The words landed.
Hard.
Frederick’s expression sobered at once. “Cathy… I—” He stopped, then inclined his head slightly. “You are right to be angry. I owe you an apology.”
She said nothing, and her expression did not soften.
“But I confess,” he went on, looking about the room with clear confusion, “I do not understand why you are here. At Longbourn, of all places.”
Lady Catherine drew herself up a little higher against the cushions. “That,” she said coolly, “is none of your concern. The more pressing question is whyyouare here.”
Mr. Bennet spoke then, his tone dry but edged. “Lady Catherine makes an excellent point.”
Frederick turned toward him.
“The last letter I received from you,” Mr. Bennet continued, “informed me that you were dying. As I received no further word, I concluded that you had done so. If you have been alive all this time, I should like to know why you did not return—and why you have chosen to do so now.”
Elizabeth stepped fully into the room. “I should like answers to those same questions myself.”
All eyes snapped to her, and for a moment, no one spoke.
Frederick Bennet stared at her. His gaze moved over her face with growing intensity, as though searching for something—recognition, perhaps—until at last he said, slowly, “Is this… Elizabeth?”
He looked between Mr. Bennet and Lady Catherine.
Elizabeth did not wait for them to answer. “I am,” she said, crossing the room and taking a seat upon the small sofa.
Darcy settled beside her without a word, his presence steady and reassuring at her side.
Frederick’s gaze returned to Lady Catherine. “Does she know—”
“That you sired me?” Elizabeth cut in, her tone even. “Yes. I do.”
There was a flicker of something—shock, perhaps—across his face, but she did not pause.
“I am also aware that Lady Catherine gave birth to me,” she continued. “Which may, in a purely technical sense, make you my parents. But in every way that signifies—both in the eyes of the law and in my own—my parents are those who raised me. Who sacrificed for me. Who gave me a home.”
She held his gaze.
“So you will forgive me if I do not adopt new titles so readily. From my point of view, you are myuncle—the brother of my father. And Lady Catherine is my husband’s aunt.”
Lady Catherine gave a sharp nod. “Which is precisely as it should be.”
Frederick exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I do not understand this. None of it. This is not—” He broke off. “This is not what I had imagined.”
“What?” Mr. Bennet drawled. “Did you expect us to slaughter the fatted calf and celebrate the return of the long-departed prodigal?”
Frederick opened his mouth—
Elizabeth raised her hand.
“Enough.”
The single word, though not loud, carried through the room.
“We shall make no progress if we continue in this manner,” she said. “Snatching at pieces of the story and arguing over each one in turn will only lead us in circles.”
She drew in a breath, steadying herself.
