Confusion, frustration—this was always the moment the dream unravelled. The request was so simple, yet he was never able to fulfil it. Then—
He woke up. Lost. Troubled.
Darcy sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of it, but within moments, the dream faded into obscurity.
***
The Gardiner residence bustled with morning excitement. The entire family had gathered for breakfast, and even Charlotte Collins, usually subdued, seemed light-hearted as she watched the children’s antics.
Elizabeth was the most eager of them all. After three days without seeing her betrothed, she had finally received a note from him.
She had tried to be understanding since Darcy had urgent matters regarding Rosings and Pemberley, but still, she had harboured hopes that he might find a moment for her. And now, at last, he was coming.
But the moment he stepped into the room, her heart sank.
His grim expression, the tight set of his jaw, the shadow in his eyes—something was wrong.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy,” Uncle said warmly. “Come, join us for breakfast.”
Darcy bowed politely but declined. “If you do not mind, I must speak with Elizabeth alone.”
A hush fell over the table. His urgency was impossible to miss.
Elizabeth rose at once, the weight of every gaze upon them heavy on her shoulders. Without another word, she guided him into the library.
The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to him. “William, what is it?”
Instead of answering immediately, he began to pace, running a hand through his hair. “I spoke to the family’s notary,” he said at last. “There are new revelations about the Rosings inheritance that are. . . troubling.”
Elizabeth waited.
“There was a codicil written on Sir Lewis’s deathbed,” he said. “I have tried to make sense of it, yet every answer leads to more questions.”
He told her of the de Bourghs’ history of madness and the amendment hidden from the family. He spoke of Ferguson, and of his revelations concerning Mrs. Jenkinson’s means of calming Miss de Bourgh whenever her agitation rose beyond all bounds.
“Ferguson has served at Rosings for nearly twenty years. He was a footman, with access to the entire house. A man who speaks little but hears much.”
“And you trust him?” Elizabeth asked.
“Implicitly.” Darcy’s voice was tight with restraint. “Anne’s behaviour began to alter during adolescence. Her manners grew increasingly erratic—at times even violent. There were incidents, improper conduct with some of the servants. Most were concealed, but there remain accounts of chambermaids being struck.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
“This,” he said, “coincides with the drafting of the original will—the one that delayed her inheritance until she turned five and twenty. I believe Sir Lewis feared she would not improve with time. Mrs. Jenkinson’s devoted efforts during those trying years did much to make her appear more. . . presentable.”
“You have known her since childhood,” Elizabeth said. “Did you never suspect anything was amiss?”
He let out a long breath. “I must confess, I gave her little thought. Whenever I visited Rosings, I was more intent on avoiding my aunt than observing her daughter. But I do recall she was often excitable when she was younger, and at times confined to her rooms, sometimes for several days together.”
“Charlotte told me her health was delicate. That was the reason she was not presented in society.”
“Apparently, that was only a pretext; they would not risk sending her to London for the Season.” He exhaled sharply. “When she turned eighteen, around the time Sir Lewis’s health declined, this suspicious amendment was drawn up.”
“And what does it say?”
“It granted Lady Catherine full control of Rosings if Anne died childless or was declared incapable.”
“But Lady Catherine is gone. What will become of her, of the estate?”
