She carried it to the window and began to read.
Much of it was impenetrable, but certain phrases lingered.Entailment.Male succession.Reversion upon failure of issue.
That evening, she asked her father about it.
Mr Bennet listened without surprise. “I wondered how long it would take you to find it.”
“You left it out,” she accused mildly.
“I left it where it could be found,” he corrected.
“And do you think I ought to understand this?”
He studied her for a moment. “I think you ought to understand that the world runs on rules written by men who never expected to explain themselves.”
Elizabeth absorbed that in silence.
“Some knowledge,” he added, more softly, “is not immediately useful. But it ripens.”
She did not yet know what he meant.
Chapter Six
A cool breeze stirred the curtains in the morning room at Pemberley. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the window, arms crossed behind his back, watching the trees beyond the open window blush gold and russet. For a brief moment, he allowed himself the quiet pleasure of the season’s gentler turn.
Behind him, the pianoforte sounded—soft, tentative, but real.
Darcy turned. Georgiana sat at the bench, her posture careful, her fingers poised as though uncertain they would obey. She had returned to her music slowly over the past months, beginning with simple exercises, advancing only when confidence allowed. A few days prior, she had played an entire sonatina without faltering, and something long knotted in Darcy’s chest had loosened.
The house had known too much silence since their father’s death.
And then Anne…The thought intruded unbidden.
“Georgie,” Darcy said gently.
She looked up, uncertainty still lingering in her eyes. She was eleven now—still a child, yet already changed by grief.
“I received a letter this morning,” he continued. “From Rosings.”
Her hands stilled above the keys.
“From our aunt.”
Georgiana frowned. “Lady Catherine?”
“Yes. It is the first I have had from her in some time. Why, I have not heard from her since I left Rosings last Christmas to join you here.” He hesitated. “She asked for you.”
“For me?”
“She says the house is too quiet. That she misses your music.”
Georgiana glanced down at the keys. “Rosings was always so loud before.”
“It is not so loud now,” Darcy replied quietly.
He chose his words with care. “The anniversary of Anne’s disappearance approaches. I must go to Rosings to review the accounts and manage the harvest. I would like your company—but only if you feel ready.” Darcy’s steward had Pemberley’s harvest well in hand. The cooler climate meant crops being brought in sooner.
Georgiana pressed a gentle chord. “I think I would like to see Rosings—and my aunt—again,” she said softly. “And if Aunt Catherine is lonely… perhaps I might help.”
