Only then did she allow herself to exhale.
It was a strange sensation—to be so certain of one’s happiness and yet feel its temporary absence so keenly.
But Wednesday the eighteenth of December was not far off.
And she would not be Elizabeth Bennet much longer.
∞∞∞
London received Darcy with its usual gray dignity—cold stone, thinner sunlight, and an air of industrious urgency that felt entirely different from the softer rhythms of Hertfordshire.
He wasted no time in handling his affairs. The sooner he completed his errands, the sooner he could return to Elizabeth.
The morning after his arrival, he presented himself at the chambers of his family’s solicitor, Mr. Harding, whose father and grandfather had both managed Darcy affairs before him. The office smelled of ink, sealing wax, and leather bindings—comfortingly permanent scents.
Mr. Harding rose at once.
“Mr. Darcy. I was pleased to see your note yesterday. Congratulations are in order, then?”
“They are,” Darcy replied evenly, though he did not conceal his satisfaction. “I am to be married on the eighteenth of December. We must have the settlements drawn immediately.”
The solicitor’s brows rose only slightly at the speed implied, but he gestured toward a chair. “Very good, sir. Let us begin.”
Darcy removed his gloves and sat opposite the broad desk, clasping his hands.
“I intend to settle twenty thousand pounds upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Mr. Harding’s pen paused only a fraction before resuming its movement. “To be secured upon marriage?”
“Yes. Invested in government securities, the interest to be hers.”
“At four percent,” Harding murmured, calculating, “that would provide her with eight hundred pounds annually.”
“Her pin money,” Darcy confirmed. “Independent of household accounts.”
The solicitor inclined his head approvingly. “Very well, sir. That is quite generous of you.”
“It is no more than she deserves.”
Indeed, Darcy did not intend Elizabeth to feel herself dependent upon his goodwill for every ribbon or book she might desire. Her independence of mind deserved independence of means.
“In the event of my death,” Darcy continued, “the twenty thousand remains entirely at her disposal. In addition, she is to retain her pin money free of interference.”
“Of course.”
“And Pemberley,” Darcy went on, “shall be inherited by our eldest son. If there be no sons, then the eldest daughter, provided her husband takes her surname. I will not see the estate diverted from my direct descendants.”
Harding nodded briskly. “I will set up the usual clauses as part of the inheritance documents.”
Darcy hesitated a moment before adding, “Should I predecease her, Mrs. Darcy is to reside at Pemberley’s dower house for the duration of her life, should she choose it.”
“The dower house is in excellent condition,” Harding observed. “Recently refurbished.”
“It shall be hers,” Darcy said quietly. “No heir may displace her.”
The solicitor wrote without comment.
There were additional provisions—dowries for any younger daughters, guardianship clauses should their children be minors at the time of his death, and careful language to prevent future legal entanglements. Darcy examined each draft with meticulous attention, adjusting phrasing where necessary.
