Elizabeth smiled faintly at that, but the words lodged somewhere deep.
He was a Bennet. He must be.
She had no claim to his birth, no blood tie. And yet she loved him more fiercely than she had ever thought possible. Every lopsided smile, every absurd game, every moment of joy he brought into their lives confirmed it.
Still, the truth pressed down on her like a weight—one she could not shift, no matter how often she reminded herself this had beennecessary.
She watched him run again, chasing a startled chicken across the yard. He looked nothing like Mr Bennet—his hair was too fair, his features too delicate—but his wit, his timing, his incorrigible teasing were reminiscent of their father.
That night, as twilight settled across Longbourn, a letter arrived by express.
Mr Bennet read it with one raised brow and a curious smirk tugging at his lips. Elizabeth, summoned to the study under the pretence of helping with the organizing of botanical volumes, found him still seated, the letter dangling from his fingers.
“Well,” he said, “our most unwelcome cousin, Obadiah Collins, has finally met his reward—or punishment, depending on whom you ask. Dead these three weeks, and the son inherits.”
Elizabeth sat across from him, hands folded tightly. “William Collins? You mentioned him once before.”
“The very one. Still, I suspect, just as absurd as his father—perhaps worse.”
Elizabeth felt her stomach twist. “But he cannot inherit now, not whilst…not whilst Tommy lives.”
“Indeed.” Mr Bennet placed the letter on the side table and regarded her carefully. “I suppose now is the moment when you tell me you are riddled with guilt and feel as though we are swindling the rightful heir out of his birthright?”
She blinked at him, surprised, though not entirely.
“I—yes. I do feel that way. At times.”
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Lizzy, I do not often take anything seriously, but I will speak plainly now. We have done nothing wrong.”
She said nothing, but her brow furrowed. In the eyes of the law, they had most definitely donesomethingwrong.
“I acted to protectyou, and Jane, and your sisters. To protect our tenants. And, if he is as illiterate as his father, to protect Longbourn from the fumbling grasp of a man who would ruin all three inside of five years.”
“But the entail—”
“Was a weapon, not a virtue,” he said sharply. “And since Providence saw fit to give me a means to disarm it, I shall not apologise.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “But it feels dishonest.”
“And yet it is not,” he replied evenly. “The law is written for inheritance, but what of love? What of duty? That boy is my son. He bears my name. He will be raised to manage the estate with care. Tell me, would you truly prefer Mr William Collins to rule over this house once I am gone?”
She shuddered. “No.”
“Then be still, Lizzy,” he said, softer now. “You carry too much weight. It is not only for my daughters, but for our people—our home. I will answer for this, in this world or the next, without fear. And if the Lord frowns on me for saving my family, then I shall argue the point when I meet Him.”
That drew a faint, reluctant laugh from her.
“You are not a wicked man,” she said at last. “But it is difficult to reconcile it all.”
He stood then, crossed to her side, and placed a hand on her shoulder with unusual gravity.
“You reconcile it by loving that boy, as you already do. That is your task. Leave the rest to me.”
She nodded, the pressure in her chest easing—though not entirely.
As she left the study, the house was quiet but for the rustling of curtains in the breeze and the distant echo of Tommy's laughter down the corridor, likely coaxing one of the maids into another bedtime story.
He was growing up too quickly. And as long as she breathed, Elizabeth would ensure he grew into the man the Bennet name deserved.
