“I said I suspected him,” Martha corrected. “But suspicion is not proof, and I have lived long enough to value caution over bold action.”
The carriage turned down the lane leading to Rose Cottage. Elizabeth gazed out the window, her initial elation at discovering the parish records now dampened by growing uncertainty. Martha Wickham had saved her life and preserved the knowledge of her true identity for twenty years—but to what end?
Elizabeth pondered these thoughts as they prepared for tea at Pemberley. Her father had always warned her that benevolence rarely came without expectation of return. “Nothing in this world is freely given, Lizzy,” he would say with that wry twist of his lips, “especially when the gift is precisely what you most desire.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SUSPICIONS AND ARRIVALS
Darcy rubbedthe knot between his eyebrows and pushed away from the neat stack of correspondence he had just completed. His study was the sanctuary of a well-ordered life—an order that was disrupted by one Elizabeth Bennet, a wild-spirited woman, completely beneath his station, who fate had conspired to set in his path.
From the Meryton Assembly to the post-chaise with the broken wheel, to this morning’s chance encounter on the road, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why she should plague him with such restlessness. Of course, his father’s warning, “Never trust a Bennet,” rang in his ear, puzzling like a harbinger of doom. But it was more than mere words. Her perceptive eyes, the mud-spattered boots, and the curve of her lips with that hint of impertinence… Not to mention the memory of her body when he’d lifted her onto Maximus’s saddle.
The sharp rap of knuckles against oak interrupted his brooding. “Come.”
His butler, Furgate, appeared in the doorway, his usually impassive expression showing a hint of curiosity. “Mr. Blythewood to see you, sir. He says it’s urgent.”
Darcy’s brows rose. His family solicitor was not given to unnecessary drama, and urgent visits outside of scheduled appointments were rare indeed. “Send him in.”
Blythewood’s whiskered face bore the expression Darcy recognized from their more difficult legal discussions—the look of a professional obligated to deliver unwelcome news.
“Blythewood.” Darcy gestured to the chair across from his desk. “You seem troubled.”
“That remains to be determined.” The older man settled and adjusted his spectacles before meeting Darcy’s gaze. “I felt compelled to call upon you immediately following a rather… peculiar meeting with Mrs. Wickham and Miss Bennet.”
“Oh?” Darcy leaned forward. “I believe they were inquiring about family history. A rather strange topic for a young lady to pursue. I appeared to have interrupted their inquiry when I stepped in to greet you.”
“Indeed, and I had no issue with providing a few details that were generally known.” Blythewood removed his spectacles, cleaning them with methodical care. “However, Miss Bennet’s inquiries proved far more specific than one might expect from a distant relation seeking general family history.”
Darcy felt his jaw tighten. “Specify.”
“She was particularly interested in legal arrangements surrounding your uncle John’s marriage to Rose Bennet. She asked detailed questions about inheritance provisions, specifically any unusual stipulations in your grandfather’s settlement.”
A muscle in Darcy’s jaw tightened. “What sort of stipulations?”
“The fee tail female.” Blythewood’s voice lowered, though they were quite alone in the study. “She inquired whether George Darcy had made special arrangements for his granddaughter’s inheritance.”
The chill that had been gathering in Darcy’s chest spread throughout his body. He rose from his chair, finding it suddenly impossibleto remain seated.
“That information is not commonly known outside the family,” he said, moving to stand before the portrait of his father that hung above the fireplace. The stern, handsome face—so like his own—gazed back impassively. “Did you reveal anything to her?”
“Certainly not.” Blythewood sounded mildly affronted. “I revealed nothing beyond what any reasonable person might know from public record. The child died in the fire twenty years ago, making such inquiries purely academic.” Blythewood’s voice hardened slightly. “However, I found it curious that Miss Bennet seemed remarkably well-informed about the specific nature of your grandparents’ settlement. Fee tail female is an unusual arrangement, Mr. Darcy. Not the sort of detail one stumbles across in casual research.”
“Indeed.” Darcy’s fingers drummed against his desktop, a habit he had never managed to break when his thoughts turned dark. “What else did she wish to know?”
“She pressed for access to the actual settlement documents. When I explained that such papers could only be examined by direct heirs or their legal representatives, she seemed… disappointed would be too mild a word. Frustrated, perhaps.”
“And Mrs. Wickham’s role in this interview?”
Blythewood’s expression grew more severe. “She appeared to be facilitating Miss Bennet’s inquiries with remarkable enthusiasm. Indeed, she seemed to know precisely which questions to encourage. I found her behavior highly irregular for a woman who should have little knowledge of legal intricacies.”
Darcy rose from his chair and moved to the window, gazing out toward the distant woods that concealed Rose Cottage.
“There is another matter,” Blythewood continued quietly. “Miss Bennet’s apparent age and the timing of her inquiries.”
“Meaning?”
“If your cousin Elizabeth Rose had survived, she would be approaching her twenty-first birthday. According to the settlement terms, that would be when she could legally claim the estate.”
