Page 7 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

T he following day, Darcy sat across from Fitzwilliam in the seldom used library at Netherfield. It was warm, no doubt on orders from Bingley who knew Darcy preferred it to the sitting room. Involuntarily, Darcy recalled sitting here for half an hour, entirely silent while Miss Elizabeth read near the window. He could see her still, her elegant neck bent slightly over the book as the autumn sun streamed in through the glass.

“We need a plan,” Fitzwilliam remarked, and Darcy’s illusion drifted away like smoke from an extinguished fire. “If we are attempting to definitively discern whether Mr. Bennet has any claim, we will need more than a family resemblance.”

“You noted it too, then?” Darcy inquired.

Fitzwilliam scowled. “I noted it.”

It was strange, for if Fitzwilliam had not seen any similarity, Darcy might have been able to tell himself he was wrong about everything and leave this place behind. But knowing that he was not imagining things—somehow, it helped.

“I have a plan,” Darcy said. He always had a plan. “We shall visit the church and look at the register for christenings. If Mr. Bennet was churched here, we shall have the date and can compare it with my father’s.”

His cousin stood to walk to the table where a full decanter sat. “And if the dates do not align, our purpose is achieved. Where do the Bennets attend?”

Darcy shrugged. “Meryton, I suppose.” He paused. “The only issue I can see is that Mr. Bennet said he was brought to Longbourn as an infant. He offered no specifics about his age when he arrived, so if he was christened elsewhere, the records we seek may not be in Hertfordshire at all.”

Fitzwilliam drummed his fingers on the armrest, eyes narrowed in thought. “That does complicate matters. And the villagers will be rather eager to note your comings and goings.”

Darcy grunted. “You forget that you are the son of an earl. Not too many of those here. Your steps will be as closely watched as mine and Bingley’s.” He took the glass of brandy Fitzwilliam held out.

“Then we shall visit the locals so you can introduce me. We shall familiarize ourselves with the community and ask a few questions without arousing any alarm. We should start with the older denizens of the neighbourhood who might have been here when Mr. Bennet and his father arrived.” He paused. “It is fortunate Georgiana is not yet out and cannot be expected to accompany us. I do not think she would like this little ruse of ours.”

Darcy stood, pacing in front of the hearth. “Nor would Mrs. Annesley, now that she has arrived.”

“What took her so long?”

“She had been given a week to spend Christmas with her daughter. Georgiana was fine here with only us for a day or two.”

“You are too kind, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said, but he did not appear as though he disapproved.

Mrs. Annesley was doing them a great favour by agreeing to serve as Georgiana’s companion. She was the widow of a clergyman and had never worked in service before. He would not deny her the pleasure of spending Christmas with her family.

“It would be wise to become acquainted with anyone who might have known the family in the years before Mr. Bennet took residence at Longbourn.” He paused. “I agree, we should make the visits.”

“Of course you agree,” Fitzwilliam said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It is my plan, after all, and my plans are always sound.”

This caused Darcy to bark out a laugh. “I seem to recall one of your plans when you came to visit while I was yet at Cambridge. It involved a goat and the landlady’s chemise . . .”

“That may not have been a sound plan,” Fitzwilliam agreed good-naturedly, “but it was executed with brilliance.”

Before his cousin could begin crowing about his many youthful escapades, Darcy returned to the subject at hand. “First, we should pay a visit to the clergyman in Meryton. If we need an excuse for further inquiries,” he continued, “we could hint at tracing some remote relations of mine. It would be believable enough without drawing attention to the Bennet family, and it would not be a lie.”

The two men exchanged a resolute glance and sipped at Bingley’s brandy.

Darcy fastened his coat, casting a quick glance toward the door where Fitzwilliam was adjusting his collar and inspecting his reflection in the glass with a practiced eye. Now that breakfast was over, they would begin the first steps of their quiet investigation to gather what information they could about the Bennet family’s origins without stirring suspicion.

A gentle knock sounded, and Georgiana stepped in. “Will you be leaving for Meryton shortly?” she asked, her gaze flicking between her brother and Fitzwilliam.

“Yes,” Darcy replied with a gentle smile. “We should be back in a few hours. Will you be well?”

Georgiana tilted her head, casting a pointed look at him. “Of course. Mrs. Annesley is here, and I shall work on my Italian. But you must promise to tell me what you discover,” she said with quiet insistence. Her eyes held a steady determination that, despite her gentle nature, reminded him of their father. “I may not be able to assist, but I wish to know when you learn anything that may affect our family.”

He nodded, understanding her need to be part of the events unfolding around them. “As soon as there is anything to tell, you shall be informed. For now, we are simply asking questions.”

“Thank you,” she replied, the hint of a smile softening her serious expression. “I shall be waiting.” She quickly curtsied, glancing at Fitzwilliam as she excused herself. “Please be careful,” she added softly before slipping out of the room.

Once Georgiana had gone, Fitzwilliam caught Darcy’s eye and raised an eyebrow. “Our Georgie has a strength about her I had not noted before.”

Darcy allowed himself a small smile. “She grows more like my mother every day.”

The sound of footsteps approached, and in walked Bingley, his demeanour as buoyant as ever. “Ah! Just the gentlemen I hoped to find,” he announced cheerfully. “I am on my way to Longbourn and wondered if you might care to join me.”

Darcy exchanged a quick look with Fitzwilliam. “I fear we have business in Meryton this morning, Bingley,” he replied, maintaining a casual tone. “We shall be back later, but not in time for Longbourn.”

Bingley’s face fell slightly before brightening again. “Ah, I see,” he said, nodding. “I suppose this must be in regard to that dreadful business with Lieutenant Wickham?”

Darcy glanced away, carefully schooling his expression. It had something to do with that, of course, but it was not all. Fitzwilliam’s face remained similarly composed, betraying no reaction. They continued to prepare, pulling on gloves and taking their hats from the butler, all the while allowing the silence to speak for them.

As they had intended, Bingley took their lack of response as confirmation. He shook his head ruefully, casting a sympathetic glance at Darcy. “I commend your dedication to putting things right, Darcy. It cannot be an easy task.”

He was a terrible hypocrite, fooling Bingley like this when he had said in this very house not two months past that he despised anything akin to cunning. “Thank you, Bingley. Wickham’s actions require careful consideration. It is not a matter that can be taken lightly.” All true.

“Quite right, quite right,” Bingley replied earnestly. “Well, I will leave you to it, then. But if your business allows, I do hope to see you at Longbourn when you are through.”

“You mean to visit on your own?” Fitzwilliam asked, surprised. “I thought you said—”

“Of course,” Bingley replied. “I have made my intentions clear, and Jane has accepted that I intend to marry.”

“Anyone or just her?” Fitzwilliam teased.

Bingley did not react. “Her,” he said softly. “And no other. Will you visit after your business is complete? I wish to demonstrate to her that my friends will support us.”

“We shall certainly accompany you on the next call if we cannot do so today,” Fitzwilliam replied smoothly. “Give our best to Miss Bennet.”

“I shall. Good luck in town, gentlemen.” With a final nod, Bingley exited, his light-hearted steps echoing down the hall.

Darcy looked to Fitzwilliam with a sense of relief. “It appears Bingley has given us more time than he realizes.”

“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam replied drily. “And if all goes well, we might just begin to unravel the truth today. Like it or not.”

With their plan in place and no more interruptions, they set out for Meryton.

As they turned onto the main road, Darcy’s mind began to order the steps ahead. First, they needed to verify Mr. Bennet’s christening records—if they existed at all. If the parish register yielded nothing, they would need to consult older residents. And if that failed, there were always land records, family histories, and—

“Darcy,” Fitzwilliam interrupted, sounding deeply put-upon. “You are planning again.”

Darcy frowned. “Of course. How else do you expect to uncover the truth?”

“By talking to people, not drafting a military campaign.”

When they arrived at the modest stone church in town, they were greeted by a man’s cheerful singing. The doors were ajar, revealing a man about Darcy’s age with an unruly mop of blond hair, busily fussing over a stack of hymnals, occasionally leaning back and giving full voice to his song.

Fitzwilliam moved smoothly and silently to the altar, which was positioned behind the man and out of his view. Darcy hoped, rather than expected, Fitzwilliam would find the register there.

He cleared his throat, and the young man looked up, his face breaking into a broad, welcoming smile. “Good day, Mr. Darcy!” he called out, stepping forward and offering a shallow bow. “I am Mr. Hanson.”

Surprised at being recognised, Darcy returned the greeting.

The young man smiled, and nodded eagerly, a few strands of his tousled hair falling in his eyes. He swept the locks back with a practiced hand.

Fitzwilliam shook his head from behind the altar. Darcy sighed inwardly, then glanced around the room before returning his attention to Mr. Hanson. “We had hoped to speak with the vicar. Might he be available?”

“You have found him, sir,” the young vicar continued. “I am Mr. Hanson.”

Fitzwilliam was suddenly by his side, and Darcy introduced him.

“And good day to you too, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Hanson said cheerily. “I know we have not been formally introduced, gentlemen, but the entire town knows who you are.” He glanced between them. “I hope you are both well. Meryton is delighted to welcome you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hanson,” Darcy said, exchanging an amused glance with Fitzwilliam. “We hoped you might help us with a few inquiries. We are interested in the local families, perhaps especially the Bennets?”

“Oh, the Bennets!” Mr. Hanson beamed at the mention of the name. “I do understand why you would seek out information, but you need not worry for your friend. The Bennets are an excellent family, been in residence at Longbourn for five generations. Miss Bennet is as lovely in character as she is in appearance. Miss Elizabeth is a delightful conversationalist, and Miss Mary is very pious. As for the youngest two—well, they do bring a certain vivacity wherever they go.” He chuckled heartily and shook his head affectionately. “In fact, only last week, Miss Lydia nearly convinced my curate to speak a blessing over her sister Miss Mary’s cat because it ‘lacked divine guidance.’ But they are all of them kind girls.”

“Quite,” Darcy replied, a little stunned under the onslaught of information he had not asked for and attempted to redirect the conversation. “And what of their parents?”

Here the parson paused. “Mr. Bennet is a good master, from what I hear, and Mrs. Bennet, while rather enthusiastic in nature, has a good heart. But this you must know from your previous visit, sir.”

“I believe my cousin wished to know of Mr. Bennet’s family,” Fitzwilliam added.

Mr. Hanson eyed them, suddenly wary. “Why do you not simply ask Mr. Bennet?”

“I convinced him not to,” Fitzwilliam replied, the words rolling off his tongue with a certain sort of embarrassed appeal. “I am used to the ton, where people tend to exaggerate the slightest connection to increase their own standing. I believe in proof.”

“Ah, not a man of faith, then?”

Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Trust but verify, as the Russians say. I was hoping to have a look in the registry.”

Mr. Hanson gave them both a serious look. “I do have the parish records in the vestry, but I am afraid the Bennets do not attend church here. They have a small chapel in Longbourn village, and you will have to apply there.”

Fitzwilliam grunted softly beside Darcy, and to own the truth, Darcy was no less frustrated. How had he not been aware that Longbourn had its own chapel? The Netherfield party had also not attended services here during the autumn, but rather at a smaller church that served those closer to the estate.

“This inquiry should be considered a private one, if you would,” Fitzwilliam told Mr. Hanson.

“Why is that, may I ask?”

Fitzwilliam frowned. “We are asking for a rather sensitive reason.”

Mr. Hanson tipped his head slightly to one side. “I am afraid you shall have to trust me, Colonel.” He spread his hands out wide to indicate the church around them. “If you are determining whether you can do so, this is my verification.”

“Darcy here does not wish even Bingley to know, but we are concerned that he does not know the Bennets well enough for . . . a deeper connection.”

That was a complete prevarication. “Fitzwilliam,” Darcy hissed, but his cousin only held up a hand.

“If you are asking whether the Bennets have connections in town,” Mr. Hanson replied seriously, “I cannot help you there. As you may imagine, I do not spend much time with Debrett’s .”

“I realise that you must have come into your position somewhat recently,” Fitzwilliam continued, “but do you know anything about where Mr. Bennet’s family lived before they came to take possession of Longbourn? That might help.”

Mr. Hanson’s gaze travelled from Fitzwilliam to Darcy and back again. There was a look of genuine puzzlement on his face. “I cannot say I have heard Mr. Bennet speak of it directly. He is not a man much given to idle conversation. But his family has certainly been here for as long as anyone can remember.” He seemed to consider the request for a moment before saying, “Perhaps Mrs. Long would know more. Her grandmother lived until a few years ago and knew every tale about every family. She made sure that her granddaughter knew it all.”

Each bit of gossip was as good as a banknote in these little country towns. It was the same in Kympton and Lambton. It was no surprise to Darcy that Old Mrs. Long had passed down her knowledge like an inheritance.

Darcy attempted a polite smile. “You do not happen to know from where his father might have come?”

“Ah!” Mr. Hanson exclaimed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I believe from some distant county, though which one, I could not possibly say. Yorkshire, perhaps? Or perhaps it was Hampshire. It is difficult to recall.”

It was best not to pry further. “Thank you, Mr. Hanson,” Darcy said, trying to sound grateful. “You have been most helpful.”