Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
The dining room at Darcy House was abuzz with conversation as the family gathered for breakfast. The Fitzwilliams had arrived early, along with Georgiana and her husband. Elizabeth, seated beside Darcy, was still adjusting to the idea that this was now her family.
Darcy, in contrast, was in rare spirits. He was relaxed, almost giddy, which only encouraged his relations to tease him mercilessly.
“It truly is a momentous day,” Brigadier Fitzwilliam drawled as he reached for a slice of toast. “Darcy, in good humour before noon? Astonishing.”
“Miraculous, even,” added Viscount Grenville with a grin. “Should we alert the papers?”
Georgiana, eyes bright with mischief, smothered a smile. “Perhaps it is because he has finally exorcised his ghost.”
Elizabeth glanced up. “His ghost?”
“Oh yes,” Georgiana said, delighted. “For years now, my brother has been catching glimpses of a certain lady in unexpected places, only for her to vanish before he could confirm she was real. Naturally, we assumed he was being haunted.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “How dreadful. And where, pray, did these apparitions occur?”
“Oh, all over,” Brigadier Fitzwilliam said, waving a hand. “Once in Hyde Park, another time at the theatre. He even thought he saw you in Lambton.”
Elizabeth arched her brow. “How curious.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “I was not hallucinating, just mistaken…”
Viscount Grenville leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. “I must say, Darcy, it was quite tragic watching you turn into a brooding recluse each time your ‘ghost’ appeared.”
“I did no such thing,” Darcy grumbled, taking a determined sip of his coffee.
“Oh, you absolutely did,” Brigadier Fitzwilliam said, smirking. “It was a great source of entertainment, really. You would go rigid and lose all ability to speak for a quarter hour.”
Elizabeth turned to Darcy, eyes alight with amusement. “Did you truly?”
His gaze met hers, and though his face was composed, his expression almost sheepish. “Perhaps.”
Darcy shot Fitzwilliam a warning look, but Georgiana brightened. “Oh, yes! He was always disappearing on long rides, always pensive, always staring into the distance as if searching for something.”
Rita Fitzwilliam laughed. “It was quite the talk, you know. Some thought you had suffered a terrible heartbreak, others thought you had no heart at all. I personally believed you fancied men, rather than women.”
Darcy choked on his coffee. “Rita!”
“What?” she said innocently. “You never gave any indication otherwise. No woman could tempt you.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Oh, I heard that theory before! But that aloofness is how he flirts! He tried to win me over by pronouncing me ‘not handsome enough to tempt him’ and then proceeded to give me the ‘Darcy glare’ at every opportunity.”
Richard let out a bark of laughter. “The Darcy glare? I know it well. The look that can freeze a ballroom into silence. I never thought to try it on a lady. Perhaps I have been doing it all wrong.”
Georgiana, amused, shook her head. “He only glares when he is deep in thought.”
Richard grinned. “And what were you thinking so deeply about while glaring at Elizabeth, Darcy?”
Darcy set down his fork with an exaggerated calm. “That is not a conversation to have during breakfast.”
Laughter rippled through the group as he took a deliberate sip of his coffee, pointedly ignoring the continued snickers. Elizabeth, though amused, took note of the exchange, intending to ask him later just what thoughts had occupied him so completely when he looked at her all those years ago.
* * *
The solicitor’s chambers felt smaller than Elizabeth remembered, despite having visited several times during her business transactions over the years.
Perhaps it was the presence of Mr Darcy beside her, his tall frame dominating the modest office, or perhaps it was the gravity of what they were about to discuss.
The legal framework that would define their marriage.
Mr Winters, a man of advancing years but sharp intellect, shuffled papers before him, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose. Across from them sat Mr White, Darcy’s solicitor, a younger man with meticulous side-whiskers and an expression of perpetual concentration.
”I believe we have covered the standard provisions,” Mr Winters said, glancing up from his notes. “Now we come to the matter of Mrs Morley’s personal property and business interests.”
Elizabeth felt Darcy shift slightly beside her. They had discussed this in private, but she knew the formalisation of their agreement would make it real in ways their quiet conversations had not.
”As I understand it,” Mr White interjected, “the lady brings approximately ten thousand pounds to the marriage. A respectable sum.”
”Indeed,” Mr Winters confirmed, a hint of pride in his voice. Elizabeth had been his client for years, and he had watched her transform a modest inheritance into substantial wealth through her own ingenuity. “Five thousand in investments and the remainder from the sale of her business interests.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “I wish for that sum to remain entirely under my wife’s control,” he said, his deep voice reverberating in the small room. “To be established as her separate property, not subject to my ownership or direction.”
Mr White’s pen paused over his paper. “Sir, while such arrangements are not unheard of, they are… unusual. The law naturally…”
”I am aware of what the law dictates,” Darcy interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “I am also aware that with proper legal instruments, exceptions can be made. Mrs Darcy will retain full ownership and control of her property.”
Elizabeth glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her features despite their previous discussions. To hear him state it so firmly, in front of witnesses, with no hesitation, it stirred warmth in her chest.
”Very well,” Mr White said, making a note. “And regarding the business interests? I understand Mrs Morley’s apothecary has several ongoing contracts and formulations that will continue to generate income.”
”Those will also remain her separate property,” Darcy confirmed. “Including all profits derived from them.”
Elizabeth leaned forward slightly. “I would like to establish a trust,” she said, her voice steady.
“For any income generated from my formulations and perfumes. A portion for personal use, with the remainder invested for…” She hesitated, her hand unconsciously moving to rest on the slight swell of her stomach. “For our child.”
Darcy’s gaze softened as it followed the movement of her hand. “An excellent suggestion.”
Mr Winters nodded approvingly. “We can arrange that without difficulty. And the trustees?”
”Mr Gardiner and myself,” Elizabeth said firmly. “With Mr Darcy as a third trustee, should any tie-breaking vote be required.”
If the solicitors found this arrangement unconventional, they gave no sign beyond the raising of Mr White’s eyebrows.
”Now,” Mr Winters continued, “regarding the Cheapside property?”
”I intend to sell it,” Elizabeth confirmed. “But I would like provisions made for the establishment of a new laboratory and workroom at Pemberley.” She glanced at Darcy, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “If that is acceptable.”
”More than acceptable,” Darcy replied, his lips curving into a smile. “In fact, I have already begun renovations on the old stillroom. I believe you shall find it suitable for your work, though of course you are welcome to make any modifications you deem necessary.”
Elizabeth blinked, momentarily taken aback. “You have already started renovations?”
”I said I would show you, not merely tell you,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
She felt her cheeks warm at the reminder of their midnight conversation, when he had slipped into her room and held her close, making plans against her hair.
Mr Winters cleared his throat. “Regarding your French connections, Mrs Morley? I understand you had arrangements with several suppliers and distributors.”
”Yes,” Elizabeth composed herself, returning to the business at hand. “I would like to maintain those relationships. My uncle’s company will continue to handle the importation of materials and the export of finished products.”
Darcy nodded. “I have already discussed this with Mr Gardiner. His company will act as intermediary for all of Mrs Darcy’s business transactions, which should shield her from any… discomfort… that might arise from her marriage to me.”
Elizabeth shot him a look of surprise. “You have spoken with my uncle about this?”
”I have.” His expression was one of quiet determination. “I meant what I said, Elizabeth. Your work will continue, regardless of our marriage. I have no wish to see your talents diminished or your achievements overshadowed by becoming Mrs Darcy.”
The simple statement, delivered without fanfare, moved her more deeply than any grand declaration might have done. This was Darcy at his most sincere, not making empty promises, but taking concrete steps to ensure her autonomy.
”Thank you,” she said softly.
Mr White shuffled his papers, seemingly uncomfortable with the personal turn of the conversation. “There is also the matter of jointure and widow’s portion,” he said briskly. “Mr Darcy has instructed that these be quite generous.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly. “That hardly seems necessary, given…”
”It is necessary.” Darcy interrupted gently. “Not because I anticipate leaving you a widow, but because I wish to ensure that should anything happen to me, you and our children will want for nothing.”
”Our children,” she repeated, the plural form still strange on her tongue when she had spent so many years believing she would never bear even one.
”I have made provisions for our firstborn,” Darcy continued, his gaze holding hers, “and for any subsequent children we might be blessed with. Each will have their own trust established, with you as primary trustee.”