Chapter Thirty-Five
Lord Matlock drew Ambrose a little apart from the garden with the quiet authority of a man long accustomed to difficult conversations and entirely unused to raising his voice.
"I understood you could not get away for another fortnight," he said.
"The situation at Ashcombe resolved sooner than expected. Besides, I had your permission. Your letter was clear."
"My express withdrawing that permission was sent yesterday morning. It appears you had already left Ashcombe."
For the first time, Ambrose seemed uncertain.
"The estate—"
"Is not yours," Lord Matlock said. "It never was. Before you present the financial argument you have no doubt prepared, allow me to save us both the effort. Under proper management Ashcombe is capable of returning eight thousand a year. That is a very respectable income."
“It is not what I had anticipated.”
“No,” said Lord Matlock. “But it is what belongs to you.”
He regarded his nephew steadily.
“Under ordinary circumstances I might advise you to consult Darcy on the management of your estate. There is no better man for it. At present, however, as his future wife has just refused you before him, I suspect the discussion would not prosper.”
Ambrose looked past his uncle, took in the garden and everyone in it, and left.
“My dear girl,” Lord Matlock said, drawing back only enough to look at her properly.
“I knew there was something familiar in you from the first evening I saw you.
You have my sister's face, but your smile.
.. Your smile is entirely your father's. I told myself I was imagining it. I should never have doubted what was before me.”
Elizabeth looked between them in bewilderment.
“Your sister?”
“Elizabeth Trevelyan was my sister,” Lord Matlock said softly. “Margaret was my niece. And you, my dear child, are my goddaughter.”
“That is why your name appeared upon the certificate.”
Darcy looked at her in surprise.
“You saw it?”
“Kitty found my baptism papers this afternoon,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I still do not understand how any of this has happened.”
“Your grandfather’s will was finally found,” Darcy said gently. “And I now understand why your uncle was so furious with him. Stephen Trevelyan intended to remove you from Mr. Bennet’s guardianship and succeeded in doing so, but he died before he could bring you north himself.”
“Then the Trevelyan estate you spoke of at Brinmouth—”
“Was yours,” Darcy said quietly. “All this time.”
Darcy’s expression hardened briefly.
“Ashcombe stole far more from you than money.”
“Then Mr. Bennet—”
“Has no legal authority over you whatsoever,” Lord Matlock said firmly.
The words seemed to leave her almost unable to breathe.
Darcy stepped nearer immediately and took both her hands into his.
“It is finished now,” he said. “We need not run. You need not fear them any longer.”
“You mean it is truly over?”
“Entirely.”
Lord Matlock’s expression softened considerably.
“And you have my full consent, Elizabeth. Indeed, after everything you have both been through, I should think my nephew has earned it.”
That almost made her laugh despite herself.
Darcy smiled; a real smile, unguarded and rare.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
And it was at precisely that moment that the garden door opened and Mr. Bennet approached.
“Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bennet’s voice carried across the garden with the pleasant firmness of a man who had evidently been observing matters from the window. “I believe I made myself clear regarding your presence at Longbourn.”
“You were,” Darcy replied. He did not release Elizabeth’s hands. “I find I am no longer particularly concerned by your opinion on the matter.”
“You are upon my property, sir, and I will thank you to—”
“Mr. Bennet,” Lord Matlock said calmly, stepping forward, “Mr. Darcy’s presence upon your property is the least material matter presently before us. I am Henry Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, and Miss Bennet’s lawful guardian.”
“I was informed by the late Lord Ashcombe that no alteration had ever taken place regarding Miss Bennet’s guardianship. Since the payments continued to arrive regularly enough afterward, I saw no reason to suppose otherwise.”
“My brother-in-law was not always reliable where his own interests were concerned,” Lord Matlock said evenly. “The will has now been recovered from Chancery.”
He drew out the document.
“Stephen Trevelyan removed Miss Bennet from your guardianship many years ago. Upon his death, her care passed jointly to Lord Ashcombe and myself. Miss Bennet is therefore entirely free to leave Longbourn whenever she chooses.”
Mr. Bennet took the document without speaking.
But before he could begin reading, the remaining members of the Bennet family emerged onto the terrace, Mrs. Bennet's voice already carrying ahead of her—
"Where has that well dressed gentleman gone?
He was speaking of estates only a moment ago.
" She rallied without pausing. "Because we are the ones who raised that girl.
Twenty years we kept her, clothed her, fed her, and not a word of thanks from anyone.
If there is an estate or money to be had, this family ought to see something for the trouble.
And as for you," she said, turning to Lady Matlock with the reckless momentum of a woman who has been building to this for twenty years, "if you are part of that woman's family, no doubt you are here to steal what little remains to us, just as she did.
I could never understand how my husband's brother could choose that plain faced bluestocking woman, and I will not stand here and be told her child has an inheritance while we are left with nothing. Again."
“Mrs. Bennet.” Lady Matlock's voice was not loud. It did not need to be. “Margaret Trevelyan Bennet was my niece. She was the daughter of my sister, who was one of the finest women I have ever known. I will ask you not to speak of her again in that manner in my presence.”
“Mrs. Bennet,” Lord Matlock said evenly, “Stephen Trevelyan provided quarterly funds for Miss Bennet’s maintenance from his own personal accounts for twenty years.”
“Quarterly funds?” Mrs. Bennet turned immediately toward her husband. “What quarterly funds?”
“I never troubled you with estate matters,” Mr. Bennet replied.
“Mama,” said Lydia, “there was always money in Papa’s drawer. The ledger said Elizabeth dower fund. I never understood what it meant, only that there was generally more to be had whenever I wanted ribbons.”
Mr. Bennet looked at Lydia. Something seemed to occur to him all at once.
“Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet, “you had funds in a drawer and never spoke of them?”
“When you exceeded your allowance, Mrs. Bennet, where did you imagine the money originated?”
“I never thought about it.”
“Clearly,” said Mary.
“Is that how you afforded all those rare books?” she added after a moment. “And the port?”
“Which means,” Lord Matlock said, “that none of it was going where it ought.”
“Since it was Trevelyan’s money and not Elizabeth’s,” Mr. Bennet said at last, “I fail to see that it signifies very much.”
“It signifies,” Lord Matlock replied, “that you have been living off funds intended for Miss Bennet’s care for twenty years.”
Mr. Bennet frowned.
“You said Trevelyan died fifteen years ago. How then were the payments continued?”
“That,” said Lord Matlock, “is a matter between the Trevelyan estate and this family. It need not concern you further.”
“Enough,” Elizabeth said, stepping forward.
“I do not belong here. I never did. To you,” she said, looking at Mr. Bennet, “I was a steward. Someone to keep the books, manage the harvest, and spare you the inconvenience of attending to your own affairs. To you,” she said, turning to Mrs. Bennet, “I was a reminder of something you resented. I could not win your approval because it was never truly available to me.”
Her gaze moved briefly toward Jane.
“You valued my usefulness and never once considered whether I was happy.”
Jane stepped forward, her eyes bright with tears.
“That is not true, Lizzy. I loved you always. Do not let this evening make you forget it.”
“I will remember you, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “Just as you are. I pray you get everything you deserve.”
She turned to Darcy.
“I am tired. I am done. I am ready to leave this house forever.”
He took her hand.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is time for you to come home.”
“I need to collect my things.”
“I will come with you,” Lady Matlock said, stepping forward before anyone else could speak.
Darcy and Lord Matlock moved without a word, placing themselves between Elizabeth and the Bennets.
Elizabeth directed Lady Matlock to her room, the smallest in the house. Lord Matlock said nothing, though Elizabeth suspected very little escaped her notice.
Elizabeth found the small bundle she had packed that morning and added the documents Kitty had brought her that afternoon. She looked around the room to see whether there was anything else worth taking now that there was no longer any haste, but there was very little in it she cared to keep.
“Are you all right?” Lady Matlock asked.
“I will be.”
“Is there anything I may do?”
Elizabeth was quiet a moment.
“I feel selfish simply leaving.”
“I think those below have given you far less consideration than you now give them.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly.
“That is not entirely true. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet did raise me, whatever else may be said of them. I think I turned out reasonably well.”
“Remarkably well,” Lady Matlock corrected gently. “Very likely despite them rather than because of them.”
“Perhaps. But some of the girls might have become very different women under different circumstances.” She hesitated. “One certainly. Perhaps two.”
“Tell me.”
Elizabeth briefly explained Kitty’s discovery of the papers and their quiet delivery that afternoon.
“I cannot leave her here without feeling I am doing to her what was once done to me. Yet I do not know how to help her.”
“Madeline helped you where she could,” Lord Matlock said. “Did she not?”
“Yes.”
“Then when we return to London we shall speak of it properly. Your wishes will now be consulted. You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
They went downstairs together.
Through the front window Elizabeth could see the carriage waiting in the drive, Darcy and Lord Matlock standing near the door.
She paused at the bottom of the stair and looked once more at the hall; the familiar wallpaper, the worn runner, the row of pegs where she had hung her bonnet a thousand times returning from the fields.
Then she stepped into the parlour doorway.
The Bennets stood gathered near the door and turned as she entered.
“I wished to take my leave properly,” she said. “I do not know when, or whether, we shall meet again. Goodbye.”
She went out.
Darcy took the bundle from her hands and passed it to the waiting footman before turning back to her.
“Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Then let us go home.”