Page 18 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

D arcy’s gaze flickered from Bingley and Miss Bennet, seated together near the window on the far side of Longbourn’s parlour, to Miss Elizabeth, seated nearby with an unopened book resting in her lap. Darcy did not wish to disturb her reflections, and so he sat quietly with his own book, though he was not reading either.

But then, as if sensing his scrutiny, Miss Elizabeth looked up. Her lips curved in a faint, almost teasing smile. “You seem very pensive, Mr. Darcy. Is there something on your mind?”

Caught, Darcy straightened. “Merely observing,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Miss Elizabeth sighed softly, putting her book aside. “The banns have been read twice. Jane was concerned she had waited too long to tell Mr. Bingley about our parents.”

He had not forgotten the information Georgiana had gleaned from her time with the Bennet girls.

“You are Mr. Bingley’s closest friend,” Miss Elizabeth said. It was not a question, but he felt the need to respond anyway.

“I hope so. Outside of my family, he is mine.”

“Then perhaps you should know as well,” she said, her voice low but steady. “For your assistance may be required.”

“Assistance?”

She paused for a moment. “I suspect your sister has already told you that Jane and I are not Bennets by birth.”

Darcy frowned slightly. “She has.”

Miss Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the fire as she spoke. “Our father was the third son of an earl. His family paid him little mind until he married my mother, the daughter of a Hertfordshire squire with a modest income and no title. Then they disowned him. He and my mother resided with my grandfather and helped him run the estate.”

Darcy gestured for her to continue.

“My grandfather and father died when they were inspecting a tenant’s barn after a storm and the hayloft collapsed on them. Jane was two, and I was but a babe. His family made it clear that they had no interest in us. Though they were willing to manage the estate—on our behalf, they said.”

Darcy’s stomach twisted at the coldness of it.

Miss Elizabeth nodded, her expression sombre. “Fortunately for my mother, Mr. Bennet had long been fond of her—they were children together. He had become friends with my father as well, and when he learned of our troubles, he offered to marry her, which they did with all haste. Then, at her request and with the help of my uncle Mr. Phillips, he became the estate’s primary trustee and ensured that her money was secured for her and her daughters.”

“He stood up against an earl?”

“And a viscount.”

“And he was successful.”

“As the husband, the law was clearly on his side. And he does not care for London, so they could not bother him there. A good thing, too, for he made enemies of both the old earl and the current one.”

Darcy shook his head. He had never considered that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth would have a connection to such a family. And he had certainly never thought it might be a detriment to a match. “Then the warning is that the earl may cause a problem for Bingley?”

Miss Elizabeth lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “It has been many years, but from my uncle and Papa’s account, they were very angry at the time. Does Mr. Bingley regularly engage in ton events?”

“He does, though not often with the peerage.”

“Then he should remain unmolested. But he should not remain unaware.”

Darcy frowned, a question forming in his mind. Instead, he made a statement. “Miss Elizabeth, my protection would be of more value if I knew the earl’s name.”

Her lips twisted as though she was tasting something very sour. “My father was Geoffrey Capell. He married Jane Sewell of Farnham Grange. Our uncle is George Capell-Coningsby, the Earl of Essex.”

He blinked. “But that makes no sense. Lord Essex has long been married to a woman whose family is in trade.”

“An extremely wealthy family,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “Wealth that allowed them to solidify their standing in the aristocracy. Not an unusual practice. Their true objection to my mother was that her father was wealthy only in an ordinary sort of way.”

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. “So you and Miss Bennet own your grandfather’s estate?”

She nodded. “Papa and Uncle Phillips are our trustees. It is a little larger than Longbourn, but not much. It has been leased out ever since my mother remarried. The funds go to maintain it and anything remaining is deposited in the funds for Jane and I.”

Another misperception. He would never listen to Miss Bingley’s gossip again. “Then you and Miss Bennet have dowries?”

“Fortunes,” she corrected him. “Not on the scale of your sister’s, I suspect, but yes.”

A dowry went to the husband upon marriage. But if legally arranged before a woman married, her fortune could be protected by trustees other than her husband. And even in cases where the husband became the trustee of her funds, the woman could regain control of those monies when widowed, especially if it was stated in the marriage settlement. This was something he intended to do for his sister, and he was glad Mr. Bennet planned to do the same.

“Papa insisted that we should not know the exact amounts until he passes, for he says we will not need to touch the accounts while we live at Longbourn. The only way around that is to marry a man of whom he approves, when of course he shall include it in the marriage contract.” She smiled a little. “And of course, if we marry, we shall leave Longbourn. So Jane will know soon, as will Mr. Bingley. But Papa will swear them both to secrecy, so I shall have to wait.”

“What does Mrs. Bennet say?”

Miss Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “She only knows that our mother left us a small competence. Papa never speaks of it, so she may have forgotten entirely, but I suspect she thinks it very small indeed.” She shrugged. “And it may well be. I would not know.”

Even if Mr. Bennet had not saved the income from the estate, half the proceeds from the sale of the property would likely be substantial. “It might be difficult to wed well when your fortunes are kept so quiet.”

She met his eyes and arched one eyebrow. “We may have different ideas about what it means to wed well, Mr. Darcy. Papa has always said that a man who is truly deserving of us will propose without first inquiring about the money.”

Darcy felt an unexpected flash of admiration for Mr. Bennet, mingled with shame for the dismissive opinions he had once held of the man. Had he been able to keep the amount of Georgiana’s fortune a secret, he would have done so without hesitation. But his mother had told her sister, and Lady Catherine had told everyone else, and it had made his sister a target of fortune hunters before she even had her come out.

Miss Elizabeth continued, her tone growing softer. “My mother married Papa—Mr. Bennet—very quickly after losing my father, and she died herself a year or so after that. Papa could have sent us away. We had nowhere to go, but that was not his fault. We were not his responsibility.”

Darcy’s chest tightened as he imagined the vulnerability of two tiny girls in such a situation. “But he did not,” he said quietly.

“No,” Elizabeth agreed, her voice steady. “He had already given us his name, as my mother asked. She loved my father but hated his family. And Papa has always treated us as his own.”

“When did he marry the current Mrs. Bennet?”

Miss Elizabeth lifted her chin. “About a year after my mother’s death. She was young, pretty, and kind. He believed she would be a good mother to us—and she has been.” She paused, her tone softening. “Mamma is not the cleverest of women, and her eagerness to see us married has often tried my patience. But her heart is generous. She has always treated us as her own, right down to scolding us when we go against her wishes.”

Darcy regarded her for a long moment, his thoughts churning. Miss Elizabeth’s candour had taken him by surprise, and yet, it made sense to issue the warning. Essex might make things uncomfortable for Bingley, if he even remembered that his younger brother had sired two daughters. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice earnest, “thank you for telling me this. I know it could not have been easy.”

“It was not difficult, Mr. Darcy. It is simply rare for me to feel that someone outside my family would need to understand. I would ask that you not mention the earl’s name unless you are speaking with Mr. Bingley. The fewer people aware of the particulars the better, for I would not like to pique the earl’s curiosity.”

He inclined his head, humbled by her trust. “I will do justice to your confidence, of course.”

Miss Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I know my family history is somewhat complicated.”

“It is nothing compared to some of the aristocracy,” he replied, intending to lighten the mood. He congratulated himself when her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Across the room, Bingley and Miss Bennet still spoke softly, and Bingley took his betrothed’s hand in both of his own.

He had judged the Bennets harshly, and though they were all those things he had disliked, they were much more than the sum of their faults. Darcy had long admired Miss Elizabeth, but tonight she had revealed a sense of loyalty to her Bennet family—and of them to her and her sister—that demanded his respect.

But that was not why he was here.

His purpose in Hertfordshire was a simple one. He was here to confirm or refute his troubling suspicions regarding Mr. Bennet and, if necessary, determine what to do about it. And both Miss Elizabeth and her family deserved better than to be viewed through the lens of his inheritance or loss of it.

Bingley stood and bent over Miss Bennet’s hand. With a grim resolve, Darcy closed his book and stood as well, his movement drawing Miss Elizabeth’s attention. She rose.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice steady though his heart wavered, “I bid you a good day.”

Her smile was genuine, but there was also something challenging in her expression. “Good day, Mr. Darcy.”

He inclined his head and left the room with measured steps, his thoughts in turmoil. He needed time away from here to plan, to put everything in order in his mind. Yet he could not leave until they discovered whether his father’s twin had been found. Distancing himself from Miss Elizabeth would quiet neither his conscience nor his hopes.

However, any attachment to Miss Elizabeth would certainly muddy his purpose. Given the story about her parents and the earl, there was now another reason to shy away. Yet a part of him whispered that she was worth it. Worth anything.

Shaking his head, he moved toward the front of the house. As he waited for Bingley to catch him up, Darcy gazed out into the darkened landscape. The shadows stretched across the fields, stark and unforgiving, much like his own logic. “You must remember why you are here,” he muttered to himself, the words as much a plea as a command.

Elizabeth closed the door to her father’s book room behind her and leaned against it for a moment.

Papa was in his usual chair, perusing a worn volume. Without looking up, he said, “I wondered how long it would take before you sought refuge.”

She smiled faintly and moved to the chair opposite his. “Jane has joined Mamma to discuss wedding plans. She is all nerves because it is happening so quickly. I thought it best to escape while I could.”

Her father peered over the top of his spectacles. “A wise decision. I imagine the house will soon be in uproar.”

“Undoubtedly,” Elizabeth replied. “Though Jane will bear it with her usual grace.”

“Unlike her sister, who would rather brave my temper than her mother’s enthusiasm,” he teased, a twinkle in his eye.

“You wound me, Papa,” she replied, but could not help smiling.

“Not too grievously, I see.” He set his book aside and studied her with a penetrating gaze. “And what of you, Lizzy? Has Jane’s happiness put you in a reflective mood?”

Elizabeth hesitated, her fingers playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. “A little, perhaps.”

“Come now, you did not seek me out for idle chatter. What weighs on your mind?” Papa set his book aside and leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach.

She hesitated again but knew her father would see through any evasion. “Jane has told Mr. Bingley everything about our family.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “As she should. Mr. Bingley is her betrothed. He deserves to know.”

Elizabeth looked down at her lap. “That is not all.”

“Oh?”

“I told Mr. Darcy as well.”

Papa’s shaggy eyebrows rose. “Did you? And why, pray, did you think that necessary?”

She raised her head to meet his inquiring look. “Are you angry?”

“Not at all. It is not a secret. Still, Mr. Darcy has not indicated a desire to join our family, and therefore I cannot understand why you would confide in him.”

Elizabeth laced her fingers together. “For two reasons. First, because I believe he is loyal to Mr. Bingley, and his support may be needed to protect Jane should any difficulties arise. And second . . .” She trailed off, her courage faltering.

“And second?” he prompted.

She hated to admit this, not least because her father was not typically a sympathetic listener in such matters, but she closed her eyes and spoke. “Because I needed to know if it would change anything.” She opened her eyes again to see him watching her. “Mr. Darcy has been so perplexing. At times, I think he might actually care for me. He watches me, engages me in conversation, and has been more open with me about his own concerns than he ever was last autumn. But as suddenly as he seems to draw near, he retreats. The uncertainty is terrible.”

Her father’s lips quirked into a small smile. “And to think your first footer this New Year was Mr. Darcy. Quite the portent, was it not?”

Elizabeth gave him a withering look. “It is not amusing, Papa.”

He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and steepling his fingers under his chin. He regarded her with a rare sort of paternal compassion. “So, in true Elizabeth fashion, you decided to tip the scales yourself. You laid all your cards on the table, I presume, and waited to see how the man would respond.” He paused, a playful gleam in his eye. “A bold strategy, my dear. But then, you are very good at quadrille.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Papa, this is not a card game.”

“No, indeed,” he said with mock gravity. “Though it seems you have rather set yourself up with your own. You deal the cards, you set the stakes, and then you wait to see whether your opponent will match your daring or withdraw from the field. A fine bit of play, if I may say so.”

“It is not a game,” Elizabeth repeated, though she began to see the accuracy of his metaphor. “I did not speak to him to gamble on an outcome, but because I could no longer endure the doubt. If the fact that he might face trouble in the ton on my behalf tips the scales against me, then I would rather he show his hand now.”

It did not mean it would not hurt.

Her father’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “And what do you hope for, Lizzy? Do you want him to rise to the challenge, or are you preparing yourself for a retreat?”

Elizabeth hesitated, her hands twisting together in her lap. “Perhaps both. There is something in his character, something steady and strong that calls to me. But until he speaks plainly, I cannot allow my heart to settle on him. I cannot afford to.”

Her father regarded her for a long moment. “You are clever, my girl,” he said finally. “And braver than most would be in your position. I shall simply remind you the best gamblers know the outcome of a wager does not rest solely in their hands.”

Elizabeth’s lips tightened. “I am well aware of that, Papa.”

He chuckled softly, though not unkindly. “And here I thought you averse to melodrama. Did you not return Lady Morgan’s novel without finishing it?”

“ The Missionary ?” She was momentarily diverted. “I did.”

“Yet you are overset by the attentions Mr. Darcy may or may not be paying you.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Perhaps I am more affected than I ought to be. But I will not let uncertainty rule me. If Mr. Darcy cannot reconcile himself to the truth of who I am and what might be required of him, it is best to know that as soon as possible.”

Her father stood, moved around the desk to sit in the chair next to her. “That, my dear, is the voice of reason. And should Mr. Darcy prove himself unworthy of your regard, I daresay you will be better off for knowing now. Somewhere, there is a man who will truly earn your esteem.”

“Perhaps.”

“You wish for Mr. Darcy to pass this test of yours, then?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

“Well, then,” Papa said. “If the man has even a fragment of sense, he will know better than to let you slip through his fingers.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she replied. It was kind of him, but he was her Papa and put greater store in her value than did the rest of the world.

“Now,” he said, rising from the chair, “let us not speak of Mr. Darcy any longer. It seems to me that both your heart and your mind are already overburdened with the subject, and your gambit has left the next move to him.”

Elizabeth nodded, grateful for the reprieve, and their conversation shifted to lighter matters.

As the hour grew late and Elizabeth mentioned dinner would be served soon, her father stood and, when she rose as well, placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have said it before, but perhaps it bears repeating. As long as I am the master of Longbourn, Lizzy, you shall always have a home here.”

She rose and kissed his cheek. “I know, Papa. And I will always be thankful for that.”