Darcy’s brow furrowed slightly as he considered the matter. Frederick Bennet’s existence alone altered everything, but the question of hisstatuswas of far greater importance. Had he ever been officially declared dead? If so, the legal complications would be considerable. Property, inheritance, identity—none of it would be easily resolved.
But if no such declaration was ever made…
If that were the case, then the matter became one not of restoration, but of recognition. A misunderstanding, perhaps. An absence wrongly assumed permanent. That could be corrected—carefully, properly, with the right documentation and witnesses.
So long as the current heir presumptive does not object.
His mouth tightened as he considered Mr. Collins and his wife. The man would not relinquish his expectations willingly, though whether he possessed the wit to mount any meaningful opposition remained doubtful. Still, it would be prudent to anticipate some attempt at resistance.
It would not go well for him.
From what Darcy had observed, Mr. Collins was not a man equipped for prolonged or intelligent opposition. His arguments would be loud, perhaps, and officious—but not effective. Still, such matters could not be left to chance.Documentation would be required. Testimony. A careful presentation of facts that would leave no room for doubt.
Mr. Bennet will require guidance.
The thought came without arrogance, only certainty. Mr. Bennet possessed intelligence, yes, but not inclination. He would not willingly engage in the necessary effort unless compelled, and even then, not with consistency.
She would still carry it.
No.
That, he would not allow.
Darcy’s gaze dropped again to Elizabeth, nestled safely in his arms. His arm tightened infinitesimally around her before he forced himself to relax. This was precisely the sort of burden she would take upon herself without hesitation—managing, organizing, compensating for the deficiencies of those around her.
So instead, he would make the offer to take it on. In some respects, that responsibility had already fallen to him, simply by the fact that she was his wife.
Marriage altered more than affection. It altered duty.
And a Darcy always did his duty.
Once this determination was made, Darcy’s thoughts moved on to travel, and to Lady Catherine.
They were meant to depart for Rosings in only a few days, but now…
Now everything was uncertain.
Would Lady Catherine even wish to return to Rosings, proceeding as planned? Or would she desire to linger in Hertfordshire, drawn by the sudden reappearance of the past she had long believed buried?
He almost allowed himself a dry huff of breath.
The more relevant question was not what Lady Catherine desired—but what Elizabeth did.
Darcy glanced down at her once more.
Would she wish to remain? To come to know the man who sired her? Or would she prefer escape?
The thought gave him pause.
Elizabeth, who had borne so much of her family’s burdens, might well choose distance if it were offered. Time to consider, rather than immediate immersion in yet another upheaval.
Or would she invite Frederick and Teddy to Pemberley the way she did Lady Catherine, with the offer of coming to know one another better?
Darcy’s mind stilled for a brief moment as the image formed. It was not unappealing; it was practical. A neutral ground. Space. Resources. Distance from immediate scrutiny while matters were set in order.
But that, too, depended on Frederick’s inclinations. A man newly returned—if he were indeed who he claimed—might not wish to remove himself so quickly from the place he had been striving to reclaim.
Too many variables.
