19. The Toll of Trust #2
“I’ve never known you to be so pale and troubled over estate business unless perhaps it arrives by post and fine stationery.
” She nodded toward his hand, where the crimson wax and scattered fragments of the Apethorpe crest remained visible against his knuckles.
“That is rather grand correspondence for tenant negotiations.”
He should have hidden it better. But Elizabeth noticed everything—it was one of the things he loved about her, and one of the things that made deception so impossible to maintain.
“A family matter,” he amended. “Distant relatives with concerns, and nothing that cannot be managed.”
“Very well.” Elizabeth studied him, crossing her arms. “If the distant relatives become too demanding, you might consider sharing the burden. I am told that wives occasionally prove useful in matters of family management.”
“I shall remember that.” He heard himself speak before the thought had fully formed. “Perhaps we shall dine alone tonight? In my chambers?”
Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, too long for comfort, perhaps suspecting a deflection, before saying a simple, “Yes,” before immediately withdrawing with a small smile that contained more questions than she had voiced.
The door closed behind her, and Darcy closed his eyes briefly against the lies building between himself and the woman he loved.
The afternoon felt interminable as Darcy’s heart raced and his legs paced, wearing out the carpet between stacks of books deep inside the library.
He had dispatched a servant to fetch Blythewood within the hour of receiving the Apethorpe letter, and his solicitor—a man of admirable efficiency and regrettable honesty—arrived by late afternoon with his clerk and a leather case stuffed with documents.
The consultation offered little in the way of comfort.
“The difficulty, Mr. Darcy,” the solicitor began, adjusting his spectacles, “is that the christening register constitutes the legal record. Whatever private understandings may have existed, the register names Mr. George Wickham as the child’s father.
In the eyes of the law, he possesses paternal authority. ”
“And the letter Lady Amelia wrote? Entrusting Thomas to my care?”
“A letter of intent, sir. Morally compelling, perhaps, but not legally binding.” Blythewood had shuffled his papers with evident discomfort.
“A mother may express her wishes, but she cannot override the rights of the legal father. If Mr. Wickham were deceased or if he had formally relinquished his claim through the courts, the matter would be different. But as it stands… a woman’s word does not override the rights of the father. ”
“He signed a document.” Darcy’s voice emerged harder than he intended. “Before he departed for India. A declaration that he had no interest in the child and wished me to assume guardianship.”
“Yes, I have reviewed that document.” Blythewood’s expression suggested he had found it wanting. “It is… informal, sir. A private agreement between gentlemen, witnessed but not sworn. It was never entered into Chancery, never registered with any court or given the weight of formal legal process.”
“Because I did not wish to draw attention to the arrangement.”
“Understandably so.” Blythewood met his eyes then. “But the consequence is that the document carries no more authority than a gentleman’s promise. And a gentleman’s promise, Mr. Darcy, is only as binding as the gentleman’s honor.”
George’s honor. The phrase was nearly laughable.
“What you are telling me,” Darcy said slowly, “is that George may revoke his consent at will. That he may sign another document—this time with the Apethorpes—and transfer whatever claim he possesses to Lady Amelia’s family.”
“Yes, if he so decides.” Blythewood removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses.
“The law would likely uphold such a transfer. The Apethorpes are the child’s blood relatives through his mother, and Mr. Wickham is the father.
If both parties agree that the child should be raised by his maternal grandparents rather than by his father’s half-brother…
” Blythewood spread his hands. “The courts would see a natural family arrangement. They would not inquire too closely into the circumstances that produced it.”
“And if I contested?”
“On what basis, Mr. Darcy? Your affection for the child and friendship with Lady Amelia would not override George Wickham’s determination.
Thomas is George’s son, and you have no standing in this matter.
Even if you made Thomas your heir and he changed his surname to Darcy after inheriting, he would still be George Wickham’s son. You know that.”
Darcy rose, unable to remain seated, and drifted to the window, regarding the rolling vistas that now appeared to belong to another man entirely.
“George will go to the highest bidder,” he said flatly. “He always does.”
“I would not presume to characterize—”
“You need not presume. I have known him since childhood.” Darcy’s hands clenched behind his back.
“He resents me, Blythewood. Our father favored him—openly and conspicuously—but the law gave everything to me. The estate, the income, and the name. George received an education and an allowance, and he has never forgiven me for being legitimate.”
The bitterness in his own voice surprised him.
He had not spoken of George so openly in years—had trained himself to treat his half-brother as a problem to be managed rather than a wound to be examined.
And he had trapped himself by requesting George’s help.
By avoiding a scandal to the Darcy name, he had given over the Darcy heir to his half-brother.
His blood pounded behind his ears. This was intolerable.
Never in his life had he dreamt Lady Amelia would die.
Even though their love affair had ended the day she refused marriage, they had stayed friends, and she had allowed him access as an uncle to Thomas.
Darcy was the one called to his bedside when he had the measles.
Darcy had been there when his first tooth erupted, had taught him to walk, and the boy called him “Da,” short for Darcy.
Blythewood stared at the document George had signed over a glass of brandy. “You might ask your brother to formalize his consent to make you Thomas’s legal guardian. That is what I advise.”
Darcy ran his hand through his hair, pouncing on his feet.
“What if I were to petition the Chancery for formal wardship—demonstrating that I have been the child’s primary guardian, that my brother abandoned his responsibilities, that I am best positioned to provide for the child’s welfare?
I married a gentlewoman, a respectable Elizabeth Bennet, whom the child loves.
I provided the home for him. Surely, the Chancery would agree that Pemberley is a much better home for Amelia’s son than somewhere onboard a ship headed for India. ”
“I would not advise tarring your brother in court,” Blythewood said, his voice dropping.
“Such a petition would invite scrutiny. Questions would be asked, and the court might wish to examine the circumstances of the child’s birth and the nature of your connection to Lady Amelia.
Any diminishment of your brother’s character would harm you in any legal fight with the Apethorpes. ”
Blythewood was correct. Darcy could not afford the answers, especially now when his wife showed all the signs of loving him, perhaps even accepting him despite his reserve, stiffness, and lack of humor.
The solicitor observed the turmoil. “My advice, for what it is worth, is to cultivate your brother’s loyalty. Surely, he would not welcome the Apethorpes in separating you, your sister, and even himself from his flesh and blood.”
“What are my options?” Darcy asked quietly. “Honestly, Blythewood. What can I do?”
“You can pay,” he said finally. “Whatever the Apethorpes are offering George, you can offer more.”
“For how long? Forever?”
“As long as necessary.” Blythewood began gathering his papers.
“You might also consider making Master Thomas your heir—not as your son, which you cannot legally claim, but as your chosen successor. This would give him standing, security, and a future that does not depend on Mr. Wickham’s continued goodwill. ”
“And if I have natural-born sons with Mrs. Darcy?”
The question emerged before Darcy could stop it. Blythewood paused, his hands stilling on his papers.
“That would… complicate matters,” he admitted.
“An heir by blood would typically take precedence. But provisions could be made. Trusts established. Master Thomas could take the Darcy name through formal petition, as others have done—inheriting as a chosen heir rather than a natural son. Your wife, however, might not accept this arrangement.”
And that, too, was the rub. If he made Elizabeth increase with his child, he would be no better than a scoundrel, trapping her and offering protection without choice. Exactly the man Amelia detested.
But how else to keep a woman like Elizabeth? She was essential—there was no other word for it. He could not bear for Little Tom to lose his Lizba so soon after losing his mother.
“I see.” Darcy moved to the door, signaling that the consultation was concluded.
“I wish I had better news to offer, sir.” The solicitor gathered his case. “The law is not designed to accommodate… irregular circumstances. But where the law fails, arrangements between gentlemen may succeed. If you can reach an understanding with Mr. Wickham—”
“I have reached an understanding with George before. They last precisely as long as his attention span.”