Chapter 4 #2
Mr. Darcy squared his shoulders, his habit when gathering his thoughts.
“Elizabeth and I had seven married months together. There was, of course, no child. Now, she has been lost for five. I devote my life to her recovery, but I am all too aware of the unpredictable hand of fate. So, I wish to secure Georgiana’s future and the future of our family. ”
“What has that to do with me?”
A smile cracked his stern aspect. “You are part of our family. Georgiana is adamant about that, and I approve of her choice. However, English law does not recognize your commitment. I cannot correct that moral failure, but I can remedy a practical risk.” He stretched out a long arm to a thick sheaf of papers on his desk.
The top page was elaborately titled and embossed.
“These are trusts and wills. Unfortunately, they are complex. For this, English law is an impediment, not a friend. These grant you and Georgiana equal standing.”
“You wish to share her fortune with me?” I said, not actually believing it. Georgiana had thirty thousand pounds set aside for her marriage. Massive wealth. Not something I desired or deserved.
Mr. Darcy flicked his fingers dismissively.
“That, too. The important change is that you and Georgiana are joint heiresses to Pemberley.” When I stared blankly, he continued, “The implications may differ from what you expect. When I inherited, I enfranchised Pemberley’s worked lands.
The Britons administer their hills. The towns and farmland are cooperatives, for which we provide administration—mediation, mostly—but receive no income.
However, that leaves the manor and grounds, which are substantial, and the investments and holdings in Great Britain and abroad.
Those comfortably exceed the old estate income.
The shipping company alone—” He paused, recognizing my stunned state.
“I am merely preparing a contingency. If both I and Elizabeth…” That sentence jammed.
He swallowed and started again. “In the event that I die or am lost before Elizabeth returns, this protects you, and Georgiana, and Pemberley. I would not ask it otherwise. I know Pemberley is a large undertaking—”
“Large?” I choked out. “It is one of England’s great estates!”
From the sidelines, Lord Wellington chuckled. “Miss Bennet, your expression is remarkable.”
“I have no idea what I am expressing. I just do not wish to… possess land.” I had marched more than once protesting the tyranny of England’s landholders. “Property should be held for the common good.”
“Pemberley’s land is, now,” Mr. Darcy pointed out.
“But your ancestral home, Longbourn, is entailed. It belongs to Charles and will be inherited by his and Jane’s son, or if they do not have one, some cousin you do not even know.
Pemberley has no such entailment, and if Georgiana could marry legally, I would protect her with a marriage settlement.
But a single woman holding Pemberley will face claims from a host of obscure relations, all argued by corrupt lawyers citing archaic laws.
I have discussed this with Georgiana, and we agree: If I am gone, Pemberly should be secured for her and for the person she loves.
But Georgiana has no interest in managing an estate—”
“Neither do I!” I interrupted.
“You managed Longbourn after Elizabeth married. But what matters is that you fight for your rights.” He gave a curt laugh.
“My own aunt covets Pemberley, and she knows too well the fragility of a woman’s property.
She would cajole and bully until Georgiana was sleeping under her pianoforte in a rented salon.
If not her, it will be some remote, grasping cousin.
But neither would intimidate you. In that, you are like Elizabeth. ”
He stopped, for which I was grateful. My mind was at sea, frustrated by the familiar evils of inheritance and inequity and patriarchy, but also, strangely, my heart was warmed. Welcomed.
That sensation turned to alarm when Mr. Darcy took my hand. “Mary, amid darkness, it strengthens me to know my sister is protected. To know that Pemberley is defended. I trust you.”
That was too much. I freed my hand. Surely holding hands was not normal business practice. And he called me Mary! Was I supposed to call him Fitzwilliam?
In that silence, he said, “You love Georgiana.”
The warmth returned to my heart. “I do.”
“Then protect her for me. This is no more than the rights you would have if the law were just.”
I could think of no counterargument. I nodded.
Mr. Darcy inked a pen and signed the document. He passed it to Lord Wellington, who signed as well.
Now I had thought of fifty arguments. “This is beyond me. I will not sign these.”
Thoughtfully, Mr. Darcy leaned back in his chair. “If you wish, I will tear up the documents. But Pemberley is not beyond you. You would wield her resources to great effect—for you, and for Georgiana. For whatever cause you feel is just.”
That was the seduction of property and power: accept it to protect those you love.
Tearing down the aristocracy would be awkward if I were one of them.
But I had stared poverty in the face when we were about to lose Longbourn, and, for better or from cowardice, I was a pragmatic moralist. Better to live and do good than perish on principle.
“I would protect Georgiana,” I said. “You and I would not agree on much else.”
“You might be surprised.” He stacked the papers.
“Should I not sign?”
He smiled wryly. “A woman’s signature would be ruled invalid by a court. You see what I mean about English law?”