She closed her eyes, for it was impossible to look at him or meet his gaze, so great was the pain of not having previously seen him as she did now and of not having known this man before it was too late.
“What if I cannot manage?” she whispered, as though speaking to herself, not daring to open her eyes.
“You will manage, I am certain,” he replied, and only then did she summon the courage to look at him again, hoping he would not perceive the regret in her eyes, which would have disturbed him even further. He would leave the world convinced she had accepted an arrangement, not a genuine union between a man and a woman.
But looking into his eyes, she no longer knew what she had truly agreed to.
“You will do well, Elizabeth,” he whispered, and she believed him. Yet, at the same time, her heart broke painfully. But she was not permitted to show it.
“Mr Harris and his son have arrived,” Georgiana announced, entering the room so quietly that she had not been heard. Elizabeth looked at Darcy, who, with closed eyes, seemed to have left her entirely as though for good. She found herself breathless, unable to move, staring at Georgiana, who had approached the bed. But then she was reassured by the rise and fall of his chest.
“He is sleeping,” Georgiana whispered. “Do not wake him. We can wait.”
She withdrew on tiptoe, glancing back several times. Elizabeth remained behind, feeling the profoundness of the drama Georgiana was experiencing. It was not difficult; the mere thought of one of her sisters being in such a situation made her appreciate the depth of Georgiana’s pain. But for Georgiana, it was even more than that, for Darcy was her only close relative.
After a while, Darcy opened his eyes and smiled. “You let me sleep. Thank you. I needed that. Have they arrived?”
Elizabeth nodded, and shortly thereafter, Mr Anthony Harris and his son, Mr Philip Harris, entered the room and were introduced to Elizabeth. Reserved yet composed, the two exuded an air of competence that suddenly gave weight to Darcy’s plan, which until that moment had seemed nothing more than words.
“We did not bring a clerk. My son will record what we discuss today,” the elder Mr Harris said, and the younger Mr Harris took place at the desk, which was already prepared.
“Mr Harris,” Darcy began, and they could see his effort to speak, “Miss Bennet and I shall marry in a few days. Most likely the day after tomorrow. By then, the will must be prepared, and I shall sign it immediately after the ceremony.”
“Let us begin, then,” said Mr Harris in the same calm tone. “Your properties are free from any encumbrances. You may dispose of them without restriction.”
“Yes, that is due to the wisdom of my father, grandfather, and all those before them, and the trust they placed in their descendants.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes, for the same could not be said of her ancestors, who had gazed upon Longbourn with selfishness and avarice, meaning that, after five generations of Bennets, it would fall into the hands of a distant cousin.
“You can proceed, Mr Darcy,” Mr Harris said, and Darcy closed his eyes for a moment before speaking, but when he did, his voice was clear and powerful.
“Pemberley, the estate and all it contains, will pass to my sister, Georgiana Darcy, upon her twenty-fifth birthday.” He turned to his sister. “You can marry much sooner, but my intention is that the value of your inheritance should not be known when you find someone you love. You will retain the dowry provided by our father, but inheriting Pemberley will remain a secret provision until after you are married. Elizabeth Darcy will manage the estate regardless of her subsequent marital status.
“Elizabeth Darcy will inherit this house in London…”
Darcy continued speaking, but Elizabeth no longer heard him. She did not know how to stop him, for she could not understand why she was to receive that magnificent townhouse,a symbol of the Darcy family’s wealth and status, which she had only entered for the first time that day. Everything should be Georgiana’s, yet she could not intervene in the discussion, for she was, as yet, only his betrothed and not his wife. She had agreed to manage the houses and estate, to take care of them for a sum she had not even imagined, but certainly not for something so significant. She looked desperately at Georgiana, but the girl smiled contentedly, even as her brother prepared to leave the house in which she had grown up to another.
From time to time, Elizabeth caught fragments of the conversation: their mother’s jewellery, attributed to her, other possessions that stayed with her or Georgiana; then came relatives, friends, and servants—none were forgotten. Yet Elizabeth waited for everyone to leave so she could tell him that this version of the will could not be signed, for she could never accept all that Darcy had decided.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said as soon as they were alone in the room, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “This is impossible—”
“Good night, my love,” she heard, and when she looked at him, he was already asleep—that “my love” likely uttered in his dreams.
∞∞∞
“I cannot agree to what he has written in that will,” Elizabeth said to Georgiana as they sat down at the dinner table later.
It seemed an eternity since she had arrived in that house that was to become, through his will, hers.
“What can you not agree to?” Georgiana asked, and indeed, she seemed not to understand Elizabeth’s worries.
“Everything, Georgiana, everything. I agreed to stay and help you, even to marry him, but for a fair fee—”
“What fee?” Georgiana asked, and her face, already calmer, expressed only slight surprise.
Looking at the girl before her, Elizabeth realised that Georgiana did not care that her brother had written a will and that the London house would not be hers, any more than she cared about their mother’s jewellery or other objects she barely remembered.
“Georgiana, between your brother and I, it is a…business matter.”
