Lady Catherine’s mouth opened, then closed again, her indignation momentarily checked by the gravity of the accusation. “Wickham? He is a respectable gentleman, established in Kent for over two years now. A widower, but beyond any accusation. I even invited him to the assembly last evening.”
“So, you were the one who allowed him near my sister?” Darcy’s voice remained steady, though the anger beneath it was unmistakable. “He was invited without my knowledge, and I refused him the right to dance with Georgiana. But it appears he sought to take revenge for that refusal. The matter has been resolved discreetly. Wickham is in custody—not for the assault upon my sister, which shall remain known only to those present—but for crimes of fraud. This morning, a reliable solicitor confirmed that his claimed inheritance was obtained through forgery, and that he benefited from fraudulent mortgages. The true heir has been informed, and Wickham awaits trial. The Rosings assembly, however well-intentioned, failed to protectGeorgiana as it ought, and your plan to match her with the son of a baronet has likewise come to nothing. Also, my advice is to kindly leave Mr. and Mrs. Collins outside this matter and to stop using their servants as a source of spying upon the Parsonage.”
A heavy silence followed, during which Lady Catherine’s face paled, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wineglass. Anne looked from her mother to her husband, her expression one of quiet dismay.
Lady Catherine at last drew breath, her voice low and trembling with suppressed fury. “I shall investigate this matter further, Fitzwilliam. If there has been any negligence in the management of my household, it will not go unaddressed.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head, his tone final. “I trust you will do what you deem proper, Aunt. But the Wickham matter is now in the hands of the law, and my sister’s safety has been secured. That is all that concerns me.”
The remainder of the meal passed in subdued silence, the clink of silver against porcelain the only sound to break the quiet. Georgiana kept her gaze lowered, though a faint flush of gratitude lingered on her cheeks at the memory of Elias’s courage.
Darcy, watching her, felt a quiet resolve settle within him: whatever Lady Catherine might discover or invent, his sister’s future would be guarded with all the care and discretion he could command. And in that resolve lay the promise of a future in which gratitude might yet blossom into something deeper, something enduring.
***
The morning was still cool when Elias and James Bennet walked up the long gravel sweep toward Rosings, summoned by a note delivered the previous evening and couched, as all Lady Catherine’s communications were, in language that admitted neither refusal nor delay. The house lay quiet before them, its windows reflecting the pale light of early day, the air holding that peculiar stillness which precedes departure.
They had not yet reached the steps when they perceived that preparations for departure were already well advanced. At the foot of the portico, the Darcy carriage stood ready, its horses harnessed and restless, while two footmen secured the last trunks, valises, and hatboxes to the back, fastening them with swift, practiced movements.
The main entrance door stood open, and from within emerged the three Darcys themselves, Mrs. Darcy assisted carefully down the shallow steps by her husband, her movements calm and composed. Georgiana followed close behind, her manner restored though subdued, her air of gentle simplicity stirring something quiet and deep within Elias as he watched her from a distance, the sight of her safe and poised once more filling him with a relief that bordered on reverence.
As she reached the foot of the steps, Georgiana’s gaze lifted—briefly, almost instinctively—and met Elias’s. There was no colour of surprise in it, only a soft steadiness, and the faintest inclination of her head, as though acknowledging a truth they both understood but did not name. Elias returned the look at once, grave and respectful, before lowering his eyes, conscious of the moment’s delicacy.
Mr. Darcy turned at that instant and saw the Bennet brothers approaching. For the briefest moment, something passed over his expression—recognition, understanding, and a clear apprehension of what Lady Catherine certainly intendedby summoning them. He stepped away from the carriage without hesitation, his manner composed, his bearing grave but untroubled.
“Good morning, Mr. Bennet—Mr. Bennet,” he said, addressing both brothers with courteous warmth, his voice low yet carrying the quiet authority that had ever been his. “I trust you are well this morning.”
James inclined his head, replying with equal civility. “Good morning, sir. We are quite well, thank you.”
Elias followed suit, his greeting steady and respectful. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy’s gaze rested upon Elias a moment longer, a subtle intensity in his eyes that spoke of purpose. “Mr. Bennet,” he said quietly, addressing the younger gentleman directly, “I wished to speak with you—one word only—before we depart.”
James offered a faint, knowing smile and stepped half a pace aside, remaining close without intruding.
Elias inclined his head, surprised yet composed. “I am at your service, sir.”
“Mr. Bennet, you were right about the truth.” Darcy’s voice lowered still further, stripped of formality and wholly sincere. “Keep to your convictions. They will serve you better than silence ever could.”
The words were simple, yet they carried their full weight. Elias felt them settle within him like a quiet benediction. He nodded once, his reply measured and earnest. “I shall remember that, sir. Thank you.”
Darcy inclined his head in return—courteous, decisive—and turned back toward the carriage. Within moments the door was closed, the horses set in motion, and the vehicle rolled awaydown the drive, carrying the Darcys from Rosings with an air of finality that required no further explanation.
James exhaled slowly beside his brother, watching the carriage disappear beyond the trees, a faint smile touching his lips as he glanced at Elias. “Well, Brother,” he said at last, his tone light but warmed with pride, “that was unexpected. And rather more than a passing compliment.”
Elias remained still a moment longer, his thoughts unsettled yet steadied by Darcy’s words—and by the memory of Georgiana’s composed, knowing look. Then, with quiet resolve, he turned toward the house.
“Come, Jaems,” he said. “Lady Catherine awaits us.”
And together they mounted the steps of Rosings, fully aware that whatever questions were to be put to them within, they would answer as they always had—plainly, honestly, and without retreat—while the quiet exchange at the foot of the steps lingered in Elias’s mind, less as hope than as promise, restrained yet unmistakable.
***
Lady Catherine received the Bennet brothers in the small parlour, so named although it was twice as large as Longbourn’s dining room. Her ladyship was seated with her back perfectly straight, her hands folded upon a small escritoire as though she presided over a tribunal rather than an ordinary call. She did not rise when the Bennet brothers were announced; instead, she inclined her head a fraction, permitting their approach with the air of one who conferred a favour by allowing it.
“Mr. James Bennet. Mr. Elias Bennet,” she said, weighing each name with deliberate precision, her tone conveying neitherwarmth nor censure, only the expectation of perfect attention. “You were prompt. I approve of promptness in those who know its value.”
James Bennet bowed deeply, his manner respectful and composed; Elias followed with a measured inclination, correct in every particular, his expression calm though his pulse quickened beneath the scrutiny.
