"The situation at Ashcombe resolved sooner than expected. Besides, I had your permission. Your letter was clear."
"My express withdrawing that permission was sent yesterday morning. It appears you had already left Ashcombe."
For the first time, Ambrose seemed uncertain.
"The estate—"
"Is not yours," Lord Matlock said. "It never was. Before you present the financial argument you have no doubt prepared, allow me to save us both the effort. Under proper management Ashcombe is capable of returning eight thousand a year. That is a very respectable income."
“It is not what I had anticipated.”
“No,” said Lord Matlock. “But it is what belongs to you.”
He regarded his nephew steadily.
“Under ordinary circumstances I might advise you to consult Darcy on the management of your estate. There is no better man for it. At present, however, as his future wife has just refused you before him, I suspect the discussion would not prosper.”
Ambrose looked past his uncle, took in the garden and everyone in it, and left.
“My dear girl,” Lord Matlock said, drawing back only enough to look at her properly. “I knew there was something familiar in you from the first evening I saw you. You have my sister's face, but your smile... Your smile is entirely your father's. I told myself I was imagining it. I should never have doubted what was before me.”
Elizabeth looked between them in bewilderment.
“Your sister?”
“Elizabeth Trevelyan was my sister,” Lord Matlock said softly. “Margaret was my niece. And you, my dear child, are my goddaughter.”
“That is why your name appeared upon the certificate.”
Darcy looked at her in surprise.
“You saw it?”
“Kitty found my baptism papers this afternoon,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I still do not understand how any of this has happened.”
“Your grandfather’s will was finally found,” Darcy said gently. “And I now understand why your uncle was so furious with him. Stephen Trevelyan intended to remove you from Mr. Bennet’s guardianship and succeeded in doing so, but he died before he could bring you north himself.”
“Then the Trevelyan estate you spoke of at Brinmouth—”
“Was yours,” Darcy said quietly. “All this time.”
Darcy’s expression hardened briefly.
“Ashcombe stole far more from you than money.”
“Then Mr. Bennet—”
“Has no legal authority over you whatsoever,” Lord Matlock said firmly.
The words seemed to leave her almost unable to breathe.
Darcy stepped nearer immediately and took both her hands into his.
“It is finished now,” he said. “We need not run. You need not fear them any longer.”
“You mean it is truly over?”
“Entirely.”
