CHAPTER 20 – Sisterly Re #2
“Then I shall call on Miss Darcy while you are out. That way, we may become better acquainted without your interference.” It was her turn to tease him.
“I am certain she will enjoy your company.” He offered a smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
“Is everything well? You seem tired.”
“I have not been sleeping well of late,” he replied, almost absently.
The admission did not surprise her, after what both had endured at Rosings. “Nightmares?”
“Nothing of consequence.” He met her gaze, as though considering whether to say more, but ultimately dismissing the thought. “Rest well, Elizabeth.”
And with that, he bid her good night, leaving her with the distinct impression that a concern haunted him—and he was not yet ready to share this issue with her.
***
Darcy arrived at Mr. Godfrey’s office early the next morning, his mind still engaged in the dinner of the night before.
The event had been pleasant—more than pleasant, in fact—but despite the warmth of Elizabeth’s presence and the quiet satisfaction of seeing his sister and betrothed at ease with one another, a thread of disquiet lingered beneath the surface.
He had requested the meeting with Sir Lewis’s solicitor to clarify the estate’s future.
Anne was his cousin, and it was his duty to ensure that Rosings would be managed properly in the wake of Lady Catherine’s death.
He expected a routine exchange—perhaps whatever customary process was required to relinquish responsibility for Anne and the estate to his uncle, the earl.
Yet from the moment he stepped into Mr. Godfrey’s office, he had a disconcerting sensation that this would be no simple matter.
Mr. Godfrey, a measured and meticulous man in his later years, adjusted his spectacles and unfolded several papers before him.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Darcy. With the earl away and no other family in town, I must admit I was relieved when you called me. It is prudent that someone of your connection and discretion take an interest in these matters.”
“Of course,” He inclined his head.
“Sir Lewis composed his will when Miss de Bourgh turned fifteen,” Godfrey began.
“At that time, Lady Catherine was named her legal guardian in the event of his death, with full control over Rosings until her daughter reached the age of five and twenty. As you may know, both your father and the earl were appointed alternate guardians, should Lady Catherine pass before that time. This duty was not transferable to their heirs—therefore, you are not required to assume the role.”
“That was expected.”
“Indeed,” Godfrey said. “However, we discovered a troubling amendment—not recorded through our firm, made shortly before Sir Lewis’s demise. On his deathbed, in fact, after Miss de Bourgh had turned eighteen.”
“An amendment?” Darcy straightened.
The notary flipped to a separate page. “A codicil. Here it is. It states that if Miss de Bourgh is found mentally unfit, or dies unmarried and childless, Rosings shall pass to Lady Catherine.”
Darcy’s brows lifted. “To Lady Catherine? Is that. . . customary?”
“Given the de Bourgh family’s history, perhaps not unexpected. As you may know, mental instability has afflicted several of their ancestors. It is possible Sir Lewis sought to protect the estate in case his daughter followed the same fate.”
The infamous de Bourgh curse. It was logical—perhaps even prudent—for Sir Lewis to plan for such a possibility. But the fact that Lady Catherine stood to benefit. . . that appeared far more deliberate.
“But that is not all,” Godfrey continued. “The codicil does not expressly revoke the guardianship clause, nor does it reaffirm it. Whether by accident or design, the omission leaves room for challenge.”
Darcy leaned forward. “So Miss de Bourgh might contest it if she believes she no longer requires a guardian?”
“I understand she is now three and twenty, and while her health has always been delicate, her sanity is not in question. I see no reason to challenge someone as established as the Earl of Matlock when she is so near to inheriting. She need only wait two more years to live as she chooses.”
Anne was not of a patient nature, and it was perfectly obvious where her preference lay.
She and the colonel were on the verge of marrying, and the earl would not look kindly on his own son wedding his ward without first seeking his permission, even if there was a good chance he would have consented.
It would appear not only presumptuous, but a deliberate slight.
“You said the amendment was prepared by another firm,” he said slowly. “Is that not irregular?”
“Highly. Especially so near Sir Lewis’s death. It suggests haste, or pressure. Had we been summoned, one of our senior attorneys—myself, even—would have gone to Rosings at once.” Godfrey tapped the document. “Instead, this was handled by a notary in Ceredigion.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “And what do you know of this notary?”
“Very little. He had no prior dealings with the de Bourgh family so far as we are aware. It is highly unusual that Sir Lewis would make such a significant change without involving his primary legal counsel.”
“I presume the amendment meets legal requirements. . .”
“It does, though not without flaws. It was certified by two witnesses: the notary himself and a man by the name of Dylan Bowen.” Godfrey pointed at the inscriptions at the bottom of the page.
“His mark appears beneath Sir Lewis’s, along with the notary’s.
It seems to be the signature of an illiterate man. ”
A chill crept through Darcy’s chest. A deathbed amendment, witnessed by a stranger. Guardianships left in limbo. Power shifted, quietly and entirely—to Lady Catherine.
“Is the earl aware of this?”
The notary folded his hands. “Lord Matlock never mentioned it, so I presume he is not.
It was not registered with our office until recently.
In fact, it arrived after Michaelmas last year, mixed in with a bundle of Rosings documents—perhaps by mistake.
It was misplaced for some time and only discovered this February.
“I sent him a copy when Colonel Fitzwilliam visited my office in March on his father’s behalf. I personally handed him a packet of legal papers to be given directly to the earl. This was a few days before his annual journey to the island for Easter.”
Darcy’s pulse quickened.
Fitzwilliam had shown no surprise at Lady Catherine’s death. Instead, his immediate interest, his first question had been: “And what of Sir Lewis’s will—did you find it? Any other documents regarding the inheritance?”
Why would that be?
He rose abruptly. “Thank you, Mr. Godfrey. I shall take no more of your time.”
Darcy left the attorney’s office, his mind a whirlwind. The morning air hit him as he stepped outside, but it did little to clear his mind. He stood at the doorway for a long moment, trying to make sense of all the information.
Should he confront Fitzwilliam? Had Anne already begun to decline when this codicil was written, her present composure nothing but a cleverly woven pretence? Was this truly Sir Lewis’s decision, or had Lady Catherine contrived to force it?
There were too many questions and not one clear answer.
Darcy let out a slow, frustrated breath. Then, as he turned towards the waiting carriage, a gleam of hope caught his eye.
Standing next to the carriage door was Ferguson, the stoic Welshman who had become his shadow since the night the mansion burned. If anyone could tell him more about Rosings’ secrets, it was him.
Darcy’s jaw set.
“Ferguson. Ride in with me.”