Chapter 15 Suspicions and Arrivals
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SUSPICIONS AND ARRIVALS
Darcy rubbed the knot between his eyebrows and pushed away from the neat stack of correspondence he had just completed.
His study was the sanctuary of a well-ordered life—an order that was disrupted by one Elizabeth Bennet, a wild-spirited woman, completely beneath his station, who fate had conspired to set in his path.
From the Meryton Assembly to the post-chaise with the broken wheel, to this morning’s chance encounter on the road, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why she should plague him with such restlessness.
Of course, his father’s warning, “Never trust a Bennet,” rang in his ear, puzzling like a harbinger of doom.
But it was more than mere words. Her perceptive eyes, the mud-spattered boots, and the curve of her lips with that hint of impertinence…
Not to mention the memory of her body when he’d lifted her onto Maximus’s saddle.
The sharp rap of knuckles against oak interrupted his brooding. “Come.”
His butler, Furgate, appeared in the doorway, his usually impassive expression showing a hint of curiosity. “Mr. Blythewood to see you, sir. He says it’s urgent.”
Darcy’s brows rose. His family solicitor was not given to unnecessary drama, and urgent visits outside of scheduled appointments were rare indeed. “Send him in.”
Blythewood’s whiskered face bore the expression Darcy recognized from their more difficult legal discussions—the look of a professional obligated to deliver unwelcome news.
“Blythewood.” Darcy gestured to the chair across from his desk. “You seem troubled.”
“That remains to be determined.” The older man settled and adjusted his spectacles before meeting Darcy’s gaze. “I felt compelled to call upon you immediately following a rather… peculiar meeting with Mrs. Wickham and Miss Bennet.”
“Oh?” Darcy leaned forward. “I believe they were inquiring about family history. A rather strange topic for a young lady to pursue. I appeared to have interrupted their inquiry when I stepped in to greet you.”
“Indeed, and I had no issue with providing a few details that were generally known.” Blythewood removed his spectacles, cleaning them with methodical care. “However, Miss Bennet’s inquiries proved far more specific than one might expect from a distant relation seeking general family history.”
Darcy felt his jaw tighten. “Specify.”
“She was particularly interested in legal arrangements surrounding your uncle John’s marriage to Rose Bennet. She asked detailed questions about inheritance provisions, specifically any unusual stipulations in your grandfather’s settlement.”
A muscle in Darcy’s jaw tightened. “What sort of stipulations?”
“The fee tail female.” Blythewood’s voice lowered, though they were quite alone in the study. “She inquired whether George Darcy had made special arrangements for his granddaughter’s inheritance.”
The chill that had been gathering in Darcy’s chest spread throughout his body. He rose from his chair, finding it suddenly impossible to remain seated.
“That information is not commonly known outside the family,” he said, moving to stand before the portrait of his father that hung above the fireplace. The stern, handsome face—so like his own—gazed back impassively. “Did you reveal anything to her?”
“Certainly not.” Blythewood sounded mildly affronted.
“I revealed nothing beyond what any reasonable person might know from public record. The child died in the fire twenty years ago, making such inquiries purely academic.” Blythewood’s voice hardened slightly.
“However, I found it curious that Miss Bennet seemed remarkably well-informed about the specific nature of your grandparents’ settlement.
Fee tail female is an unusual arrangement, Mr. Darcy.
Not the sort of detail one stumbles across in casual research. ”
“Indeed.” Darcy’s fingers drummed against his desktop, a habit he had never managed to break when his thoughts turned dark. “What else did she wish to know?”
“She pressed for access to the actual settlement documents. When I explained that such papers could only be examined by direct heirs or their legal representatives, she seemed… disappointed would be too mild a word. Frustrated, perhaps.”
“And Mrs. Wickham’s role in this interview?”
Blythewood’s expression grew more severe. “She appeared to be facilitating Miss Bennet’s inquiries with remarkable enthusiasm. Indeed, she seemed to know precisely which questions to encourage. I found her behavior highly irregular for a woman who should have little knowledge of legal intricacies.”
Darcy rose from his chair and moved to the window, gazing out toward the distant woods that concealed Rose Cottage.
“There is another matter,” Blythewood continued quietly. “Miss Bennet’s apparent age and the timing of her inquiries.”
“Meaning?”
“If your cousin Elizabeth Rose had survived, she would be approaching her twenty-first birthday. According to the settlement terms, that would be when she could legally claim the estate.”
Darcy turned back to face his solicitor, comprehension dawning like a cold sunrise. “When would that birthday fall?”
“November first,” Blythewood replied. “Less than a fortnight hence.”
“And under the terms of the fee tail female,” he said slowly, “what would that entail?”
“Full legal possession of Pemberley and associated properties.” Blythewood’s tone was grave.
“Your grandfather was quite specific. The entail favors the eldest child of John Darcy, regardless of gender. Upon reaching majority, Elizabeth Rose Darcy would become the legal owner of the estate, with you retaining only such properties as were directly bequeathed by your father.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken implications.
Darcy felt his father’s dying words echo through his memory with sudden, chilling clarity: Never trust a Bennet.
At his father’s death, bewildered by grief, he hadn’t even been sure which Bennets his father was referring to.
Now, with Martha Wickham’s machinations and Elizabeth Bennet’s suspicious inquiries laid before him, the warning took on prophetic weight.
“You believe Miss Bennet may be attempting some form of… imposture?” The words tasted bitter in his mouth.
“I believe,” Blythewood said carefully, “that you are being targeted by individuals who possess knowledge they should not have, at a time when such knowledge could prove most advantageous to their purposes. Whether Miss Bennet is a willing participant or an unwitting tool remains unclear.”
“What remains unclear to me is if Miss Bennet is truly my aunt Rose’s niece,” Darcy said grimly.
“That remains to be seen,” Blythewood added. “Did you say Miss Bennet is from Hertfordshire? If so, then her father, Thomas Bennet, is Rose Bennet Darcy’s brother. She may very well have obtained this detailed information from him.”
“She is named Elizabeth Rose Bennet.”
“Then that’s your connection,” Blythewood added. “Mr. Thomas Bennet may have become acquainted with the Wickhams during his visits to Rose Cottage.”
Darcy’s teeth clenched. “My father never trusted Martha Wickham, although he made me promise to provide for Ralph’s widow.”
“My advice is to remove Mrs. Wickham from Rose Cottage immediately. She was the eyes and ears, sliding around the servants’ entrances. I wouldn’t be surprised if she listened behind walls.”
“She and her son George are incredibly self-serving.” Darcy absorbed this counsel with the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth.
He had prided himself on fair treatment of his tenants, particularly those who had served his family faithfully.
To discover that such kindness had been twisted into an opportunity for deception cut more deeply than he cared to acknowledge.
“I suspect Mrs. Wickham has been cultivating this situation for some time, possibly waiting for the right moment—or the right young woman—to implement whatever scheme she has devised. As for Miss Bennet, what do you suggest?”
“I would encourage her to return home to her parents,” Mr. Blythewood replied. “A young gentlewoman not yet one-and-twenty is still under the authority of her father.”
“Yes, and if I evict Mrs. Wickham, Miss Bennet will have no place to live.” Darcy hated what he was about to do.
From his observations, Elizabeth appeared to have run away with nothing but a valise.
Knowing Mrs. Younge, she was probably left close to penniless.
“I shall, of course, provide the travel funds and hire a companion to take her back to Longbourn.”
His stomach twisted at the thought of sending her into an unwanted marriage, but she was a Bennet, and she was not his concern.
“In any case, we have nothing to fear,” Mr. Blythewood assured him. “Your cousin was killed in the fire, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet would find it impossible for anyone to provide a witness to her heritage.”
“Mrs. Wickham can provide a false witness,” Darcy said, unwilling to entertain the remote possibility that Elizabeth could be his long-lost cousin.
“She has no credibility. I shall have no problem countering her testimony,” Mr. Blythewood said, getting up from the chair. “Is there anything else?”
The study door swung open with a bang, and Charles Bingley swept in.
“Darcy! Capital to find you at home.” Bingley’s gaze shifted to Blythewood. “I hope I do not intrude upon important business.”
“Mr. Bingley.” Blythewood rose with professional courtesy. “I was just concluding my discussion with Mr. Darcy.”
“Excellent! Then Darcy will be free to join our little party.” Bingley’s face was flushed with an unusual air of excitement. “Shall we repair to the drawing room?”
As Blythewood departed, Darcy spied Caroline in the hallway, along with her sister, Louisa Hurst, and Mr. Hurst.
“Very well,” he said, not in the mood to entertain but curious about their presence. “This is unexpected.”