Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Shortly after his guest departed from Millwood Cottage, Lord Granfield paid a call to Longbourn.
He had not known the Bennet family well before his daughter married into it.
His son-in-law had been a decent and steady young man, but his elder brother possessed a decided tendency towards idleness—a trait Granfield found difficult to accept in any landowner, let alone one responsible for so many dependents.
Longbourn could be far more successful, yet not solely because of poor fortune; its master simply could not be bothered to improve it.
Even so, the Bennet family had been good enough to take Elizabeth into their home when he could not, and for that he felt a lasting gratitude.
In turn, he took care that Elizabeth was never a burden upon them, providing funds from his own estate for her clothing and remitting to Mr Bennet a modest stipend each quarter for her maintenance.
As a result, his granddaughter and her eldest cousin had grown as close as thieves, and their easy affection for one another had always given him pleasure.
The younger girls, however, were wild and imprudent; and although Elizabeth had more than once attempted to persuade her uncle to curb their behaviour, he had merely laughed at their antics.
Granfield had even attempted offering to provide the girls with dowries—on the condition that they be sent to school and make a sincere effort to improve themselves—but Mr Bennet had refused to hear of it.
Thus, even though Elizabeth had only just returned to Longbourn after her brief stay at Netherfield, he requested that she depart with him again on the morrow.
This time, unlike previous instances, she packed nearly all she possessed.
It was he who had insisted upon it. With his years abroad behind him and both his children gone—his son having died recently without an heir—he was now obliged to resume his duties as Lord Granfield.
Before reclaiming Granfield Park, he intended to settle himself quietly at Millwood Cottage and reacquaint himself with English life while he hosted Colonel Fitzwilliam and the Darcys.
He thought back to Portugal, where he had first made the colonel’s acquaintance more than a month earlier.
The younger man had impressed him at once: steady in temperament, principled in conduct, well-mannered, and possessed of the sort of character one might safely trust. When Granfield later learnt of Fitzwilliam’s connexions to the Earl of Matlock and the Darcy family, he grew even more certain that he had found a most suitable match for Elizabeth.
He might not have cared for Matlock personally, but he had never heard anything negative about the man.
His granddaughter deserved a husband of honour, substance, and sense—not one drawn merely by her fortune nor one who would covet only the advantages of her rank.
Her dowry and future estate were undeniably significant, particularly for a second son who must marry well, but Granfield was confident the colonel would never pursue Elizabeth for that reason alone, should he come to believe they truly suited.
With that in mind, he had already written to the Prince Regent and secured permission to bypass the usual laws of primogeniture, allowing his title and lands to pass through Elizabeth.
Her husband would not become Lord Granfield himself, but their son would, and such a future required careful consideration.
He would not entrust his legacy—nor Elizabeth’s happiness—to anyone less than exemplary.
Darcy’s reaction to this news had surprised the older man more than he cared to admit.
The young master of Pemberley was, of course, equal to his cousin in many respects—well-bred, honourable, and possessed of excellent connexions—but with his own vast estate and considerable wealth, Granfield had never once thought to consider Elizabeth for him.
Darcy needed nothing from marriage, least of all a wife with a substantial inheritance.
It was the colonel, not Darcy, who required an estate of his own.
After all, Fitzwilliam had saved his life. The memory was still sharp: the chaos in Portugal, the shot that would have felled him had the colonel not forced him aside at the last moment. It had happened quickly, and Fitzwilliam had been placed in exactly the right spot to render him aid.
From that day, Granfield had determined that the debt could never be properly repaid—but securing the young man’s future, enabling him to retire from military service with dignity and purpose, was as close as he could come.
Making Elizabeth his heiress and thereby offering her hand along with an estate worthy of her, seemed the most fitting recompense he could devise.
That Darcy admired Elizabeth was plain enough, but he was a man of honour, and that honour, Granfield suspected, would ultimately serve the earl’s purposes rather well.
Darcy would never pursue Elizabeth if he believed her intended for his cousin; indeed, young Darcy wished to see Fitzwilliam settled at home almost as keenly as Granfield himself did.
Elizabeth’s fortune would not only allow the colonel to retire comfortably from the army, but would also free him from his father’s overbearing influence.
The Earl of Matlock was not a bad man even though he and Granfield had never been close.
Their temperaments had clashed often in Parliament, their priorities differed, and neither had ever possessed the patience to bridge the gap.
That the elder Darcy knew them both so well—having married into the Matlock family on one side and long maintained a close friendship and business partnership with Granfield on the other—made the colonel’s amusement at the estrangement hardly surprising.
He alone seemed to find the entire affair something of a private joke, no doubt because he was among the few who could endure the company of both earls without quarrel.
It was possible, of course, that young Darcy’s presence at Millwood might complicate matters, but Granfield doubted it would pose any real threat.
From Elizabeth’s letters, it had been perfectly clear that she held little affection for the arrogant gentleman from Derbyshire.
Apologising was all well and good, but it would take far more than a single contrite moment to soften her opinion of him.
No, Granfield relied upon Darcy’s honour—relied upon it to keep the young man silent about whatever feelings he might harbour for Elizabeth.
In truth, he felt little concern. He knew his granddaughter’s temperament far better than Darcy did.
Given time, her good sense would prevail, and she would recognise that the colonel—steady, engaging, and far more open in his affections and manners—was the more suitable match than the reserved and reticent owner of Pemberley.
Granfield had not set these matters in motion without careful thought.
He believed he had arranged things as they ought to be arranged, with due regard for Elizabeth’s future and happiness.
When she had considered the matter fully, she would see that the arrangement before her was not only advantageous, but entirely suitable.
He was confident that his judgement, and his understanding of Elizabeth’s heart, would prove correct in the end.
Elizabeth was pleased that her grandfather had returned to England, and she was genuinely delighted to spend time with him again, particularly in the role of his hostess.
Throughout the years, while separated by oceans, his letters had remained a steady presence in her life—letters full of questions and challenges rather than mere pleasantries.
“What do you make of this policy, my dear girl?” he would write.
“Argue its merits with me, if you can.”
Or, “I have met a Spanish farmer who manages twice the yield on half the acreage. Tell me why you believe this might be so.”
He provoked her to think, to reason, to form opinions and defend them. Even the brief visits they had shared over the years had left a lasting impression. She remembered the last time she saw him before he departed for the Americas and the exchange that had taken place on that day:
“You will not let your thoughts go idle in my absence, will you, Elizabeth?”
“I should not dare,” she had teased. “For then you would scold me in your next letter.”
“I never scold,” he corrected, smiling. “My words are meant to challenge you, my dear girl. I know what you will endure at Longbourn, but you are better there than with me.”
She cared deeply for the Bennet family and acknowledged that they had been good to her in countless ways.
Her youngest cousins could be a trial even on their best behaviour.
Once, shortly after she returned from visiting her grandfather at his estate, she attempted to share with them a portion of his most recent letter.
“He writes of the unrest between Britain and America that will soon take him to New York or even Boston,” she explained, settling beside Jane on the settee in the drawing room where the family sat attending to their sewing.
“There have been protests in London, and Grandpapa believes the situation may—”
Lydia, who had been rifling through a ribbon box, let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Lizzy, must you always speak of such matters? It puts me quite to sleep. Why should we care about unrest that is so far away as London? I would much rather know about the fashions there; do ask your grandfather if he can send us some ribbons on his travels.”
Kitty looked up from arranging a cluster of hairpins into a decorative pattern. “Yes, tell us something pleasant instead. Did your grandfather send you anything pretty? A bit of lace or a ribbon? Or did he mention some new fashion he encountered?”
Elizabeth could not help laughing. “He wrote of politics, not pelisses.”