Page 12 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
Mr. Darcy looked puzzled. Not that. I struck it off my list.
“The perfumer!” Lord Wellington exclaimed. “How did you hear about her?”
I switched my attention to him. “I met her in London.”
“Good God. And you survived?”
“She did not attack me. How do you know about her?”
“At the southern front, she killed half a company with her foul crawlers. Afterward, the men whispered wild stories ofla parfumeuse. I would have discounted them, but they were too like my encounter with Lydia Bennet, may God rest her soul—or keep it at least. I have no desire to meet her again in this life.”
I wondered if I should conceal the bribe I was offered; Lord Wellington had run roughshod over our family’s secrets before. But the social rules of dissembling baffled me—what was a half-truth? what was a lie?—so I recounted my encounter withla Demoiselle des Parfumsword for word.
Mr. Darcy’s jaw knotted when I mentioned Lydia and Wickham’s theft from Pemberley. When I finished, I asked him, “What do you know of the great song?”
“It is mentioned in the stolen volumes, but the descriptions were vague and mystical. I made no effort to unravel them. There may have been others. Some volumes awaited translation. Old High German, Anglo-Saxon…”
“I think the great song relates to the flute, and it affects the world of draca.”
Lord Wellington had an expression of intense interest. “Will you accept the perfumer’s offer?”
That surprised me. “Will I find the flute, an item of unknown but tremendous power, and deliver it to a murderous Frenchwoman in exchange for books?”
“Not for books,” he said. “To save your sister.” His gaze was steady, and I wondered how much he guessed of my thoughts—of my desire to reach out to Lizzy.
“I will not.” He looked unconvinced, so I explained. “Lizzy would be furious with me.Also, I have no idea how to find the flute.”
Mr. Darcy had listened to our exchange with such perfect politeness that I suspected impatience. I still had no idea why he brought me here, so I said to him, “You did not wish to discussla parfumeuse.”
“No,” Mr. Darcy confirmed. “My topic is a family matter. If we are ready to proceed?” Lord Wellington nodded, and Mr. Darcy added, “Arthur is present as a witness.”
I had never heard Lord Wellington addressed by his first name. Uneasy, I said, “A witness to what?”
Mr. Darcy squared his shoulders, his habit when gathering his thoughts. “Elizabeth and I had seven married months together. There was, of course, no child. Now, she has been lost for five. I devote my life to her recovery, but I am all too aware of the unpredictable hand of fate. So, I wish to secure Georgiana’s future and the future of our family.”
“What has that to do with me?”
A smile cracked his stern aspect. “You are part of our family. Georgiana isadamant about that, and I approve of her choice. However, English law does not recognize your commitment. I cannot correct that moral failure, but I can remedy a practical risk.” He stretched out a long arm to a thick sheaf of papers on his desk. The top page was elaborately titled and embossed. “These are trusts and wills. Unfortunately, they are complex. For this, English law is an impediment, not a friend. These grant you and Georgiana equal standing.”
“You wish to share her fortune with me?” I said, not actually believing it. Georgiana had thirty thousand pounds set aside for her marriage. Massive wealth. Not something I desired or deserved.
Mr. Darcy flicked his fingers dismissively. “That, too. The important change is that you and Georgiana are joint heiresses to Pemberley.” When I stared blankly, he continued, “The implications may differ from what you expect. When I inherited, I enfranchised Pemberley’s worked lands. The Britons administer their hills. The towns and farmland are cooperatives, for which we provide administration—mediation, mostly—but receive no income. However, that leaves the manor and grounds, which are substantial, and the investments and holdings in Great Britain and abroad. Those comfortably exceed the old estate income. The shipping company alone—” He paused, recognizing my stunned state. “I am merely preparing a contingency. If both I and Elizabeth…” That sentence jammed. He swallowed and started again. “In the event that I die or am lost before Elizabeth returns, this protects you, and Georgiana, and Pemberley. I would not ask it otherwise. I know Pemberley is a large undertaking—”
“Large?” I choked out. “It is one of England’s great estates!”
From the sidelines, Lord Wellington chuckled. “Miss Bennet, your expression is remarkable.”
“I have no idea what I am expressing. I just do not wish to… possess land.” I had marched more than once protesting the tyranny of England’s landholders. “Property should be held for the common good.”
“Pemberley’s land is, now,” Mr. Darcy pointed out. “But your ancestral home, Longbourn, is entailed. It belongs to Charles and will be inherited by his and Jane’s son, or if they do not have one, some cousin you do not even know. Pemberley has no such entailment, and if Georgiana could marry legally, I would protect her with a marriage settlement. But a single woman holding Pemberley will face claims from a host of obscure relations, all argued by corrupt lawyers citing archaic laws. I have discussed this with Georgiana, and weagree: If I am gone, Pemberly should be secured for her and for the person she loves. But Georgiana has no interest in managing an estate—”
“Neither do I!” I interrupted.
“You managed Longbourn after Elizabeth married. But whatmattersis that you fight for your rights.” He gave a curt laugh. “My own aunt covets Pemberley, and she knows too well the fragility of a woman’s property. She would cajole and bully until Georgiana was sleeping under her pianoforte in a rented salon. If not her, it will be some remote, grasping cousin. But neither would intimidate you. In that, you are like Elizabeth.”
He stopped, for which I was grateful. My mind was at sea, frustrated by the familiar evils of inheritance and inequity and patriarchy, but also, strangely, my heart was warmed. Welcomed.
That sensation turned to alarm when Mr. Darcy took my hand. “Mary, amid darkness, it strengthens me to know my sister is protected. To know that Pemberley is defended. I trust you.”
