Chapter 9 A Devil’s Bargain
CHAPTER NINE
A DEVIL’S BARGAIN
A drizzle dampened the gray day as Elizabeth turned away from Lucas Lodge. Charlotte’s refusal, though gentle, left her with dwindling options and a growing sense of desperation. The valise beneath her cloak grew heavier with each step, and her situation felt impossible.
She could not—would not—return to Longbourn. Not with Mr. Collins waiting and her mother already planning the wedding breakfast. She could never spend her life bound to such a man while the truth of her identity remained buried.
With Lucas Lodge no longer an option, Elizabeth turned toward Meryton. Her Uncle Philips was a solicitor. Perhaps he could advise her on inheritance law and direct her to the proper authorities. It was a desperate hope, but the only one remaining to her.
But she could not risk making her secret known. Her Aunt Philips was one of the worst gossips. If she should hear a whiff, she would take a carriage to Longbourn with the news, possibly even arriving before Mr. Collins himself.
The walk to town provided time to construct a plausible story. By the time she reached the Philips house, Elizabeth had crafted a tale that contained enough truth to be believable while concealing the dangerous reality of her situation.
She hid her valise behind a bench before knocking on the door. Her aunt greeted her with surprise and concern.
“Lizzy! What a dreadful day to be out and about. What brings you to town in such weather?”
“I wished to speak with Uncle on a legal matter,” Elizabeth explained, allowing her aunt to take her damp cloak and heavy pelisse. “Is he at home?”
“In his study. Though I must say, you’ve chosen a peculiar day for legal consultations.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Some questions cannot wait for fair weather.”
Once the pleasantries were exchanged and she was settled in her uncle’s book-lined study, Elizabeth launched into her carefully crafted tale.
“Uncle Philips,” she began. “I find myself in need of legal advice regarding a novel I am attempting to write.”
Mr. Philips leaned back in his chair. “Writing novels, is it? Your father mentioned you had a lively imagination.”
“Gothic romance,” she explained, settling into the chair he indicated. “Such stories are quite popular, and I thought I might attempt something in that style. My plot involves inheritance disputes and family secrets—quite dramatic, you understand.”
“Indeed?” Uncle Philips appeared entertained. “And what legal questions arise from this fictional inheritance?”
Elizabeth had prepared for this moment, crafting questions that would provide the information she needed without revealing her personal interest. “Suppose a legitimate heir was believed dead but had actually survived in hiding. What documentation would be required to prove their claim after many years?”
“An interesting premise,” Uncle Philips mused.
“Such a case would require extensive proof—baptism register, marriage records, and witness testimony from credible sources. The claimant would need to demonstrate not only their identity but also the validity of their parents’ marriage and their own legitimacy. ”
“And if the inheritance included specific provisions—say, a fee tail female that bypassed the male line?”
“Ah, now you venture into complex territory indeed!” Uncle Philips looked delighted by the intricacy of her fictional plot.
“Such arrangements exist but are quite rare. The original settlement would need to be examined by qualified legal minds, and the courts would require irrefutable evidence of the claimant’s identity and parentage. ”
“Why would they need to examine the original settlement?”
“I’m assuming the fee tail female was added later?” Her uncle raised an eyebrow. “It would make a fascinating plot point hindering your heroine’s claim, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose…” Elizabeth’s heart sank as she realized the magnitude of the obstacles she faced.
Her uncle tapped his fingers on his desk. “In your fictional scenario, who currently holds the estate?”
“A cousin,” Elizabeth replied. “The son of the man who may have been responsible for her parents’ deaths.”
“A murder mystery. I see.” Her uncle studied her with sudden intensity. “And this cousin—is he aware of her existence or claim?”
“No,” Elizabeth answered. “He believes she perished with her parents.”
“A most convenient arrangement for him,” Uncle Philips noted. “Your plot has merit, though I must say, inheritance disputes in reality require far more extensive documentation than you suggest. There would be questions of jurisdiction, evidence of fraud, and testimony from multiple witnesses.”
“But it would be possible? For a woman to inherit an entailed estate if the provisions were specifically altered to allow it?”
“Possible but extraordinarily difficult,” her uncle replied.
“The courts favor established interests, particularly male heirs. Your fictional heroine would need powerful allies, considerable resources, and irrefutable proof to challenge such a claim successfully. Owners cannot simply change an entail, although if the original settlement did not specify ‘male,’ the courts may interpret it to include female heirs. The fight could take years.” He paused, studying her face.
“I don’t suppose the current holder would recognize the changed language. ”
“Is there truly no alternate recourse?” Elizabeth asked, despair creeping into her tone.
Her uncle smiled indulgently, as one might at a child playing at adult concerns.
“Perhaps a romantic solution would better suit your Gothic tale. The current holder of the estate could fall desperately in love with your heroine and offer marriage, thus resolving the inheritance dispute through more… traditional means.”
“My heroine does not intend to surrender her independence through marriage,” Elizabeth replied with quiet steel in her voice.
“If I may offer some advice,” Uncle Philips said, his tone softening, “stick to your needlework, Lizzy. Novel writing is hardly suitable for young ladies, particularly those stories involving such… controversial subjects as murder and inheritance disputes. Such imaginings could be misconstrued as unhealthy fantasies if shared in the wrong company.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have. Even when she presented her situation as fiction, her uncle saw only a young woman’s improper fancy, not a serious legal inquiry.
“Thank you for your time,” she said, rising to leave.
“A pleasure. Quite the diversion for a gray day.”
As Elizabeth stepped into the hallway, she fought the burning sensation behind her eyes.
Every avenue closed before her—Charlotte refused her assistance, her uncle dismissed her inquiry, and time was running perilously short.
The only path remaining led back to Longbourn and into Mr. Collins’s waiting arms.
“How delighted to see my dear niece,” Aunt Philips greeted when Elizabeth emerged from the study. “I’ve just had word from Longbourn. Your mother sent a note saying Mr. Collins arrived early and is most distressed to find you absent. She wonders if you might be here.”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. She had hoped for at least a few more hours of freedom before the trap closed entirely. “Did you tell her I was?”
“I was about to send a reply,” Aunt Philips said. “Shall I inform her you’ll be returning shortly?”
“I—” Elizabeth began, but was interrupted by a knock at the front door.
A maid announced, “Lieutenant Wickham to see Mrs. Philips.”
Wickham entered, resplendent in his red coat despite the dismal weather. His handsome features registered surprise at encountering Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed. “How fortuitous to encounter you. I was just thinking I should call at Longbourn to inquire after your family’s health.”
“Lieutenant Wickham.” She curtsied. “I fear you would find our household rather occupied this afternoon. My cousin Mr. Collins is making what he believes to be an important call.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Elizabeth was just returning to Longbourn,” Mrs. Philips announced, practically fluttering with excitement. “I was about to send word that she is here. Mr. Collins awaits her with the most particular intentions. A most advantageous match, securing Longbourn for the family.”
“How… fortunate,” Wickham remarked, studying Elizabeth’s face. “Though if I may be so bold, Miss Elizabeth does not appear entirely enthusiastic about this development.”
“Lizzy has always been strong-willed,” Mrs. Philips sighed. “She would do well to consider her family’s interests in this matter.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Elizabeth said tightly, “I should depart for Longbourn immediately.”
She had no intention of returning home, but with only three pounds and seven shillings to her name—a sum Charlotte had rightly deemed insufficient to reach Pemberley—her options were painfully limited.
“Then I shall have the great pleasure of escorting Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham offered with a slight bow. He glanced toward the darkening sky visible through the window. “A storm threatens, and it wouldn’t do for Miss Bennet to catch a cold before her… happy occasion.”
“How thoughtful you are, Lieutenant,” Mrs. Philips beamed, clearly delighted by his gallantry. “Lizzy, you must allow Lieutenant Wickham to see you safely home. I shall send word to your mother that you are on your way.”
“There is no need to trouble yourself, Aunt,” Elizabeth protested weakly, but Aunt Philips was already instructing the maid to fetch Elizabeth’s cloak and pelisse.
Minutes later, Elizabeth found herself walking beside Lieutenant Wickham through Meryton’s main street, her valise concealed beneath her cloak. Rain spattered the cobblestones, and shopkeepers hurried to bring in their outdoor displays before the approaching downpour.
“You seem troubled, Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham observed. “I hope your cousin’s visit brings you joy rather than distress.”