“But—”
Georgiana’s protest was silenced with a quelling look from her mother. Her curiosity vanished into composure as though it had never existed. “The gardens are lovely at this hour,” she finished more evenly.
Elizabeth lowered her gaze, hiding the flicker of amusement—and sympathy—that rose within her. Lady Catherine, for her part, appeared entirely content with the arrangement.
“Yes, yes, that is quite sensible,” she said. “Such matters are best handled without unnecessary interruption.”
The butler came into the room at the moment. “Mr. Bennet,” he announced, “and Mr. Frederick Bennet have arrived.”
Elizabeth felt the shift like a physical thing.
Jane’s hand stilled against the table. Bingley straightened. Georgiana’s fingers tightened briefly in her lap before going still again.
Elizabeth drew in a slow breath.
This was it.
No more delays. No more carefully managed conversation.
No returning upstairs.
She rose. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady. “Shall we, my dear?”
Darcy nodded and extended his arm towards her. She took it, and together they moved the door, her courage steadying with every step as his arm remained firm beneath her hand.
Chapter 43
There was, at first, a certain awkwardness to the meeting.
Mr. Bennet stood near the mantel, one hand resting upon it in a posture that might have suggested ease, had not his expression betrayed otherwise. Frederick Bennet remained a little apart, as though uncertain of his proper place within the room—or within the company, Teddy at his side. Lady Catherine had taken a chair with an air of command, though her gaze moved more than usual, settling and resettling upon Frederick with something far less composed than her posture suggested.
Elizabeth sat beside Darcy.
She could feel the tension in the room, though no one yet spoke to address it.
At length, Darcy cleared his throat.
“If it is not too forward,” he said, his tone measured, “I believe it would be prudent to settle a few practical matters before anything further is undertaken.”
Mr. Bennet let out a breath that was very nearly a laugh.
“My dear Darcy,” he said, with a glance that held both relief and wry amusement, “you are the only man in this room who appears inclined to speak. Pray, take it away.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, and Elizabeth bit back a grin at the idea that her taciturn husband was the most loquacious in the moment.
“Very well. Mr. Bennet—” he paused, then amended with care, “—Mr.ThomasBennet, did you ever formally declare your brother deceased in England?”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “No formal declaration was made. I received his final letter, but I never did anything about it other than put it in my files.”
“That simplifies matters considerably,” Darcy said. “In that case, it may be sufficient to establish your identity through testimony and documentation, rather than requiring a formal reversal of status.”
Mr. Bennet made a small sound of approval. “You see, Frederick? Had you returned sooner, I might have spared myself a great deal of unnecessary effort.”
Frederick huffed faintly. “Had I returned sooner, you would have had far more to answer for.”
“Undoubtedly,” Mr. Bennet replied. “Which is perhaps why I preferred the uncertainty.”
Darcy allowed the faintest hint of a smile before continuing.
