Page 23 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Miss Elizabeth tightened her clasped hands, her knuckles white.

“They cannot seize that which is entailed away from me,” her father pointed out.

Again, Darcy wondered what had motivated her to manage an estate she had no hope of inheriting.

“They will take the rental income from your tenant farms,” said Philips. “All revenue will be diverted to the Crown until the debt is satisfied.”

Miss Elizabeth took the devastating news like a pugilist takes a blow. She was shaken but not felled. In a calm voice too contained to be natural, she said, “Their timing could not be worse. It is harvest season—our most profitable time of the year. We need the money from the harvest to purchase seed for next year’s crops, to make repairs and pay the staff…” Her voice trailed off, though Darcy imagined her adding to the endless list in her mind.

Her uncle added quietly, gravely, “It will not be enough. Not with years of bountiful crops⁠—”

“Which we will not have without money to purchase seed nor to hire laborers to harvest.”

He nodded, continuing, “After they have taken all your possessions, emptied your father’s accounts, and seized his rents, they will allow him a short period—” He looked to Darcy to fill in the details.

“If the distress warrant comes within a fortnight and the writ a fortnight after, it is their custom to allow a further four weeks for you to extract funds by any means necessary.”

“Anything is better than debtor’s prison.” Philips turned to his brother-in-law. “Think of your wife and daughters!”

“Eight weeks,” Miss Elizabeth said under her breath.

“Eight weeks to debtor’s prison, where your father and those reliant on his care will remain until his debts are satisfied.” Again, her uncle turned to Mr. Bennet. “Would you allow your family to rot in ruin at Fleet Street Prison when you can prevent it? If you care not for their welfare, think of your beloved books. You will never see them again inside that awful place.”

Mr. Bennet’s posture remained decidedly relaxed despite the anxious state of his circumstances. One could say he was even blissful in his refusal to believe anything bad could transpire if he ignored the problem long enough. Not even the threat of Fleet Prison moved him to action. In this regard, the man sitting before him was the antithesis of Darcy’s own father. He had been overbearing, but he had never disregarded his responsibilities.

Mr. Philips scowled at his brother-in-law. “You ought to confide in Mrs. Bennet. She will wonder why Mr. Robinson is staying at Longbourn.

Darcy started. They had not discussed his residence. Now that he thought about it, though, he ought to have anticipated this. His constant presence would be required to oversee this delicate task. As a humble gentleman’s secretary, it would be expected that he reside with the family.

Mr. Bennet rubbed his chin, mulling over his choices as though he had any.

Mr. Philips continued, “You will need to review documents constantly, and Mr. Robinson would waste valuable time traveling back and forth from the inn… not to mention the heavy rains we expect this time of year.”

“Yes, of course, Uncle. Papa, shall we have the guest room prepared?” Miss Elizabeth watched her father as she spoke, clearly seeking his guidance, though he had not said a word in considerable time.

Darcy swallowed hard. Never could he have positioned himself better to learn his betrothed’s character than this. He had all the advantage, but she would only see a part of him—the lowly secretary employed by her father. Not a fair arrangement.

But if he refused? She would lose her home. Could she forgive him if he allowed her to lose Longbourn? Was she likely to forgive him once she learned that he was Fitzwilliam Darcy? He feared the answer to either question. Which would benefit Miss Elizabeth more: remain Daniel Robinson and help her preserve the estate she had invested herself in, or reveal his identity in full, losing all chance of helping her when her family pushed for a hasty marriage she did not want? There was no good choice or happy solution.

Even as his mind rationally listed consequences, he knew he could not leave her without lending his assistance. Longbourn was too important to her.

Mr. Bennet leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together on top of his desk. “Very well. I will ask Mrs. Bennet to have the chamber on the upper floor prepared. Can you move your things in today?”

Miss Elizabeth sought Darcy’s gaze, her eyes full of light and hope.

“Thank you, Mr. Bennet. I am honored to be of service.” Darcy prayed this decision would not cost him too dearly.

Mr. Philips slapped his hands together and stepped toward the door. “Excellent! I shall return when I hear from Gardiner. Likely this afternoon.” He turned to Darcy. “Shall we collect your things from the inn?”

Darcy rose and bowed. “My things can wait. I mean to begin writing letters immediately.”

Mr. Philips nodded approvingly. “Very well, Mr. Robinson. I will arrange for them to be delivered here.” He paused at the door. “I wish I could stay, but I have another appointment. Another gentleman, new to the area, seeking to establish himself.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled, settling comfortably into wry humor as easily as he eased into his chair. “To what do we credit this sudden influx of gentlemen to our little corner of Hertfordshire? First, Mr. Bingley, then Mr. Robinson, and now, another… what is his name?”

“Wickham. Mr. George Wickham.”

For a moment, Darcy could not breathe.