you wish to be here?” he asked.

Elizabeth met his gaze. “I am.”