A part of him knew his actions were barely appropriate. As his boots tapped upon the soft ground, as the morning chill stung the inevitable scratches on his arm - each inflicted by the brambles he'd braved to get here - he frowned, and he waited.
Maneuvering himself from Netherfield without aid had resulted in one fall, two near-tumbles, and a myriad of scars he knew now decorated his face.
Still, he had to see her.
He had to know what she thought.
"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Elizabeth's cry rewarded him soon, and he turned gladly to face the source of her voice. "What have you - oh, you have come here alone, haven't you?"
She rushed to his side immediately, and he tried not to wince when her gloved fingers grazed the scratches on his skin.
"What compelled you to come, sir?" She asked, all kindness.
He had never felt such tenderness since the loss of his mother.
Darcy cleared his throat, more important things at hand. He felt her fingers retract from his person once he sat up straight upon the rock.
"Miss Elizabeth, I have come to seek your counsel."
She sighed. He wondered if she thought him mad. Indeed, who sought counsel in such early morning hours - wounded all over, too?
"Do you wish to discuss Mr. Wickham?" She offered.
He nodded, glad she broached the subject for him.
"Have you read the letters, sir?"
"Bingley helped me - yes." Darcy frowned. He shifted on the boulder. Her hand assisted him until he settled once more. "I suppose being blind has its disadvantages."
"Mr. Darcy, you cannot blame yourself?" She said quickly.
Darcy wondered, for a moment, if she merely teased.
She spoke again, "Mr. Wickham's rash behavior can hardly be blamed upon a master so kind."
Darcy sighed. "Your father thinks differently."
"My father has a daughter wronged." He felt her fingers wrapped themselves around his arm. "His anxiety could hardly be considered reasonable."
"But you were able to uncover the truth, when I could not. You collected those letters - amassed proof."
"You could not have known they existed, sir."
"How did you?"
She paused. He wondered if she struggled to remember.
"I have friends in Meryton, sir. My intuition was informed."
Darcy nodded, grateful for her ingenuity.
"Mr. Darcy." He felt her palms pressing firmly on the back of his hand. "I hope your eyes have been opened, sir."
"They have."
"And Mr. Wickham?"
"Shall no longer remain in my employ from this day forward."
"You have dismissed him?"
Darcy sighed, knowing he hadn't. "I have not have the opportunity."
She did not reply - merely held his hand more tightly.
Her presence brought him warmth, brought him courage.
"I have ordered his audience for tonight," he said.
"My family thanks you, sir."
"Of course. It is - my neglect that has caused your sister such sorrow. It is but right that I correct them."
Their sudden silence caused him to feel the gaining strength of the sun.
He sighed. "Is it very late, madame?"
"No," she answered.
"I'm afraid my journey here had taken much larger amounts of time than I'd intended."
"It is not late, sir - not for amends to be made."
He stopped before he spoke, beginning to understand.
Her fingers opened then closed again upon his hand. Underneath her gloves, he felt her strength - her trust.
Darcy tried not to frown. "There are only so many amends one can make."
"It must be difficult, sir - to condemn a childhood friend so."
Darcy closed his eyes. "He bludgeoned his own life. My neglect has - "
"Sir." She leaned closer. Mint, lavender, hope, kindness - each scent rolled off her in waves. "I am sorry you must suffer so."
He closed his eyes tighter. He dearly wished he would not cry before her.
"He has been your friend - and aide - for many years."
"Our entire lives," he lamented. "If he leaves - there will be no one."
"You shall have your sister, sir," Miss Elizabeth assured him.
"Georgiana too, one day, shall marry."
"And would you not - sir?"
"Who would wish to marry a - " He sighed - striving to control himself.
"There are many women, sir, who would be honored to marry you."
He felt her leaning close - familial, dear. He reached out his arms to touch her gently, resting his hands on what he believed were her shoulders.
It was an awkward embrace - him seated, her leaning over. He felt her hand patting his back in a comforting gesture. He longed to draw her closer, but resisted.
"Are you well, sir?" She asked, another minute later, when they'd each withdrawn their arms to themselves.
"Your courage and counsel, Miss Elizabeth, shall spur me on."
The carriage rumbled on, rickety and pained. Outside its doors, the wind and birds duet. Longbourn was not far. Darcy knew the trip would only last so long.
Still, he welcomed the privacy.
"Brother, are we not too formal today?"
He raised his head at Georgiana's question.
He smiled, exerting every effort to remain in control of his life. It was true that without Wickham to pick his clothes, he had blindly - quite literally - chosen whichever fabric felt best beneath his fingers. Mr. Bennet was gracious to extend this invitation.
Darcy was not about to disrespect the man.
"All is well. I merely wish to be appropriate," he replied to his sister.
Georgiana sighed, though seemingly happily. "Then so it is. I am happy to be able to see Elizabeth again."
Darcy nodded, unable to trust his tongue.
Last night had been tumultuous - perhaps the most devastating of all nights save those upon which he'd lost his parents. Even confronted with every evidence, George had maintained his innocence. He'd admitted to flirtatiousness, to generosity - but to ruin, not once.
Darcy sighed, haunted still.
Was he never to find a person to trust again?
"I am happy they invited us for dinner," said Georgiana then.
Darcy knew his smile was grim. "Of course. I am delighted."
Georgiana's ability to speak so gayly at such a horrific time discomfited him to a certain degree.
George was a friend - and a brother. All their lives, they'd kept company. When Richard left, George did not. When Mother died - then Father died - George stayed true. Darcy had never treated him as a servant - but as a confidante, a comrade, a friend. He'd trusted George to read his letters, to care for all his possessions, to accompany him wherever and whenever he travelled.
How was he to survive now that George had been dismissed?
Darcy knew he did right. George's behavior - and all its repercussions - would bring ruin to Pemberley and to him and Georgiana. Miss Elizabeth was right. There was no room for undue mercy.
Still, Darcy felt, keenly, that he had lost both his legs atop losing his eyesight.
"Will Mr. Bingley and the rest of them be late?" asked Georgiana, when they turned in what he knew to be the last bend in the road.
"They left soon after we did. They cannot be too tardy."
"Miss Bingley dresses rather slowly."
"I suppose she does."
They ceased talking, again - perhaps having little to say.
Darcy turned his face towards the window, enjoying the slight warmth that lingered outdoors. When their arguments had stopped last night, when they had both agreed that the proof was irrefutable, George had begun to withdraw.
Gone was the warmth of nearly three decades of friendship. Gone was the trust they had both built in the other. Gone was the confidence that though the world may change - there were constants in his life that would always remain.
Even Georgiana would marry some day.
Darcy sighed. Life, it seemed, had already chosen to leave him behind.
"Mr. Bennet - may I?" Darcy waited for the man to reply. He knew he stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall. Without George, it was difficult to maintain a semblance of respectability.
"You wish to speak with me?" Mr. Bennet replied, probably halfway into his study as it was.
Darcy nodded, trying hard to frown less harshly. His fingers rearranged themselves upon the head of his walking stick. His limitations allowed him, at least, to use it indoors.
"Dinner was - remarkable, sir," said Darcy.
He heard Mr. Bennet scoff lightly. "For that, perhaps, you ought to speak to my wife."
"Mr. Bennet - "
"Is there any rightful cause to continue our argument, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy paused, beginning to feel the older man's anger.
Then, he swallowed. "I have no wish to continue it, sir - but every wish to offer my sincerest apology."
When Mr. Bennet did not answer, Darcy could not help wondering if he communicated wordlessly with the daughters seated in the room behind his tall, uneasy guest.
"Come then, son." The answer came as a surprise. "Let us talk."
Darcy followed, careful with every step, into the study. Mr. Bennet stepped behind the desk. Darcy used his hands to seat himself in the chair opposite the wooden expanse.
"My accusations - " began the master of Longbourn.
"I have dismissed Mr. Wickham," stated Darcy. To use a less familiar, and more formal, name at least lessened the pain.
"I see."
"I apologize, sir, for my ill manners when you presented his poor demeanor to me."
Darcy imagined Mr. Bennet nodding rather sagaciously in the quietness that followed.
"Was it difficult?" The man asked.
"Pray, sir, to what do you refer?"
"Dismissing your - friend."
Darcy sighed under his breath, realizing then his own transparency.
He blinked, face tilted towards the ground. "He did not deserve mercy, sir."
"And what of lifelong friendships - and your obvious need for his assistance."
Darcy straightened. "I can manage. His inability to uphold good character renders him undeserving of such consideration."
"But there is no one you trust more than you - "
"Trust is volatile, sir," Darcy replied. He smelt Mr. Bennet's cigar pulling farther away. "Ill-advised actions can render it moot."
"And so you give up your trust and friendship - because the man has wronged your neighbor."
"Yes, sir. His actions are - unpardonable."
Both men fell silent. Mr. Bennet's cigar moved up and down, as if the man dozed or nodded.
Whole minutes later, Mr. Bennet spoke, "You value these women and their hearts - more than a man closer to you than a brother?"
Darcy sighed. He fought the tears that struggled towards the surface of his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Bennet."
"Yes."
Then, suddenly, the older man stood and leaned over the breadth of his desk. Darcy tried to turn towards wherever he pictured the man's face to be.
"If I had a son half as upright as you," said the older man, "then I would be proud for the entirety of my life."
The single tear that Darcy shed was inevitable - as he fumbled to find and shake his host's sincere hand.
Fourteen Years Ago
"Now! Now!"
Darcy tugged on the reins - and felt the full gratification of his young horse drawing to a stop. Father approached him. Mother, frail, could only wait for them to finish their lessons before hearing of how they had fared.
"You have done well, Fitzwilliam." Father's hand landed upon his shoulder.
Darcy smiled. He enjoyed his perch upon the saddle. The position made him taller, stronger. "It is not too difficult."
Father laughed. Father nearly never laughed these days - not since Mother fell ill.
Darcy was happy to please Father. Father needed to be pleased.
Also, young Georgiana needed to be protected.
"Your determination, son, shall impress even Hannibal's army." Father helped him down the horse. The ground felt solid, though rather boring, beneath his feet.
"Thank you," Darcy replied.
The thought to ride by himself had not been hard - the necessary determination had been easy to find.
It was the endurance of the physical aches and pains - from every fall and every turn - that had cost him the most.
Darcy trailed Father's footsteps with ease, instinctively knowing each step towards the familiar entrance. He decided, even then, that no one would ever see the scars his back now bore.
"There is no limit, son, to what you shall do yet," Father said, when at last they reached the door.
Darcy swallowed, suddenly moved. The servants flocked to aid their entry - all hands serving their current and future master.
They both wandered, without words, towards Mother's room. Darcy would grant Father the privilege of sharing what he'd witnessed today.
"See what our son has done," Father announced, within minutes of their entry.
Mother expressed her joy. Though she spoke weakly - for Darcy and his aching back, arms, and legs - every compliment ran deep.
"With a son as diligent and courageous as you," Father declared with a hand on Darcy's fast-growing shoulders, "I never need any other."
The two tears that ran down his face were inevitable. He believed he heard Mother cry as well.
A/N: It's such a heavy chapter! If I had my way, I wold just write fluff forever like Oh Brother or Take Two. Lol. But here we have minimal progress for everyone :) I hope it was still an enjoyable chapter. Thank you for reading! :)