Page 22 of A Promise Made

They both chuckled. But as they stood to return to their separate lodgings, Lizzy said, “I truly value your openness and honesty with me. After all these years, I finally know why I am privileged to know you.”

“You are most welcome, and I am even more privileged to know you, Miss Elizabeth.”

They walked together until the path parted, and Mr Darcy said softly, “Until this afternoon,” as he bent over her hand.

Chapter Eighteen

Darcy called the very first moment of polite calling hours, and he gave Mr Hill his card even though the butler certainly knew him very well. He asked for Miss Elizabeth—which caused a surprised expression that was swiftly masked by professional inscrutability—he knew that, if he had not asked for her, he would have been taken straight into the study as was done so many times in the past.

There was a stir amongst the ladies when he was announced at the parlour door. Darcy turned to Mrs Bennet first, bowing and greeting her, and even remembering to smile. Then he turned in an arc, smiling and bowing and acknowledging each sister. He ended with Miss Elizabeth, crossing the room, taking her hand, and giving it a kiss.

She whispered, “Very good, sir. You are making things abundantly clear.”

As they sat in nearby chairs, he leant forward to say in a soft voice, “How long should we stay here before applying to your father?”

“Just a few minutes, I think.”

He nodded his agreement.

When Miss Elizabeth stood and said that they both needed to consult with her father, Darcy was a bit amused to see Mrs Bennet perk up her ears, become momentarily excited, then adopt a puzzled expression. However, when he considered the reason they were calling on Mr Bennet, his amusement ended in a pang—for surely it was his wife’s feelings Mr Bennet had wished to spare all these years.

Mr Bennet went through a similar transformation. Darcy was announced and entered first, and Mr Bennet’s face lit up as if Darcy truly was his son. Then Miss Elizabeth appeared, and her father lost his smile. It was hard to tell if he looked upset or confused, but he definitely did not look happy to have both of them in his study at the same time.

Perhaps he guessed what that meant. But when Elizabeth spoke, Darcy realised that Mr Bennet had had no idea of the topic they wished to discuss.

“Papa, I have seen the grave at Netherfield. I wish to talk about why it has been kept secret.”

Her father looked thunderstruck.

“Is it Mother’s feelings that you wished to protect with all of the secrecy?” she asked. Darcy was pleased that her voice was gentle and accepting—and yet still firm.

“Of course,” is all Mr Bennet replied. Darcy considered the tell-tale signs of conflicted emotions: a slight tic causing the older man’s cheek and eye to twitch, restless fidgeting in his chair, darkening eyes and furrowing brows.

“Do you not see, Papa, that Mama cannot openly grieve when so much has been hidden even from her nearest and dearest? Do you and she always feel sad as well as happy every time Lydia has a birthday? Do you not think that you deserve to be able to comfort one another?”

“What good does it do to wallow in our sorrow?” Mr Bennet asked in a voice stretched tight. “How could it help you girls to know about—about him?”

Miss Elizabeth’s answer was simple and perfect: “Because this loss, this life that should have been but was not, is true. And important. And bound up in the family, with the family story. If I did not know about the grave—if I only knew that our family had experienced a tragic loss that I did not know about—I would choose to learn of it. I would simply want to know everything that is true, important, and part of the family.”

Mr Bennet’s body seemed to have collapsed in some fundamental way, as if he could slide bonelessly onto the floor if the chair had not pinned him against the desk. His eyes were lowered, and Darcy felt a great deal of sympathy for the man.

“Also, Papa, I have known about the grave for years but did not tell anyone. Because of the secrecy, I was afraid to speak of it to you or Mama. I was afraid to tell even Jane—and I tell her almost everything. I know it has eaten me up inside to not speak of it, and I felt the greatest relief to admit all of this to Mr Darcy. I wonder if you and Mama will also feel better if you allow yourself to speak, to feel, to grieve.”

The Bennet patriarch made a wordless sound. Darcy wondered if they should leave the man…allow him to recover…but Miss Elizabeth had other ideas.

“I also think you should know—and please do not be angry with Mr Darcy⁠—”

Darcy knew what she would say but hoped it would be easier if it came from him, so he reached over to squeeze Miss Elizabeth’s hand and said, “This part of the discussion is my apology, Mr Bennet, and I would rather make it myself rather than through your daughter.”

At this point, Mr Bennet looked as if he could have been struck by lightning rather than thunder. But he finally reacted, drawing himself up again, meeting Darcy’s eyes. He said, “Go on, then.”

“Sir, I had wished never to break the promise I made on the very first day of our acquaintance. You asked me not to reveal the reason I came to Longbourn. At that time, I did not know your family well; I did not even understand that your own Bennet-family loss had been carefully hidden. I already admired you and assumed that you knew your family well enough to dictate such secrecy.”

Darcy could not tell what Mr Bennet was hiding behind those darkened eyes. But he continued on: “Since then I have come to know your family better, and I feel I especially know Miss Elizabeth through all the estate correspondence flowing between you, her and me. At this point, I have to say that I am surprised you still have not revealed the loss of your son, your heir, and that you still have not told the reason I came to Longbourn. Your children are old enough to know these truths, and I agree with Miss Elizabeth: not being able to openly grieve has probably harmed you and your wife.”

“You do not know what it is like!” Mr Bennet said, his voice raw with pain.

“Pemberley has six little graves. My mother dearly wanted many children, but she lost more than she birthed. I have had a blessed life in many ways, but my sister and I lost our parents too young, and we daily walk by those six tiny graves, knowing full well that life is full of thorns as well as roses.”