Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Elizabeth had not intended to leave Netherfield when she bolted from the breakfast room, but she walked along with her mind jumping from one terrible thought to another. Her husband had invested poorly. It was an insult on top of her already terrible loss. Had he been na?ve or negligent?
Was she doomed to penury, or doomed to beg her wealthy in-laws to take pity on her?
Anger at her dead husband coursed through her. He was so certain he had invested wisely—was unwilling to even consider her opinion—and they had lost everything. And Fitzwilliam had not bothered to write a last will and testament to ensure she could have custody of their child? She felt her heart racing and her chest tighten. Her husband had neglected her; writing a will must be commonplace if Mr Darcy had immediately expected her to produce it.
What was she to do with no money and no guarantee that she could keep her own child? The fear that she might lose custody of the baby chilled her more than any fear of how she would live. Surely Lord Fitzwilliam and Lord Milton would want nothing to do with her child when they hated its mother.
Elizabeth ran a hand over her stomach. She wanted this child, and that was what mattered. She would keep it with her regardless of what little financial support she had.
Still, a wave of alarm washed over her as she looked all round. For a moment, the sunshine glistening on the grass next to the lane took her back to a battlefield in Spain, and she was frozen in place.
“Eliza!” a voice cried. She turned and saw Charlotte Lucas come down the lane. Elizabeth steadied herself. The fields around Longbourn village were not a blood-soaked battlefield, and she would have dinner tonight.
“I saw you from an upper window and thought to meet you,” her friend said. “I did not expect you until later.”
How could she say that she had forgotten that she promised to call? “I needed a walk to clear my head.”
“I thought you might not want to be in the drawing room with my mother and sisters after last night,” Charlotte said, smiling. “Have you the energy to walk with me?”
She was pregnant, not ill, but she refrained from speaking sharply when Charlotte was showing her a kindness. “Let us go to Oakham Mount, and you can tell me all I have missed these months I have been gone.”
“I would rather hear about your experiences,” Charlotte said. “I wish I could have lived with you in Portsmouth, but I am happy for you to have gone with your husband. What a chance to live in Spain with the regiment, although of course it was far too short.”
“The unfamiliar culture and climate were unlike anything I could have expected.” What could she say about what it was really like, the supplies being difficult to get, her husband’s pay being in arrears, about her dreadful Spanish, about the woman who lagged in the march to Cádiz and had to be left behind? It was mortifying to remember how innocent she had been. “I took great pleasure in moments spent with my husband.”
“And what a pleasure to live as a married woman with all the rights and powers attached to that title. I admit to being a little jealous,” Charlotte added kindly.
Elizabeth loved her husband, admired him and enjoyed his company, but joining him in Cádiz had brought challenges their young marriage was not ready for. “Wifeliness looks a little different in the context of war. Serviceability and fidelity were what mattered.”
Charlotte gave her a strange look. “What else did you expect from marriage?”
She looked away, embarrassed by her girlish hopes. Her husband had expected to be her mentor. He had a better-informed mind than most men she met, but he still wanted to be his wife’s superior, while she had expected to be his equal. Would that have improved after the war, or would they have settled into a friendship with him always wishing to be needed more and her yearning for more respect?
“It hardly matters what I expected. I met, married, and lost a dear man in about two months. I am ashamed to admit that sometimes I wonder if he married me because he was deploying again.”
“He might have, but that does not mean he did not love you because you would have also been useful and a comfort. And your marriage gave you status.”
Charlotte was always so sensible and calm. “I nursed the sick and wounded, sewed and cleaned clothes, charmed his friends and superiors. Being a useful woman without children, of a respected officer, was what gave me status.”
“He was fortunate to have you, and now you are a widow and can live as you like, and will have his child to always remind you of him.”
Despite her resolve that her situation was perfectly manageable, she felt tears welling in her eyes. Charlotte noticed and stopped her with a hand on her arm. “What did I say?”
“I am in dire straits,” she whispered. With a few hot tears falling, she explained how she had no money after all, only a pension of a few pounds a year, and could lose custody of her child.
“Marrying again would solve all of your problems,” Charlotte said when she was done.
The suggestion stole her breath. “You sound like my mother.”
“She may be improper, but Mrs Bennet wants her daughters to be taken care of, and that requires a husband. You would lose your pension, but if it is only sixty pounds a year, you would be better served marrying a man worth more than that. And then he could petition to have custody of your child rather than your first husband’s family.”
Elizabeth gave a sad laugh. To go from her father’s home to her husband’s, and then to a second husband’s within a few months felt horrible, as well as unfair. She had survived alone in Spain, and could take a little pride in that success. Of course she could make her own way. Besides, a married woman owned nothing, not even her children. Why would she put herself into that vulnerable situation again? “Marrying again would not make me happy.”
“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. And it seems like having a similar disposition to your first husband did not advance your felicity. He planned nothing for your maintenance. You ought to find any man with a suitable income who would not mind raising another man’s child.”
Her friend said all of this with a steady countenance. “That is not sound. I would never act that way, and neither would you.” Elizabeth wondered when she would feel her child move. She might have questioned the wisdom of her hasty marriage, but she would never regret this. “I took a chance on an amiable man whose conversations were all light and fun. I doubt we would have been perfectly suited for all our lives, or perhaps that feeling was only because of the war’s strain on us. But I am not willing to take another chance on marriage.”
Charlotte gave her a look as though she were foolish. “If I had your face and your liveliness, I would marry again as soon as I was able. I would prefer anything to living as an unwanted woman in my father’s or brother’s house.”
They walked a little farther in silence before Charlotte added, “Do not let your pride prevent you from accepting help, Eliza. You are a widow of little means about to have a child. If you will not marry, you may have to turn to your in-laws for help since your parents cannot afford to support you.”
Fitzwilliam’s family had turned from him while he was alive because she was poor and unconnected. How could she approach them alone now from desperation because she was poorer and more friendless than before?
Darcy and Bingley covered the ground between Netherfield and Longbourn on horseback. Darcy privately thought Mrs Fitzwilliam only needed a long walk to recover her spirits and had likely returned to Longbourn, but Mrs Bingley insisted on knowing for certain where her sister was.
“I understand Lizzy is an active, fearless sort of woman. But I like her very much,” Bingley added.
“Will she be in better spirits after she gets home?” Darcy asked sceptically.
“With parents and sisters like that? After having lost her husband and suffered who knows what privations while on the peninsula? I doubt it.”
They rode farther in silence until Bingley pointed to two women walking from the direction of a hill. Mrs Fitzwilliam was with the daughter of Sir William Lucas, a man in love with his own self-importance. It had been a trial to show that man any patience, but Darcy had persevered through their few meetings.
Fitzwilliam had told him to make himself courteous to strangers. Darcy only wished he had not promised to do so until his cousin came back. Now, he was dead, and as a duty to him and his memory, Darcy had to be obliging to every stupid stranger who forced himself on to his notice or pressed him to dance.
He wondered when his patience with those outside his circle would feel natural rather than an obligation. Maybe it never would, but he would persevere for Fitzwilliam’s sake.
They met the two ladies, who seemed surprised to be sought. “Jane was concerned when you did not return,” Bingley said. “And you left in some distress.”
Mrs Fitzwilliam looked embarrassed. She had every right to be distressed, afraid, distraught, but she appeared determined not to show it. “I am sorry for worrying you, but I am perfectly well.”
“Lizzy, we meant it,” Bingley said earnestly, leaning toward her from atop his horse. “You must stay with us, and we would be lucky to have you.”
She smiled, and it reminded Darcy of the genuine, wide smile he had seen on her wedding day. “I am grateful for your offer. I must decide soon, but I am uncertain where is best suited to me yet.”
“Allow me to see you home, at least.” Bingley moved as though he was about to dismount.
Mrs Fitzwilliam refused immediately. “If Jane is worried, you must return to Netherfield and assure her I am well.”
Darcy dismounted, and Mrs Fitzwilliam gave him a confused look. “I ought to have walked you home yesterday and carried your bag. Today I can at least confirm for Mrs Bingley that you made it home safely.”
Bingley agreed and touched his hat and left. Miss Lucas left also, promising to call on Mrs Fitzwilliam tomorrow.
He was not eager to be alone with Mrs Fitzwilliam, but it was not her fault he felt distressed by her situation and his family’s poor behaviour. Was he seeing her home out of guilt, or duty? Darcy supposed it did not matter. When he turned to look at his cousin’s widow, she was glaring at him rather than looking grateful.
“You have not seen me at my best, but I can walk alone, Mr Darcy. I walked to Netherfield without help, you remember?”
“Do you generally walk unattended?”
“I assure you, I walk anywhere I like, whenever I like. And I did that before I was married.” In a calmer voice, she said, “Besides, I do not want to keep you from your friends.”
“And I assure you, I am neither wanted nor needed by Mrs Bingley or her husband. They are like any other newlywed couple with an obvious wish to be left alone.”
She laughed softly, and gestured for him to fall in step with her, him leading his horse by the reins.
“Were you and Fitzwilliam like that?” he asked, thinking she might like to talk about him. But she sighed and tilted her head to the sky. “I am sorry to distress you,” he said quickly.
“No, I like to talk of him. We, we struggled in Spain. He was married more to the army than to me, but that was of necessity. It was not what I expected, but I understood it. But I do want to talk of him, very much.”
The longing in her voice surprised him. “Does your family like to hear about him?”
“No one talks to me of my husband; they never knew him, and they are not a compassionate group.”
He believed it of those at Longbourn, but not of his hostess. “What about Mrs Bingley?”
“As you say, she is a new wife, with all the hopes and expectations of a bright future. She has been married for only two months. In the same amount of time, I married and was widowed. Being reminded of losing a husband is the last thing she needs.”
“But she has a great affection for you—above her other sisters, I would even say.”
“Jane was my customary support and counsellor. But our lives are so different now. Not that she is less wise…”
Darcy thought he understood what she struggled to say. “But her experiences, her losses, are not equal to yours, and her advice can only come from kindness and not from a shared experience.”
She turned to look at him, and he watched her countenance relax. “Yes, precisely.” Just as quickly, her eyes darkened, and every worry she felt seemed to flood back into her face. “Let us hope she never sees or experiences what I have, and what I have yet to face.”
It struck his heart that he ought to help her. She would be miserable in either of the households open to her in Hertfordshire. He might not understand what it was like to lose a spouse, but there must be some sympathy between them. Their loss was not the same, but it was still something that could be shared.
And he was ashamed of his family’s treatment of her. Fitzwilliam would expect him to aid his widow.
“I am returning to town the day after tomorrow, and I am now wondering if you might like to join me,” he said in a rush, since they were now in sight of the house. “My sister Georgiana will be with me in town until the end of June, and she would be glad to know you.”
“I would be pleased to meet her, but join you in town?” she cried. “Why?”
“Have you considered appealing to the Fitzwilliams in person? I know you wrote to her ladyship months ago, but in the fog of their grief, they might have reacted differently than they would now.”
Her curious expression darkened. “I cannot reply to that in any respectful way.”
“I promise you, nothing you say against them will insult me. The way they have treated you is appalling, and I would have them do right by you, if I can.”
She gave a bitter laugh. It was so unlike the lighthearted sound of her laughing with her sister from a few hours earlier. “Do you know what Lady Fitzwilliam said in her first letter, when I wrote that he was dead and then told her the one thing that might have been a comfort: that I expected her grandchild this autumn? Let us say she doubted my faithfulness and my child’s parentage.”
“I am exceedingly sorry,” he murmured. “You did not deserve that.”
“She wrote again a fortnight later,” she went on bleakly, “ after I had arranged for Fitzwilliam’s fellow officers to auction his things to pay for his body to be sent home. Her ladyship had spoken to her husband, and his lordship said, much to her dismay, that I could live with them, but only if I stayed in my two stipulated rooms. Her letter spelled out in offensive detail how I would be allowed a reasonable right of access through the house. I could not expect any friend to visit me there. It also stipulated terms under which I would lose access to those rooms.”
Darcy swore under his breath and did not bother to apologise for it. His uncle was a wealthy nobleman with several estates. He could give her an entire house and not notice it missing. “Will you allow me to help to persuade them to do right by you?”
“I want nothing to do with his parents,” she said firmly, “and they want nothing to do with me or my child. I swallowed my pride and asked for their help, and they left me there—left us there,” she corrected with a downward glance. “They left us in Spain not caring what happened, and they would hardly care about my future now that I am back in England.”
Darcy wondered exactly what Mrs Fitzwilliam had endured between the time her husband died and the time she escaped from Spain. “Have you spoken with his brother?”
“Would you have me trust him?” she retorted.
“I would have you leave no stone unturned, but I would not put yourself entirely in his hands. But until you receive your pension, you are in dire straits, and they have a duty to you.”
“Dire straits,” she repeated, stopping just before Longbourn’s lawn. “I said the same thing not an hour ago.”
“Fitzwilliam made me promise you could rely on me rather than Milton. But I still think appealing to his better nature for some financial support would be in your best interest, in your child’s best interest.”
“He will be as cold as his parents were. And part of me would hate to take his money. What about the Portsmouth bank money?” she asked, her voice lifting in hope. “I could lay a claim to that even without a will, if it could be recovered. Then I would have no need of the Fitzwilliams.”
“Five thousand pounds would change your life,” he managed to say.
He watched her pretty eyes shutter. “I saw your face in the breakfast room. It was like the look you are giving me now. You have no reason to hope.”
“I will be your agent and write to them to attempt to recover the money,” he promised, little good he knew it would do. The bank had failed, and the money was gone. “But in the meantime, Milton might give you some money, if only to make you go away rather than shame him publicly for neglecting you.”
Mrs Fitzwilliam shifted her shoulders and stretched her back. He wondered how uncomfortable she felt being four months pregnant. She still looked rather glowing, even for someone who suffered. “Fitzwilliam had nothing good to say about his brother.”
Darcy could not disagree. “I think you must see him in any event. Only fathers can name guardians in a will. If it is a boy and could be heir to titles and property, the Court of Chancery will name a guardian and custodian if Fitzwilliam’s will cannot be found. And if the courts appoint Milton guardian, we must ask him to give you custody. I will do what I can to persuade him to agree.”
“You are going to take my side against Lord Milton? He is still your family. Why are you helping me?”
“You are my cousin’s widow, and he was my best friend on earth.” He watched her eyes soften, as if moved by his words, and then look away, but not before he saw regret fill them. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, waving her hand. “Just a selfish, irrational thought.”
“You feel you should have been your husband’s closest friend?” It was a lovely thought for a spouse to be a confidant, an advisor, a consoler. He wondered if Fitzwilliam had felt that way about his wife, and if he had had the time to tell her so before he died.
“Well, it is too late to wonder now. You knew one another all your lives. I only knew him for two months. And I have been a widow now for longer than I ever knew him.” She gave a smile he thought was meant to be teasing. “I willingly cede the office of Fitzwilliam’s best friend to you.”
There was no reason for Mrs Fitzwilliam to be jealous of him. “You know he loved you dearly? He gave up everything to be with you.”
“Then he should have written a will to give me custody of our child!” she cried. “He should have listened to me when I said not to put all our money in one place!” Then she covered her face with her hands. Speaking into them, she said, “I am sorry. I am not so hateful, I promise.”
Darcy considered putting a hand on her shoulder, or offering some other comforting gesture. It felt like an imposition, though. They hardly knew one another. Words, as difficult as they were, would have to do. “I cannot blame you for feeling frustrated with him.”
“I am just so angry that he neglected us,” she muttered. She dropped her hands. “I am not jealous of your friendship, you know, but I hope that when you marry, you act unlike other men and consider your wife as your friend.”
His family expected him to marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh, a sickly, dull, selfish creature without an opinion of her own. He would rather remain single than marry her. What he wanted was a true partnership with someone who loved him, who challenged him, and he would never have that with Anne.
And he had never met a woman who he thought would look at him the way Elizabeth Bennet had looked at Fitzwilliam on their wedding day.
“That day is not at hand,” he said brusquely, “so I will channel my efforts in the name of friendship toward you and your interests. Can you be ready to go to town the day after tomorrow?” When she hesitated, he added, “Georgiana will be glad to know you. My sister is fifteen, and I am removing her from school and will find a companion for her. She could learn nothing more in boarding school, but she is too young to be out, and she is exceedingly timid.”
Mrs Fitzwilliam smiled at the mention of his sister. “I never had the chance to meet Miss Darcy. I suppose she never lived in a house with a mother to superintend the learning of those wifely and hostess duties?”
“A few years managing her own home under another woman’s guidance will do much for her confidence.”
She gave him a soft smile and an approving look. “You are a good brother.”
“So you will meet her and stay with us while we persuade Milton to give you an annuity or some other compensation?”
She looked at Longbourn, but only to gather her thoughts rather than to give it a yearning gaze. “For my child’s sake, I will swallow my pride and approach Lord Milton, but I would be lonely in your house. As well-intentioned as your sister might be, if she is shy she might not care to talk with me. And you are a single man, and will have business and friends to take you into the world.”
Darcy wondered if she had been lonely or isolated in Spain. It must have been worse after Fitzwilliam was dead.
He winced at the memory of every interaction he had with the younger Bennet daughters, but Fitzwilliam’s admonishments came to mind. He could endure one of her sisters; it would only be through the end of June. “Then you must bring one of your sisters.” To his relief, she also winced, so he said, “Or perhaps your friend Miss Lucas?”
Now Mrs Fitzwilliam smiled. “Yes, she would like that. Thank you, Mr Darcy. I would be glad to stay with you while we work on Lord Milton.”