Page 21 of Return to Pemberley

Chapter nine

The Truth Unveiled

T he afternoon sun struck the library windows with that particular clarity that admitted no evasion—a fitting illumination.

Elizabeth, well aware that this morning’s interview with Lady Catherine would possess consequences reaching far beyond mere scholarship, arrayed herself behind the writing table as if preparing for a formal duel.

She had chosen the library not for its scholarly associations, but for its neutrality; here, surrounded by generations of accumulated wisdom, the question of boundaries and birthrights might be examined with something approaching objectivity.

Before her on the writing table sat the small iron box, its surface darkened with age and use, retrieved that morning from the depths of the upper right drawer.

The box itself was unremarkable—the sort of practical container one might find in any well-ordered household—but its contents had occupied Elizabeth's thoughts for days.

Within lay the packet of correspondence, its linen tape now familiar to her fingers, and the unsigned grant that had first caught her attention among Lady Anne's effects.

Elizabeth had rehearsed this moment in her mind, but found herself nonetheless unsettled by its arrival. She touched the edge of the iron box, seeking reassurance from its solid presence, and tried to arrange her thoughts with the same methodical care she had applied to the documents themselves.

The sound of Darcy's approach—unhurried but purposeful—reached her before he appeared in the doorway. He paused there briefly, taking in the scene: Elizabeth at the desk, the iron box open before her, and the unmistakable air of significance that surrounded the arrangement.

"Good afternoon, my dear," he said, crossing to her with that particular combination of formality and warmth she had learned to recognize as his private manner. "I confess myself intrigued by your summons. Mrs. Reynolds mentioned that you had been closeted here since morning."

Elizabeth managed a smile, though she felt it wavered slightly at the edges. "Indeed, I have been wrestling with a matter that seems to grow more complex with each examination. I fear I must trouble you with what may prove either a significant discovery or an elaborate confusion of my own making."

Darcy settled himself in the chair opposite, his posture attentive but relaxed. "I have yet to know you to confuse yourself over matters of genuine import. Pray, what has captured your attention so thoroughly?"

She gestured to the open box. "I have been reviewing Lady Anne's correspondence—with your permission, as you know—when I discovered this among her private papers.

" She withdrew the unsigned grant, handling it with the reverence due to either a treasure or an explosive device.

"It appears to concern the western boundary of the estate, specifically the matter of the Blackwood lands. "

Darcy accepted the document, his expression shifting from casual interest to focused attention as he began to read. Elizabeth watched his face for any sign of recognition or alarm, but found only the familiar sight of his mind engaging fully with a problem.

"This is... unexpected," he said at length, his eyes still fixed on the page. "I was not aware that my mother had taken any interest in the Blackwood matter. Indeed, I had understood it to be long settled."

"That was my own impression," Elizabeth replied carefully.

"Yet here we have what appears to be a formal grant of land, prepared in your late father's name, but never executed.

The correspondence suggests that Lady Anne was.

.. shall we say, deeply concerned about the justice of the arrangement as it stood. "

Darcy looked up at her then, and she saw in his expression that quality she most admired in him—the willingness to confront uncomfortable truths rather than evade them. "You believe there was some irregularity in the original settlement?"

"I believe your mother believed so," Elizabeth said. "And I confess that her reasoning, as laid out in these letters, strikes me as both compassionate and sound. The question, of course, is what ought to be done about it now."

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. Elizabeth could almost see Darcy weighing the implications—not merely of the document itself, but of her decision to bring it to his attention, and of the choice they now faced together.

"You have clearly given this considerable thought," he said finally. "What course do you recommend?"

Elizabeth felt a flutter of relief at his tone—neither defensive nor dismissive, but genuinely seeking her counsel.

"I think we must first determine whether this grant represents your father's settled intention or merely your mother's wishful thinking.

If the former, then I believe we have a moral obligation to honor it, regardless of the legal complications.

If the latter..." She paused, choosing her words with care.

"Then we must decide whether Lady Anne's sense of justice ought to carry weight equal to a formal bequest."

Darcy nodded slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the document. "Either way, you are suggesting that we may owe the Blackwood family more than they have received."

"I am suggesting that the question deserves investigation," Elizabeth corrected gently. "I should hate for us to perpetuate an injustice through ignorance, when knowledge is within our grasp."

"Even if that knowledge proves inconvenient to our interests?"

Elizabeth met his gaze steadily. "Especially then, I should think. After all, what good is prosperity built upon another's misfortune? I had not thought either of us capable of such comfortable blindness."

A smile—small but genuine—appeared at the corners of Darcy's mouth. "You have an uncomfortable talent for making virtue appear both obvious and unavoidable, my dear."

"I prefer to think of it as making justice attractive," she replied with a slight lift of her chin. "Though I admit the effect may be much the same."

He allowed himself a brief, rueful smile. "Then let us establish a precedent, if not a tradition. I confess I would far rather be challenged than coddled by my wife—indeed, I begin to suspect that complacency may be more dangerous to a man's character than any amount of inconvenient truth-telling."

They shared a moment of understanding—one of those rare intervals in which the entire history of a marriage might be condensed into a glance, a phrase, a mutual recognition of purpose.

Darcy returned his attention to the unsigned grant, studying it with the methodical care of one accustomed to weighing consequences.

"If this document represents my father's genuine intention, then the obligation it describes must be honored, regardless of any inconvenience to our present arrangements.

I can conceive of no course more consistent with both justice and the dignity of Pemberley. "

Elizabeth felt the tension she had carried all morning begin to dissolve. "It occurs to me that your father may have intended to fulfill this obligation but found the circumstances unpropitious. Perhaps he trusted that his successors would recognize the debt when the time proved more favorable."

"A generous interpretation," Darcy replied thoughtfully, "and one I should prefer to believe.

In any case, the responsibility now falls to us.

" He set the document aside and regarded her with an expression that combined gratitude with something approaching admiration.

"I must thank you. It required both considerable discernment and no small courage to bring this matter forward.

Many would have found reasons to let sleeping obligations lie undisturbed. "

Elizabeth, who had always prided herself on meeting intellectual challenges with equanimity, found herself unexpectedly moved by his praise.

"I confess I should have found it difficult to enjoy the comforts of Pemberley while suspecting they might be founded upon another family's misfortune.

There is something rather indigestible about prosperity seasoned with injustice. "

Darcy's smile broadened at this characteristically pointed observation. "Indeed. And now we must determine how best to remedy what may have been too long neglected. What course do you propose?"

"I thought we might begin by consulting Mr. Harrow," Elizabeth replied, her confidence restored now that the most difficult part was behind them.

"His memory is remarkably comprehensive, and if there are any surviving Blackwoods in the county, he will certainly know of them.

From there, we might examine the parish records to determine whether the condition specified in the grant has ever been properly fulfilled. "

"An excellent plan," Darcy agreed. "Though I feel bound to warn you that your investigations are likely to attract renewed attention from Aunt Catherine.

I suspect her intelligence network extends far beyond what either of us would consider reasonable, and she will undoubtedly view any stirring of old matters as a direct challenge to the established order. "

Elizabeth could not suppress a laugh—a sound of such genuine amusement that it seemed to brighten the entire room.

"How prescient of you to mention Lady Catherine! Indeed, it was precisely this investigation that prompted this morning’s.

.. spirited discussion. I had wondered what intelligence could have drawn her to Pemberley with such remarkable timing and conviction. "

"Ah," Darcy said, his expression clearing with understanding and no small amount of rueful amusement. "That explains a great deal. I confess I was puzzled by the vehemence of her objections to your domestic arrangements. Now I see that her concern was rather more specific than I had realized."