Page 22 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

“Can this matter be resolved?” she asked, her tone brisk, business-like.

This was not a lady to shrink back from the truth of unpleasant news. He told her plainly, “It will be difficult, but if we act swiftly, I believe it is possible.”

“How? Tell me what needs to be done, and I will see it done.”

What Darcy had suspected before was reaffirmed with all the clarity of a clanging bell. Miss Elizabeth ran Longbourn unassisted. She, who might so easily have assumed that her future as the wife of a wealthy gentleman assured her a life of ease and indulgence, had instead taken on the thankless task of estate management, knowing that her father would get credit for her hard work. Knowing she would not inherit. Darcy hardly knew her, and already she had his respect.

“First, we must prove that your father’s partnership legally expired in 1810. Second, that he did not sign any renewal documents after that date.”

“I signed nothing. Of that, I am certain,” said Mr. Bennet.

Darcy added, “That being the case, we must prove that any documents bearing your father’s signature after 1810 are forgeries.”

“And if we prove those three things, the charges will be dismissed?”

Philips replied, “Possibly. The government will argue that signatures evolve over time, that Bennet’s lack of response to company correspondence does not void a legal partnership, that his intent to dissolve without following proper procedures means nothing.”

She did not swoon. She hardly batted an eyelid. “Then what do we need to release my father from this debt?”

Darcy replied plainly. “Ideally, we will find an obvious forgery, something irrefutably and undeniably false. Realistically, we need more than documents. We need testimony from others who have dealt with this company. We need to establish that this is not an isolated incident but a pattern of fraud that extends far beyond targeting this one country squire.” He took a deep breath. “A fraud of this size is never a single sheet. If they have done it properly, the deed was drawn in counterparts—one kept by the company, one sent to your father, as any partner keeps his own. They would not want every copy under their own roof. A signed counterpart found here, among his papers, is worth more to them than a dozen in their files: it is the thing that makes him a partner in the eyes of the Crown, and makes them merely his associates.”

Philips paled. “Evidence in the accused’s own hand, in the accused’s own keeping.”

“Precisely. They are counting on the excise men finding it before Mr. Bennet does.” Darcy glanced at the papers and letters scattered over the desk and stuffed between books. “Find it before they do, and we hold either his ruin or their undoing.”

Miss Elizabeth lifted her chin. “If it is here, then we shall find it. That, at least, is something we can do. What about the testimony? How do we get that?”

“I have connections in Vienna, in Macedonia, and in several ports of trade. People who have dealt with Imperial Spirits & Fine Goods and will be willing to testify about their criminal methods.”

“How quickly can you reach them?”

If he could fly, he would leave at that moment. “I will send letters today.”

She extended her hand to her father. “Papa, Mr. Robinson needs paper, pen, and an inkwell.” To him, she said, “You may use my desk by the window or any other space in this house that suits your purpose.”

Darcy smiled at her eagerness, her quickness. But he had to ensure she fully understood what they were up against. “I thank you and will begin immediately. But it will take time—weeks, possibly months—to gather the testimony we need.”

“How long do we have?”

“Under normal circumstances, about six months from the initial demand.”

“Six months.” A flicker of a smile crossed her lips, and her posture relaxed. Darcy loathed to be the one to dash her hope.

Her uncle shook his head. “The nation is at war. England’s debts are massive and growing every day. Your father is too easy a target for them not to expedite the collection.”

“How long then?”

Darcy exchanged a look with Philips, who nodded.

“You may receive a distress warrant in as soon as two weeks.” After having done the math countless times, this was the shortest time period Darcy had come up with if the messengers rode the fastest horses, the clerks saw to their tasks immediately, and Sir Bradley replied to correspondence on the same day it was received.

“A distress warrant?”

“The local magistrate’s bailiff will come to Longbourn to seize movable property—furniture, livestock, books, jewelry… anything of value that might be sold to pay the debt. To that they will add whatever ready money remains in your bank accounts.”

Miss Elizabeth pinched her eyes closed, her brows furrowed. What was she thinking of? Her mother’s pearls, her grandmother’s china, the books in her father’s library? When she spoke, it was a whisper. “It will not be enough.”

Philips shook his head gravely. “It will not make a dent in the amount owed. Which is why you must prepare yourselves. The distress warrant is only the beginning. The writ of execution will follow.” He leaned forward, intent on Mr. Bennet, his words clipped and sharp, as though they might pierce through his brother-in-law’s indifference if he spoke with enough clarity. “Within four weeks, they could seize your land and buildings.”