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O sborne sat in his library, staring at the wall. His house was different now. Instead of the silence he once knew, the sounds of life beyond the room intruded into his space.

He welcomed it, of course. Elizabeth was here, taking her rightful place in his life. But his home was different. Lighter, somehow.

Despite the lateness of the hour when they had returned from the ball last night, he had been surprised and pleased to see her downstairs for breakfast at their usual time, and she’d seemed bright and cheerful.

“I wonder when you think we can tell the family who I am,” she’d asked. “I would love to be able to write to Jane and the Bennets about the ball.”

“Please give me a few days,” he’d answered. “I will write to Mr. Bennet, and discuss the matter with him.”

He’d been going to write to Bennet anyway. Elizabeth’s sister had revealed in a letter that Mr. Darcy had called at Longbourn the day before the Netherfield ball — after Elizabeth had left the country — and apparently he’d been closeted with Bennet for some time. Why hadn’t the man told him?

He took a sip of coffee and drew a sheet of letter paper towards him.

Bennet

I am writing to tell you that Elizabeth’s debut ball went very well, and she is now officially launched in society, having had her curtsy at court the previous day under the patronage of her grandmother.

Obviously she was the focus of much attention, and I was very proud of her poise and confidence.

You may be proud of her, too, and will undoubtedly read of it in the society pages of the Times.

Elizabeth spoke to me this morning at breakfast about when we will be able to inform the rest of your family who she is.

Understandably, she is anxious to write of her news to the family; dissembling that she is still at Gracechurch Street in her letters obviously does not sit well with her, nor me.

However, I remain a little concerned about what will undoubtedly happen. You will be besieged by those wishing to gain an advantage with her through you, and I am not sure your younger daughters will be prepared for this eventuality.

There are also likely to be those who have little pleasure in her taking her place in society, and who may wish to find aspects of her past to spread slanders through the town.

Not least, I believe there may be several gentlemen of the press — reporters, I believe they are beginning to call themselves — trying to gain exclusive stories about her and your family.

Please inform me as to how this might be managed best. I talked about it to Mrs. Gardiner while we were in Staffordshire, but I confess I am no nearer a solution.

In other matters, I would have written this morning in any event.

I understand from Elizabeth that Darcy called upon you at Longbourn after she had left the country and he spent some time with you.

You have not informed me about it, and I would wish to know the reason for his call. I was exceedingly displeased that he was at the ball last night — and have spoken to Elizabeth’s aunt and grandmother about them permitting his attendance with the Fitzwilliam family.

Not only was he there, but he had the audacity to approach us, beg an introduction to me from Elizabeth, and ask her to dance.

I was, of course, about to refuse when she pleaded with me to reconsider. You have told me before about her powers of persuasion, and no doubt you will be amused that I fell for that mixture of arch sweetness and begging eyes.

Having said that, I will admit that he seemed quite proper for the dance and did not appear to take any advantage of being formerly acquainted with her.

But I require you to tell me what happened at the meeting you had with him the day before the Netherfield ball. Why did you not inform me at the time?

Yours etc,

Osborne

He put down his pen and glanced through what he had written, smiling wryly at the memory of Elizabeth’s beseeching eyes when she pleaded to be allowed to dance.

His communications with Bennet had become rather more informal over the years, despite the disparity in their station in life, but he was not about to let the man forget his duty to keep the duke informed about what he needed.

He sanded and folded the sheets, wrote the direction and lit the red candle.

Dripping the wax to seal the letter, he used the plain seal that he always used when writing to Bennet to hide his identity.

They had been so careful these last twenty years; it was difficult to believe things were now very different.

“Express post at once, please, Clarke.” He handed the letter to the footman. “Also arrange for tea in the drawing room and send a maid to request that Lady Elizabeth join me.”

The man bowed and departed.

Osborne crossed to the window. Three hours, maybe four, before Bennet would be reading his letter. Though he was in general a dilatory man, Osborne thought he would be in no doubt that it required an early answer. But the evenings were not yet light enough to bring the post back today.

It might be that he would not be reading the reply before breakfast, and perhaps it might not even be sent until the morning, in which case he would not receive the reply until midday. Country hours had always infuriated him.

Perhaps Elizabeth would ride out in the carriage with him. They could go to Hatchards and choose some more books for the library. It would pass the time.

The letter arrived as they were finishing breakfast the next morning, and Osborne excused himself hastily. But Elizabeth’s gaze was on the direction.

“From Papa?”

Osborne nodded. “I asked him what we ought to do to protect the Bennet family from those who might use them to push for an introduction to you, once it is decided that you may tell them who you are.”

“Oh, I hadn’t anticipated that difficulty, Father.” Elizabeth looked embarrassed. “How silly of me not to have thought about it.”

Osborne patted her shoulder as he passed. “It is my job to protect you, and you need not bother yourself with it, my dear. I know you dearly wish to be truthful in your letters to them. Let me go to the library and discover what Bennet has to say.”

He broke the Longbourn seal with his grandfather’s silver letter knife.

Your Grace

Thank you for your letter, and yes, I smiled when I remembered Elizabeth’s hopeful gaze when she wanted something, and confess the memory misted my eyes for a moment.

It has been my privilege and pleasure to have her take her place in our family for her entire life until now, and I do not regret a moment of it. But the memory hit hard, having let her go.

And you are right. The papers are full of Lady Elizabeth’s entry into society, and her poise and elegance. They are full of curiosity as to where she has been living, as you intimated.

I believe we need a little while longer to prepare to protect her and the rest of the Bennet family for the difficulties you have anticipated. I don’t think you are in error about them.

Perhaps we might meet soon to discuss the best way forward. I am at your disposal, sir, whenever you would be able to spare the time, perhaps at our usual place.

As for Darcy, yes, he did approach me that day. I didn’t inform you as Elizabeth had already left here, and was under your protection.

But I can reassure you that he obviously had no knowledge then of who Elizabeth was. I did not tell him, of course, and merely said that she was travelling in the north with her aunt, so I did not expect her return in the near future.

I’m sorry he attended her ball though, and caused you some unease. But I can assure you that if he had discovered who she was, it was not while she was in Hertfordshire.

Perhaps we ought to use our knowledge of this when we decide on the future, however. He is Bingley’s friend, and Bingley and Jane are back from their wedding tour, and living at Netherfield Park. Darcy may write to his friend, thinking they know who Elizabeth really is.

Osborne frowned. He had not considered that. It made an early meeting with Bennet necessary. Perhaps he ought to speak to Elizabeth about it.