Page 47 of The Mercy of Chance

I n Chancery Court, the hush of anticipation pressed against Elizabeth’s chest like a physical weight.

Each tick of the ancient clock marked time not just in seconds, but in hopes and fears.

The wait for Lord Chancellor Eldon’s study of the papers seemed interminable, the rustling of parchment the only sound in the cavernous space.

When he spoke at last, his voice carried the authority of centuries of legal precedent.

“The position of heir presumptive,”

he began, each word measured and precise, “is one of expectation, not of present right.

It exists in that delicate space between possibility and certainty - a space that requires the most scrupulous attention to lawful conduct.”

Elizabeth felt rather than saw Mr Collins shift uncomfortably in his seat.

The morning light, filtering through high windows, cast stark shadows across his features.

“This court has been presented with evidence of dereliction far surpassing mismanagement—indeed, pointing to deliberate and intentional sabotage.”

Mr Collins’s face lifted with triumph at the first phrase, then fell with the second.

The Chancellor’s voice sharpened.

“Mr Collins, in his eagerness to prove himself a better steward than those currently entrusted with Longbourn’s care, has instead demonstrated a profound misunderstanding of a landowner’s fundamental duties.”

The silence stretched, heavy with implication.

Elizabeth’s fingers pressed against the smooth wood of the bench before her, seeking anchor in its solid reality.

“The documented damages inflicted upon neighbouring properties - damages calculated with remarkable precision - suggests far more than poor judgement; rather, a wilful determination to destroy value rather than preserve it.”

Lord Eldon’s gaze swept the court.

“Such actions strike at the very heart of what an entail is designed to protect.

Therefore, I order the plaintiff, William Collins, to execute a deed of release of all interest in the property known as Longbourn Estate in favour of Mr James Huntington Bennet, his heirs, and assigns.

I further order…”

A rush of air escaped her, the release so sudden it left her dizzy.

It was over.

It was over.

She squeezed Jane’s hand and blinked to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

Longbourn was theirs.

The ruling, when it came, struck like a hammer on stone—each pronouncement ringing with finality, each ripple reshaping the future.

The entail’s dissolution.

The assessment of damages.

The careful delineation of consequences that would follow Mr Collins’s actions for years to come.

It was only afterward, in the corridor outside the courtroom, that Elizabeth fully grasped the magnitude of what had transpired.

Darcy stood somewhat apart from the others, his expression neutral as he studied a document in his hands.

She saw no trace of Mr Bingley among the well-wishers or witnesses.

He had spoken warmly of loyalty—but had sent no letter, no message. Nothing.”

“Mr Darcy.”

She approached him with measured steps, conscious of how the morning’s revelations had shifted the ground beneath her feet.

“I find myself puzzled by one particular detail.

The Matthews property at Dunbar Court…”

His eyes met hers, and she saw something there - hesitation? concern? - before his usual mask of composure settled into place.

“I decided to purchase it some months ago, when it became clear that certain… interventions might be necessary.”

“Interventions,”

she repeated, the word tasting strange on her tongue.

“Ah, so you positioned yourself as an injured party deliberately, then?”

“I positioned myself where I might be of most use,”

he replied slowly.

The space between them seemed to crackle with unspoken implications.

Elizabeth studied his face, searching for some key to unlock this new puzzle he presented.

The man who had stood so formally in his orangerie yesterday had also been methodically arranging their salvation, yet she could scarce determine whether to feel grateful or unsettled by such calculation.

“You have my thanks,”

she said finally.

Her uncertain voice made his expression shift in a manner barely discernible.

“However, I am not entirely sure for what I am thanking you.”

His response held precision, like a man measuring every word against unseen consequences.

“Sometimes, Miss Elizabeth, the most effective assistance requires a certain… discretion.”

He shifted the papers in his hands, a motion that seemed designed to occupy fingers that might otherwise betray him.

The morning light caught the strong lines of his face, illuminating the conflict that lived beneath his intensely maintained composure.

Elizabeth studied him, noting how his gaze kept returning to her face despite his evident determination to remain at a distance.

Here stood the public Darcy, master of Pemberley, every inch the influential landowner - yet she had glimpsed something else beneath that polished surface.

Something that had moved with quiet determination through the channels of power to ensure this morning’s victory, even as he held himself rigidly apart from any possibility of a closer connection.

Why exert such influence on her family’s behalf whilst maintaining this careful distance? Why seek her company in the orangerie only to retreat behind walls of propriety?

“I suspect you would prefer I did not examine too closely the particular nature of your… assistance.”

His eyes met hers briefly, and in that moment she caught a flash of the same tension that had charged the air between them again and again—that peculiar gravity that seemed to pull them into dangerous orbits around each other.

The paper in his hands crackled as his fingers tightened imperceptibly on its edges, betraying the cost of his rigid self-control.

“Your understanding of the situation is, as always, remarkably acute,”

he replied, his voice dropped to a deeper timbre, sending an unexpected shiver through her.

Something in his tone suggested layers of meaning beyond the mere words - an acknowledgement, perhaps, of this delicate dance they continued to perform around each other.

Mr Darcy stepped forward to allow a barrister to pass, now standing so close to Elizabeth that she could see the glittering pin in his cravat and the widening of his eyes as he gazed at her.

She became aware of a sense of warmth despite the cool corridor.

They stood in silence for a moment, each acutely aware of the other’s presence.

Elizabeth felt the burden of all their unfinished conversations, all the moments when his manner had softened only to freeze again, pressing against her chest like an ache.

His actions spoke of dedication, even devotion, yet his behaviour remained a study in careful retreat.

Darcy straightened as if bracing himself against a storm of his own making, eyes intent on hers.

“Miss Elizabeth…”

he began, then stopped, visibly wrestling with some profound internal conflict.

Honour demanded he either step forward or back - this middle ground they occupied could no longer be sustained without injury to them both.

But before he could continue, Mr Phillips appeared at Elizabeth’s elbow with congratulations and questions about the practical implications of the ruling.

The corridor seemed to recede around them, the moment of possibility vanishing like mist.

As her uncle drew her away with gentle insistence, Elizabeth cast a glance back over her shoulder.

Mr Darcy did not move, but his eyes clung to her retreat with a tenderness so stark, so unguarded, it pierced her with a pain too deep for breath.

For the briefest moment, his reserve had fallen away completely, revealing the depth of feeling he had taken such pains to conceal.

Then, becoming aware of her gaze, he inclined his head in a bow of exquisite formality.

The carriage wheels churned through March mud as they left London behind.

Each turn of the wheel drew them closer to Longbourn—and to the weight of its responsibilities.

Elizabeth watched the familiar countryside take shape under the soft haze of afternoon light, her mind turning over possibilities like seeds being sorted for spring planting.

“The Lodge,”

she said finally, breaking the contemplative silence, “might be let to advantage.

Its position near the village would suit a gentleman of modest means, particularly one who values privacy.”

Jane’s gloved hands lay perfectly still in her lap, although her voice showed thoughtful consideration.

“The gardens there are most fine; perhaps we might reserve those, adding their yield to Longbourn’s kitchen garden?”

Mr Phillips tapped his fingers, his legal mind already navigating practical channels.

“A partial lease would maintain greater control over the property’s future use.

Although you will want to consider the matter of access prudently.”

Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye, reading there the same measured hope that stirred quietly in her own chest.

The Lodge’s northern windows faced Netherfield’s grounds, whilst its western edge bordered the newly purchased Dunbar Court.

Such proximity might offer… but no.

Better to focus on immediate concerns than indulge in speculation about gentleman callers who might or might not materialise.

“Mary will want to return her piano to the main house,”

Jane observed, deftly steering their thoughts toward family matters.

“And Mamma… how shall we present this change in circumstances?”

“With careful emphasis on the security it brings,”

Elizabeth replied, her fingers absently tracing the carriage window’s edge.

“The end of the entail means Longbourn’s future rests solely in our hands now.

She will find that notion more palatable than our original plan of removal to the Lodge.”

“Your grandfather has shown remarkable foresight,”

Mr Phillips noted, “in preparing you both for estate management.

Few young ladies have such practical education.”

The observation carried whispers of their recent conversations about women’s capabilities, but Elizabeth let it pass unremarked.

The landscape of Hertfordshire unfurled before them, softened by the pale gleam of a clouded afternoon—the same landscape visible from Longbourn’s north pastures, and now, she supposed, from Mr Darcy’s newly acquired fields as well.

She thought she glimpsed the distant shape of Dunbar Court’s eastern rise—newly Darcy’s.

A fact she had not yet found the words to address.

“We shall need to review the repairs again,”

she said briskly, squaring her shoulders against memories of politely maintained distances.

“Now that legal matters are settled, we can implement all our improvements without fear of interference.”

“Indeed,”

Jane agreed, although her soft smile suggested she heard all that remained unspoken.

“And such work would be materially advantaged from coordination with neighbouring estates.”

Elizabeth cast her sister a warning glance, but Jane’s calm reserve revealed nothing but practical consideration of agricultural matters.

Mr Phillips, absorbed in his papers, appeared oblivious to the currents of meaning flowing beneath their exchange.

The familiar gates of Longbourn appeared ahead, and Elizabeth sat taller, a quiet resolve settling in her bones.

Whatever the future held, she was ready to meet it.

As for what might or might not develop with certain gentlemen of their acquaintance, she and Jane had work to do - real, vital work that would secure their family’s future.

If that future happened to include certain possibilities… well, she told herself those seeds would either flower or lie dormant according to their own nature.

For now, the estate demanded their attention, and Elizabeth found comfort in the solid certainty of that responsibility.

The carriage halted, and the next breath she drew belonged to Longbourn.

Elizabeth stepped into the familiar entrance hall of Longbourn with a sense of homecoming that went beyond mere return.

The scent of beeswax and old vellum drifted into the corridor.

Elizabeth stood motionless, her hand pressed lightly to the panel.

The victory they carried with them would change everything.

“Lizzy! Jane!”

Mary hurried down the stairs, her reserve giving way to genuine animation.

“You have arrived at last.

How did the court rule?”

Hill appeared from the direction of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, her expression betraying barely contained curiosity.

Kitty emerged from the drawing room, and even Lydia, who had professed complete disinterest in “tedious legal matters,”

hovered in the doorway.

“Perhaps we might gather in the drawing room?”

Jane suggested gently.

“The news is best shared with everyone present.”

Mrs Bennet appeared at the top of the stairs, her face pale with the strain of waiting.

“What news? Is it terrible? Oh, my poor nerves cannot bear suspense!”

“Not terrible at all, Mamma,”

Elizabeth assured her, exchanging a meaningful glance with Jane.

“Quite the opposite.”

Within moments, the family assembled in the drawing room, an unusual hush falling over even Lydia as Mr Phillips drew himself up.

“The Lord Chancellor has ruled entirely in our favour,”

he announced, his professional demeanour only slightly betrayed by the pride in his voice.

“The entail is dissolved.

Longbourn now belongs to the Bennet family without condition or restriction.”

The silence that followed lasted but a heartbeat before chaos erupted.

“Dissolved!”

Mrs Bennet exclaimed, her hand fluttering to her chest.

“Can it be true? We shall not lose Longbourn after all?”

“Mr Collins?”

Mary enquired, her practical mind immediately grasping the implications.

“Has no further claim whatsoever on Longbourn,”

Mr Phillips confirmed.

“Indeed, he faces substantial costs for his rather ill-conceived attempts at sabotage.”

“How was this managed?”

Mary pressed, her analytical mind working through the legal ramifications.

“An entail is not easily set aside.”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with her uncle.

“Mr Collins’s own actions proved our strongest argument.

The Chancellor ruled that his demonstrated willingness to sell off portions of the estate directly contravened the very purpose of an entail.”

“And the damage to Netherfield’s grounds and gardens?”

Mary persisted.

“Provided additional evidence of his unsuitability,”

Mr Phillips confirmed.

“Lord Matthews’s testimony was especially damning.”

Kitty’s brow furrowed.

“But how did Lord Matthews become involved?”

“A most fortunate circumstance,”

Elizabeth replied, thinking of Mr Darcy’s strategic purchase of Dunbar Court.

“His property was also affected by Mr Collins’s schemes.”

Mrs Bennet, who had been fanning herself vigorously, suddenly stilled.

“Then it is truly over? We need never fear that odious man again?”

“Never,”

Mr Phillips assured her.

“Longbourn is secure.”

“Your father would be so proud,”

Mrs Bennet whispered, tears suddenly welling in her eyes.

“He always said his girls were the cleverest in England.”

The sisters exchanged glances, emotion threatening to overcome their composure at this rare mention of their father.

Hill coughed discreetly from the doorway.

“Mr Bennet asks if you might attend him now that you have returned.”

“Grandfather has been most anxious for news,”

Mary explained.

“Although his health has been poorly these past days.”

“Mr Phillips,”

Elizabeth said, rising, “would you be good enough to share the details with Grandfather? I am sure he will have questions best answered by you.”

“Of course,”

her uncle agreed readily.

“There are some matters regarding the settlement that I should discuss with him directly.”

As the family dispersed—Lydia and Kitty already planning how they would circulate the intelligence in Meryton, Mrs Bennet instructing Hill about a celebratory dinner—Elizabeth caught Jane’s hand.

“I can hardly credit it,”

Jane murmured.

“After so much uncertainty…”

“Yet it is quite real,”

Elizabeth replied, squeezing her sister’s fingers.

“Longbourn is ours.”

Later, as dusk settled over the estate, Elizabeth passed the partially open door of her grandfather’s study.

Mr Phillips’s voice drifted out, measured and precise.

“I’ve taken the liberty of drafting the document as you instructed,”

he was saying.

“Although it might be prudent to review the provisions now that circumstances have resolved.”

“The provisions stand,”

Grandfather Bennet’s voice, although weakened, retained its characteristic decisiveness.

“Equal shares among the girls—that was always Thomas’s wish, though convention prevented him from arranging it.

The dissolution of the entail now makes possible what he could only hope for.”

Elizabeth hesitated, knowing she should not eavesdrop, yet unable to move away.

“And Mrs Bennet?”

Mr Phillips enquired.

“The North Lodge will provide her suitable independence,”

Grandfather replied.

“With Longbourn so close, she need never feel isolated, yet both she and the girls will benefit from separate establishments.”

“Very well,”

Mr Phillips agreed.

“I shall prepare the final document for your signature.

The language regarding the executrix—”

“Remains as written,”

Grandfather insisted.

“Elizabeth has demonstrated precisely the qualities needed for the task.

Jane will support her, of course, but Lizzy’s practical mind will serve best in this capacity.”

Elizabeth stepped back; her heart suddenly too full for comfort.

The gravity of responsibility, of her grandfather’s trust, pressed upon her even as it lifted her up.

She moved quietly away from the door, unwilling to be discovered, yet carrying with her a new understanding of the legacy being placed in her hands.

I, JAMES HUNTINGTON BENNET, Of Longbourn House in the Parish of Meryton, Hertfordshire, being of sound mind although failing body, do hereby make and declare this to be my last Will and Testament.

To my beloved granddaughters Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia Bennet, I give and bequeath in equal shares all my estate both real and personal of which I may die possessed, or which may hereafter become due to me, to be divided among them with that same spirit of sisterly affection which has marked their care of Longbourn these past years.

To my daughter-in-law Frances Bennet, I give a life estate in that property known as North Lodge, which lies adjacent to Longbourn’s eastern boundary, together with its gardens and the small parcel of land attached thereto, that she may have a suitable establishment of her own befitting her station as my son’s widow.

To Mr and Mrs Harold Hill, who have served this family with uncommon devotion these thirty years past, and whose friendship has brightened my declining days, I leave the sum of one hundred pounds each, to be paid as soon as may be convenient after my passing.

I do hereby appoint my granddaughter Elizabeth Bennet to be Executrix of this my last Will and Testament, knowing her sound judgement and practical understanding will serve to implement these provisions with wisdom and equity.

In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this fifteenth day of March, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twelve.

James Huntington Bennet (SEAL)