Without Undue Pride

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

What do you mean?” Miss Lucas cried. “You left with her; how could you not bring her back?”

“Your friend is an independent woman,” Darcy said. “She wanted to walk and is, or rather was, a married woman. She can walk Bond Street if she chooses.”

“She is a woman alone. She might be presumed to be a courtesan and insulted on the street.”

Darcy gave her a long look. “It is broad daylight, Miss Lucas, and she is wearing black.”

He little liked Elizabeth fleeing from him, although he understood her fury, and her fear. Darcy briefly explained to Miss Lucas Lord Milton’s intentions for Elizabeth’s child if it was a boy. He left out his insults and rude demeanour.

He had not expected a warm welcome, but Milton’s disdain for Elizabeth and his complete disregard for her role as a mother were appalling. If he had suspected this was the way Elizabeth would be treated, he would never have brought her to appeal to Milton.

Miss Lucas frowned. “It is a good plan to live with her brother-in-law and see that he raises her child, for she is in no position to raise the heir to an earldom, but I cannot imagine Eliza agreeing to it. ”

“No,” he breathed. She did not want to depend on a man like Milton, and he could not blame her.

“She struggles with her place, more so than most women.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “She seems to manage her situation better than one might expect. She has suddenly found herself an expectant mother and a widow with little means.”

“I mean, she speaks her mind.” Miss Lucas heaved a sigh. “A woman’s place is naturally subservient to men, and Eliza is not the sort of woman to listen to her husband or father to be instructed. She will not always show that deference and consciousness of inferiority that a man expects. I doubt she will ever learn how to act. She cannot change the world, and she refuses to do what she must to survive in it.”

“You mean how to survive in a man’s world, when she has neither wealth nor connexions to help her claim a place?”

Miss Lucas dropped her eyes and tensed her shoulders, as if embarrassed by what she said. “But she is not headstrong, or obstinate, or unfeminine. She simply struggles with that quality that shows a married lady to advantage.”

“Which is?”

“A modest submission of her understanding to the man whom she honoured with her choice.”

Some men expected a wife to defer to his judgment in all things. He never considered himself to be that sort of man. What would be the point in marrying a lively and intelligent woman like Elizabeth if, after her name became yours, she became all mild complacence?

“I never thought that your friend was any of those things, and she has a right to feel the world is a little unjust. She has lost too much to feel everything is fair.”

He bowed, about to read in the library until Elizabeth returned.

“Will you send a footman to find her?” Miss Lucas pleaded.

He turned back, surprised. Elizabeth could not be more than half a mile away; he had only taken the carriage rather than walk to impress Milton. “It has only been half an hour since Mrs Fitzwilliam left.”

“She is all alone. I assume she needs help. ”

“And I assume she is competent.”

Miss Lucas narrowed her eyes at his sharp tone, but curtseyed and left the drawing room. Darcy blew out a breath and threw himself into a chair. He had lost his patience. Fitzwilliam would never have been inconsiderate of a lady’s feelings.

He was not worried for Elizabeth’s safety, but he had no right to be abrupt with her friend. The horrible encounter with Milton still troubled him. He regretted putting her in such a situation, although Milton already knew of her pregnancy. There could be no secret about the baby if it was the heir to a splendid fortune and a title.

His cousin had offered to keep custody rather quickly. Had Milton already been thinking of a way to take it if it were a boy?

What would happen to Elizabeth now? She would get her meagre pension, return to Longbourn, suffer her father’s teasing and her mother’s hints that she remarry, or force herself in perpetual good cheer enough to live alongside Mrs Bingley and her new husband. She would have her child in October and, if it were a boy, wait for Milton to move through the courts to take him from her.

Damn Fitzwilliam for not writing a will. What man did not write one as soon as the ink on the settlement papers was dry? If women were to be deferential and subservient to their husbands, then men were supposed to be diligent in protecting and caring for their wives.

His cousin was always the sort to put things off. School work, unpleasant letters, matters of business, returning a call he did not relish. He was the very picture of procrastination.

But he always did what was required of him. He was dilatory, but Fitzwilliam was not irresponsible, and he had dearly loved his wife.

Had he written a will in Spain before the battle? Elizabeth said some soldiers did. He had known by then that he could die and that he would leave a child behind. Darcy wanted to believe that he had written one at the last moment, but where was it if Elizabeth did not have it?

He looked up when Georgiana crept into the drawing room. He wished she felt more comfortable in his homes. They were hers as well, as far as he was concerned. “How was your walk with Mrs Annesley?”

They had met Mrs Annesley yesterday afternoon, not long after Elizabeth sent away Mrs Younge. He had found her well-mannered and less brusque than Mrs Younge. The lady had asked to come back today to spend time alone with Georgiana to ensure that they were likely to suit. He had tried to pay better attention to his sister’s expressions and manner during that first meeting, but it was better to ask her outright.

“I like her,” Georgiana said. “We went to Gunter’s and talked while we had ices. I think she is a kind, patient lady.”

“But will she be patient when she has to go to the shops with you?” he asked wryly.

She ducked her head in embarrassment. “I will not have the opportunity to try her patience that way in Derbyshire.”

“But when you go to the seaside in August, you will find plenty of ways to spend your pin money, if only you can decide. Hopefully, Mrs Annesley will teach you how to manage your expenses, and maybe help you not be so long at a decision,” he added with a smile.

Georgiana laughed and asked, “Where is Lizzy?”

Darcy ran his hands over his face. “She needed a solitary walk. Lord Milton will not support her, and he intends to take her child from her if she has a boy.”

His sister’s mouth fell open. “That is horrible. Why would he think she would not be a wonderful mother?”

“He does not care about her fitness. Our cousin feels he has a right to a boy because, for now, it would be his heir, and so he intends to take it as though it were his brother’s toy and he wanted it. He will deign to allow Elizabeth to live with him and his wife to be near her child, but Milton will take full control of it.”

His sister wore an utterly confused expression. “Would my cousin have wanted that for his child?”

He made no reply. In his heart, he knew the answer was no, but there was no proof of that, and therein lay the source of all of their problems .

They both heard the front door open and a slow tread up the stairs. Elizabeth peered in and looked as though she had hoped to sneak past the open drawing-room door, but she noticed them and entered. Darcy hardly knew what to say, and his sister was too shy to speak. The silence stretched as they stared at one another.

“I am sorry for running off in a fit of pique,” she said with a firm tilt of her chin.

Darcy rose and gestured for her to join them. “I deserved it, considering what he said to you, and I am sorry to have put you in that situation.”

“It was not your fault,” she said as she perched on the edge of a chair. “You would not have taken any woman there if you had known she was to be spoken to like that.”

“I genuinely thought I could bring him to reason, or at least shame him into supporting you. I never thought he would petition the courts for your child.”

His sister looked between them both and then cried out, “Milton is a cold-hearted, selfish man!”

“Georgiana,” Darcy said weakly, not really disagreeing with her.

“He is,” Elizabeth agreed. “But as angry as I am, and as afraid as I am that he will take my child, I have to prepare for its arrival. That is within my control. I am grateful for your kindness, Darcy, and hope that we might always be friends.” She gave him a fond smile and turned to his sister. “And I am glad to have met you, Georgiana, but if Lord Milton will do nothing for me, it is time to return to Hertfordshire.”

He felt more disappointed at her leaving than he had a right to. “Certainly,” he agreed. “If that is what will make you happy.”

“Happy?” she repeated, leaning back into her chair and shaking her head to herself. “It is not about what will make me happy. It is what is necessary. I have no money, and October will be here before I know it. I cannot plan more than a day or two ahead, but at the least I must settle somewhere.”

It hung unspoken in the air that she had nowhere else to go and she did not want to return to Longbourn .

“What if…” Georgiana stammered, looking at him. “What if Lizzy did not have to spend the summer in Hertfordshire? Does she have other friends to stay with?”

Darcy smiled at her passive hint. His sister would not give an invitation. She was too shy and had never done it in her life, but he thought it an excellent idea.

“Only my aunt and uncle Gardiner,” Elizabeth said wearily, not understanding what Georgiana suggested, “and they are in the Lake District for the summer. I could not ask them to return early just so I could stay with them to avoid my nearer relations.”

“You must come to Pemberley for the summer and be amongst your friends,” he said.

Her countenance betrayed extreme surprise. “I thank you for your kind offer, but to accept it is impossible. My parents and sister have a stronger claim to me.”

It could not be good for her or her child to endure more anxiety and strain before its arrival. But he must remember not to only give advice, but to listen. After being told that as a widow she had no legal right to her own child, why would she want to hear anything another man had to say? And, of course, he must watch the expressions in her eyes. They would say more than her words.

“Can your family comfort you now?” he asked. The look on her face answered, although he already knew the truth.

“Living at Longbourn or Netherfield would be more comfortable than Spain. I can endure quite a lot, you know.”

Although she had yet to mention the details, he had no doubt of it. “I will send you back tomorrow in my carriage if you wish it,” he said gently, “but I promise you would be very welcome at Pemberley. Would you feel welcome in Hertfordshire?”

She did not answer, but a muscle in her cheek twitched and she looked away. Georgiana shared a worried look with him, and then said, “I would be glad to have you with us, if, if you think you might not want to be amongst your family at such a time.”

Elizabeth gave a strained laugh. “Why would I not want to be amongst my family when I am about to give birth and might have my child and freedom taken from me? Why would I not want to be with my happily married sister who cannot imagine losing a husband, my boisterous single sisters eager to marry, my mother who wants me remarried, and my father who does not stir himself to care for us?”

There was pain in her eyes and he saw the embarrassment in her cheeks, and heard the bleakness in her tone. She rose and crossed the room, putting her back to them and pretending to look out the window. Elizabeth brought a hand to her stomach and shifted her weight. She was not large, at least not yet, and if one stood behind her it was difficult to tell she was pregnant.

Georgiana looked at him and shrugged her shoulders, uncertain what to do. He told her to ring for something to eat for Elizabeth and then said she could leave. When Georgiana was gone, Darcy rose to follow Elizabeth.

As soon as the door shut, Elizabeth said, “I do not know what is wrong with me. There is no reason for me to be rude. I should not say such things about people who do love me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he said quickly, “but, if I may give my opinion, I think you never felt consoled for your loss. Months had passed by the time you saw your family, and one’s grief needs a compassionate witness.”

Elizabeth looked at him with watery eyes, but she said nothing, so he added, “Why do you and Miss Lucas not come to Pemberley? You will have a friend with you when your time comes, and Georgiana will be there until she goes to the seaside with Mrs Annesley in August.”

“You cannot really want the pregnant widow underfoot.”

He could think of nothing to say to express the depth of his emotion and convey that he was mindful of her loss. He could at least tell her the truth. “I think we might have tastes and values in common, and we also have this loss in common.”

She reached out to touch a finger to his black armband. He was uncertain she realised she had done it. “You had your family around you, though, and you were safe,” she whispered.

“I could not grieve alongside my aunt and uncle, or anyone in my family.” Certainly not Milton. “They blame him for marrying you, as if you had forced them to cut him off, rather than the other way round. They withdrew from him, and then he died. His parents regret how they last spoke to him and it clouds their mourning of him. There is too much anger and regret mixed in with their grief.”

“Could you even talk of him to them?” she asked, not meeting his eye.

He shook his head. “It always ended in argument, over you, over the war, over his choices. I need to remember my cousin and honour my promise to him to care for you. Am I wrong in guessing that after all you have been through, you need rest? Some serenity? You can find that at Pemberley.”

The seconds passed slowly while she thought. Then she smiled a little. “It would be a comfort to have six months of peace. A few months before the baby comes and a few months after. Then I could go to Jane for a while, at least until…” A darkness filled her eyes. “I will not live under Lord Milton’s command nor let him take my son.”

He could not know what it was like to love a child, let alone be a mother, but her determination struck him to his core. Milton threatening that tie, tearing it asunder, would only render her maternal love stronger.

How could Fitzwilliam not have felt some of that devotion when he learnt Elizabeth was pregnant?

“It is hard to believe Fitzwilliam did not leave a will,” he said urgently. “He suspected you were—” He gestured vaguely. She patiently waited for him to use the word she insisted on. “Pregnant. If he thought you were pregnant, he had to write a will.”

“It was only a few days before the battle that I told him.”

“An impending battle is all the more reason,” he pressed. “Fitzwilliam was the sort to wait until the last possible moment, but he was not neglectful.”

“But where could it be? It was not with his documents. Everything of value was sold, but I kept my marriage lines and all of his papers. He may have procrastinated, but he was organised.”

“I do not know if it was common for the officers to write or amend their wills at such a time. But if he did, he needed witnesses and someone to copy it. I will write to his fellow officers, find out if any soldiers wrote wills while in Spain, and if they remember him writing one.”

Elizabeth brightened a little. “Colonel Bushkill was his commanding officer, and Major Hamilton his closest friend. He would have asked them to witness it. Do you think…” She hesitated. “Do you think he would have named me custodian of our child? Regardless of what man he named its guardian, would he have said it could always remain with me?”

She sounded fearful. If he found his cousin’s will and it was not in her favour, she was guaranteed to lose custody. “Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam loved you; he married you in defiance of everyone. I cannot think of any reason he would not trust you entirely with your child. Because that is how he would have thought of it: not his child exclusively, but yours together. He would not have sent it into anyone else’s care while you were alive.”

She blinked and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “It is the baby that makes me teary. I am certain of it. A few kind words should not bring on tears. You are right; he would have trusted me, and not only because he could not trust his family.” She then gave him a long look. “Well, his parents and brother, at least. He trusted you deeply.”

He did not have her same excuse to be easily moved by emotion, so he pushed aside his feelings and stoically nodded his thanks. “It will take time to write to anyone in his regiment who might have known he wrote a will, or helped him copy it or was a witness, but I hope it can be found before Milton goes to the courts. I suspect he will not trouble himself until he learns if it is a boy.”

“Why are you taking all this on?” she asked. “Lord Milton was right to ask you.”

Fitzwilliam’s brother and father would do nothing, and she could do little herself as a woman. She had no natural connexions to assist her even with their counsel, and she could not afford to purchase the assistance of the law.

“Your husband was my cousin, who was attached to me by every tie of regard and of principle. I should help you, and should not think it an act of forwardness and intrusion to offer you my services.” He could not mention how much he admired her resolve and her humour despite everything she had suffered.

She nodded, but still murmured, “I hate having to rely on another man.”

He laughed a little at her wry smile. “But there is nobody to stir in it but me. And, unfortunately for your principles, I am a man, and one who is able and willing to help you.”

She chuckled. “I will try not to hold your sex against you.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “What about the money in the Portsmouth bank? If I had that and a will, I would be set up forever.”

That money was gone. The bank had failed; it was insolvent and could not meet its payment obligations. But she looked so hopeful, and he rarely saw that look in her eyes. “I do not mind putting a little trouble in the right place to inquire, but I would not set your hopes on it.” Another thought struck him, a way to solve most of her current problems for her. “My family should have done more for you, and since they will not, that duty falls to me. I can provide you with the annuity that the Fitzwilliams refused to grant you.”

Elizabeth paled. “Absolutely not,” she whispered. “I am not your responsibility.”

“I accept that you are, at least since your brother- and father-in-law have forsaken that duty. A few thousand pounds or an annuity?—”

“No!” she interrupted. “I do not even want to live with Bingley and my sister and impose on them,” she cried, piercing him with a vehement look. “I should not even be in your house, let alone accept your charity.”

If she would not be beholden to the Bingleys, she would never accept money from him. Even a few pounds from him for clothes and necessities frustrated her in a way he did not understand. “You can refuse my offer, but I would never call it charity, only what my family owes you. But I hope your pride does not prevent you from accepting my hospitality at Pemberley. ”

“Hospitality is not charity,” she said in a calmer voice. “It has an end date.”

“Well, your future home and maintenance can be arranged at a later time,” he said. “Finding Fitzwilliam’s last will and testament is the most important thing now.”

“Yes, it is. You are taking on a great deal of trouble.”

“Are you my family?”

“Only in a very distant and legal sense.”

That was true. But her nearer relations, both by blood and marriage, could not be relied upon. “Perhaps a better question is, are we friends?”

“We have not yet put much action to it, or at least I have been more of a burden than a friend.”

“I would never call you a burden,” he insisted. “I think we are friends.”

She smiled a little. “I know we are.”

Her statement of their friendship, said with such certainty, made his heart beat unnaturally fast. This attraction he felt for her must certainly be only on his side, so he had best ignore it. “Then spend the next six months at Pemberley. Rest, grieve, recover, have your child. And while you do that, I will investigate if your husband left a will. I do not want to see Milton take your child any more than you do.”

It looked as though she was convinced, but she said, “I would not feel right being at Pemberley without a friend, especially as you will have business to take you from home and your sister will be at the seaside later this year. I must ask Charlotte first.”

She left to do just that. But Darcy was certain that when he went to Pemberley next week, his carriage would have two additional passengers.