Page 84 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Elizabeth slipped behind her to see what had happened to distract her father from the next projectile. He picked something from the chair, laughing as he unfolded a thick document and held it up. “This is it! I have found it!”

Everyone stared. Clearing the top of his desk with a mad swipe of his arm, he spread the document over the surface, smoothing it flat with shaking hands. Elizabeth leaned in. Her mother leaned in. Mary appeared at her elbow. Kitty and Lydia ran behind them, craning their necks to see.

It was a contract from Imperial Spirits & Fine Goods. A partner signature at the bottom, in ink a shade darker than the rest of the document. And there, in the signature line, in careful copper-plate letters: Thomas Bennett.

Bennett. Two t’s. Elizabeth looked at her father, mouth agape. The gray afternoon in her father's study came back to her all at once—Robinson's steady voice: a signed counterpart, found here, among his papers. “This is what he said they would do,” Elizabeth breathed. “They sent it to be found—by the King's men, not by us. They wagered you would never open it.”

“Bennett,” Mama read, and then looked at her husband. “They spelled it wrong.”

“They did.”

“They spelled it wrong!” she repeated, more excitedly.

“That is what I just said.”

“Mr. Bennet, they spelled your name wrong! They forged your name and they spelled it wrong!”

Papa smiled. “Yes, Mrs. Bennet. I have been spelling Bennet correctly for fifty-three years. Apparently, one must be a criminal to misspell it.”

“We must go to London immediately.”

“I thought we might, yes.”

“Today!”

“It is nearly dark.”

“Tomorrow, then. First thing.” She folded the document carefully, reverently and placed it in the center of the desk. “Do not let anyone touch that. Mr. Bennet, you will take this to London on the morrow, and you will not return home until you have a letter from Sir Bradley himself saying that we owe the king nothing. Do I make myself clear?”

“Admirably,” Papa said.

Mama did not reach for another book. She stood with her hand pressed flat upon the folded contract, and Elizabeth watched her mother’s expression shift. The pinched, hunted look she had worn for weeks yielded to a pensive calm.

“Do you know what this means, Lizzy?” There was, for once, no melodrama in it. “All this time I have told you that you must marry, that we were ruined else, that everything—everything—depended upon you.” She smoothed the paper flat once more, reverently. “And it was a forger’s lie. We are not ruined. We never needed the marriage at all.”

For a moment she was quiet, which was itself a remarkable thing.

“Good.” She straightened, and with a decisive air, she turned to the room at large. “I have been thinking⁠—”

“A dangerous activity—” Papa bit his tongue at Mama’s sharp look.

“I have come to some conclusions.”

Elizabeth waited, at a loss to guess what was on her mother’s mind.

“This household has been running on the efforts of one person for far too long.” She did not look at Elizabeth, but she did not need to. “That is going to change. Beginning now.” Kitty and Lydia exchanged a look. “I intend to speak with my brothers about what needs to be done to put Longbourn right again. I will not spend money we do not have.” This comment, she directed at Papa, who had the good sense to look chagrined. “I will not entertain until our reputation has recovered. There will be no new gowns or slippers—” she winced as she continued—”until we are on firm ground. I will seek recommendations for a new governess to continue teaching our girls.”

“Mama!” Lydia wailed. “Are you saying we cannot⁠—”

“I am saying that if Elizabeth could learn to manage this estate, then so can we. So can all of us.”

Elizabeth’s heart swelled with pride. This was a surprising side to her mother she delighted in seeing. Jane appeared in the doorway, just in time to hear their mother pronounce, “Longbourn belongs to all of us. It is high time we all acted like it.”

Mary said, with barely concealed delight, “I think that is an excellent idea.”

Kitty looked uncertain. Lydia looked defiant. Jane said nothing. Elizabeth hoped that, in time and with the positive influence of their mother on a mission, Jane’s haughty pride might soften.

“Furthermore,” Mrs. Bennet said, turning to her husband, who looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time, “you will accompany me to every meeting with my brothers. Every conversation with Elizabeth about the estate. Every invitation we are fortunate enough to receive. There will still be time for your books, Mr. Bennet. But you will take time for your family.” She looked at him steadily. “This is not a suggestion.”