Page 29 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

D arcy had not expected to sleep well the night before, but he had. Perhaps it was due to the lingering weariness of his recuperation, but he thought it might rather be his confession to Mr. Bennet.

Life could be very odd. He had suspected Mr. Bennet was his father’s twin. Then he had been certain he was not. And now he knew the truth based on a chance mention of a baby blanket.

One thing he was sure of was that the truth would have revealed itself eventually. He was grateful that he had learned it now, before he married Elizabeth, and they had children to protect. Once they did, he was not sure he could have done what his honour required.

He touched his perfectly tied cravat before pulling on his coat.

It would have been a nightmare. Now everything was out in the open, and he had given up trying to manage a situation that had never been his to control.

Georgiana’s fortune would remain untouched. It was enough. He and Elizabeth could get by on his investments and whatever he could earn. She had some small amount of money too, she had said, and anything they could gather would be of use.

He needed Elizabeth more than he needed Pemberley and all that came with it. He knew that now. But Darcy was still anxious. Elizabeth loved him, but would she be willing to wait to wed until he was called to the bar? Would she be satisfied living as a barrister’s wife?

Would Mr. Bennet even allow him to ask?

The note was brought to his room before he had finished dressing. At least Mr. Bennet had not kept him waiting long.

Soon he was away from Netherfield. He was fortunate that his cousin and sister were not early risers, and Mrs. Annesley, though awake, remained in her chamber. He planned to be back before they all came downstairs. After they had eaten breakfast together, he would speak to Fitzwilliam and Georgiana. But first, he had to hold one more conversation with Mr. Bennet, to learn precisely how their lives were about to change.

When he arrived at Longbourn, Darcy was again shown into Mr. Bennet’s study, where he found the man seated comfortably in a high-backed chair. The older man glanced up as Darcy entered.

“Ah, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet greeted, his voice light. “Punctual as ever. Do sit.”

He took the chair opposite, unsure whether he should speak first. Mr. Bennet, however, was already assessing him with a keen gaze.

“Elizabeth is out walking—her usual path when it is cold, just to the stream and back. The other ladies are having a late morning abed, so you find me quite alone, as was my preference. We should have a bit of time.”

Darcy nodded.

The older man smiled faintly, though there was a trace of something sombre in his expression. “Your news yesterday stunned me, Mr. Darcy.”

“I apologise for that. It was a difficult situation.”

“Indeed. I thank you for the time to reflect upon my course.” The older man laced his fingers together. “It seems to me that I must act in accordance with my nature.” He hesitated.

“What do you mean?” Darcy asked, confused.

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I am not a man who ever aspired to greatness. Longbourn is more than sufficient for me; indeed, it is more than I care to manage. Were it five times the size, I should find it five times the trouble.”

“But—”

“You might say now that had I been raised as a Darcy, I would have thought differently.”

“No.” He had been wondering about Longbourn, in fact. “I would not presume—”

“Mr. Darcy, I know myself. Had I been a part of your family from the first, I should have happily signed the whole enterprise over to my twin the moment we came of age, and I would have thanked him heartily for the escape.” He huffed the same way Miss Elizabeth did. “To award a man an estate over his brother when only a matter of minutes separates their birth is asinine in any case.”

Mr. Bennet’s usual irony was absent. He was entirely in earnest.

Darcy did not know what to say.

“It pains me,” Mr. Bennet continued, a deep sort of sorrow etched into his features, “that I never had the opportunity to know my parents or my brother. I believe I would have enjoyed having a brother.”

“He was a good man,” Darcy said softly. “You have a similar sense of humour.”

Mr. Bennet took off his spectacles and tossed them on the desk. He caught Darcy’s gaze and held it. “I may not have known him, but I would like to know my niece and nephew.”

The genuine nature of this request moved Darcy. All this time he had been worried about the people who relied upon him, how they would be cared for. And he had worried about losing Pemberley. He had never allowed himself to really consider that he would gain more family. “I believe we would like that.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, the faintest shadow of relief crossing his features. “Thank you. Now, let us discuss the decisions I have made. My brother Phillips will draw up any documents required so that I may legally, but quietly, reclaim my identity. I will need you to sign a statement that affirms this.”

Darcy nodded. “I shall.”

“Then, having established my right to Pemberley,” Mr. Bennet said evenly, “I shall sign another document that hands it back to you in perpetuity.”

It was Darcy’s turn to be stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but he could produce no sound at all.

Mr. Bennet raised a hand. “It will come with stipulations, of course.”

Darcy steeled himself for demands of extravagant income or endless entitlements. But it did not matter if Pemberley was to be his. He would simply work harder.

“Each of my younger daughters—Mary, Kitty, and Lydia—should receive ten thousand pounds upon their marriage, or if they remain unwed, at the age of five-and-twenty. I shall be the trustee for these funds, but you may write the contract to ensure the funds are not to be touched except for the girls’ security.”

He waited for the next request. And waited. But there was nothing more. Darcy shook his head as if to clear it. “That is all?”

“’Is that all,’ he says? ‘Tis thirty thousand pounds, Mr. Darcy. I hardly think that a negligible amount.”

“You might have asked for a great deal more, as you must be well aware. My cousins are Darcys.”

“They have not been brought up as such, and I do not intend to tell them so until they wed. My wife is a good-hearted woman at the core, but she is not discreet, and I do not wish for men to approach my daughters for fortune or connection. That way lies a terrible unhappiness. Ten thousand pounds, plus the addition of two thousand each that I have been able to put away on their behalf, is more than sufficient to attract a respectable man, without inviting the attentions of the worst sorts of fortune hunters. This is what I deem fair.”

“It is more than fair, sir.”

“I would ask only one other thing: that Fanny always has a home. But I shall leave that matter for you and Mr. Bingley to arrange, as I assume once you and Elizabeth wed that you would have seen to that anyway.”

He would have. “And what of Longbourn, Mr. Bennet?”

“I think you may safely call me Bennet, now.”

“And you may call me Darcy.” He leaned forward. “You will no longer be master of Longbourn if you sign papers that say you are a Darcy. Will you move your family to your daughters’ estate?”

“Well, now,” Bennet drawled. “That is another interesting story, and the other reason I travelled to see my brother the attorney after your visit yesterday. I wished all of this to be done in the strictest of confidence, and Phillips is a good attorney. He will keep my secret.”

“Another secret?” Darcy inquired warily.

“Relax, my boy.” Bennet chuckled. “This one has to do with the entail on Longbourn.”

Darcy rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“Do not distress yourself. I might have appealed to Jane and Elizabeth to move the family to Farnham Grange, and I know they would have agreed immediately, though there is a family settled there, and it would have required time to break the lease. However, my Bennet grandfather overlooked something critical when drafting the entail. The phrase ‘heirs of the blood’ never appears in the document. It merely states that the eldest son inherits. Neither Collins nor anyone else can enforce a claim against us.”

Darcy’s brows lifted in surprise. Although the man before him was not a Bennet by blood, it seemed his relaxed attitude towards his estate was a perfect fit for them. “Surely such an omission would not hold up to scrutiny?”

“As the document has remained unchallenged for some years, Phillips believes that it would,” Mr. Bennet said, and then smiled wryly. “My father always said he would ‘look into it,’ but I suspect now that it was never his intention to make any changes. It was how he was able to legally leave Longbourn to me, and he was right to do so. Old Collins was a terrible man. The current Mr. Collins is foolish, even a little petty, but his father was wicked.”

Darcy allowed himself a small smile. “Will you seek to adopt another heir?”

“I did consider it, that night you first heard Sir William’s ode and Collins almost insulted Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet replied, shaking his head. “But no. Were a boy born to us, that is one thing, but as it seems unlikely, Collins can have Longbourn. Now that Charlotte Lucas has married him, they have a better chance of making the place profitable than I ever did. My only concern is that my family is provided for.”

A deep, abiding sense of gratitude swept through Darcy, rendering him a little weak. “You may rest assured that Bingley and I shall care for them all.” After so much agony, Darcy could not believe how neatly everything had been resolved. And it was not due to anything he had done, either. It was purely that Bennet, while owning his shortcomings, still cared deeply for his family.

And that family now included himself and Georgiana.

“Do you know,” Bennet said, “my father taught me that honour is not measured by maintaining principles when they serve our interests, but by upholding them precisely when they might threaten everything we hold dear.”

Darcy chuckled. “My father said the same.”

“Did he, now?” Bennet shook his head. “I told you that your father was always going to be a better master of Pemberley than me, and here is the proof.” He caught Dary’s gaze and held it. “Apart from my own father, I do not think I have met any other man who embodies that principle as well as you.”

Darcy demurred, and after a short pause, Bennet leaned back in his chair, an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, Darcy," he said, steepling his fingers, "we have concluded all matters of great importance—except, of course, for you and Elizabeth. That battle, I am pleased to say, shall be yours alone to fight."

Darcy nodded. “I will speak to her as soon as she returns, if she wishes to see me.”

“Ha! She has been waiting by the window for days, hoping you would be well enough to resume your calls.”

“Is that true?” Darcy asked, hope surging through him before he could restrain himself.

Bennet smiled knowingly. “Indeed. Quite unlike her. Perhaps she is too young to wed. Or perhaps I should join you on your wedding tour. A proper chaperone, you see. Protect her interests. I have always wanted to travel.”

Darcy cleared his throat. Elizabeth was the man’s favourite daughter, and while a sister sometimes accompanied a new bride, he knew of no fathers who ever had. It was so difficult to tell when Bennet was in jest—but the man had just given him permission to speak with Elizabeth, and so if it was what he truly wished . . . Before he could form a response, the older man’s mouth twitched into a smirk.

“Do not be concerned,” Mr. Bennet assured him. “I am not interested in joining a newly married couple on their journeys. In fact, I promise not to hover too closely—though I should very much like to inspect the Pemberley library. Perhaps I could even set up housekeeping there, away from the commotion of your household.”

Darcy allowed himself the hint of a smile. “You are, of course, welcome to visit, Bennet. Though I suspect Elizabeth might take issue with you monopolising the library. She is quite fond of books herself.”

“Even Elizabeth shall have other duties and will occasionally wish to take walks. I presume you have a large park?”

“It is ten miles around.”

“And of all that I might have been master,” Bennet mused. He paused just long enough for Darcy to feel a sliver of alarm, for the legal formalities had not been completed. Then the older man shuddered. “It would have made me miserable.”

Darcy chuckled. “You need not stand on ceremony; you are family after all. Come to visit us, and the library, whenever you wish.”

“Perhaps I will,” Mr. Bennet replied, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “Shall we play a game of chess while we wait for my daughter to return?”

Darcy understood that the offer was part of Bennet learning more about his nephew. “I would like that, Bennet,” he said. “I would like it very much indeed.”

After the first game, which he lost more quickly than he had since he had first started playing, Darcy paid closer attention to Bennet’s strategy. He did himself more credit in the second, though all that meant was that it took twice as long for Bennet to defeat him.

Bennet cleared the board and returned the pieces to their box. “I believe I heard Lizzy coming in. Why do you not await her in the family parlour?” He reached for the bell. “Mr. Hill will take you there.”

Darcy stood and bowed deeply to Bennet. “Your servant, sir.” He left the book room with a rare sense of peace. For all his acerbic humour, Mr. Bennet was a family man. His wit was sharp but his heart unexpectedly generous, particularly where his relations were concerned. Darcy found himself feeling a curious warmth towards this man who was his uncle and would soon, God willing, be his father.

Elizabeth handed her coat and scarf to Mr. Hill, warm from her brisk walk to the stream. The March air was cool but no longer cold, and the first buds of spring were beginning to open. The Lucases had departed for Kent last week without her—she had sent her regrets to Charlotte, but she could not possibly leave Longbourn until she had seen Mr. Darcy with her own eyes and could confirm that he was well. Her message to Charlotte mentioned only her father’s recovery, however, not Mr. Darcy’s.

She had removed her gloves and untied her bonnet when Mrs. Hill bustled in to announce that Mr. Darcy awaited her in the family parlour.

The news sent a flurry of emotions through her. Relief, anticipation, and anxiety all mingled as she tried to compose herself. Elizabeth might have thought it was a coincidence that he was here when she had only just been thinking of him, but the truth was that she was always thinking of him now.

He was here. After all the weeks of uncertainty, of illness, of wondering what might have passed between him and her father, he was here.

She hurried down the hall to the open door and there he stood, immaculate as always, though there was a gentleness in his expression that made her feel somehow whole again. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither spoke.

“Miss Bennet.”

His sonorous voice made her heart skip. “Mr. Darcy,” she replied, dipping into a curtsey before gesturing toward the sofa. “Are you well? Please, do sit.”

He inclined his head but hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “Forgive me, but I find myself unable to do so until we have spoken.”

Elizabeth’s pulse quickened a touch more. She stepped closer, clasping her hands before her. “Then I would hear it, sir.”

What issued forth from Mr. Darcy’s mouth was a startling story. It was not at all what she had expected him to say.

She was inordinately proud of her father.

“Are you certain you did not read a novel before you fell ill, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, only half in jest. Then her lips parted. “That is why you were asking about the baby blanket.”

“When was that?”

“When you were fevered. I could not understand why it had bothered you so.”

He sighed. “It was the moment I realized I should have to resign all my security, which would leave me unable to propose to you.”

“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she breathed, only now comprehending how painful that must have been. He had already been feeling unwell, and then . . .

He took her hands in his own. “Now that your father has cleared the way for us, I must ask you a question.”

It was the question she wanted to hear, but not yet. Elizabeth gently removed her hands from his. The truth lay before her now, yet it did not settle easily. It was as if she had been walking a path shrouded in mist, only to have the fog blown away.

“You should have told me,” she said at last, her voice low but steady. “You let me wonder, let me sense that something was amiss, yet you said nothing. I knew—I asked —oh, I knew you were keeping something a secret, something that troubled you terribly. But never did I imagine this .”

Mr. Darcy’s voice was strained. “I did not know what the truth was. Before I did . . . I had no wish to deceive you.”

“And yet you did.” She turned back to face him again. “Did you think I would not notice? That I would not feel it every time you hesitated?”

“I beg you to understand, I could do nothing until I knew the truth. I could not ask to call on you or raise your expectations until I knew that I would be able to support you. I kept my distance because I did not know whether I would be Mr. Darcy of Pemberley or just Mr. Darcy.”

“You should have told me what it was you were chasing, rather than being left to guess at the shape of it in the shadows.” Her voice was not sharp, but to her chagrin, there was no mistaking the sting of disappointment in it. “You say you did not wish to deceive me, but it seems to me that you were perfectly content to let me dangle in uncertainty while you decided what I ought to know.”

“I was dangling too.”

“But after the wedding, you decided it no longer mattered?”

He grimaced. “Fitzwilliam and I were not in London on business just before Bingley wed.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where were you then?”

“Warwickshire.”

She was puzzled for a moment but then closed her eyes. Warwickshire, where Grandfather Bennet had his living before coming to Longbourn. “And you found that my father was a Darcy? Then why would you—”

“We thought we had learned that your father was not a Darcy. Which meant that I was still the master of Pemberley and could afford to take a wife.”

“You did not trust that I loved you enough to marry you otherwise?” she asked quietly.

“I did ,” he insisted. “I told your father as much yesterday, before I knew how cleverly he would resolve the problem. You can appeal to his testimony if you do not feel you are able to trust my own.”

Elizabeth drew a breath, steadying herself. “If it had been only my father’s fate you sought to unravel, I might have forgiven it more easily. But you—” She swallowed. “You began to court me, and still you said nothing.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Do you think it was easy? Knowing what I did, knowing what I might be, what I might lose? Who I might be forced to leave? You deserved a suitor who had no reason to doubt himself, who could offer you the future you deserve. I would not make myself a fortune hunter in your eyes. Nor would I—” He stopped, his voice turning hoarse. “I would not tie you to a man who might have less than your father does now.”

Elizabeth looked at him then, truly looked at him, and the war within her softened just a little. It had been very difficult for him, that much was clear.

“And you feared I might think you had courted me only to secure Pemberley,” she said as it all fell into place. “That I might believe your love for me was a matter of convenience, of necessity rather than truth.”

The tension in Darcy’s shoulders loosened ever so slightly. “I never want you to doubt that my love for you is true.”

Her heart squeezed at the admission. A month ago, she might have found it more difficult to forgive him. But he had acted against his own interests in pursuit of the truth. How could she feel anything other than admiration? And after all they had been through, after the fear that had gripped her when he had fallen ill, after how deeply she had come to love him—how could she not forgive him?

“I do understand,” she admitted at last. “You did not wish to raise my hopes, or your own, when you could not be certain of fulfilling them. You did not want to court me under false pretences.”

She let out a breath, her anger fading, though it was not yet entirely vanquished. “But you must promise me this.” She caught his gaze and held it. “If ever there is something that weighs upon your mind, something that affects us both—you must not keep me in the dark. I am not so forgiving as my eldest sister.”

His eyes met hers with quiet solemnity. “I promise.” His expression darkened with remorse. “And you are right, of course,” he admitted quietly. “I kept too much from you.”

A pause stretched between them. Then, at last, Elizabeth reached for his hand, letting her fingers brush his. “Very well,” she murmured. “I suppose that as I am insisting that you trust me, that I shall have to trust you in return.”

Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, the warmth of his breath chasing away the last of the lingering cold between them. “I swear that you will not regret it.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and released it. “Now, I believe you said something about a question?”

Her heart nearly broke in two at the hope in his voice when he asked, “You will allow me to ask it?”

“I am hardly without fault myself Mr. Darcy, and I have now put you on notice. If you still wish to make your inquiry, I would very much like to hear it.”

“Miss Bennet,” he said warmly, catching her hands in his own, “during my illness, you cared for me with a tenderness that I did not deserve. You brought me more comfort than I can say.” He paused, as though searching for the right words. “I already loved you, but it was then that I realised just how deeply I need you. Not just for your nursing, but . . .” He grimaced.

Elizabeth shook her head affectionately. She understood him so well. “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Darcy. I believe I know what you mean to say.”

He cast her a grateful look. “Since my recovery, I have thought of little else. Your wit, your kindness, your compassion—these qualities have made you the most extraordinary woman I have ever known. And though I do not deserve it, I must ask. Will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”

Elizabeth’s heart swelled with an emotion so profound, it threatened to undo her. To hear the words spoken with such earnestness—it was everything she could ever ask for. It was overwhelming.

She took a step closer, her voice soft but steady. “Mr. Darcy, you humble me.” She faltered, her emotions threatening to spill over into tears.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened, and his hands tightened over hers. “Then I have done well. I was primarily concerned with not being removed from the house.”

A smile broke across her face. “You have done very well indeed.” Then she changed the direction of the conversation. “Not, of course, in chess.”

He chuckled. “No. I have just had the dubious pleasure of playing your father.”

She smiled brightly. “I am sorry for that. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy, I will marry you.”

His breath escaped in a soft exhale, as though he had been holding it all this time. His hands closed over hers, warm and steady, and for a moment, they simply stood there, looking into one another’s eyes, their connection silent and profound.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of emotion.

Elizabeth smiled impishly. “You are welcome.”

He chuckled softly. “May I speak to your father again, to formalise the matter?”

“You may,” she said. “But I daresay he already knows my answer.”

Darcy pressed her hands. “He did indicate you would accept me, but I could not be sanguine.”

Elizabeth laughed aloud at that, her voice light and joyous. “And did he require that you pass his examination?”

“Examination?”

“He had a great many questions for me yesterday, about my feelings for you.”

“He did not question me in such a manner,” Mr. Darcy replied. “Though because I asked you for the courtship, I doubt it was my feelings about which he felt unsure. Though he did make it clear that I am marrying not only you, but also your family.”

Her laughter softened, and she squeezed his hand gently. “That is very true, Mr. Darcy. Are you quite prepared for that challenge?”

He looked at her, his eyes full of warmth. “For you, Elizabeth, I am prepared for anything, but they are my family too.”

She laughed softly. “I suppose that is true.”

Darcy marvelled at the way Elizabeth’s touch calmed him.

“There are still a few things I do not understand,” she said. “May I . . .?”

“Join me when I visit your father? Of course.”

Elizabeth sat in her father’s study, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “You had no notion you were not a Bennet?” she asked her father.

Papa shook his head. “Not the faintest inkling.”

“Then,” she said slowly, “Mr. Darcy came to you himself after he discovered the baby blankets were identical?”

Her father nodded, his expression softening. “He did. I would never have known otherwise. He came to me with the truth and asked for nothing but a single assurance.”

Elizabeth’s brows rose. “And what was that?”

“That his sister’s fortune is not touched,” her father said, his tone matter of fact. “As if a father of five daughters would steal another child’s inheritance.”

Elizabeth’s gaze darted to Mr. Darcy’s. The Earl of Essex came to her mind unbidden, and she could tell from the tension in Mr. Darcy’s jaw that he was thinking the same.

“A loving father,” her father added.

Elizabeth turned to her father, a question forming on her lips, but he continued before she could speak. “You should know, Elizabeth, that your mother and sisters will all be provided for. We have ensured they will want for nothing, regardless of what may come.”

Darcy nodded in agreement. “Your father and I have discussed it all. Your mother shall always have a home. Your sister Jane is, of course, already well settled, and you will be, too.” He smiled at her. “But Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia shall each receive the amount your father has requested.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched in the faintest smile. “Sufficient to attract a respectable man but not so much as to inspire fortune hunters?”

“Precisely,” Darcy replied, his mouth quirking in a faint smile of his own.

“It is gratifying, in one’s old age,” Papa said drily, “to know that at least one of his children has listened to him.”

They spoke for some time longer. Elizabeth had more questions, and both men answered with candour. For all the strangeness of the situation, their explanations made sense, filling in the gaps of her understanding.

“I am grieved you were unable to know your family, Papa,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“I, too,” he said. “But if I had, I would not have the family I do.”

Elizabeth nodded. “That is true.”

“I am not a religious man in the way my father was,” Papa said. “But I do believe that most things happen for a purpose. I am grieved for my parents, who must have suffered my loss. But somehow, I was meant to be here. For you and Jane and probably a dozen other reasons I shall never know."

"You do know one more—you are now here for Mr. Darcy and Georgiana.”

“Would you call me by my Christian name, Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked. “At least when we are among family?”

She laughed and ran a hand over her eyes at the word “family.” “I cannot.”

His face clouded over. “Whyever not?”

Elizabeth was the tiniest bit exasperated, but she felt she had earned it. “Because I do not know what it is.”

Papa snorted. “You will have a time with this one.”

“I am greatly anticipating it.” Mr. Darcy smiled at her. “It is Fitzwilliam.”

It was a remarkably serious name that suited her intended very well. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” She held out her hand, and he lifted it to his lips.

Papa groaned. Between his own sentimental lapse and her romantic moments with Fitzwilliam, he must be ready to be done with it all.

She was right, for not a moment later, Papa reclined in his chair, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “You must promise me something very important, my dear,” he said.

“What is that?”

He wagged a finger at her. “Do not tell your mother. Not a word.”

Elizabeth stared at him for a moment before smiling. “I daresay I could ask for anything I wished, now.”

Papa’s brows shot up in alarm. “You would not.”

She smiled widely. “I shall be married and gone from this house very soon, Papa. It will not bother me in the slightest.”

“Darcy,” her father complained, “will you allow her to treat me this way?”

When Elizabeth turned to look at Fitzwilliam, he stepped back with his hands lifted up before him, palms facing out. “These negotiations do not involve me,” he said quickly.

“Wise man,” she told him and turned her attention back to her father.

“What do you want?” Papa asked, resigned.

Quickly, Elizabeth said, “I want you to teach me how to beat my future husband at chess.”

Her intended protested, but it fell on deaf ears.

Her father barked out a laugh. “Most women would have asked for wedding clothes or other fripperies.”

“Mamma will take care of those,” she replied.

Papa eyed her carefully and finally nodded once. “Done,” he told her.

“What?” Fitzwilliam exclaimed.

“And you will say nothing?” Papa asked. “I have your word?”

“You do,” Elizabeth said, still smiling. “I shall not breathe a word to Mamma or anyone other than Jane.”

“Good,” her father said with a nod. “Then all is well, at least for the time being.”

“All is well for you,” the man beside her sputtered. “I am the one who must submit to being regularly bested at chess.”

Elizabeth arched one brow, and her father’s laugh grew.

“Darcy,” he said, “chess is the least of your worries.”

Fitzwilliam sighed. “I am well aware, Bennet. I am only too aware.”

Elizabeth shook her head, amusement warring with affection as she regarded her father and her intended. They seemed to be settling into an easy camaraderie. It was astonishing, truly, to think that but a few months past, Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam—had been a man whose pride had vexed her beyond endurance, and now he was to be part of her family.

Her family.

What an odd tangle they all were. Her father was not, in fact, a Bennet by birth any more than she and Jane were, and yet he was undeniably her father in every way that mattered. And Fitzwilliam—she glanced at him, studying his handsome profile—he was a Darcy, but tied to the Bennets by blood, and soon by marriage.

Fitzwilliam had chosen this. He had discovered that there might be a truth to be uncovered, and rather than ignoring it to protect himself and all he had, he had placed honour before inheritance, integrity before gain. He had even sought to preserve her right to choose another suitor were it her choice not to wed a man who was no longer entirely independent.

It was no small thing, and yet he carried it with the quiet assurance of a man who had never considered doing otherwise.

“I think,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice breaking the quiet, “that I have spent too long believing family is something one is born to, rather than something one builds.”

Elizabeth turned her gaze fully to him, her heart giving an odd, inexplicable twist at the similar path of their thoughts. “And now?”

His eyes met hers, steady and certain. “Now, I believe I have been mistaken.”

A slow smile touched her lips. “I shall have to mark the occasion, for I suspect it is not often you admit to error.”

Her father chuckled.

Fitzwilliam only shook his head, but he glanced at her askance. “I shall concede no more than necessary.”

“You do like to do things in the most difficult way, Darcy,” Papa said drily.

Elizabeth laughed aloud. “That is true, Papa.”

“I beg your pardon?” Fitzwilliam asked, half laughing and pretending to an affront he clearly did not feel.

“Only you, my love, would take the most complicated path possible to building a family.” She smiled up at him. “Declaring me barely tolerable, eavesdropping on my conversations, staring at me with hostility—”

“Elizabeth,” he protested, glancing quickly at her father before addressing her again. “It was not hostility .”

“I know that now , Fitzwilliam, but you were not at all clear about it then.” She resumed her list. “Then you all abandoned Netherfield, with nary but a poisonous letter from Miss Bingley to Jane—”

“What?” he asked, surprised. “I thought she simply wrote to say that they were closing the house and leaving for London.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, nodding her head. “I shall tell you that story later. But then”—her expression softened— “you returned just as unexpectedly after Christmas, bringing Mr. Bingley back to Jane. I had no idea you were attempting to discover whether you had found your father’s missing twin, but as you were investigating that possibility in absolute secrecy, you cannot fault me for my ignorance,” she continued airily, ticking off his transgressions on her fingers. “Then racing to Warwickshire before the wedding, then courting me, then—”

He cleared his throat. “I begin to see your point.”

Elizabeth leaned close to murmur in his ear. “From now on, perhaps we might choose a more direct route? This one was rather circuitous.”

“I thought you liked to walk in circles,” he countered with a slight smile.

“Ah, but I always know where I am heading,” Elizabeth replied easily. “You, my love, took a route through pride, prejudice, and half the length of the realm before arriving at the perfectly obvious destination.”

He smiled broadly at her nonsense. “And what destination was that, may I ask?”

“Turn away, please, Papa.”

Her father narrowed his eyes.

“Papa,” she said firmly, “either you turn away or you shall have to watch.”

“Only one minute, Elizabeth,” he growled. Papa pointed at Fitzwilliam, his frown ponderous. “Behave.” He made a show of turning towards the bookshelves behind him. “I am counting.”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened, then burned with an intense fire when she placed one hand on his cheek and leaned in to touch her lips to his.

“Your destination is here, my love,” she whispered. “Where my heart was waiting all along.”