Page 147 of The Crown’s Gift

"Grandpapa gave speeches in boxes," Lydia said.

Anne came to Sir Thomas. "Is there one for grandchildren?"

"Fifty-three of them. I have not begun."

"There are not fifty-three grandchildren."

"Then I have time."

She climbed carefully onto the arm of his chair, too old for his lap and not too old to lean against him.

The other grandchildren, alerted by mysterious means unique to children, gathered in the corridor. Emma brought the broken horse. George carried a pillow. Eleanor asked whether the birthday cake had been served.

The adult children folded their letters and made room.

Sir Thomas saw that the library would never recover its former quiet. Books would be displaced, cushions crushed, confidences offered, arguments begun, babies soothed, and doors left open to draughts.

He had never loved a room more.

From the corridor came Lady Bennet's voice.

"Mr Bennet! Lizzy! Mr Darcy! Everyone is waiting."

Sir Thomas looked at the open door.

Once, he would have delayed until impatience carried the noise elsewhere. Now he rose at once.

"We should go," he said. "Your mother has waited long enough."

Before breakfast the next morning, Sir Thomas walked to the oak with Elizabeth. He used a cane now and disliked it enough to leave it behind whenever no one watched. Elizabeth noticed and carried it without comment until the ground became uneven.

The tree's upper branches stirred in a mild wind. Beneath it stood the school, the estate road, and the path toward Longbourn.

"What shall happen to the letters?" Elizabeth asked.

"They belong to you. Burn yours if I became sentimental."

"I shall preserve it to embarrass you."

"An affectionate tradition."

They stopped beside the brass plate.

Sir Thomas touched the words with the tip of his cane. "When I first held Netherfield's grant, I thought of income. Your mother's security. Your portions. All worthy concerns. I did not imagine a school, grandchildren, music printed in Mary's name, Kitty managing leases, or Lydia teaching estate families how to answer emergencies."

"You could not have planned us."

"I once thought planning was the height of fatherhood."

"And now?"

"Leaving enough room for the plan to be wrong."

Elizabeth slipped her arm through his. "Darcy would approve."

"He approves too often in old age."

"He is fifty-two."