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“He did not have a family or a giant estate,” Darcy explained. “He took big gambles. Had inherited a sum from a favorite aunt, and, well, they were thick as thieves.”
Elizabeth nodded; this partner no doubt took advantage of Darcy’s father’s trust. “Well then, if you are still paying this man, perhaps he should forgive the debt, seeing as how he no doubt took advantage of your father’s income.”
Darcy shook his head. “No. He paid the bank’s creditors out of his own pocket and took my father’s notes in exchange. We have paid him every quarter since.”
“Where is this man?” Elizabeth insisted. “Perhaps I can reason with him.”
“He is old, I believe.” Darcy lowered his hand, too, no longer interested in the game. “He communicates only through his solicitors. After my father passed, there has been no direct contact. And so the interest has to be met, and the man’s estate increases.”
“I appreciate this,” she said, her fingers resting on the piece she had just moved, wondering if she could take it back. “The trust you place in telling me. I know it cannot be easy.”
“It is considerably easier than watching you believe I am merely secretive.” The corner of his mouth curved, though it was not quite a smile. “You deserved the truth, Mrs. Darcy. You have been living in it since you arrived.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. He had told her these things willingly. He had not been compelled, tricked, or forced to confess; he had simply sat beside her bed with a set of checkers, opened the ledger of his shame, and trusted her to absorb it, as a wife should.
“I have not invited my family,” Elizabeth said, adjusting the angle of a conversation as one tilts a parasol. “But I have written to Charlotte Lucas and asked her to visit. She is sensible and discreet, and she will not tally the coal scuttles.”
“Miss Lucas is welcome.” His voice warmed a fraction. “When do you expect her?”
“Within the fortnight, if the roads cooperate.” She removed her hand from the board. “I do believe you will win if you take the next move.”
“And I believe I will win what I truly want if I do not.” He gathered the checkers into their box. “Do you require rest or perhaps tea? I shall have Hannah bring more of those sugared almonds. And I do thank you for listening.”
“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate, but she did not know what else to say. The revelations about her father, his business partner, and the overwhelming debts were too heavy against her own uncertainties: Uncle Henry’s will, Sowerby’s absence, and the strange arrangement. “And thank you for the bird book. The engravings are so detailed.”
“As are the descriptions, and my mother’s notes, telling where she spotted one. You may add to them, Elizabeth.”
And there it was again, her name on his lips, low and careful, forming the precious syllables. He opened the connecting door. “Should you need me…”
“Yes,” she said again.
“Hannah will bring you chamomile tea, and we will find the truth about your uncle’s estate. Whatever it is. And we will manage, regardless.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and he went through the door, closing it softly behind him. Elizabeth sank against the pillows and returned to the rosette above her and the leaves dancing around it. Her head hurt, and she closed her eyes, although they leaked, although she was not sure why she wept.
Hannah appeared a few hours later, slipping through the doorway with exaggerated quietness.
“Ma’am?” she whispered, setting down the tea tray as carefully as she could. “I have brought calming tea for your headache, cakes, and a treat from Mr. Darcy. One of those Turkish paper-wrapped sweets that Mrs. Reynolds says cost an incredible amount to run through the French blockade. Oh, and an express. Mrs. Reynolds did not wish to disturb you, but she thought, as it has a fancy-like seal, that it might be most important.”
Elizabeth sat up so quickly the room swung. She rubbed her eyes. “Please, open the curtains so I can read it.”
Hannah placed the letter gingerly on the counterpane and tiptoed across the room to the window, drawing back the curtains with glacial slowness. She then picked up more of the dropped petals from the hothouse roses and checked the basin.
Elizabeth had no eyes for her, only the letter. It was Sowerby’s, and she broke the seal, tearing part of the paper in her haste.
“Mrs. Darcy, do you require anything else?” Hannah whispered.
“I am fine. Please, you may go. Thank you.”
The girl bobbed her crooked curtsy and retreated, closing the door behind her with exaggerated care, and Elizabeth found a second, smaller sheet sealed between the folds of the outer sheet. It was addressed to her in a hand she recognized from birthday letters and Christmas greetings—the last one this past Christmas, when he had written from Bristol.
She had always looked forward to her uncle’s irreverent notes, but she would read the solicitor’s letter first to see where she stood.
Dear Mrs. Darcy,
I write to confirm that the register at Meryton parish has been examined and your marriage to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy properly recorded. In accordance with the terms of Mr. Henry Bennet’s will, I enclose herewith the Letter A, per Mr. Henry Bennet’s instructions, to be delivered upon confirmation of your marriage.
Regarding the estate: I must be forthright with you, as your uncle would have wished. From the day of your marriage, the whole of it is held by me as your trustee, to your sole and separate use, free from the debts, control, or engagements of any husband, as fully as if you were a feme sole. It comprises approximately six hundred pounds in cash and bank drafts, readily accessible. The remainder is held in debt obligations, shipping interests, and other illiquid assets whose precise value I am still tracing. Several payments due at Lady Day remain outstanding, and I am pursuing them with all the urgency at my disposal. When you reach your majority, the trust will be transferred to you as feme covert, and I can discuss the full nature of the estate and your responsibilities therein.
