Darcy continued, without pause, his voice carrying a quiet authority that gently steered the conversation away from further speculation, eliciting a respectful silence from Mr. Collins. “There is, however, another matter which requires your forbearance for a short time. A man is presently confined in your coal cellar.”
Mr. Collins stared, his eyes widening in astonishment that caused him to lean forward abruptly, his hands clasping the arms of his chair. “My—coal cellar? Pray, sir, what can this mean?”
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said, with perfect gravity, his tone calm yet firm, prompting Mr. Collins to settle back with a look of eager attentiveness. “He will be removed shortly by the constable and charged with fraud and the unlawful seizure of property. The matter is financial in nature, and I have taken it upon myself to ensure its discreet resolution.”
Mr. Collins blinked, then leaned forward again, alarm and consequence warring upon his face as he absorbed the revelation, his voice rising with a mixture of concern and deference. “Fraud? Unlawful property? In my cellar? This is—this is a most serious business, sir. Lady Catherine must be informed at once, for such disturbances in her neighbourhood cannot be overlooked without her superior judgment.”
Charlotte’s voice, calm and unyielding, cut gently across him, her words drawing her husband’s gaze with a quiet insistence that softened his agitation. “No, Mr. Collins—there is no need to trouble her ladyship with this.”
He turned to her, startled by the firmness in her tone, his brows knitting in confusion. “My dear? Surely her ladyship—”
“The matter is already in proper hands,” Mrs. Collins replied, meeting his look with gentle but unwavering resolve, her hand resting lightly upon his arm in a gesture that conveyed both affection and guidance, prompting him to pause and consider. “Mr. Darcy has undertaken responsibility, and the authorities will attend to it without delay. There is nothing for Lady Catherine to trouble herself with, and discretion in such cases serves everyone best.”
Mr. Collins hesitated, visibly struggling between obedience to his wife and habitual reverence for his patroness, his fingers drumming lightly upon his knee before stilling. “But surely her ladyship’s wisdom—”
Darcy met his gaze then, not sternly, but with a quiet authority that left no room for misinterpretation, his words carrying a calm finality that caused Mr. Collins to subside with a reluctant nod. “Lady Catherine need not be troubled, sir. The offence is financial in nature, and the resolution will be discreet.I give you my word that all will be handled with the utmost propriety.”
The word discreet seemed to strike Mr. Collins like a moral instruction, his expression shifting from uncertainty to solemn acceptance as he clasped his hands together. “Ah. Yes. Discretion. A most becoming quality,” he said slowly, his voice warming with approval as he glanced at Charlotte for confirmation. “Indeed, Lady Catherine herself has often observed that not every matter requires public notice, particularly when it might disturb the harmony of superior society.”
Charlotte allowed herself the smallest approving nod, her eyes meeting his with quiet encouragement that drew a beam of satisfaction from her husband.
Mr. Collins drew himself up, smoothing his coat with renewed composure. “Then—of course—I shall defer to your judgment, Mr. Darcy. Pray accept my assurances that my household stands ready to assist the proper course of justice in whatever small way it may.”
“That will not be necessary,” Darcy replied, his tone courteous yet firm, acknowledging Mr. Collins’s offer with a slight inclination that conveyed respect without invitation to further involvement. “Your hospitality alone has been sufficient, and we are all indebted to Mrs. Collins for her exemplary management.”
Mr. Collins beamed, reassured of his usefulness without being burdened by action, his voice rising with evident pleasure at the compliment to his wife. “Excellent. Excellent indeed. I shall retire to my study and compose my thoughts for the Sunday sermon. Such a day—such a day!—it surely demands reflection.”
He bowed to Mr. Darcy, nodded to his cousins with benevolent warmth, and withdrew, already rehearsing a versionof events that—thanks to his wife’s careful guidance—would never be written or shared beyond the parsonage walls.
When the door closed behind him, the room exhaled, a collective sigh of relief that softened the tension lingering in the air.
Mrs. Collins turned to Mr. Darcy, her expression thoughtful yet touched with quiet satisfaction at the successful navigation of the moment. “You see,” she said quietly, her words drawing a faint, appreciative nod from Elias, “why silence was essential—his loyalty, though well-intentioned, admits no restraint when her ladyship is concerned.”
Darcy inclined his head, accepting both the judgment and the management with a grave courtesy that conveyed his growing esteem for her acumen. “I see it very clearly, Mrs. Collins, and I am grateful for your foresight—it has preserved more than the peace of this house.”
And for the first time since his arrival, a trace of dry amusement flickered—briefly—at the corner of Mr. Darcy’s mouth, a subtle reaction that elicited a faint, shared smile from Charlotte, lightening the atmosphere with the quiet bond of allies in discretion.
He turned then to the younger Mr. Bennet, noting the thoughtful furrow in Elias’s brow, and addressed him with a tone of quiet inquiry. “You seem preoccupied, Mr. Bennet. Is there some matter of conscience troubling you? You appear deep in thought.”
Elias lifted his gaze, his expression composed yet earnest, as though weighing his words with care. “I was reflecting, sir, upon the difficulties of my chosen profession—the law, whether as solicitor or barrister. On the one hand, one is presumed to defend the truth. Yet there are occasions when one must…navigate around the truth, to serve the interests of one’s client and, indirectly, one’s own.”
Darcy regarded him steadily, a faint spark of interest in his eyes. “And in this instance, you felt we were concealing or circumventing the truth? For indeed that is precisely what we have done—to shield my sister from consequences far more damaging than the incident itself. Lady Catherine is unpredictable, and we might not easily have found a way to pacify her had the full story reached her ears.”
Elias inclined his head, his reply measured and sincere. “I understand perfectly, sir, and I do not question the necessity. I know that some truths—or parts of them—are better left unspoken when they would cause more harm than good. Yet I cannot help thinking that those who cannot accept the truth as it is must still be told it, even if they twist it to their own purposes.”
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly, a thoughtful expression settling over his features as he considered the younger man’s words. “An interesting perspective for one training in the law,” he observed quietly, a note of genuine regard in his voice. “It speaks to a certain moral clarity—one that will serve you well, I suspect, even if it occasionally proves inconvenient.”
Elias offered a small, respectful smile in return. “I hope so, sir. The law may require discretion, but the conscience must still be satisfied.”
The brief exchange passed in a hush of mutual understanding, leaving between them the quiet respect of two men who recognised in each other a similar regard for truth, tempered by the demands of the world.
***
About an hour later, Miss Georgiana Darcy descended the stairs quietly, one careful step at a time, her hand resting lightly upon the banister as though to steady herself against the lingering weakness that still clung to her limbs. She wore Charlotte Collins’s blue gown—a shade softer and deeper than her own usual palette—its lines modest and well cut, though unmistakably borrowed, the bodice fitting her neatly enough while the skirt fell a trifle shorter than her own would have done, and her steps were guided by shoes just a fraction too wide, lent with equal kindness and practicality. The effect was not unbecoming; indeed, the borrowed attire lent her an air of gentle vulnerability that would have touched even an indifferent observer, softening the quiet grace that had ever been hers.
Mr. Darcy turned at once when she entered the parlour, his expression altering from composed vigilance to immediate concern as he crossed to her with restrained urgency, his eyes scanning her countenance before settling into visible relief. “Georgiana,” he said softly, taking her hand with a gentleness that spoke volumes of his protective devotion, “you should not have come down unless you felt entirely equal to it. I would not have you exert yourself after so trying a day.”
“I did not wish to remain hidden away,” she replied softly, offering him a faint, reassuring smile that carried both gratitude and a quiet determination, her voice gaining strength as she met his gaze. “Mrs. Collins has been exceedingly kind, and I am quite myself again—only a little fatigued. I wished to thank our friends properly before we depart, for their goodness merits more than a passing word.”
