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“Unbelievable,” Lord Matlock fumed, as Richard drifted over and frowned down at the ink.

“These instruments,” Elizabeth continued, tapping the top sheet, “detail obligations owed by George Darcy to my uncle. Take a look at the penmanship and tell me whose hand it is.”

She let the silence stretch across the room. “Those notes weren’t written by Henry Bennet. They were written by George Darcy himself.”

Darcy reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of the paper. “I can confirm it. This is my father’s hand. I was always aware of Bexley’s financial rescues, even if I despised his methods. The debt is onerous, but it was honorably incurred.”

Lady Matlock’s handkerchief went slack in her fingers. “Your uncle covered Darcy’s debts?”

“He did far more than cover them,” Elizabeth said, drawing out another sheaf of papers. “As George Darcy fought to salvage Pemberley’s finances, my uncle quietly bought up every new obligation the family piled on. Debts to London merchants. Debts to builders. Debts that would have been called in immediately by creditors far less forgiving than an old boyhood friend.”

“The consolidated obligation,” Lord Matlock murmured slowly. “A single creditor holding the entire portfolio.”

“Yes, done to protect his friend and Pemberley.” Elizabeth watched the Matlocks as they studied the notes. “He bought the debts and converted them into a personal debt so that no other creditor could come against Pemberley. Over the years, he purchased every obligation pressed against Pemberley, so that the only man the Darcys owed was the one man who would never call the debt.”

“A touching tale,” Richard said. “And yet the outcome is exactly what I laid out. Henry Bennet held every debt against this estate. He controlled Pemberley through paper.”

“And then, of course, he maneuvered a brilliant match for his niece,” Lady Matlock put in, her lip curling. “Placing you right at the peak of the ton by trapping my nephew and anchoring your family to Pemberley. I can hardly call that benevolent.”

“No, Lady Matlock, I assure you I found nothing attractive with the provisions in his will.” She unfolded a heavy vellum document. “In truth, I was quite angry when I discovered I was required to marry your nephew to secure my inheritance. Read his will.”

She sensed Darcy stiffen behind her. He, of all people, knew how thoroughly she had resented those compulsory provisions at the outset, and she could only trust he would forgive her for airing such candor before his family.

“This document is quite recent,” Lord Matlock observed, squinting at the ink. “Drawn up in January, just before Bexley passed. Quite irregular…”

“With the provision to force Fitzwilliam to marry her.” Richard roused with new vigor. “You see here the dates of Miss Bennet’s letters? Miss Bennet corresponded with him all autumn while Fitzwilliam was visiting Hertfordshire. She plotted the entire match around the clauses of this very will—a separate estate completely exempt from coverture, mind you. Her husband cannot touch a single penny of her fortune.”

“I am quite stunned,” Elizabeth said, crossing her arms to glare at the colonel. “It is painfully obvious you did not actually bother reading my letters. Perhaps you are more of a gentleman than I believed at first.” She let that land. “Had you read them, you would have discovered that I spent the autumn exposing your cousin’s faults and padding them with my utter dislike for the man. Marriage to him was the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Then you’re admitting you only took Darcy to secure your inheritance?” Richard wheeled on her with a triumphant smirk.

“Took him?” Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Colonel, your cousin is not a hamper of linens. But yes, I accepted the marriage because it was sensible. If I married him, I would inherit the fortune, including the promissory notes, which would become my property to hold or dispose of as I saw fit. The Darcy obligations would pass to me, and I would have the power to forgive them, to hold them, or to call them in.”

“A pistol pointed at Darcy’s head,” Richard said. “As I stated.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth noted. Lord Matlock’s brow wrinkled as he studied the second provision in the will. “Lord Matlock, would you be so kind as to explain to your son what would have happened if I had either refused to marry Darcy or he refused to marry me?”

Lord Matlock held up the vellum and read. “If the marriage does not take place by midnight on Lady Day—the twenty-fifth of March next—whether by refusal or by any failure of the arrangement—then all of it to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.”

He set it down and exchanged a bewildered glance with his wife. “Is this what Lady Catherine was railing about? That Fitzwilliam could have simply waited until Lady Day? I, as usual, did not believe her rants.”

Lady Matlock had gone very pale. Her gaze landed on Darcy. “Fitzwilliam, dearest, you knew the terms of the will?”

“I did.” Darcy’s voice carried no inflection.

“You knew that if you refused the marriage, you would inherit everything. The debts would cancel. The fortune would be yours free and clear.” Lord Matlock’s voice had dropped to a low rasp. “Why did you not refuse?”

Darcy, who had remained standing behind Elizabeth, drew his arms around her, holding her close—in front of the entire drawing room—his steady strength tightening Elizabeth’s throat.

But she was not finished. She reached into the portfolio and withdrew the two diamond rings her uncle had worn. The afternoon light caught the facets, scattering fire across the mahogany.

“These are Darcy diamonds,” she said. “My uncle kept them with the other instruments because they were given to him for safekeeping by George Darcy. They are not mine. They never were, and they belong to this family.”

Lady Matlock’s hand went to her throat. Whether she recognized the stones, Elizabeth could not say, but the gesture was involuntary, and it was the first crack in the woman’s composure.

Elizabeth turned to Darcy. His face, so dear, so proud, so impossibly his own, wore an expression she had never seen: wonder and shame, hopelessly entwined. He saw, at last, that his father’s pride—and his own—had been safeguarded by the very family he had been taught to dismiss.

“Does this look like fraud or betrayal?” Elizabeth addressed the room. “My uncle used my marriage to restore to Pemberley what the interest payments had earned. Darcy is paying himself. Every quarter’s income Henry Bennet invested, every ship, every stand of timber, and every brick of Bexley House—it was always meant to come back. All Darcy had to do was not marry me, and all of it would have been his.” She steadied her breath. “Entirely. Without a wife attached.”