Lady Catherine swallowed hard. “And the child? Is it certain?”
“I have no doubt,” Darcy said. “He bears the Fitzwilliam brow and Anne’s mouth. His name is Thomas, and he has lived these five years as Thomas David Bennet.”
“Bennet?” she repeated, incredulous.
Darcy explained carefully about the carriage accident, how Elizabeth Bennet had found the child and raised him as her brother. How no one else at Longbourn but her father knew his origin until Wickham recently attempted to blackmail them with the knowledge. Lady Catherine’s expression darkened at the mention of Wickham, but Darcy raised a hand.
“There is more, Aunt. I must ask something of you—something that will benefit not only Thomas but you as well.”
“Go on.”
“I love Elizabeth Bennet. I intend to marry her. But I will not risk the Bennet family’s reputation, nor will I allow this child’s birth to bring shame upon them.”
Lady Catherine tilted her head, intrigued. “Then what do you propose?”
Darcy outlined the plan with deliberate care. “You will come to Hertfordshire for Christmas. During your visit, you will ‘form a bond’ with Thomas. In the spring, after the planting season, you will invite the Bennets to Rosings to stay for the summer. It will appear that you have come to care for the child and wish to provide for him in your declining years. Eventually, you will adopt him. He will be known as Thomas Bennet de Bourgh, and he will inherit Rosings.”
Lady Catherine drew a long breath. “He is my grandson in all but name. I have no heir. Anne’s son should have it all. Yes…yes, this pleases me. We shall have to arrange for guardianship, for tutors,” Lady Catherine said, more to herself than to Darcy. “Legalities can be addressed in due course. But this boy…Anne’s boy…he will be safe. He will be mine.” Her face glowed with happiness.
A flicker of warmth bloomed in Darcy’s chest. This had gone better than he dared to hope.
"Mr Bennet wishes to raise him until his death," Darcy said slowly. "But I believe we can arrange it so that the child spends at least half his time in Kent. Will that suit?" She nodded, and he sent up a prayer of thanks that she was being so reasonable.
“We must send word to the family that Christmas at Rosings is cancelled. I shall come to Hertfordshire before the holiday,” she said. “Inform the Bennets of my arrival. And Darcy…” She paused, her eyes shimmering with emotion she did not often display. “Thank you. For finding my Anne.”
Darcy rose, bowed, and said, “It was my honour, Aunt.”
As he left the drawing room, he allowed himself one deep, satisfying breath. The plan had begun. Now, all that remained was to see it through—and to return to Elizabeth.
The snow began to fall two days after Mr Darcy left. It came gently at first—soft flakes floating through the grey sky, coating the dead grass and bare hedgerows in a powdery white. Elizabeth stood at her bedchamber window, arms wrapped around herself, watching the world transform. With each passing day, the silence that followed Mr Darcy’s departure pressed more heavily on her heart. He had left with promises, yes, but years of anxious worries would have their say. She wished for his return, and grew more agitated with each passing day.
She tried to busy herself with Christmas preparations. The holly was gathered and placed about the mantelpieces, ribbons were tied around the bannisters, and the girls worked together to sew little gifts for the servants. Jane, ever steady, took over the baking, and Kitty and Mary practised carols to sing on Christmas Eve. Elizabeth smiled and praised their efforts, but her mind was never truly present. Her thoughts were with him.
Tommy, at least, was recovering well. He bounced back faster than any of them could have imagined. He had been quieter at first, clinging to Jane or Elizabeth constantly, but now he was playing again, chasing the cat and pretending to be a soldier with an old wooden sword. Mr Bennet, watching the boy gallop through the hall one evening, remarked dryly, “Children are absurdly resilient. They could be tossed in a river and come out singing.”But his eyes shone too brightly, and Elizabeth knew he had wept in private more than once.
Five days. It had been five long days.
Then, at last, word came. Darcy was approaching—and he was not alone.
Elizabeth stood frozen at the front window as the carriage rolled into the drive. The black horses pawed at the snow, their breath visible in the cold air. She saw Darcy dismount and assist a tall woman with a commanding posture but tired steps. Her cloak was deep plum and trimmed in fur. Elizabeth’s heart pounded.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Within moments, the drawing room was alight with introductions. Elizabeth curtsied deeply when she was presented, unsure of how to address the formidable lady. But before she could say anything, Tommy piped up from near the hearth, “Are you the queen?”
Lady Catherine blinked, stared down at him, and after a long pause…smiled.
“No, young sir,” she said, retrieving a small sweet from her reticule, “but I do believe I shall like you very much.”
Elizabeth nearly fell over in astonishment. The bond between grandmother and grandson was instantaneous.
Once everyone was settled, Lady Catherine, Darcy, and Mr Bennet retreated to the study. Elizabeth followed at a nod from her father, her nerves twisted into a tight knot.
The fire was already lit, casting a warm light across the room. Lady Catherine removed her gloves slowly and then turned to Elizabeth.
“So,” she said at last, her voice steady but quieter than Elizabeth expected. “I have you to thank for uncovering the truth. You saved my grandson. I am forever in your debt.”
Elizabeth swallowed, her cheeks flushing. “It was nothing, ma’am. Anyone would have—”
