Page 84

Epilogue

In Which a Scandal Is Preemptively Managed, a Scheme Thoroughly Unmasked, and Georgiana Darcy’s Dowry Survives by the Grace of Her Sister-in-Law’s Pen

E lizabeth Darcy uncapped her inkwell with ceremonial flair. Across the desk sat her latest journal—lockable now, per recent household custom—and beside her, a cooling teacup that had already suffered three interruptions.

Her quill settled on the page.

Memo: If one’s husband’s grandmother begins a sentence with “Would it not be diverting if…”, remove all eligible bachelors and anything flammable from the room.

She giggled, admired the words, then moved down the page a bit.

Should Georgiana's fiancé ever question why our family never plays cards near open flames, I shall hand him the scorched silver letter-opener and let him deduce his own future.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted her triumph.

“Come in,” she called, slipping the journal half-shut.

Darcy stepped into the drawing room, a letter in hand and amusement leaking from the corners of his mouth. “I hear suspicious scratching. Another entry, I presume?”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “I will neither confirm nor deny. But fear not—I love you far more than the quill.”

He crossed to her, kissed the top of her head, and dropped the letter on the table. “Bingley. Your sister says the your mother has invited herself to Matlock this summer—much to your aunt Gardiner’s chagrin, I assure you—and Lady Chiswell is already laying wagers on the results.”

“I assume Mrs. Hartley is horrified.”

“I assume correctly. And Mrs. Gardiner has threatened to stage an ‘accidental’ tea spill the next time your mother says the words ‘eligible’ and ‘baronet’ in the same sentence.”

Elizabeth's fingers itched and she flipped open her journal with a grin. “I told you I learned from the best.”

Darcy glanced over her shoulder, trying to catch a line. “Indeed. What have we today? Am I mentioned?”

“Only in footnotes.”

He leaned closer. “Footnotes? Multiple?”

“Volume two is getting crowded.”

“May I read it?”

“No.”

He chuckled, brushing a curl back from her forehead. “I know where you sleep, you know.”

“Impossible,” she sighed airily. “You are usually snoring long before I am. Now, what is this? Have you come only to read my journal over my shoulder?”

“No, indeed. I have just come from the strangest meeting, my love.”

She pursed her lips and let his hand lace with hers where it came to rest on her shoulder. “Indeed? Was not the solicitor to come this morning to finish the details of Georgiana’s marriage settlement? What can possibly be strange about that, I wonder?”

“What is ‘strange’ is the figures he had to show me. I am hoping you might help me make sense of it, my dear wife.”

Elizabeth twisted to look fully up at him, her expression carefully composed sweetness.

“That depends. Are we pretending you were not already halfway suspicious of something odd by now? After all, your aunt and uncle have been particularly— and inexplicably, if you ask me—amenable to permitting you fairly unfettered mastery over your sister’s affairs these five years. ”

Darcy folded his arms. “It is not merely her residence and upbringing that were somehow left nearly alone. Her dowry was entirely untouched. Not just intact—but generous .”

“She is your sister. Of course it is generous.”

He gave her a look. “The full thirty thousand pounds are still there. Down to the last half penny. I was led to believe up to half of it had been siphoned away. As if my uncle never had his strategic ‘investment’ designs upon it, as if Lady Catherine never ‘put a new roof on Rosings…’ it was like nothing ever happened.”

She raised her brows. “How very singular.”

“Furthermore, it seems that ‘evidence’ surfaced—some years ago, now, from what I understand—that my father was not, in fact, in his right mind when he signed that trust. That he was, in fact, under the heavy influence of laudanum and Dyer knew it. As well as did the earl.”

“Curiouser and curiouser! I do wonder how that information might have come out. I suppose the maids do talk…”

“And you, my love, do not appear half so surprised as you ought. What do you know of this?”

Elizabeth sighed and set down her quill. “Very little. And anyway, it was never my story to tell.”

“Well, then what you might trouble yourself to tell me is why my grandmother was nearly gloating on the stair when I passed her just now. Something to do with a… egad, I am loath to even say the word pamphlet and your name in the same sentence, but is there some truth to it? That it was some pamphlet that finally made the Earl admit the trust was never lawful?”

She relented with an exaggerated huff. “Oh, very well. But if you are asking, and you are very sure you want to know—then yes. Your grandmother was not mistaken. The pamphlet pricked the whole thing open.”

Darcy gave her a look—the kind he reserved for breaches of trust, missing buttons, and suspiciously cheerful housemaids. Then, with great deliberation, he reached out and found that precise spot at the base of her neck that made her squirm.

Elizabeth shrieked and twisted away, swatting at him. “That is unfair! You know that is unfair!”

“I do,” he said smugly, fingers still hovering near her collar. “But it is also very effective. So, you lost your journal again, did you?”

She narrowed her eyes, laughing despite herself. “I did no such thing! I will have you know that I put them out on purpose this time, thank you very much. I may have sworn off scandal, but satire is practically medicinal. And your grandmother encouraged every word. She even suggested footnotes.”

Darcy raised a brow. “So you are saying you published them.”

“With great enthusiasm,” she said. “Though I did not know she also marched them straight to her solicitor—not Dyer, in case you had not guessed that much. That part was entirely her mischief. I only meant to rattle a few teacups, not upend a trust.”

His fingers wiggled again, dangerously close to treason. “And now?”

She yelped, clutching the desk for protection, then looked up with a half-surrendered grin. “Now? Now I suspect your grandmother has been sitting on the answer for five years and simply could not resist blurting it over breakfast.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “And it was you.” He searched her face as if he were only now assembling the missing pieces of a puzzle he had been turning over in his hands for five long years.

“I thought it was coincidence,” he said slowly.

“The reversal, the timing—how the earl marched Georgiana into his carriage the very morning of my thirtieth birthday, but by the time we returned from our honeymoon, she was waiting for us at Pemberley. Odd, I thought—a blessing never looked for! But it was you The whole time. It was always you and your funny little witticisms.”

She gave an innocent blink. “That depends. Which witticisms? There were so many. I am very clever, you know.”

“Elizabeth.”

"Technically, I retired from authorship," she said archly. "But exceptions must be made for civil improvement."

“Elizabeth Darcy…”

She finally rose to her feet and set her hands on his shoulders, eyes gleaming.

“Very well. Yes. You might ask your grandmother for a copy of ‘The Trust and Distrust of Entailed Fortunes.’ I believe she still has several copies in her desk. Circulated anonymously. Printed by that very respectable London press that just happens to owe my uncle several favors.”

He stared. “You are joking.”

“I never joke about Chancery,” Elizabeth replied solemnly. “Especially when it involves illegitimate trusts, a forged codicil, and one Mr. Henry Dyer’s extremely creative interpretation of ‘fiduciary responsibility.’”

Darcy dropped into the armchair opposite, blinking. “You are telling me that for five years— five —we have lived in fear of Lord Matlock or Lady Catherine exerting their whims at any moment, while that mess was quietly untangling itself in the background?”

“Of course. By the by, your new solicitor is very discreet. Once the pamphlet hit London’s drawing rooms, the Earl tried to brazen it out, but Lady Catherine could not help herself.

She insisted on defending him, but her second letter referred to a clause that no one else had ever seen, and her third claimed she had been misquoted by herself.

After that, from what I understand, it was merely a matter of gentle prodding. ”

Darcy leaned forward, brows drawn. “And the trust?”

“Dissolved. Quietly. Legally. Without scandal—just as you would have wished, had your grandmother told you about it. And for the record, I did not know these details until just today. The funds were restored to their proper form two years ago. Georgiana’s trusteeship reverted, and she will have her full dowry the moment the ink dries on her marriage lines. ”

He shook his head slowly. “I asked the solicitor three times and got nothing but polite nonsense.”

“He promised your grandmother no embarrassment. I promised her I would not publish anything else—technically. But I did say I would never reveal the author, and I have not.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, it was not a pamphlet. It was a treatise.”

“You swore off publishing,” he reminded her.

She smiled. “I did. But legal satire is practically a public service.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You did all that.”

“I did not mean to start a war, but once the match was struck, I may have encouraged a bonfire.”

Darcy bent, resting his forehead briefly against hers. “And this is why I never attempt to match wits with you.”

“You would lose,” she said cheerfully. “And then write a pamphlet about unfair tactics.”

“Only if you helped me edit it.” He laughed, then pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “You, my love, forged a path to victory with syllabub and sleight of hand.”

“And stationery,” she added. “Never underestimate a woman with access to both.”

He grinned, bending to kiss her cheek. “Remind me never to oppose you when you have access to ink.”

“I will write your downfall in perfect copperplate,” she teased.

A knock interrupted her triumph. Georgiana peeked in, cheeks pink and curls slightly askew from the wind. “There you are, Fitzwilliam. I just wanted to say thank you.”

Darcy stepped back from Elizabeth to smile at his sister. “For what? Approving the match?”

Georgiana crossed the room and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Yes. For that. And for not challenging Mr. Linley to pistols at dawn when he botched the Latin on the marriage offer.”

“Tempting, but no,” Darcy said. “I was too distracted by the blotchy ink.”

Georgiana turned to Elizabeth, her voice gentler now. “And you, Elizabeth. I just came from tea with the dowager and… she told me everything. About the trust. About the pamphlets. About how quietly and cleverly you made it all come right.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I truly did not do all that much. It was truly the dowager who took my words and ran with them.”

“You kept my fortune from becoming the earl’s hedge against a horse-racing son and Lady Catherine’s endless thirst for what little of Pemberley she could get,” Georgiana said flatly. “That feels like quite a lot from where I am standing.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Did our uncle really propose another debt-fund idea?”

“Grandmother called it ‘entrepreneurial stewardship.’” Georgiana made quotation marks in the air. “Which turned out to mean funneling my entire dowry into a gentleman’s club in Bath.”

Darcy groaned. “I knew he liked the cigars there too much.”

Georgiana grinned. “And I would have almost nothing left of what my father designed for me—except your little pamphlet convinced a few powerful people to start asking the right questions. And then Lady Catherine tried to answer those questions. And it apparently ended with a very public argument with the earl in the lobby of the Royal Society.”

Elizabeth shook her head, half in disbelief, half in pride. “I really do bring out the best in people.”

They all laughed.

Georgiana crossed to the desk and picked up the journal. “Is this the one with the list of all your crimes?”

Elizabeth snatched it back with mock scandal. “That is for posterity, not siblings-in-law.”

Darcy rested a hand over hers. “I say let her read it. Let everyone read it. You saved all of our futures with that wicked pen of yours.”

Elizabeth locked her journal with a definitive snap and stood. “Which now sleeps under lock and key.”

Georgiana raised an eyebrow. “But will it stay there?”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “That depends. On how quiet Derbyshire intends to be.”

From the hallway drifted the unmistakable sound of a butler clearing his throat with the weariness of a man who had seen too much. A footman strode past the open door, holding a tea tray as if it were a shield. Somewhere in the house, a piano struck a single, defiant note.

Darcy sighed heavily. “I take it Lady Chiswell has arrived. I had a warning from the housekeeper this morning and I mean to make myself scarce.”

“To take tea with your grandmother,” Elizabeth said. “They are reportedly collaborating on a matchmaking scheme involving your cousin the viscount, a baronet’s younger son, and two increasingly desperate red-heads from Hampshire.”

“Should I intervene?”

Elizabeth tucked her journal into its locking box and gave the key a twist before pulling it out of the lock and dangling it around her neck. “No. You tried once, remember? Georgiana quoted Pope at you until you took refuge behind a ficus.”

“I was weighing my options.”

“You were cornered by reason.”

He stood and caught her hand before she could go. “You are a menace to order and a gift to mankind.”

“Now that makes hardly any sense,” she scoffed. “Come, my love, if you mean to give me a bit of cheek, at least do it properly.”

“No, no, that is your talent. I will reserve myself for the areas where I have a chance of survival.”

She sighed. “I suppose that is why you never play chess with me. Cambridge master, indeed!”

He crossed his arms. “I prefer to keep my dignity.”

“Wise,” she said, leaning close. “Because once the board is in play, you are always two moves behind.”

He grinned. “Then remind me never to let you near my rook.”

“I already married your king,” she replied sweetly. “It was your move.”

And with that, she swept from the room—journal hidden, gloves donned, and entirely ready to defend the next generation from every overstepped overture Derbyshire society dared attempt.

After all, a proper hostess kept the tea hot, the pianists paid, and her most dangerous pieces in play.

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