Page 88 of The Same Noble Line
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.”
