Chapter Fourteen #3
Georgiana laughed, but Darcy looked at Elizabeth with some seriousness. Then he said, “You really do depend upon me to protect your interests in this matter.”
That warmth she often felt towards him came again. She smiled with some happiness. “I am in your care, Mr. Darcy.”
When the lawyer, Mr. Martin, came Elizabeth watched closely to see if he showed any sign of startlement at being made to write up the marriage articles between a couple where one part had shot the husband of the other part less than a month prior.
She could detect no surprise, nor any other emotion, in the dry professional demeanor of the solicitor.
Darcy produced a set of documents that had been sent by express from his man of business in London and which described in detail all the extensive holdings of the Darcy family.
Elizabeth had known that Darcy had been wealthy—an estate with a clear ten thousand a year was what Wickham always said about the family—but it fast became evident that his holdings outside of the estate were also significant.
“How do you have so much?” Elizabeth asked, in a tone that she hoped did not sound too impressed.
Darcy shrugged. “I do not like to spend all that I can. Papa left a great deal in the funds, and I have reserved some three or four thousand each year from what I spend—I was not giving any splendid entertainments at the London house. Perhaps I should have given more to charity.”
Shortly after that, Darcy listed the funds which were to be used to secure the fortune that would be settled with an equal division upon Elizabeth’s children, except for the oldest son, and failing any sons, the oldest daughter with Mr. Darcy.
As he wrote out into his notebook what Darcy said, the lawyer asked, “May I assume that this settlement shall supersede the one which you made with some of the same funds to be settled upon Mrs. Wickham and her children in the case of your death?”
“Yes, of course,” Darcy replied. “I imagine you must add another codicil to the will to change that again?”
“Yes. I shall write it out for you—but I advise you to wholly rewrite your will, now that you are to be married.”
“Just what did you have settled on us?” Elizabeth asked. “You did not tell me anything about that.”
Darcy looked a little uncomfortable. “This and that.”
“Was it substantial?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Martin.
The lawyer hemmed, and then he said, “I must plead the sanctity of communications with my clients. It was in fact a mistake, and one which I apologize for sincerely, Mr. Darcy, to have assumed that Mrs. Wickham was aware of that bequest.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Ridiculous assumption, to imagine that a man would tell his fiancée that he intended for her to have money!”
“You…well…I did not plan to die. You were insisting that I would not. And Colonel Fitzwilliam as well. And the doctor.” Darcy’s finger played around on the sofa cushion.
“And you thought it might cause an argument, where I would be obligated to refuse any charity. But you were confident that I would not refuse it if you were already dead.”
“Hardly,” Darcy replied smoothly. “That is why it was so arranged that if you refused the bequests for Emily and George, they would be delivered to them when they came of age, with the interest.”
“This,” Elizabeth laughed warmly, “is why I approve of you so much. You consider contingencies.”
“Would you have refused the money in the case of my death?”
“It depends on if I thought myself to be partly at blame for it or not. Likely I would not have—might we ensure that the children, George especially—no, both, can only access the income? I would not wish for Emily’s money to go irrevocably to her husband, or for George to be able to gamble away whatever he has.
Not that I expect him to be like his father in such a way, but… ”
“That was my intention,” Darcy said. “With at least the larger portion of the funds.”
“Also, am I to sign these documents—will it cause any difficulties that I am only twenty at present?”
Darcy looked at her in some surprise. “Only twenty! But of course. If I reason out the dates and your age when you married him, of course you would be twenty. You seem so much older.”
“Does that matter to you? Does it change anything?” Elizabeth asked.
“I am only surprised.”
“And shame upon you, to ever suspect a lady was older than her true age.” Elizabeth grinned. “Shocking, shocking behavior.”
“I understand. That is the sort of crime for which it is most difficult to gain forgiveness.”
“And only because I have two children already.”
“I confess, that having children does make you seem older than twenty.”
“No, no, no. You should say that you thought me to be their elder sister when you first saw me.”
“But I did not.” Darcy had that dry manner that showed he was amused.
“And you do not like to say anything which is not true.” Elizabeth smiled at him. “And for that I shall forgive you—will there be any difficulties?”
“Mrs. Wickham,” Mr. Martin said, “could contest the provisions of any document she signs at her present age, but as it is not the case of her assigning money to you, but of you assigning money to her, I do not see how that could ever become a matter of importance. There is, of course, no requirement for a settlement to be made before a marriage for the marriage to be valid, and the courts do not believe in enforcing settlements that were never made.”
“Does not Elizabeth need her father’s permission for the marriage? Since she is not yet of age.”
“No,” Mr. Martin replied to Darcy, “the text of the Hardwicke Act is quite clear. It does not apply to either a widow or widower.”
“I am then competent to marry, but not to sign a legal contract?—there is no condition where I might afterwards challenge the marriage itself on the grounds that I was twenty and silly?”
“Do you see yourself as particularly silly?” Darcy asked. “I always tend to see you as unusually serious.”
“Even with how much I like to laugh?”
“Your laughter is a serious matter to you.” Darcy’s eyes were warm.
“Oh, no. Don’t say that I laugh seriously.” Elizabeth laughed. “But I’ll not argue upon this point with you.”
The lawyer made a small harumph as Elizabeth ceased bantering with Mr. Darcy.
“Ahem, silly or not, once a marriage has been solemnized under the laws of England, it cannot be set aside for any reason of that sort. If there was a matter of coercion—such as the case of that Scottish heiress who was kidnapped near a century ago one might bring case, though with only a small chance of success, but age is irrelevant to that.”
“You mean by Rob Roy’s son?” Elizabeth asked. “That tale?”
She thought that Mr. Martin nearly smiled, but perhaps he did not.
Instead, he continued, “Or, ahem, as you surely know, in church law, if a marriage cannot be—ahem, I apologize for speaking of such matters in front you, madam, but you asked a question of legal import; in cases where the marriage failed to be consummated due to an inability upon the part of the husband, and where this can be proven, it may be set aside as not valid.”
“How could the husband’s incapacity possibly be proven?” Elizabeth asked.
“I believe they must sleep together for three years, in the same bed, while the woman remains a virgin.”
“That shall not be an escape for me then,” Elizabeth said laughing.
The lawyer attempted to look uncomfortable, stiff, and professional, but Elizabeth was quite sure that he was as amused by this conversation as her father might have been.
“I do hope,” Darcy said, “that you would never have reason to wish to exit our marriage.”
“A matter of legal curiosity,” Elizabeth said, smiling at him. “But I said I would be satisfied by all matters, and I am.”
“We have not even begun to speak of your pin money.”
“Might we call it my book money? I do not tend to buy so many pins.”
“I have seen how cautious you are with the clothes you have, and how few pieces that you have,” Darcy replied. “I am looking forward to seeing you able to dress however you wish.”
Elizabeth flushed. “I certainly shall not put much stock in that. I have once been forced to sell most of my wardrobe, and the returns from doing so were smaller by far than the outlays in purchasing the wardrobe. In matters of investment, I place my faith in consols and stock in the Company.”
“I plan to settle enough consols and stock in the Company on you, that you can dress as you please for your own sake, rather than as an investment,” Darcy replied.
“It would feel odd to me—I do not promise to spend very much on clothes for at least a year or two. I do not think that my current habits of economy will leave me quickly—oh, but if you mean to say that it is matter of propriety, of looking the part you wish me to, I can happily enough do as you command. But—”
“No, no.” Darcy took her hand, and he smiled at her again. “I merely wish to see you enjoy yourself. But I like the idea of calling it your book money as well—is pin money a legal term?”
“Not at all, only customary,” Mr. Martin replied, again without cracking a smile. “It will present no difficulty if Mrs. Wickham’s private funds are referred to as ‘monies for the purchase of books, and other sundry necessities’ in the marriage articles.”
Elizabeth felt a growing warmth. For the first time since Wickham had abandoned her she was relinquishing control over her own life. She was in a place where, despite not being in control, she felt safe.
And she wished to cry, and it wouldn’t matter that it did not make anything better. She did not need to make everything better. Mr. Darcy would be there with her when she was done crying, and he could help her to make things better.
“So,” Elizabeth asked, smiling so widely that it almost hurt, “Mr. Darcy, how much book money is it customary to assign in such situations as ours?”