Mrs. Yates burst quietly into tears when she learned she had been granted enough money to retire comfortably if she wished. The valet received a smaller but still generous sum. Two elderly footmen exchanged stunned glances at their own unexpected inheritances.
Then came the mistresses.
One received jewels.
Another a townhouse lease.
The third was granted five thousand pounds outright.
Wickham's smirk widened steadily. Darcy folded his hands beneath the table and waited.
Finally Mr. Wentworth cleared his throat. “And to George Wickham, my godson and the son of my late steward…”
Wickham sat up straighter.
“...I leave the sum of ten thousand pounds sterling, together with full ownership of Glenroth Estate in Perthshire, Scotland, including all lands, buildings, tenants, and associated revenues.”
Silence followed.
Wickham blinked.
Then blinked again. “That cannot be all.”
Mr. Wentworth adjusted his spectacles. “It is what is written.”
“No.” Wickham laughed shortly. “No, continue.”
The solicitor frowned at him. “I have finished that section.”
The smile vanished from Wickham's face. He looked toward Darcy, then back toward the solicitor, then back to Darcy again.
“What about Pemberley?”
No one answered.
“What about the rest?” Wickham’s face was turning red.
Mr. Wentworth looked over at Darcy, who nodded, and he slowly turned to the next page. “The remainder of the estate, including Pemberley, Darcy House, all associated properties, investments, and holdings, passes in its entirety to my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Wickham shot to his feet. The chair crashed backward behind him. “NO!”
Several people jumped. Mrs. Yates actually gasped.
“This is fraud!”
Darcy remained seated, and Wickham rounded on him immediately. “You forged it!”
Darcy raised one eyebrow. “I did?”
“You cheated me!”
The room watched in horrified fascination.
Wickham's face had gone red with fury. “He promised me!”
Darcy's patience finally snapped. “Promised you what, precisely?”
“The estate!”
