“Assuredly, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds’s voice carried a warmth that had not been present before. “Mrs. Darcy has been nothing but gracious since her arrival. The staff is already quite devoted to her, and they will protect her.”
“I will speak to Georgiana. She will be… troubled and disappointed. If she requires comfort in my absence, if the knowledge distresses her?—”
“I shall look after her, sir. As I always have. Some have perhaps grown a trifle too familiar of late, and I shall see that their boundaries are strictly reaffirmed.”
“Do not be overly harsh, but see that they remember their place.”
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Yes.” He rose, signaling that the formal portion of their meeting had concluded. “I shall be departing for London tomorrow morning. Estate business that cannot be delayed. I expect to return within the week, but if circumstances require a longer absence, I shall send word.”
“Then I wish you safe travels, sir.” She stood, jangling her keys.
“And one more thing.” He stopped her at the door. “Mrs. Darcy holds full authority over the running of Pemberley. Every key, every invoice, every scrap of correspondence—all of it belongs to her. She is the mistress of this house, and I trust her with every confidence I possess. You will not deny her any request, nor are you to look to me for confirmation of her orders.”
Mrs. Reynolds bowed her head. “Mrs. Darcy has our full loyalty, sir. We shall care for her as we cared for Lady Anne.”
Georgiana sat at the pianoforte, her back to the door. Once, her fingers had marched dutifully through scales; now, her playing shimmered with feeling, each note coaxed into life as if the instrument itself had grown a soul. Darcy lingered at the threshold, chest tight. He had left her to finishing school and the safety of routine, only to return and find a young woman—one with opinions, attachments, and a depth of feeling he had not accounted for while London offered its distractions.
She would be hurt, not by the fact of Thomas’s parentage or even the scandal. She had been concerned about George’s prospects and had kept her opinions of Lady Amelia to herself. But she had always trusted Darcy to be the gentleman. She had believed him above the indiscretions of Wickham, and for this, she would be sorely crushed.
The sonata concluded with a held breath, and Georgiana looked up from the keys, opening her eyes and then registering his presence with a small gasp.
“Brother! I did not expect you so… Is everything well?”
Darcy entered the room, closing the door behind him with a care that made Georgiana’s smile falter. She knew that gesture. She had seen it before every difficult conversation of their shared history—before he had told her of their father’s death, before he had explained the nature of Wickham’s debt, and before he had informed her of his intention to marry a woman she had never met.
“What is wrong?” Her voice dropped. “Did Elizabeth… You weren’t angry with her, were you? She wished to visit the rectory, and Prue is our friend.”
“I am not angry with Mrs. Darcy, nor you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I apologize for the fright I gave you and your friends this afternoon. I was… distressed.”
“The Apethorpe meeting! Is it about Little Tom? Are they going to take him away from George?”
He crossed to the window seat and settled opposite her. “I will be going to London tomorrow morning. Both for estate business and to address the issues Edward Apethorpe raised. But there is something else I must tell you—a matter I should have been honest about from the start.”
Color rose on Georgiana’s cheeks. “Brother, you are frightening me.”
“I know.” He forced himself to hold her gaze. “I am sorry for that. I am sorry for a great deal, as it happens.”
His sister swallowed hard, folding her hands in her lap, and waited.
“It concerns Thomas, but it is not a calamity. Only…” The words he had rehearsed seemed paltry now. “Elizabeth already knows.”
“Does it have something to do with the registry? What they said? That you bribed George to sign it? But oh, Fitzwilliam, George is not so dishonorable as you suppose. He is misunderstood.”
Darcy held up his hand. “George was not the dishonorable one in this situation. It was me.”
“How?”
“Thomas is not George’s son. He is mine.” He let the words flood, not stopping for a breath. “I had George sign in my place. Compelled him, and paid him.”
Georgiana’s hands flew to her mouth with a startled cry. “But I don’t understand. Fitzwilliam, how can Thomas be your son? Are you adopting him?”
“No, he is the son of my body. Mine and Lady Amelia’s.”
“You kissed her?” His sister shot to her feet. “When you weren’t married to her?”
He lowered his gaze to his boots and nodded.
