Page 170 of Honor Requires

She extended her hand. He slipped the ring upon her finger. It fit perfectly. For a moment, she simply looked at it, the reality of it settling slowly, beautifully into place. Then she lifted her gaze to his once more, her eyes bright with happiness. She rose onto her toes and kissed him again, her laughter breathless as she drew back.

“It is perfect,” she said.

He smiled. “Not so perfect as you,” he replied.

She shook her head, though her smile did not falter. “Come,” she said at last. “We must return. Jane will wish to know all.”

He offered his arm once more. She took it, leaning her head on his shoulder and sighing happily. They walked back through the park, the world seeming altered in its very aspect. The trees, the paths, the distant sound of voices—all of it felt touched by a lightness that had not been there before.

When they reached Matlock House, the door was opened almost at once. The family was still gathered.

They entered together. First, there was silence. Then Jane saw them. Her gaze moved from Elizabeth’s face to the ring upon her hand, and understanding dawned at once. A radiant smile broke across her features as she crossed the room with quick steps.

“Lizzy!” She drew her into an embrace. “At last,” she said, her voice warm with joy. “You have your happy ending.”

Elizabeth laughed, returning the embrace with equal warmth. “Yes,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

His solicitor received him with all due deference. Discretion was paramount, but so too was competence. The business at hand required both in equal measure, and the gentleman now seated opposite him in a well-appointed office off Lincoln’s Inn Fields possessed the air of one accustomed to managing affairs that demanded precision.

“You understand,” the solicitor said, adjusting his spectacles as he reviewed the preliminary notes, “that such an arrangement is…unusual.”

Darcy inclined his head. “I do.”

“The sale of an estate such as Pemberley is no small matter,” the man continued. “And to a private party, without advertisement or open negotiation—”

“It is not a matter for public discussion,” Darcy said calmly. “You have Mrs. Wickham’s letter before you. All is in order.”

The solicitor paused, then nodded. “Very well.” He set aside the notes and folded his hands. “The terms, as you have described them, are clear. Mrs. Wickham—formerly Miss Darcy, sole heir to all her brother’s properties—will convey the entirety of the estate, including all holdings, to yourself, under the agreed sum. In return, you will assume the name Darcy, thereby preserving the lineage in a manner that satisfies both legal and social expectation.”

“Yes.”

“And the consideration,” the solicitor went on, “is to be fixed at double the amount of her dowry.”

Darcy’s expression did not alter. “It is.” This would give Georgiana ninety thousand pounds—thirty thousand being from her original dowry. She could live exceedingly well on the interest.

The solicitor’s brows lifted, though he did not comment further on the arrangement. Sixty thousand pounds for Pemberley and all the Darcy holdings was a pittance to pay.

“It is a modest figure,” he said instead. “But not beyond your means, I presume.”

Darcy allowed the faintest hint of a smile. “It is not. I also mean to leave Darcy House for Mrs. Wickham.” He could not bear to live there, not after all that had occurred.

“Very good.” The man reached for a fresh sheet of paper, dipping his pen with careful deliberation. “There remains the matter of your name,” he said.

Darcy’s gaze settled upon him.

“It must be formalized within the agreement,” the solicitor dictated. “You will not merely purchase the estate. You will assume the identity under which it has long been held. As such, it is paramount that it be done correctly and with ample consideration.”

Darcy drew a breath. “For that purpose,” he said, “I shall take the name Sebastian Fitzwilliam George Dantès Darcy.”

The solicitor paused only briefly before committing it to paper.

A merging of identities, Darcy observed privately. A reconciliation of who he was with who he had become.

The pen moved steadily. When at last the documents were drafted, reviewed, and amended to satisfaction, Darcy affixed his signature with a firm hand. The act itself was simple, though the weight of it was not lost upon him.

This was no longer pretense. It was the beginning of something new.