William flushed. “My father was a Bennet, same as yours. And I was the firstborn of them both!”
Philips frowned. “That does not matter, sir. When Timothy Bennet died, the estate went to his oldest son, Theodore. So, when Theodore passed last year, God rest his soul, ownership went tohisoldest son.”
“So, what happens when you die? I get it then?” William asked heatedly.
Thomas offered a thin smile. “No. Should I die and not have any sons—God forbid—my younger brother, Frederick, would claim ownership of Longbourn. It would then pass down tohisson upon his demise.”
William’s voice rose. “You are unmarried. Your parents are dead. You rattle around this estate with no one! I have a wife and a child on the way. Are you sayingthatcounts for nothing? I am older than you!”
Thomas set down his port. “I am saying that legal documents matter more than your family circumstances or personal grievances.”
At William’s growl, Thomas raised his hand and calmly said, “But I am not without a sense of familial duty.”
“Familial duty?” William echoed stupidly.
Thomas nodded. “Yes, we are family, after all. Therefore, I propose this: though you have no legal claim, I shall establish afund for your child—boy or girl. If a boy, it shall go toward his education; if a girl, toward a modest dowry.”
William sneered. “That’s it?”
“I am doing the same for my younger brother, Frederick; he is currently at Cambridge, which I am funding.”
Mr. Hartley, who had been silently reading over the entail documents provided by Mr. Philips, cleared his throat and leaned toward his client. “It is… generous, Mr. Collins. And fair. Legally, we cannot press for more.”
“But that is what you are supposed to do here! Find a way to prove that I am the rightful owner of Longbourn!”
“I am afraid there is no way to do that. The situation is quite clear.”
There was a long silence. At last, William grunted. “Fine.”
Thomas summoned the butler, and documents were brought for signing. William stared at them, clearly confused.
Mr. Philips produced a quill. “Mark your agreement here, please. An X will suffice.”
William scrawled his mark with poor grace and stomped from the room without another word. Hartley offered a quick bow and scurried after him.
When the door shut, Thomas poured another glass of port.
“Well,” he said with a dry chuckle. “That was precisely as unpleasant as I feared.”
Philips adjusted his cravat. “You have spared yourself a legal headache, but he remains the heir presumptive should you or your brother fail to produce a son.”
Thomas made a face. “Must you be so morbid?”
“Only practical, sir. It may be time to… consider your options.”
Thomas groaned. “I suppose you are about to suggest a wife.”
Mr. Philips said nothing, but the slight lift of one brow was answer enough.
Thomas slumped back in his chair and rubbed at his temples. “Must it truly come to that? I cannot abide the thought of all the effort it would require—dressing up in stiff coats, nodding and bowing, making polite inquiries about someone’s blasted embroidery or bonnet trimming. The noise, the simpering, the never-ending flutter of fans and fluttering eyelashes.”
He let out a long sigh and stared morosely into his port. “All those dreadful social events where one must smile and smile and never once be left alone to finish a proper glass of brandy or read a good book. It is exhausting simply thinking of it.”
Philips chuckled softly. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”
“It might very well be,” Thomas muttered. “Death by dinner party.”
After a moment, Philips said, “Forgive me if I overstep, sir, but my son is currently courting a young woman—a Miss Gardiner. She has a younger sister, Frances, who is lively, pretty, and well-mannered. I could arrange an introduction, if you would like?”
