Page 2 of The Earl’s Second Chance

The quiet words struck harder than accusation.

In the carriage, with the familiar fields of Longbourn rolling away, Thomas Bennet confronted a truth no solicitor had written: he had spent years congratulating himself on perceiving everyone’s folly because perception asked less of him than correction.

He had allowed his wife to be ridiculous because it amused him. He had allowed Lydia to be unchecked because discipline was tiresome. He had allowed Kitty to become Lydia’s echo, Mary to hide behind borrowed wisdom, Jane to conceal every feeling, and Elizabeth to carry responsibilities that belonged to him.

If the letter were genuine, he had inherited more than an earldom.

He had inherited no excuse at all.

CHAPTER TWO

His Lordship

The offices of Pritchard, Hale, and Wexler occupied a sober building in Lincoln’s Inn. Mr. Bennet arrived prepared to expose a fraud and departed four hours later as the eighth Earl of Herfershire.

Sir Edwin Pritchard, a dry man with kind eyes, laid document after document before him: baptismal records, marriage settlements, wills, letters patent, maps, rent rolls, bank ledgers, and the family tree that connected Thomas’s grandfather to the fifth earl.

“The late lord followed your life from a distance,” Sir Edwin said. “You corresponded once, I believe.”

“When I was nineteen. I answered one letter with more wit than gratitude. He did not write again.”

“He nevertheless knew of your daughters. The special remainder was revised twelve years ago to preserve the title through the female line, subject to royal confirmation.”

“And Longbourn?”

“Unaffected. Its entail remains as it was. Mr. William Collins may one day inherit that property if you have no son, but he has no claim whatever upon the earldom, Herfershire Hall, the London residence, or the settled capital.”

Mr. Bennet leaned back. “He will be devastated.”

For one dangerous moment, amusement returned. Then he thought of his wife hearing Mr. Collins speak of her future removal from Longbourn, and the amusement soured.

He spent the following days in a procession of duties for which indolence had not prepared him. He viewed the late earl’s body, received the steward’s reports, signed instructions for the funeral, met the family bankers, and was fitted for mourning clothes. He was presented at St. James’s, where the King received his homage and expressed a gracious hope that Lord Herfershire would take his parliamentary duties seriously.

“Your late cousin was seldom present,” the King observed.

Thomas bowed. “Then I must endeavour to provide the service he omitted, Your Majesty.”

The promise surprised him even as he made it.

That evening he went to Gracechurch Street.

Edward Gardiner read the solicitor’s abstract in stunned silence. Mrs. Gardiner covered her mouth with one hand.

“An earl,” Edward said at last. “You?”

“Your confidence warms me.”

“Forty thousand a year?”

“Approximately. Some estates had poor harvests. I may be reduced to thirty-eight.”

Mrs. Gardiner laughed, then abruptly began to cry. “Fanny will never fear the hedgerows.”

Thomas looked away.

“No,” he said. “She will not.”

He told them the rest: each daughter would have sixty thousand pounds settled upon her, with independent pin money after marriage; Fanny would have a generous jointure and the use of a dower house for life; tutors, companions, and establishments would be provided; and the eldest grandson born through his daughters would inherit.