“What you are telling me,” Darcy said slowly, “is that George may revoke his consent at will. That he may signanother document—this time with the Apethorpes—and transfer whatever claim he possesses to Lady Amelia’s family.”
“Yes, if he so decides.” Blythewood removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses. “The law would likely uphold such a transfer. The Apethorpes are the child’s blood relatives through his mother, and Mr. Wickham is the father. If both parties agree that the child should be raised by his maternal grandparents rather than by his father’s half-brother…” Blythewood spread his hands. “The courts would see a natural family arrangement. They would not inquire too closely into the circumstances that produced it.”
“And if I contested?”
“On what basis, Mr. Darcy? Your affection for the child and friendship with Lady Amelia would not override George Wickham’s determination. Thomas is George’s son, and you have no standing in this matter. Even if you made Thomas your heir and he changed his surname to Darcy after inheriting, he would still be George Wickham’s son. You know that.”
Darcy rose, unable to remain seated, and drifted to the window, regarding the rolling vistas that now appeared to belong to another man entirely.
“George will go to the highest bidder,” he said flatly. “He always does.”
“I would not presume to characterize?—”
“You need not presume. I have known him since childhood.” Darcy’s hands clenched behind his back. “He resents me, Blythewood. Our father favored him—openly and conspicuously—but the law gave everything to me. The estate, the income, and the name. George received an education and an allowance, and he has never forgiven me for being legitimate.”
The bitterness in his own voice surprised him. He had not spoken of George so openly in years—had trained himself to treat his half-brother as a problem to be managed rather thana wound to be examined. And he had trapped himself by requesting George’s help. By avoiding a scandal to the Darcy name, he had given over the Darcy heir to his half-brother.
His blood pounded behind his ears. This was intolerable. Never in his life had he dreamt Lady Amelia would die. Even though their love affair had ended the day she refused marriage, they had stayed friends, and she had allowed him access as an uncle to Thomas. Darcy was the one called to his bedside when he had the measles. Darcy had been there when his first tooth erupted, had taught him to walk, and the boy called him “Da,” short for Darcy.
Blythewood stared at the document George had signed over a glass of brandy. “You might ask your brother to formalize his consent to make you Thomas’s legal guardian. That is what I advise.”
Darcy ran his hand through his hair, pouncing on his feet. “What if I were to petition the Chancery for formal wardship—demonstrating that I have been the child’s primary guardian, that my brother abandoned his responsibilities, that I am best positioned to provide for the child’s welfare? I married a gentlewoman, a respectable Elizabeth Bennet, whom the child loves. I provided the home for him. Surely, the Chancery would agree that Pemberley is a much better home for Amelia’s son than somewhere onboard a ship headed for India.”
“I would not advise tarring your brother in court,” Blythewood said, his voice dropping. “Such a petition would invite scrutiny. Questions would be asked, and the court might wish to examine the circumstances of the child’s birth and the nature of your connection to Lady Amelia. Any diminishment of your brother’s character would harm you in any legal fight with the Apethorpes.”
Blythewood was correct. Darcy could not afford the answers, especially now when his wife showed all the signs of loving him,perhaps even accepting him despite his reserve, stiffness, and lack of humor.
The solicitor observed the turmoil. “My advice, for what it is worth, is to cultivate your brother’s loyalty. Surely, he would not welcome the Apethorpes in separating you, your sister, and even himself from his flesh and blood.”
“What are my options?” Darcy asked quietly. “Honestly, Blythewood. What can I do?”
“You can pay,” he said finally. “Whatever the Apethorpes are offering George, you can offer more.”
“For how long? Forever?”
“As long as necessary.” Blythewood began gathering his papers. “You might also consider making Master Thomas your heir—not as your son, which you cannot legally claim, but as your chosen successor. This would give him standing, security, and a future that does not depend on Mr. Wickham’s continued goodwill.”
“And if I have natural-born sons with Mrs. Darcy?”
The question emerged before Darcy could stop it. Blythewood paused, his hands stilling on his papers.
“That would… complicate matters,” he admitted. “An heir by blood would typically take precedence. But provisions could be made. Trusts established. Master Thomas could take the Darcy name through formal petition, as others have done—inheriting as a chosen heir rather than a natural son. Your wife, however, might not accept this arrangement.”
And that, too, was the rub. If he made Elizabeth increase with his child, he would be no better than a scoundrel, trapping her and offering protection without choice. Exactly the man Amelia detested.
But how else to keep a woman like Elizabeth? She was essential—there was no other word for it. He could not bear for Little Tom to lose his Lizba so soon after losing his mother.
“I see.” Darcy moved to the door, signaling that the consultation was concluded.
“I wish I had better news to offer, sir.” The solicitor gathered his case. “The law is not designed to accommodate… irregular circumstances. But where the law fails, arrangements between gentlemen may succeed. If you can reach an understanding with Mr. Wickham?—”
“I have reached an understanding with George before. They last precisely as long as his attention span.”
“Then renew his attention with coin,” Blythewood said, picking up his hat. “He is your brother. If he comes to me, I would advise him not to deal with the Apethorpes. Once they have Thomas, they can set his claims aside, and he would gain nothing. However, with you, with family, he would always hold that informal document over your head. As uncomfortable as it is, you, Mr. Darcy, are the guarantor that your dear brother will side with you. Do send him my way, if you can.”
“Thank you, Blythewood. You have given me much to consider.”
Blythewood bowed and promised to return should Edward Apethorpe appear. He departed quietly, and Darcy wandered to the grand library to contemplate the boxes of manuscripts he had secreted in a locked cabinet with his father’s cherished first editions. He had not stood there more than a quarter of an hour when the door opened, and a flutter of female voices sent a chill along his spine.
