Chapter 26 #3
“Of course, you would question me.” She pointed a shaky finger at him. “If I didn’t save this locket for Elizabeth Rose Darcy, it would have been conveniently buried in that grave your father prepared for the infant.”
“Then the locket belongs to the daughter of John and Rose Darcy,” Darcy thundered. “And if she exists here, she would certainly not be manipulated into marrying your son when her prospects, should she be a true Darcy, were to be greatly improved.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks at Darcy’s implication.
Her prospects as a Darcy would certainly be improved beyond George Wickham—but was Darcy suggesting himself as a more suitable match?
The thought sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach that she hastily attributed to the tension in the room.
“Vastly improved indeed!” Mrs. Bennet crowed, unable to contain herself.
“Why, as the daughter of a Darcy, Lizzy could aspire to a viscount at the very least—perhaps even a duke. I always said she had the bearing of nobility. Such fine eyes. Such elegant manners. Nothing like my other girls, though Jane is quite pretty too, if not so clever.”
“La!” Lydia exclaimed, bouncing on her windowsill perch. “But Wickham is the handsomest man in the militia. Such fine red regimentals, and he dances divinely. You cannot blame him for wanting to marry Lizzy if she’s to be an heiress. Any man would.”
Georgiana’s face had gone pale at the mention of Wickham, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair with white-knuckled intensity. Elizabeth placed a reassuring hand over the girl’s, receiving a grateful glance in return.
Martha Wickham opened her mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly be a cutting rejoinder, but was interrupted by a sharp crack that made them all jump. Blythewood had brought a small wooden mallet down upon his desk with surprising force.
“Enough!” he commanded, the dignified solicitor momentarily transformed into a stern magistrate. “This is a legal consultation, not a marketplace squabble. One more outburst and I shall clear this room entirely.”
“The locket appears to be a pivotal piece of evidence,” Blythewood continued, carefully closing it and setting it aside.
“As such, I propose to retain it here until ownership can be properly established. Unless there are objections?” His gaze moved deliberately between Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet, and Martha.
Elizabeth considered. The locket represented her strongest physical connection to John and Rose Darcy, yet its immediate emotional significance was perhaps less important than its evidentiary value. “I have no objection, provided it remains secure.”
“Nor I,” Darcy agreed from behind her.
Mrs. Bennet looked ready to protest, but subsided at Elizabeth’s warning glance. Martha’s lips thinned with displeasure, but she too nodded reluctantly.
“Then it is settled.” Blythewood rose, signaling the end of their extraordinary meeting. “I shall begin compiling the necessary documentation for a formal investigation into Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s claim. Smith will contact all parties regarding statements and interviews.”
As they prepared to depart, Mrs. Bennet suddenly brightened with a new thought. “Oh! Mr. Darcy! I nearly forgot to thank you for your hospitality.”
Darcy blinked, clearly nonplussed. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bennet?”
“For hosting us at Pemberley, of course. When Lizzy wrote of the All Hallows’ Eve assembly, I knew we simply must attend to support her in her first public appearance as Elizabeth Rose Darcy.
We’ve brought our trunks and everything—Lydia and I traveled directly to Lambton, you see, knowing you’d escort us to Pemberley afterward. ”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, certain that her mortification had reached heights previously unknown to humankind.
When she opened them, she found Darcy regarding her mother with an expression she could not quite interpret—something between resignation and, astonishingly, the faintest hint of amusement.
“Indeed,” he said gravely. “Miss Elizabeth had not mentioned your planned attendance, but Pemberley has ample room for family guests.”
The emphasis he placed on “family” was subtle but unmistakable, and Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude so intense it momentarily robbed her of speech. Whether he intended to acknowledge her potential relation or merely to be courteous to her mother mattered less than the kindness of the gesture.
Martha Wickham’s lips curled in a derisive smile. “How gracious of you, Mr. Darcy, to welcome the woman claiming your cousin’s identity and her… interesting family. Though a true Darcy would never align herself with such common behavior.”
The insult hung in the air, its target deliberately ambiguous—aimed at either Elizabeth’s claim to Darcy blood or her connection to Mrs. Bennet. Either way, it demanded a response.
Elizabeth rose from her chair, positioning herself between her mother and Martha Wickham.
“Mrs. Bennet raised me with love and care, regardless of my parentage,” she said, her voice low but carrying.
“Her methods may lack refinement, but her heart does not lack generosity. I would rather be judged by my character than my connections—a sentiment I believe the Darcys would share.”
She felt more than saw Darcy’s reaction—a subtle shift in his posture that suggested approval, perhaps even admiration. Martha’s face tightened with frustration at being so neatly outmaneuvered.
“This isn’t over,” Martha warned, moving toward the door. “There are others who know the truth—others who won’t be silenced by legal maneuvers or fine words.”
With that ominous declaration, she departed, leaving a wake of tension behind her.
“Well!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed into the silence. “What an unpleasant woman. To think she dared accuse me of theft, when I have raised Lizzy as my own these twenty years. The very idea.”
Elizabeth shared a sympathetic glance with Darcy, finding understanding in his dark eyes.
Together they managed to extract Mrs. Bennet and Lydia from Blythewood’s office with a minimum of further drama, though not without several more effusive declarations regarding Elizabeth’s rightful place and Mrs. Bennet’s maternal devotion.
Outside, Darcy’s carriage waited, the coachman impassive despite the unusual party now approaching his vehicle. With impeccable courtesy, Darcy handed Mrs. Bennet and Lydia inside first, then Georgiana, before turning to offer Elizabeth his assistance.
As her gloved hand met his, he spoke quietly, for her ears alone. “You handled that with remarkable grace, Miss Bennet.”
The simple praise, delivered without condescension or pity, warmed her more than any elaborate compliment could have done. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “For everything.”
And she meant it.