Mr. Bennet’s laugh was low and brief. “Well. That should suffice.”
He resumed reading.
It was nearly finished when Mr. Bennet’s hand stilled.
His gaze fixed upon a particular line near the end—standard language identifying the bride’s parentage and paternal consent.
He read it once.
Then again.
Darcy observed the shift at once. The indolent humor that so often animated Mr. Bennet’s features drained away. Hisshoulders stiffened—not in anger, precisely, but in something more restrained.
“There is a matter here,” Mr. Bennet said quietly.
Darcy stepped closer.
The clause was unremarkable at first glance: a formal declaration naming Thomas Bennet as father of Elizabeth Bennet, granting consent as required.
Mr. Bennet tapped the line with one finger.
“This wording,” he said, his tone controlled, “identifies me as her father in unqualified terms.”
Darcy frowned faintly. “Is that not accurate?”
Mr. Bennet’s jaw tightened. “It would be more correct,” he said after a pause, “to amend the phrasing to reflect that I am her legal guardian with permission to make decisions and act on her behalf.”
Darcy blinked. He had expected objection to financial stipulations, perhaps alterations to technical phrasing. Not this. “I… I am afraid I do not understand. Should that not be redundant?”
Mr. Bennet’s gaze did not waver from the page. “Strike the declaration as written. Substitute language indicating that I stand as her guardian and grant consent accordingly. Otherwise, I shall not sign.”
“But—”
“Mr. Darcy, sir.” The older gentleman’s voice was firm. “I am not protesting your desire to amend the documents. I do not see why my desire should not receive the same courtesy and respect.”
Darcy searched the older man’s face for some hint of jest. There was none. Instead, there was a tension wholly unlike the habitual indifference he had come to associate with Elizabeth’s father. A tightening around the eyes. A shadow he could not quite decipher.
“If that is your wish,” Darcy said carefully, “it shall be amended.”
Mr. Bennet nodded once, curtly.
Darcy did not press further. He had learned, over the past weeks, that Elizabeth’s family possessed layers he did not yet fully understand. Whatever lay beneath this particular request, it was not something Mr. Bennet intended to expose.
“I will send the papers back to London immediately,” Darcy said, “with both my changes and your own.”
Mr. Bennet exhaled, some measure of strain easing from his expression. “Very good.”
Darcy gathered the documents, sealing them once more for dispatch. As he did so, he made a quiet mental note to speak with Elizabeth. Not to complain against her father, but to better understand the situation.
After all, I cannot expect that Mr. Bennet’s relationship with his daughter, even his favorite one, would be akin to mine with my father as his male heir.
He went to join the ladies, finding them in the drawing room, as was their custom. Elizabeth was engaged in conversation with Lady Anne and Georgiana regarding arrangements for Christmas greenery at Darcy House in London. Elizabeth’s eyes shone as Lady Anne described holly garlands along the staircase and a tree in the great hall.
“It sounds perfectly lovely,” Elizabeth was saying.
Darcy paused in the doorway, momentarily content simply to observe her.
Lady Anne noticed him first. “Fitzwilliam,” she said warmly, “we are discussing how the house in town is about to be transformed.”
