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Regardless, when he had seen her again, he had lost his mind, drowned in every sight of her, done anything he could, made every excuse to be near her. The only clear thought that had emerged from his embattled pride was that it was not going to stop. His adoration was never going to simply fade. But rather than take charge of his romance, he had simply surrendered to it, as if he’d had no choice in the matter.

He did. He still had one. He could give up and live in a perpetual state of gloom and of wanting what he could not have. Or, he could fight for her. There was no question about his course. Whether it helped or not, he would write the letter that Bingley had advised.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BEQUEATHED BY THE LATE MR DARCY

Once the greetings, embraces, and business of unloading were handled, and the coach-and-four departed, Mrs Gardiner expressed a desire to feed and otherwise make Elizabeth comfortable after her long day of travelling. Her niece was far too impatient for such niceties.

Jane must have guessed at her worry. “All is well, Lizzy,” she said, and finally, Elizabeth noticed that her sister’s eyes were bright with happiness or excitement.

“Oh, please, Papa, may I learn why I have been brought to town before my time?” Elizabeth begged.

Her father nodded at his brother, and Uncle Gardiner led them all into his library, a spacious, elegant chamber, with a fire burning against the early spring weather.

Mrs Philips was all smiles; the Gardiners seemed as they always did—calm, pleasant, and welcoming. It was only Jane who appeared extraordinarily happy, while Mr Bennet was impassive. Elizabeth looked to him for explanations, but unexpectedly, it was Uncle Gardiner who undertook them.

“Your father was visited at Longbourn yesterday morning by a solicitor, a Mr Barnes from a firm in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He is well-known and well-respected, as I have verified myself. He will need to speak to you in person, but he approached your father first, as was proper.”

“But why?”

“Oh, Lizzy, you are an heiress!” Jane blurted, as if she could no longer hold her tongue.

“What?” Elizabeth’s astonishment could not have been more profound.

Amazingly, Mr Gardiner nodded his agreement. “Yes. Mr Barnes has, apparently, been searching for you since ’06—for nearly six years now. You did a great favour, once upon a time, for a Mr Darcy, of Mayfair, now deceased. He remembered you in his will. Barnes would not say, nor does his will elucidate, what this favour entailed, and since you would have been—what—fifteen at the time he made it out? It seems incredible.”

“Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth’s voice emerged in a squeak.

“Mr George Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner put in. “Father of the Mr Darcy to whom you have been introduced. I knew him, Lizzy. We all did—his estate is near Lambton, where I lived until I was eighteen. It was impossible not to know him, or at least know of him. He was…he was venerated, revered.”

Her aunt’s words gave her pause. She had heard quite the opposite of old Mr Darcy from an officer who had, very briefly, joined the regiment in Meryton. A handsome, charming man, he had immediately drawn the attention of all the young ladies. Shortly after Jane’s illness, she had met him in town and witnessed a sort of confrontation between him and Mr Darcy. Curious, she had listened to him…what had been his name? Whitman? No, no, Wickham, Lieutenant Wickham. He had claimed Mr Darcy’s father, his own godfather, to be a spiteful, vicious man who had raised a spiteful, vicious son. Shortly thereafter, Mr Wickham had disappeared—no one knew to where or why. Lydia had been deeply disappointed.

“You are certain of…of his—Mr George Darcy’s—character?” Elizabeth asked.

“Unequivocally. He was the best of good men. And so I have assured your father.” Aunt Gardiner gave Mr Bennet a look, and Elizabeth suddenly understood that her father was very wary of this whole business. He wondered, with an appropriate, fatherly sort of wonder, just what ‘favour’ Elizabeth could possibly have performed.

She chose her words carefully. “It is true that once, I think it must have been 1806, whilst here on a visit with my aunt and uncle, I went shopping to the warehouses accompanied by Peter—Aunt, do you remember him?—and Martha. I happened to give a handful of coins to a lady in urgent need of hackney-coach fare. I recently learnt, and only quite by chance, that the lady to whom I gave it was a relation of the Darcys. I would hardly call such an act, even, ‘a favour’, but that is the only association I have ever had with any in their family, until I met Mr Darcy at an assembly in Meryton. I certainly never made any connexion with his father! I cannot imagine why such a small act was worth anything at all!”

This last statement was not precisely true; in actuality, she could imagine it, if barely. She had seen much more than a lady in need of coach fare. At a minimum, the mystery of why Lady Catherine’s vehicle had been made available to speed her away had been solved—Mr Darcy had, evidently, arranged it. Could this be why Mr Darcy had proposed to her? An additional incentive to keep her quiet? But how fantastic! Certainly, he had never felt the need to reveal to her this inheritance last November! Why had he waited almost six months?

But Anne de Bourgh had not yet recognised you last November, she recollected. Could it be?

“It evidently was not a small act to old Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner said. “Who are we to judge what is valuable to another?”

“Exactly!” Mrs Philips agreed.

Mr Gardiner cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Lizzy, you would like to know just what it was worth to him?”

Elizabeth nodded.

Her uncle consulted a paper upon which was transcribed some notes. “There is a red-brick villa with stone dressings situated in the Sheaf Valley, near Sheffield. The residence comprises four principal bedchambers on the upper floor as well as convenient attic storeys for domestic servants. The house is remarkably well-lighted by elegant sash windows, from which superior views overlook a delightful prospect of meadowlands and the River Sheaf. The property encompasses a small parkland, together with a modest stone coach house and stabling.”

A house! This was extraordinary! But her uncle was not finished.

“Also, a lump sum of one thousand pounds, as well as two hundred and fifty pounds per annum, to cover the expenses of servants, food, carriage, et cetera for the property.”

“So much! It is nearly unbelievable,” Elizabeth murmured.