Page 13 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

D arcy leaned against the edge of the library desk, arms folded as Fitzwilliam poured a glass of port and held up a glass in his direction.

“I have had more than enough port this evening, thank you,” he said.

Fitzwilliam laughed.

The fire was crackling low in the hearth, and the muffled sounds of the servants preparing the house for the morning before they wandered to their beds filtered faintly through the walls. It was growing colder in the room, and he pulled his coat a little tighter around him.

“Well,” Fitzwilliam began, taking a sip from his glass, “tonight was a rousing success. I propose a toast to the unparalleled ability of Bennet père to say absolutely nothing of substance while appearing to engage.”

Darcy huffed a quiet laugh in reply, raising his glass in mock salute. “To impenetrable characters, then.”

“To sympathetic stories,” Fitzwilliam added with a smirk, taking a sip.

Darcy shook his head. “Neither his silences nor his stories are uncalculated. He knows we are seeking something, and he has no intention of aiding us. I would wager he enjoys watching us flounder.”

“Do you think he knows what we wish to know?”

“No. I think he is waiting us out. He will win when we capitulate and confess what it is we want.”

“Or perhaps he simply takes pleasure in tormenting his guests,” Fitzwilliam suggested with a shrug. “Either way, he won tonight.”

The door creaked open, and Georgiana stepped inside. Already dressed for bed, a thick silk dressing gown wrapped about her, her hair plaited neatly down her back, she looked several years younger and entirely out of place in the dim, masculine space of the library. Yet her eyes were bright, and a faint smile played on her lips.

“You are not asleep,” Darcy said as he stood.

“Not yet,” Georgiana replied lightly. “I wanted to speak with you both after Mrs. Annesley was abed.”

Fitzwilliam gestured to the chair by the fire. “Come in, Georgie. Tell us, what did you make of the evening? Did the ladies fare better than the gentlemen in their amusements?”

“That would depend upon what success you had,” Georgiana said.

“None,” Fitzwilliam replied.

“Then I fared better,” Georgiana replied. Her tone was sweet, but Darcy detected an undercurrent of triumph.

Fitzwilliam helped her to a chair, where she sat gracefully. “What did you learn?”

Georgiana’s smile turned sly as she clasped her hands in her lap. “I discovered something the two of you wished to know about the Bennet family.”

Darcy sat up straighter. “What is that, Georgie?”

“Well,” Georgiana said with deliberate modesty, “I know everything the Bennets shared with one another. Which, it turns out, was quite a bit.”

Fitzwilliam leaned forward, his grin broadening. “Do tell, oh master strategist. What secrets did you uncover?”

Georgiana tilted her chin smugly. “I simply asked a few questions and waited for the ladies to answer. It was not difficult; they are rather forthcoming, and when one is quiet and appears interested, they speak freely.”

Darcy crossed his arms, intrigued. His sister was quiet, but he would never have considered that an advantage. “Tell us?”

“For a start,” Georgiana said, her eyes gleaming, “Jane and Elizabeth Bennet are not Mrs. Bennet’s daughters by birth. They were the daughters of Mr. Bennet’s first wife, so they are not his, either. However, to Mrs. Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters, it makes no difference.”

Darcy’s brows knit together as Georgiana’s words settled over him. “Not Mr. Bennet’s either?” he repeated slowly, as though testing the truth of it against his own understanding.

“No,” Georgiana confirmed.

Miss Mary was only a few years younger than Miss Elizabeth. If she was Mrs. Bennet’s daughter by blood, Mr. Bennet must have lost his first wife rather soon after wedding her. Darcy felt pity for the man.

The revelation reshaped the image he had constructed of the Bennet family. He had always assumed Jane and Elizabeth Bennet were products of their parents, a union he had privately considered uneven at best. The intelligence and grace of the elder sisters seemed incongruous with their mother’s silliness and their father’s dry detachment. Now, this discrepancy took on a new significance.

For a fleeting moment, he felt relief. Elizabeth was not Mrs. Bennet’s daughter. It was absurd, yet his immediate reaction was one of quiet satisfaction, as though this detail somehow elevated her above the circumstances of her family. But the relief was short-lived, replaced by unease. These traits, which Darcy had so begrudgingly admired and then come to respect, seemed untethered now. Did he know her at all?

That she could not be a Darcy brought him both disappointment and satisfaction. He did not like the aristocratic custom of marrying cousins, and he had said as much to his aunt Lady Catherine, who behaved as though there was an understanding between himself and his cousin Anne. At least he would not be a hypocrite if he offered for Miss Elizabeth. He closed his eyes for a moment. He was not going to offer for her. None of this mattered. “And Mrs. Bennet? The sisters?” he asked, keeping his voice even. “You say they do not find this distinction troubling?”

Georgiana shook her head, a satisfied smile curving her lips. “Not in the slightest. Miss Lydia seemed utterly dismissive of the notion that it could matter. She said that Jane and Elizabeth are her sisters and always have been, regardless of blood, and Kitty agreed.”

Darcy’s gaze drifted towards the fire, his thoughts folding inward. This was not what he had expected, this easy dismissal of lineage, this declaration of unity. It spoke of something entirely foreign to his experience: a family bound not by pride of heritage, but by simple regard.

“They care for one another,” he said at last, the words tasting unfamiliar.

Fitzwilliam, who had been observing Darcy with the sharp gaze of a man who rarely missed an opportunity to tease, leaned forward with a smirk. “What is this, Darcy? Are you surprised that affection might triumph over rank?”

Darcy ignored Fitzwilliam’s jibe, his thoughts too entangled to formulate a reply. Affection. That was the word. He had spent years surrounded by propriety and obligation, where bonds were forged out of duty and alliances were calculated. The Bennet family, for all their eccentricities, operated on an entirely different principle.

And yet. . . his gaze sharpened. “It is strange, is it not, that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet make no distinction between the daughters of his first wife and those of his second? I would not have expected such—” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

“Kindness?” Georgiana supplied softly.

Darcy nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes.”

It unsettled him to think of the Bennet parents—she so frivolous, he so mocking—as capable of such generosity. Darcy had long assumed that Mr. Bennet’s sharp wit shielded him from any genuine feeling, and that Mrs. Bennet’s blind pursuit of advantageous marriages for her daughters left no room for tenderness. But the man’s tale of his father this evening had put a hole in that understanding and this threatened to unravel his understanding altogether.

He did not know whether to admire or resent their freedom and the way they had used it. He would have liked not to be bound by expectation and duty, his choices not dictated by lineage and legacy.

He reminded himself that he might yet have his chance.

Fitzwilliam whistled low. “And here we are, blundering about with toasts and flattery, while you sit quietly and unearth the family tree.”

“While that is interesting, it does not help us with our current concern,” Georgiana said, her smile growing. “But this does. Miss Elizabeth said that her grandfather Bennet was from Warwickshire, near where four counties meet: Warwickshire, Leicestershire, Staffordshire, and—”

“Derbyshire,” Darcy finished, his voice quiet.

Georgiana nodded. “Precisely.”

Darcy sat back, digesting this new information. “And how did you learn all this?”

His sister’s smile turned positively mischievous. “I listened.”

Fitzwilliam burst out laughing. “You listened? That is your grand strategy? You sit there, looking angelic, and people spill their secrets?”

“Apparently, it is far more effective than your approach,” Georgiana retorted, her tone sweet but pointed.

Fitzwilliam placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury. “Watch your tone, runt. I have been learning strategy since before you could walk.”

“Pity you are not better at it, then,” Georgiana replied, her smile widening.

Darcy chuckled. “I must concede, Georgiana, you were the most effective investigator tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said with mock solemnity. “Perhaps next time, you will allow me to work with the two of you. This is important to me as well, you know.”

“Perhaps we will,” Darcy replied, his tone dry.

“It is a shame we cannot take her into the men’s smoking room, is it not, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam said as he bent low over Georgiana’s hand. “I should dearly love to hear what she would make of Sir William’s ode to roast beef.”

Georgiana cocked her head to one side. “Surely you can enlighten me?”

“It was a terrible thing,” Darcy said with a little laugh.

Fitzwilliam leaned back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Ah, the ode. Allow me to recite it for you.”

“You memorised it?” Darcy asked incredulously.

“Know thine enemy, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam replied seriously.

Georgiana dissolved into laughter. “Your enemy is roast beef? I shall be sure to alert the cook.”

Fitzwilliam stood dramatically, raising an imaginary goblet. “Long may the English table bear the proud roast, its juices flowing as freely as our devotion to the Crown!”

Georgiana clutched her sides, laughing so hard tears glistened in her eyes. “Stop! I cannot breathe!”

“That was only the prelude!” Fitzwilliam cried.

As the laughter subsided, the atmosphere in the room softened. Fitzwilliam resumed his seat, his grin lingering, but his tone soon grew more thoughtful. “In all seriousness, Darcy . . .”

“The proximity to Derbyshire is significant,” Darcy said.

They all glanced at one another, thinking the same thing. If Mr. Bennet’s father had been residing near the very northern tip of Warwickshire when his grandmother gave birth to twins, it would have been theoretically possible to move an infant from Pemberley to that neighbouring county. And then, having been informed of his inheritance, the elder Mr. Bennet might move that child to Hertfordshire.

“It could be,” Fitzwilliam admitted. “But it is not proof. We need more before we accuse Mr. Bennet’s much beloved father of having committed such a crime.”

The room grew quiet as the weight of Fitzwilliam’s words settled over them. Georgiana sat forward in her chair, her expression pensive, while Darcy leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs and his thoughts racing. “Why would the elder Mr. Bennet do such a thing? What would compel a man, by all accounts entirely respectable, to kidnap a child from a family of wealth and standing? Even for a criminal, the risk was extreme.”

Fitzwilliam tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “Desperation, perhaps. Or a debt that required settling? Was there some connection between the Bennet family and the Darcys that we have not yet uncovered?”

Darcy shook his head. “There is no record of it. The name Bennet has never appeared in any of my family’s accounts or correspondences of which I am aware. If there were any financial dealings, they have been deliberately obscured.”

“What if he believed the child’s life was in danger? Or that he would be better cared for elsewhere?”

“But why would he believe that of a Darcy child?” Darcy could not understand it. “It makes no sense.”

“Perhaps he did not know the babe was a Darcy?” Georgiana inquired.

Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, swirling the port in his glass. “You prove yourself again the wisest one in the room, dearest. We have stupidly not considered that by the time the infant was given to Bennet, the midwife was likely long gone. Who knows what story she might have invented before she fled?”

The room fell silent again, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Darcy’s mind churned through possibilities, none of them satisfying. He thought of Elizabeth, her sharp wit and boundless determination, and of her family, so unfailingly united despite their differences. If the elder Mr. Bennet had taken such a drastic step, could it have been out of love?

“It is possible,” Darcy admitted slowly. “Though it seems implausible.”

“What in this entire scenario is plausible?” Fitzwilliam asked and rubbed the back of one hand over his eyes. “We left plausible long ago.”

Darcy nodded. “I believe we should send inquiries north.”

Georgiana sighed. “I feel terrible deceiving the Bennets like this. They are a wonderful family. I would very much like to be friends with them, especially Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth.”

“I also hope that once this is resolved, Georgiana, you will be able to maintain these friendships.” Darcy reached over to squeeze his sister’s hand.

Fitzwilliam set his glass down with a decisive thud. “So, we dig deeper. Somewhere, Darcy, there will be a crack, a detail that explains it all.”

“And if we find nothing?” Georgiana asked softly.

Fitzwilliam glanced at her. “I would be pleased to end this all right now, Georgiana. There is no need to work against your own interests, to prove that Darcy is not the rightful heir of Pemberley. Everything could remain just as it is.”

Darcy shook his head slowly. “You must know I cannot do that.”

“I do,” Fitzwilliam replied stoically. “But I never give up hoping you will listen to reason. You are the only man I have ever met who would do all the work to deprive himself of his birthright.”

“That,” Georgiana said firmly, “is why he is the best man I know, and I told Miss Elizabeth so.”

Darcy felt his face grow unbearably warm. “What, precisely, did you say to Miss Elizabeth?”

His sister nodded. “That you always do what is right. She seemed thoughtful after.”

“Wait a moment,” Fitzwilliam said. “ He is the best man you know? What am I, then?”

Georgiana tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You, dear cousin? You are the most . . . entertaining man I know.”

Fitzwilliam pressed a hand to his chest in mock affront. “ Entertaining ? That is the best description you can devise?”

She shrugged, her smile widening. “It was either that or the most exasperating. I was attempting to be compassionate.”

Darcy, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten, let out a low laugh. “You walked directly into that one, Fitzwilliam.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “You both conspire against me while I attempt to help you. It is terribly unfair.”

Georgiana raised her chin, feigning a look of pure innocence. “Perhaps if you were less exasperating, you would find us more agreeable.”

Darcy shook his head, his rare smile lingering. “Hopeless, the pair of you.”