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“We must trust that the situation will resolve itself with minimal pain to all parties,” Darcy said, though he harboured private doubts about the likelihood of such an outcome. The coming weeks would require careful navigation of these newly complicated waters.

As they made their way upstairs to their chambers, Darcy reflected on how swiftly circumstances could change.

His cousin’s inheritance had altered not only his own prospects but potentially those of Jane Bennet and, by extension, Bingley.

The ripples of such changes could not be fully predicted, but Darcy was determined that, whatever happened, he would not repeat his past mistake of interfering in matters of the heart.

The morning post at Netherfield arrived as Darcy was finishing his coffee, the familiar ritual of sorting through correspondence providing a moment of comfortable normality amidst the increasingly complex social dynamics of their visit.

Elizabeth sat opposite him at the breakfast table, her attention wholly captured by a letter written on paper of middling quality.

The slight furrow in her brow suggested contents of some concern, though she maintained her composure as she read.

Across the room, Bingley chatted amiably with his sister Caroline, seemingly oblivious to the tension that had entered his guests’ quiet corner of the breakfast room.

Darcy watched Elizabeth’s expression closely, noting the subtle changes as she progressed through the letter.

A small smile, a raised eyebrow, and then, most tellingly, a momentary widening of her eyes before she folded the paper with deliberate care and tucked it into her sleeve.

Her gaze met his, and the brief, meaningful glance she gave him confirmed his suspicion that the letter contained matters best discussed in private.

“I believe I shall take advantage of this fine morning for a turn about the gardens,” Elizabeth announced, her voice pleasantly casual. “The autumn colours are particularly lovely today.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Darcy replied, rising to accompany her. “If you will excuse us, Bingley? Miss Bingley?”

Bingley waved them off cheerfully, while Caroline merely inclined her head, her sharp eyes following them with evident curiosity. Darcy ignored her scrutiny, offering his arm to Elizabeth as they exited the breakfast room and made their way toward the French doors that led to the terrace.

Once they were safely beyond earshot of the house, walking along a secluded gravel path bordered by late-blooming chrysanthemums, Elizabeth withdrew the letter from her sleeve.

“From Lydia,” she confirmed, her voice low despite their isolation. “There are developments that I believe warrant our immediate attention.”

“Nothing too troubling, I hope,” Darcy said, though the concern in Elizabeth’s expression suggested otherwise.

“Not troubling precisely, but certainly requiring consideration.” Elizabeth unfolded the letter again.

“She writes first to thank us for sending Mrs. Annesley, saying she finds her ‘a most sensible and kind guide in matters of household management and expectations of confinement.’ That portion, at least, is entirely positive.”

“Mrs. Annesley has always shown excellent judgment,” Darcy observed. “I am pleased that your sister finds her presence beneficial.”

“Indeed. But it is the next part that concerns me.” Elizabeth’s finger traced down the page to find the relevant passage. “Lydia writes that Captain Wallace has received news of a promotion to Major, which comes with transfer to Horse Guards in London.”

Darcy felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. London. Of all places, London presented the greatest risk of exposure for Lydia’s situation. The capital’s proximity to Longbourn would make it nearly impossible to maintain the necessary distance between Lydia and her family.

“This is indeed concerning,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “When is the transfer to take place?”

“Next month, according to her letter. The child is due around Christmastime, if her calculations are correct.” Elizabeth folded the letter again, her expression troubled. “Lydia seems to have no awareness of the difficulties this might create.”

“That does not surprise me,” Darcy replied. “Your sister has never demonstrated particular foresight regarding the consequences of her actions.”

“She has improved greatly,” Elizabeth defended gently, “but I agree that in this instance, she fails to recognise the risks. London is too close to Hertfordshire, and there are too many potential connections who might question a supposedly premature child born so soon after her marriage.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the gravel crunching beneath their boots as Darcy considered the implications.

The carefully constructed fiction that protected Lydia’s reputation, and by extension that of her entire family, depended on maintaining certain boundaries.

A move to London threatened to dissolve those boundaries entirely.

“Has she written to your mother about this development?” Darcy asked, identifying what seemed the most immediate concern.

“She does not say specifically, but knowing Lydia, I imagine she has,” Elizabeth replied. “She has always delighted in sharing news that might excite envy or admiration.”

“Then we must act quickly,” Darcy decided. “First, you should write to Lydia directly, congratulating her on her husband’s promotion but strongly cautioning her against sharing this news widely, particularly with your mother, who might spread it through her extensive social connections in Meryton.”

“I will write today,” Elizabeth agreed. “Though I fear the damage may already be done if she has informed my mother. When Mama has exciting news, she cannot keep it to herself for even half a day.”

“All the more reason to establish precautions immediately,” Darcy said. “I will speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam about suitable housing for Major and Mrs. Wallace in London. He will know which areas would provide both appropriate status and necessary privacy.”

Elizabeth squeezed his arm gratefully. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. Your foresight in these matters is invaluable.”

“It is merely practical consideration,” Darcy replied, though he was pleased by her appreciation. “The situation requires careful management.”

They continued their walk, discussing the specifics of what Elizabeth should include in her letter to Lydia.

The language would need to be carefully calibrated, firm enough to impress upon Lydia the importance of discretion, yet gentle enough not to alarm or offend her.

Additionally, they agreed that Elizabeth should suggest Lydia limit her public appearances in London until after the child’s birth, perhaps emphasising the fashionable preference for confinement during the latter stages of pregnancy.

Upon returning to the house, Elizabeth went directly to the small writing desk in their suite to compose her letter, while Darcy sought out Colonel Fitzwilliam. He found his cousin in the billiard room, engaged in a solitary practice of difficult shots.

“Ah, Darcy,” the colonel greeted him, straightening from his position over the table. “Care for a game?”

“Perhaps later,” Darcy replied, closing the door behind him to ensure privacy. “I wished to consult you on a matter requiring some discretion.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam set down his cue, his expression immediately serious. “Of course. How may I be of service?”

“It concerns Captain Wallace,” Darcy said. “I have just learned that he has been promoted to Major, and is being transferred to London next month.”

“Ah,” The colonel’s eyes flickered, and Darcy could see his immediate awareness of the problems this presented.

“Wallace’s promotion is well-deserved, though it has come rather sooner than I expected.

Perhaps a consequence of his marriage to a gentlewoman connected to your family. ” He grimaced slightly.

“Undoubtedly. However, the timing creates certain... complications, given Mrs. Wallace’s condition.” Darcy chose his words carefully, though he knew his cousin was fully aware of Lydia’s situation. “London presents certain risks that would be better avoided until after the child’s birth.”

The colonel nodded in understanding. “The proximity to Hertfordshire, and the greater likelihood of encountering acquaintances who might question the timing.”

“Precisely. While I cannot prevent the transfer, I had hoped you might advise on suitable housing arrangements that would minimise these risks.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam considered this thoughtfully, leaning against the billiard table.

“I believe I can be of assistance there. There are several areas in London where a military officer of Wallace’s rank might reasonably establish himself, yet which are sufficiently private that their arrival should not attract much notice. ”

“That would be ideal,” Darcy said. “Cost is no object, within reason. The house should be comfortable and respectable, suitable for a major’s family, but not so fashionable as to draw undue attention.”

“Marylebone might serve,” Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested.

“It is respectable without being excessively fashionable. Alternatively, there are several pleasant streets near the western borders of Bloomsbury that would be appropriate. Military families often settle in that vicinity due to the reasonable rents and proximity to both Hyde Park and the War Office.”

“Either location sounds suitable,” Darcy agreed. “Do you have connections who might assist in securing such a property quickly?”

“Several,” the colonel assured him. “My former adjutant has a cousin in the property business who handles such matters with admirable discretion. I can write to him today.”