Page 3 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“No, indeed, but your own acres are so far to the north they are indeed free from the taint of such casual ruin,” she snapped, wheeling away from him to resume her march. “Though I shudder to think how heavy a burden it must be, carrying the entire weight of other people’s shortcomings upon your shoulders.”

“Then it would be my responsibility to carry their improvement.” He persistently led his horse at her side. “Tell me, Miss Bennet, if a man should wish to elevate one of the residents of this county, should he not seek her best interest in improving her lot? Including the proper maintenance of her dwelling place, as well as her education and level of accomplishment?”

Elizabeth halted, turning to face him fully. Her expression must have given him pause; indeed, her eyes narrowed into slits, and his hand tightened on the reins, his chin lifting.

“You speak of elevating the residents of Hertfordshire as if you were a feudal lord and we are either peasants to be improved or vermin to be exterminated.”

“You misunderstand me.”

“Then enlighten me, Lord Darcy, if you may, why you are currently lurking on a muddy lane near Longbourn instead of running your own academy for rustics—deportment on Mondays, watercolors on Tuesdays, perhaps a brisk constitutional on Wednesdays to correct any lingering deficiencies of posture.”

“I am on a rather important errand.”

“Indeed.” Elizabeth looked exaggeratedly to the left and then to the right and finally at his horse, a statuesque bay stallion snorting in the blustery morning. “I see nobody in need of ten thousand a year awaiting your proud refining hand.” She took a step back, putting distance between them. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Darcy, but the residents of this county do not require elevation. We are in need of being left alone by gentlemen who mistake condescension for kindness.”

His jaw tightened. “Then I wish you a good day, Miss Bennet.”

“It will all be the better.” She turned her back on him. “When you find your way back to whatever hole of refinement you crawled out of. The road back to London passes through Meryton, and the way to Derbyshire lies further over those hills.”

She turned and walked—not toward Longbourn, but across the frozen field, taking the path that would bring her around through the orchard. He would not dare turn his horse’s ankle over the treacherous, half-frozen muck. The cold bit at her cheeks as she crossed the stubbled ground. Her boots would be ruined, but she did not care as the fury in her chest was hot enough.

“Arrogant, insufferable man,” she railed at the wintry air and bare branches. “As if we needed his beneficent attention. Why doesn’t he return to London and tutor the Bingleys on social niceties? Such as not departing a neighborhood without the requisite farewells or giving unwarranted hope to young ladies by fervent praises and insincere attentions. How utterly unrefined.”

She reached the orchard wall and paused to catch her breath. From here, she could see the back of Longbourn House—the kitchen garden, the stable yard, and the study window that her father never properly latched because the casement had warped years ago and he could not be troubled to have it repaired.

Voices whistled through the gap—men’s voices, alerting her suspicion, especially as a stablehand was leading away a snorting, head-tossing bay stallion.

She could step into the house and inquire with her mother, but the presence of gentlemen, no matter how odious, would have her mother in the early stages of rapture. She would be pressing Jane’s hair, pushing Lydia and Kitty up the staircase, and confiscating Mary’s spectacles.

No… far better to creep toward the partially open window.

“This is most unexpected, I confess.” Her father chuckled. “My wife is no doubt caught between curiosity and barbarity at my subterfuge. When your letter arrived, I did not know what to make of it. A third cousin—and such a third cousin! The neighborhood will be astonished.”

“I do not concern myself with the neighborhood’s astonishment.” Darcy’s voice was deeper and measured. “The legality is unambiguous, and our solicitors have confirmed it. That my great-grandfather, George Darcy, was named an heir by the entail set up by your great-great-grandfather, Thomas Bennet…”

Elizabeth sagged against the cold stone wall, her hand covering her chest as the blood drained from her head. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the most despicable man she’d met in ages, was her father’s heir, replacing the hapless Mr. Collins?

“Oh, I do not dispute it,” her father said. “The family tree is sound. You are, as you say, a spare heir of a Bennet—however much the name Darcy may have obscured the fact. The genealogies have been matched on both sides, documents certified. The question remains. What do you wish to do about it? And why are you here? As my wife and daughters have noted, I am in quite good health, and it is likely that I, too, will outlast my known heirs, which might require further study of the family tree, perhaps a fourth cousin or fifth?”

“Yes, be that as it may, I wish to invest significant resources into this—” And here, Elizabeth could picture the proud Darcy sweeping the leaky library with a look of such utter disdain that even her father would not fail to cringe. “—and to do that properly, as I mentioned in my correspondence⁠—”

“Yes, yes… the matter of my daughters.” Her father’s voice had taken on the amused lilt that Elizabeth knew too well: the sound of a man watching a comedy unfold. “You mentioned that you intended to marry. However, may I suggest that sentiment is quite premature? As my daughters are likely to be in mourning for my previous heir.”

“I think not.” Darcy strode toward the partially opened window, forcing Elizabeth to sink to the slushy ground, praying he would not glance down. “The one I intend to marry does not hold Mr. Collins in high regard. I believe she is the key to Longbourn’s improvement campaign, as she is your ally, dear sir.”

“Indeed, you are speaking about my second daughter? But perhaps she can barely tolerate you.” Another chuckle, and Elizabeth felt her father’s belly shaking with mirth as he anticipated the theatrics and dark comedy that would ensue.

“She will tolerate me well enough.” Darcy’s tone was well beyond arrogant. “I have observed her during my stay at Netherfield, and I believe Miss Elizabeth to be the most suitable choice.”

Elizabeth clapped her hand across her mouth to keep from screaming. The stone wall was cold, and an icicle dripped chills down her back.

Mr. Darcy was the Bennet heir, and he had come to marry her.

No, no, no, no, no, she wanted to scream, but her father was speaking between poorly concealed guffaws.

“This is entirely farcical; I apologize for saying it. Are you requesting permission to speak to my Lizzy? She would sooner cut you to ribbons. I warn you now, as I failed to warn Cousin Collins, may he rest in peace.”

“I believe you, sir, have the authority to speak to her.” Darcy’s voice was measured, careful, entirely without irony. “Given the circumstances.”