“Well now, that is just unfair.” His grin widened. “I had to chase down the steward and deal with tenants without your stern input. You had only a society wedding to endure.”
Beth pulled back and sighed. “Do not get me started.”
Before he could ask, the elder Bennets appeared in the doorway.
“Welcome home, dear,” said Maria, embracing her daughter-in-law warmly.
“Long trip?” Timothy asked, shaking out a newspaper as they made their way inside.
Beth nodded. “Too long. I am glad to be back.”
There was something about Maria Bennet’s expression that gave her pause. A quiet heaviness, a shadow behind her smile. It was a look Beth had come to recognize over the past few years—one that spoke of unresolved ache. She knew it was about Nathaniel.
No one ever said his name anymore.
Beth had never even met her brother-by-marriage. And though Theodore never admitted it aloud, Beth knew it haunted him too.
But today was not the day to press.
They all sat in the parlor as Frederick and Thomas raced about with their sweets, and Maria finally cleared her throat.
“Well,” she said, “now that Beth has returned, your father and I have an announcement to make.”
Beth blinked. “Oh?”
Timothy folded his hands across his waistcoat. “We are going to move to the dower house.”
“The dower house?” Beth repeated, startled. “But why?”
Maria’s smile returned, gentle and tired. “Because it is smaller, and we are older. The stairs here are a bit much in winter, and it is too large for just the two of us when you and Theo are the ones running things now.”
Beth looked sharply at her mother-in-law. Maria’s strength had never been the same since she fell ill the year before.
“It will give us peace,” Timothy added, drawing Beth’s attention back to himself. “And give your family freedom.”
Beth’s breath caught.
Freedom.
The word rang in her like a bell. Her own household. Her own routines. Her own mark on this land she had come to love with all her heart. She would be the mistress of Longbourn—not merely by marriage, but in truth.
She clasped Maria’s hands. “Are you certain?”
“Very.”
Beth looked at Theodore, who gave her a boyish grin. “Seems we are moving up in the world.”
She laughed. “Then I suppose I had better start ordering some new furnishings.”
And as the autumn light spilled in golden sheets across the floor of her home, Beth felt the future unfurl before her—wide, bright, and entirely hers to shape.
∞∞∞
1765—Pemberley
George Darcy was ten years old when his father, Percival Darcy, showed him the wall.
Not the library—not at first. Not the long shelves of calfbound volumes or the wide hearth where the fire burned low even in summer. But the stone behind it.
