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That same morning, many miles from London, Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the door of Charles Bingley's house in Scarborough. His heart pounded not from nervousness about seeing his friend, but from the thought of what he was about to do: admit his mistake, ask for help, open himself in ways he never had before.
The door flew open and Bingley froze on the threshold, his usually cheerful face surprised.
"Darcy? What are you doing here? I thought you were in London."
"I need to talk to you," Darcy entered without waiting for invitation. "About something important."
Bingley closed the door, studying his friend's face with concern.
"You look terrible. What happened?"
Darcy walked into the living room, turned to his friend. Took a deep breath.
"I was wrong," he said without preamble. "About James Bennet. I was completely, utterly, catastrophically wrong."
Bingley blinked.
"What?"
"James Bennet loved you," Darcy continued. "Loved you genuinely, deeply. But he's reserved. He doesn't show his feelings openly like you do. I mistook that for indifference. I judged by myself, by my own habit of controlling emotions, and decided if he wasn't demonstrating passion, it didn't exist."
He clenched his fists.
"But I was wrong."
Bingley stood motionless, his face pale.
"You... you're serious?"
"Absolutely." Darcy stepped closer. "And then I learned James had come to London. One of your servants mentioned it in passing. Said a young omega had come to the house asking for you. The description matched James."
He turned away.
"The servant said he looked devastated, full of quiet pain. But I dismissed it. Told myself if he'd truly loved you, he wouldn't have left so easily. That real feelings require persistence."
Darcy turned to his friend, and in his grey eyes was agony.
"But I was wrong. Not everyone expresses love the same way. Not everyone can insist when they've already been rejected. And then I met Elliot, James's brother. And he mentioned James was still recovering from a broken heart. That's when I understood what I'd done. What I'd destroyed."
He paused.
"Charles, forgive me. I interfered in your life when I shouldn't have. I destroyed your happiness because of my own arrogance, my conviction that I knew better."
"Why?" Bingley's voice trembled. "Why are you telling me this now? After so many months?"
Darcy turned away, approached the window. Beyond the glass stretched a neat, manicured, but lifelessly perfect garden.
"Because I fell in love myself," he admitted quietly. "And made just as many mistakes. Was arrogant and cold. Said the wrong things. And nearly lost the person who became everything to me."
He turned to Bingley, and the pain in his grey gaze was almost tangible.
"So I understood. That feelings aren't logic. That love isn't always demonstrative. That I have no right to judge what happens between two people."
Silence stretched between them.
"It's Elliot Bennet," Bingley stated it as obvious. "James's brother. You fell in love with him."
"Yes."
"God," Bingley sank into an armchair, running his hand over his face. "All that time at Netherfield I saw how you looked at him. Thought I was imagining it. But it was real."
"Real," Darcy confirmed. "So real I'm willing to risk everything for him. Already have risked."
He paused, then added:
"Charles, I'm not asking forgiveness. I know I don't deserve it. But I'm asking permission to help you. If you still love James. If you want to try again. I'll help. Do everything in my power. Beg his forgiveness on your behalf if necessary. Whatever it takes."
Bingley looked at him for a long time. Emotions flickered in his blue eyes: pain, anger, hope.
"I never stopped loving him," he finally whispered. "Tried to. Met others. But every time I saw an omega with light hair, every time someone smiled that particular, reserved smile... I saw him."
A tear slid down his cheek.
"You broke my heart, Darcy. But you didn't take it. It already belonged to James."
Darcy felt pressure in his chest.
"Then let me help you get him back."
"How?" Bingley wiped his eyes. "He probably hates me. Thinks I just abandoned him. That he didn't matter to me."
"Then prove otherwise," Darcy said firmly. "Return to Netherfield. Find him. Tell him the truth. Show him what you feel."
"Just like that? Appear after so many months?"
"Yes." Darcy approached closer, placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Charles, you're the most open, genuine person I know. Use that. Don't hide your feelings like I do. Show them, and James will understand. He has to understand."
Bingley looked at him, and slowly, very slowly, hope began appearing in his eyes.
"You think I have a chance?"
"I know you do," Darcy answered confidently. "But you need to act soon. Before he decides you've moved on."
Bingley straightened.
"Then I'll go. To Netherfield. Find him. Tell him everything."
"Good." Darcy smiled slightly. "But I need to do something first. Visit Georgiana. There are things that need settling. And then..."
"And then you'll go back for your omega," Bingley finished, and warmth colored his voice for the first time in the conversation.
"Yes." Darcy agreed. "If he'll forgive me."
"He will," Bingley stood, hugging his friend. "If he loves you even half as much as you love him, he'll forgive you."
Darcy hugged him back, feeling some of the weight lift.
Not everything yet. But a start had been made.
***
"Ellie," Uncle Edward entered the room where Elliot was reading a book. "I have a proposal."
Elliot looked up.
"What kind?"
"You've been here nearly a week. You look better but still tense. I think you need a change of scenery."
Uncle sat on the edge of the bed.
"Madeline and I, as you know, often travel through the countryside. Stop in small towns, explore local landmarks."
He smiled.
"We're planning a small trip now. I want to introduce you to my friend, Sir William Danbury. He lives in Derbyshire, collects old books. A real collection—some editions are unique. I think you'd enjoy it. You'd get your mind off everything. Will you come with us?"
Elliot blinked. Derbyshire.
"I... yes," he nodded. "I'd like that. Thank you, Uncle Edward."
"Excellent!" Uncle clapped him on the shoulder. "We leave tomorrow. Madeline's already started packing. You know how she loves these trips."
When his uncle left, Elliot picked up his phone. He needed to call James. Tell him about the plans.
His brother answered after the third ring.
"Ellie? How are you feeling?"
"Much better," Elliot settled more comfortably on the bed. "Almost like before."
"Thank god," James exhaled in relief. "Mother was asking about you yesterday. I told her you were in London for work, but she looked at me suspiciously. You know how she is."
"I know," Elliot smiled weakly. "James, I'm calling to tell you: tomorrow Aunt, Uncle and I are going on a trip. Through Derbyshire villages. Uncle wants to gather material for a new book about country estates, and Aunt decided fresh air would do me good."
"A trip?" James sounded surprised. "Ellie, you've only just recovered. Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Uncle promises nothing strenuous. Leisurely walks, viewing historical sites. Aunt Madeline's already compiled a list of 'peaceful and picturesque' locations," a smile colored Elliot's voice. "Besides, I really do need to get away. Be far from... from everything."
A pause. James clearly heard the unspoken.
"From London? Or from something specific?"
"From a lot of things," Elliot answered evasively. "I just need time to think."
"Alright," James didn't insist. "How long will you be away?"
"Two weeks, maybe three. Depends on how much material Uncle finds. They want to visit Chatsworth, Hardwick Hall, several other estates."
"Sounds interesting," James agreed. "What should I tell the parents?"
"The truth," Elliot shrugged, though his brother couldn't see. "That I'm traveling with the Gardiners. Mother will be displeased I didn't return to Longbourn immediately, but Uncle Edward is her brother. She can't object too much."
"She'll find a way," James noted dryly. "But I'll manage. I'll pass along that you called."
"Thanks," Elliot said warmly. "James... how are you? How are things at Longbourn?"
"As usual," weariness colored James's voice. "Kit and Lloyd are fighting over some officer. Mary plays piano six hours a day. Mother's planning another reception. Nothing changes."
Elliot caught the sadness in his brother's tone.
"And you? How are you holding up?"
A long pause.
"Managing," James finally answered. "One day at a time."
Elliot gripped the phone. He knew who his brother was thinking about. Who he always thought about.
"James, maybe..."
"Don't," James interrupted gently. "Ellie, please. I don't want to talk about it. Not now."
"Alright," Elliot didn't press. "Then just know: I'm here if you need me."
"I know. And you take care too. Write when you stop somewhere."
"I will."
"And Ellie?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're alright. Really glad."
"Me too," Elliot whispered. "Thanks for covering for me with the parents."
"Always, little brother."
When the call ended, Elliot lowered the phone to his lap and looked out the window. Beyond the glass evening London darkened, lights igniting one by one.
Tomorrow they were going to Derbyshire.
To Derbyshire, where Pemberley was located.
Elliot didn't know if he'd meet Darcy there. Didn't know if he wanted to.
But something inside insistent and persistent—whispered that this journey would change everything.
***
The next day they left London in Uncle Edward's SUV a reliable, spacious vehicle that had seen many journeys.
Aunt Madeline sat beside her husband, chatting about the route, about places where they could stop. Elliot sat in back, watching the passing scenery: city gave way to villages, villages to fields, fields to forests.
England was beautiful this time of year. Green, lush, full of life.
They stopped in small towns along the way. Had lunch in local pubs that served homemade food and strong ale. Walked through markets selling local crafts and produce. Aunt Madeline bought souvenirs, Uncle Edward talked with locals about books and history.
Elliot just breathed. For the first time in a long while felt tension leaving. Felt his mind clearing of fear and anxiety.
On the third day they arrived at Sir William Danbury's.
His house was small but cozy. An old stone mansion surrounded by a garden where roses and lavender grew. At the entrance they were met by a pack of dogs: golden retrievers, labradors, one enormous Saint Bernard who jumped on Elliot with such joy he nearly knocked him over.
"Down, Hercules!" laughed an elderly man emerging from the house. "Sorry, he's overly friendly."
"It's fine," Elliot petted the huge dog licking his face. "I love dogs."
"Then you'll like it here," Sir William shook Uncle Edward's hand, hugged Aunt Madeline. "I have seven of them. The house sometimes resembles a real kennel, though the library, of course, is no less impressive."
And the library truly was impressive.
An entire room, floor to ceiling lined with shelves. Thousands of books, maybe more. Leather bindings, gold embossing, old and new editions.
By the window stood a large writing desk piled with papers and even more books. The armchair by the fireplace looked so comfortable you wanted to curl up in it with a book and not leave for hours.
It smelled of Darcy here. His scent of whiskey, damp earth, and dark honey had permeated this place. This was his space. His refuge.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sir William approached him. "I've been collecting this my whole life. Some specimens are unique. Here, for example, first edition of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice.' Authentic. 1813."
He pulled out a thin book in a worn binding, and Elliot felt his gift respond.
He touched the cover and the world flashed with vision.
A young woman sitting at a writing desk, quill in hand, inkwell beside her. She writes, her face focused, lips slightly curved in a smile. On the page words: "It is a truth universally acknowledged..."
Then another scene. A man reading the manuscript, his face serious. Probably a publisher. He agrees to publish.
Then the book on a shop shelf. Hands taking it. People reading. Smiling. Crying. Falling in love with the story of pride and prejudice, of how two people find each other despite all obstacles.
Elliot released the book, breathing heavily.
"Boy?" Sir William asked with concern. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Elliot exhaled, blinking quickly. "Just... it's very beautiful. This book's story."
Sir William smiled, not understanding how literally Elliot meant those words.
The next two days Elliot spent in Sir William's library, reading, exploring, playing with the dogs in the garden. Aunt Madeline baked with their host, Uncle Edward discussed rare editions.
Elliot rested his soul. He didn't remember the last time he'd felt so light.
But deep in his consciousness lived a thought about Darcy. About Pemberley, which was somewhere nearby, in this same county.
Was Darcy thinking about him now?
***
"Ellie, we're planning to move on," Aunt Madeline announced on the fourth morning. "There are several places I want to visit. One of them is Pemberley."
Elliot, who was drinking tea, nearly choked.
"What?"
"Pemberley," Aunt repeated. "Mr. Darcy's estate. It's open to tourists on certain days. I've always wanted to see it. They say it has beautiful gardens and a gallery with paintings."
"But..." Elliot didn't know what to say. "Mr. Darcy might be there."
"Even better," Aunt winked. "You can thank him personally for his care. And Edward and I will finally meet him properly."
Elliot wanted to object, but Uncle Edward was already packing.
An hour later they were on the road.
***
Pemberley was even more beautiful than in the photograph.
The massive estate rose on a hill, its grey stone glowing in midday sun. The gardens were impeccably maintained: flower-lined avenues, fountains, sculptures. The lake sparkled in the distance, swans gliding across its surface.
It was majestic. But not cold. There was something warm about this place, something welcoming.
Elliot understood why Darcy loved his home so much.
"May we enter?" Aunt Madeline asked the butler working at the entrance.
"Of course, ma'am," the butler nodded. "The estate is open to visitors. The master permits walking through the gardens and first floor. Just don't go upstairs those are private rooms."
"We understand," Uncle Edward agreed. "Thank you."
They entered through the main gates, and Elliot felt a strange sensation, as though he were coming home.
*This is madness*, he told himself. *You're here for the first time.*
But the feeling didn't leave.
They walked through the gardens. Aunt Madeline admired the roses, Uncle Edward photographed the architecture. Elliot just walked, breathing in aromas, listening to birdsong.
"Maybe we should leave," Elliot said quietly when they approached closer to the main entrance. "We don't want to disturb someone's privacy."
"No, please, stay," came a gentle voice behind them.
Elliot turned and saw a girl.
Young, no more than seventeen, with light curly hair and a shy smile. Her scent was delicate: violets, vanilla, and fresh ink. An omega from a good family, judging by her clothes and manners.
But in her brown eyes was the same caution, the same fear Elliot had seen in the mirror after the kidnapping.
*Georgiana Darcy*, Elliot guessed.
"Forgive us, miss," Uncle Edward bowed. "We didn't mean to disturb your privacy. My wife, nephew and I are just traveling through the area and happened to stop by. I'm Edward Gardiner, and this is my wife Madeline, and this is our nephew Elliot Bennet."
"Very pleased," Georgiana curtsied, but when her gaze fell on Elliot, she froze.
For several seconds she simply looked at him, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Elliot Bennet?" she repeated, and her gaze slid over his face as though comparing it with something in memory.
She stepped closer, studying his face. Fitz had shown her a photograph, but in reality Elliot looked sweeter. Suddenly Georgiana's shyness vanished, her face lit with genuine, warm joy that transformed her features.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "You really are him! The very Elliot my brother told me about!"
"What?" Elliot felt himself blushing. "Mr. Darcy talked about me?"
"Yes," Georgiana confirmed. "A lot. And often. Last time he said he'd hurt you very badly. That he didn't know if you'd ever forgive him."
She stepped even closer, her voice becoming quieter, almost pleading.
"Please don't be angry with him. He seems stern and cold. But really Fitz is the kindest person I know. He always protected me. Was always there. And if he hurt you, it's only because he doesn't know how to speak properly about feelings."
Elliot looked at her, feeling a pang of guilt.
"I'm not angry with him," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
Georgiana bloomed so joyfully, as though he'd just given her the best gift in the world.
"Then come into the house!" She extended her hand invitingly. "Please! I'll show you the estate. The gallery and library. Fitz has an amazing library you'll love it."
"Miss Darcy," Aunt Madeline tried to interject, "we don't want to impose..."
"You're not imposing!" Georgiana looked at them with genuine joy. "Please, be our guests. Fitz will be glad."
She said it so simply, so sincerely, it was impossible to object.
Aunt and Uncle exchanged glances, then Uncle Edward agreed.
"If you insist, miss. We'd be delighted."
And so, unexpectedly, completely by chance, Elliot found himself inside Pemberley.
***
Inside the house was even more impressive. High ceilings with molding, marble floors, portraits of Darcy's ancestors on the walls. And yet it was cozy here. Everywhere were details that made the space alive: books on tables, fresh flowers in vases, soft blankets on sofas.
Georgiana led them through the drawing room, showing the picture gallery, the music room with a piano where she sometimes played.
"And this is the library," she opened double doors, and Elliot froze on the threshold.
The room was enormous. Two walls, floor to ceiling, lined with bookshelves. Thousands of books, maybe more. Leather bindings, gold embossing, old and new editions.
By the window stood a large writing desk piled with papers and even more books. The armchair by the fireplace looked so comfortable you wanted to curl up in it with a book and not leave for hours.
It smelled of Darcy here. His scent of whiskey, damp earth, and dark honey had permeated this place. This was his place. His refuge.
"Beautiful," Elliot whispered.
"Fitz spends most of his time here," Georgiana said quietly. "When he's not working or managing the estate. He loves to read. Like you, I presume."
"Yes," Elliot confirmed, unable to look away from the bookshelves.
They spent almost an hour in the library. Georgiana showed rare editions, told stories about how Darcy had collected his collection. Aunt and Uncle admired the architecture and history of the house.
Elliot just absorbed it. Every detail. Every scent. Every sensation.
He imagined himself here. Living here. Reading in this armchair by the fireplace. Waking in this house.
With Darcy.
And that thought didn't frighten him. Not at all.
"Georgiana?" came a voice from the corridor.
Deep and familiar, making Elliot flinch.
"Where are you? I heard we have guests..."
The door flew open.
Fitzwilliam Darcy froze in the doorway.
His grey eyes widened in astonishment. He was in casual clothes: simple trousers, shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Hair slightly disheveled.
He looked beautiful.
"Elliot?" he whispered. "You... you're here?"
Their gazes met and the air electrified.
"Hello," Elliot forced out.
"Fitz," Georgiana approached her brother. "May they stay? At least for dinner?"
Darcy looked at Elliot without looking away.
"Of course," he said quietly. "I finished business earlier than planned and managed to return in time. My home is always open to you. Especially to you, Elliot."
Dinner proceeded in a warm, almost familial atmosphere.
Georgiana chattered nonstop, telling stories about Pemberley, about childhood with her brother, about books. Uncle Edward discussed publishing with Darcy. Aunt Madeline asked about the gardens.
Elliot mostly remained silent, listening and observing.
Darcy was different here. More open. More alive. He smiled at his sister genuinely and warmly. Laughed at Uncle Edward's joke.
This was the real Darcy. Not the cold aristocrat. Just a person.
And every time his gaze met Elliot's which happened often grey eyes shone with such warmth Elliot blushed.
His scent flared treacherously. Bitter chocolate became sweeter. Smoke transformed into incense.
Darcy noticed. His pupils dilated, but he collected himself. Looked away. Clenched his fists. Elliot saw the struggle. Saw the desire.
After dinner Georgiana settled at the piano. Her fingers glided over the keys, drawing out a melancholy classical melody.
Elliot sat on the sofa, Darcy in an armchair across from him. But Elliot barely heard the music. He felt only Darcy's presence. Heavy. Intense.
When Georgiana finished playing, she sat motionless for a while, gazing at the keys. Then straightened and yawned genuinely, tiredly.
"Forgive me," she said embarrassed. "I seem to be completely worn out from the day."
"Of course, dear," Aunt Madeline smiled warmly. "Go, rest."
"Goodnight, Miss Darcy," Uncle Edward rose. "Thank you for the beautiful music."
Georgiana curtsied to them with a grateful smile.
"Goodnight. It was very pleasant to meet you."
She approached her brother and hugged him.
"Goodnight, Fitz."
"Goodnight, Georgie," Darcy answered softly, kissing the top of her head.
Then she turned to Elliot and hugged him too, warmly, in a friendly way.
"Goodnight, Elliot. Thank you for a wonderful day."
"Goodnight," Elliot smiled at her.
Georgiana waved to everyone and left the room.
Silence descended on the drawing room.
"We'll go too," Aunt Madeline said, rising and signaling to her husband. "It's been a full day."
"Of course," Darcy stood. "Your room is on the second floor, first door on the left."
"Thank you for your hospitality," Aunt smiled and turned to Elliot. "Goodnight, dear."
Uncle Edward was already heading for the door, and Aunt, passing her nephew, quickly, mischievously winked at him.
Heat flooded Elliot's cheeks.
The door closed behind the Gardiners, and silence hung in the room.
Elliot was alone with Darcy.
They stood at opposite ends of the room. Between them were several meters, but it seemed like a mile.
"I should go too," Elliot finally said. "I'm tired."
He headed for the door but stopped on the threshold.
"Darcy?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For the hospitality. For everything."
Something flickered in grey eyes.
"I don't need thanks, Elliot," Darcy said quietly. "You can be here whenever you wish. I want you to know: at Pemberley you're always welcome. From the moment I saw you."
Elliot couldn't breathe.
"Goodnight."
He quickly left the room before emotions took over.
When he reached his room, Aunt Madeline was waiting for him in the corridor.
"Ellie," she took his hands. "We need to discuss something."
"Aunt, can't this wait until tomorrow..."
"This will only take a minute," she led him into the room and closed the door. "Edward and I have made a decision. Tomorrow morning we're leaving for Matlock. I have a friend there I've long promised to visit. She's not feeling very well."
Elliot nodded.
"Alright. I'll go with you."
"No," Aunt shook her head. "You'll stay here."
"What? Aunt, I can't..."
"You can," she squeezed his hands. "Miss Georgiana will be glad of the company. And the estate is beautiful. You'll rest properly."
She paused, her gaze softening.
"Ellie, I just want you to know you deserve to be happy. After everything you've been through. Think about it, alright?"
She said no more. Didn't press or question. Just kissed his cheek and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Elliot sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands.
Stay? Here? With Darcy?
It was frightening. Staying here, alone with Darcy too intimate, too risky.
But part of him wanted exactly that. Some time to sort out what he felt. Understand what was happening between them.
In the morning, when Aunt and Uncle were preparing to leave, Georgiana approached Elliot on the porch.
"Please stay," she asked, her brown eyes full of hope. "At least a couple days. I so rarely have fun. Please."
Elliot looked at her. At this girl, so young, so lonely in this enormous estate.
Then at Darcy, who stood a little apart. Who wasn't asking. Just watching with quiet hope.
"Alright," he said. "I'll stay."
The joy on Georgiana's face was blinding. She grabbed his hands.
"Thank you! Oh, this will be wonderful! I have so many plans!"
But Elliot wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Darcy.
And saw in grey eyes the same thing he felt himself.
Hope. Fear. Anticipation.
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