Darcy dismissed the man with a curt nod, though his hands remained steady as he broke the seal. Years of managing estate crises had taught him to maintain outward composure regardless of inner turmoil.
Mr Darcy,
I write to inform you of a most distressing development. Mr George Wickham has retained the services of a solicitor. They may soon petition the courts to recognise Mr Wickham’s paternal rights regarding Master Ambrose.
The documentation they claim to possess appears substantial, though I have not yet been permitted to examine it personally. They assert that Mr Wickham was legally wed to one Miss Eloise Phillips before her child’s birth, making him the rightful father under common law.
I must advise you that if their claims prove true, the courts will almost certainly award custody to Mr Wickham regardless of other considerations. A father’s rights supersede all other claims, save in cases of proven criminal behaviour or complete incapacity.
I shall, of course, challenge their assertions with every resource at my disposal. However, I feel obligated to prepare you for the possibility of an unfavourable outcome.
Your servant,
James Oswald, Esq.
The letter fell from Darcy’s nerveless fingers as rage flooded his senses. That dissolute man would not be satisfied with the financial ruin he had attempted to bring upon the Darcy name. Now he meant to destroy an innocent child’s happiness for no better reason than petty revenge.
Wickham knew—must know—that he possessed neither the means nor the inclination to properly care for a young boy. His military salary barely covered his gambling debts and dissolute habits. What future could he offer Ambrose beyond neglect and eventual abandonment when the novelty wore thin?
The calculation behind this move was as obvious as it was despicable. Wickham cared nothing for the child himself; Ambrose was merely a weapon to be wielded against the man he blamed for his failures. The boy’s welfare, his happiness, his very safety—all were expendable in service of Wickham’s spite.
A second letter bore his aunt’s familiar crimson seal. Darcy almost set it aside, having little appetite for Lady Catherine’s pronouncements, but years of ingrained duty compelled him to break the wax.
Nephew,
Word has reached me of your continued harbouring of that unfortunate child. I write not to repeat my previous objections, which you have seen fit to ignore, but to point out the inevitable consequences of your misguided charity.
A bachelor establishment is no place to raise a child, particularly one of questionable parentage. The boy requires proper guidance, discipline, and most importantly,legitimate family connections. By clinging to this inappropriate arrangement, you deny him the chance of proper placement with a respectable family.
Moreover, your association with this affair grows increasingly damaging to the Darcy name. Society talks, Fitzwilliam. They whisper of mysterious children and your peculiar devotion to domestic arrangements better left to married men.
I urge you, nay, I demand that you cease this folly at once. Relinquish the child to the appropriate authorities and turn your attention to securing your own legacy through marriage to my daughter Anne. Such an alliance would silence all gossip while ensuring the continuation of our noble bloodlines.
Your aunt,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Darcy crushed the letter in his fist, his jaw clenched against the bitter words that rose in his throat. How typical of his aunt to view human affection as misplaced sentiment and a child’s welfare as secondary to social appearances. This was one of many letters she had written to him over the years, since she learned that Ambrose was under his care. That she would advocate revoking his guardianship of the boy revealed the true coldness of her supposedly superior breeding.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him smooth his features into bland composure. Bingley appeared in the doorway, his usually cheerful countenance marked by concern.
“Darcy? I saw the express rider depart and thought… forgive me, but you appear rather grim. Has something occurred?”
Without a word, Darcy handed his friend the solicitor’s letter. Bingley’s face grew progressively more troubled as he read, his lips moving silently over the most damning passages.
“Good God,” he breathed finally. “Wickham truly means to take Ambrose through the courts?”
“So it appears. My solicitor believes his case may have merit, particularly if he can produce legitimate marriage documentation.”
“But surely the man’s character must weigh against him? His debts, his dissolute habits—”
“Mean nothing against the legal right of a father.” Darcy’s laugh held no humour. “British law cares little for moral fitness when paternal claims are involved.”
Bingley sank into the nearest chair, his naturally optimistic nature clearly struggling with such harsh realities. “There must be something to be done. Some way to protect the boy from such a fate.”
“My solicitor suggests…” Darcy hesitated, the words suddenly difficult to voice. “He believes my case would be strengthened considerably if I could demonstrate greater stability in my household arrangements.”
“Stability?”
