Fitzwilliam, I am dying. You will soon be Master of Pemberley. You must care for Georgie.
Yes, father.
Your mother wanted to tie you to your cousin Anne.
I know, father. Aunt Catherine mentions it often.
Let me be clear. You are not honour bound to marry your cousin. There is no engagement. No promise. Nothing of the sort. You are free to marry whosoever you choose.
Truly, father? That is a relief.
Truly, son. Promise me you will only marry someone worthy of the Darcy name. Someone lively and smart and kind, whatever her connections.
Yes, father. Wait. What?