Page 84 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“And so does Alice,” Elizabeth finished.

The room was quiet. The fire shifted, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, a horse whickered in the yard, and then they heard the sounds of Bingley greeting Hill.

Jane wiped her eyes and opened the small parlor door, and Bingley came in, his face flushed from the cold, cravat slightly askew.

“Say, Darcy, the workmen told me you’d left word. Darcy, what on earth?” He looked at the room—at the papers spread on the table and Georgiana’s tear-streaked face, but mostly at Jane’s wringing hands. “What has happened?”

Mrs. Bennet came in and sat down quietly, almost as if she feared her presence would be noted, and Elizabeth saw her sisters creep down the staircase, and so she told everyone. Briefly, she presented the salient facts, the documents, and George Darcy’s identity. Her mother’s composure held, even with the revelation that Darcy was a Bennet, but Bingley’s face fell with bewilderment and distress.

“Good God,” Bingley said to Darcy. “Darcy, how is this sitting with you?” He crossed the room and gripped Darcy’s shoulder with a force that rocked them both. “Is this real? Could it be the imagination of Miss Alice Bennet? I do not believe it. She must be mistaken.”

Darcy’s face did something Elizabeth would remember for the rest of her life. The composure held—it always held—but beneath it, the emotions moved, agonized and profoundly humbled. He put his hand over Bingley’s on his shoulder and pressed it once before letting go.

“We will, of course, contact our solicitors, Bingley, but we thought you should know because you have an interest in this.”

“I… doubt that very much. An old love story thwarted because a brother loved a sister unknowingly? What does this?”

“Mathilda Darcy.”

Elizabeth watched as comprehension grew on Bingley’s face, the shock, but moreover, the overwhelming loyalty. “She is but a disowned daughter. A family story. I never meant⁠—”

“Your great-grandmother was a Darcy,” Darcy continued. “If she is a Darcy by blood, she is⁠—”

“She is female, and no heir, if that is what you are suggesting,” Bingley’s response was genuine and stalwart.

“Except the Darcy entail has always included females,” Darcy said. “We are a family of few females, and Georgiana is my heir. Pemberley goes to her, if my line is legitimate.”

“Only if Brother does not marry and Elizabeth does not give him many sons and daughters.” Georgiana had regained some of her spirit.

“But… I don’t want it,” Bingley said. “I don’t want Pemberley, I never wanted Pemberley, I want—” He looked at Jane, and his face was so nakedly adoring that Elizabeth had to look away. “I want Jane, and a decent harvest, perhaps a pointer pup. Darcy, for God’s sake, if you think I would⁠—”

“It is not a matter of what you want, Bingley.” Darcy’s voice was low and strained. “It is a matter of what the law may require. The settlement, the entail—I do not know the precise language. Blythewood will know. But the question of heirs general versus heirs of the body⁠—”

“Hang the entail.” Bingley’s chin came up with a stubbornness his amiable demeanor usually concealed. “Hang the solicitors. You are my friend, and I am telling you now, as a gentleman, that I will not press any claim against you or Georgiana or Pemberley, not now, not ever.”

“Your sisters may feel differently.”

The atmosphere changed immediately, freighted by the unspoken name of Caroline Bingley and the polished malice of Louisa Hurst.

“My sisters,” Bingley said carefully, “will be informed when the time is right and in terms that leave no room for misunderstanding. But that is my affair, Darcy, not yours.”

“It will become everyone’s affair soon enough,” Darcy said grimly. “Elizabeth and I decided not to keep this secret another minute longer. We are sorry if it has altered your life, Charles, and yours, Jane, and anyone else’s. But this is the truth as we know it, and how we manage it… well, I do not yet know. My relations will have to be notified, and believe me, it will be in the gossip sheets before sundown.”

“None of us will speak,” Mrs. Bennet said, glaring at Lydia and Kitty. “You hear that, girls?”

“It will not matter,” Mr. Bennet said. “The scandal will be bright, but the principals are all dead. My daughters are still engaged to marry, my approval still stands, and well, I for one, am happy to welcome another Bennet into the family.”

He reached toward Darcy and shook his hand.

“Then we shall manage it together.” Bingley looked around the room—at each of them in turn, with the uncomplicated conviction of a man who believed that loyalty and decency could weather anything, and whose belief, Elizabeth thought, was either the most admirable or the most naïve thing she had ever witnessed. Perhaps both. Perhaps there was no difference.

“But Brother, what will we do?” Georgiana shivered violently, looking toward her brother as if he were the only beacon on a stormy shore. “We do not have a home.”

Mrs. Bennet made a small choking sound, and then fluttered to Georgiana’s side. “You are cold, child. Hill, a blanket please, for Miss Darcy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. That is very kind.”

“You are a Bennet, and you will always have a home here with us.” Mrs. Bennet took the blanket from Hill and placed it gently over Georgiana’s shoulders. “And family takes care of each other. Whatever happens.”