Chapter 9 #2
Lydia wrinkled her nose as though the very idea offended her. “How tedious!”
Their giggles filled the room a moment later. Elizabeth smiled too, yet she quietly folded her grandfather’s letter away, knowing her cousins had not the slightest interest in political matters or broader concerns.
Jane—dear, gentle Jane—offered sweetness and comfort, but even she lacked the intellectual curiosity Elizabeth so often craved.
When Elizabeth later attempted to read her a particularly thoughtful passage, Jane had squeezed her hand and said softly, “I cannot pretend to follow all of it, Lizzy, but I am very happy it pleases you.”
Mr Bennet was undeniably intelligent, and in her youth she had enjoyed many spirited debates with him. But of late, those debates had taken on an entirely different character.
“Your notions grow more fanciful every year,” he had remarked recently, laughing indulgently as she suggested improvements for the tenant cottages. His laugh carried more condescension than warmth, and Elizabeth was too intelligent to view it otherwise.
“They are not fanciful,” she replied, striving to keep her tone measured. “They could truly benefit the estate and allow you to put some monies aside for my cousins.”
His brows rose in a way that suggested he found her seriousness highly entertaining.
“My dear girl, the management of my estate is hardly a matter for you to concern yourself with. You are as prone to silly notions as your younger cousins. Best to leave such concerns to those equipped to handle them.”
His light, airy tone did nothing to dull the sharpness beneath the words.
The message of his words was unmistakable: her thoughts held no weight, her ambitions were unnecessary, and her efforts amounted to little more than a young woman’s whims. No matter how carefully she tried to present her ideas, he dismissed them long before she could finish her first sentence.
With the arrival of visitors to Netherfield she had, to her surprise, found the sort of intelligent companion she had long been missing.
Mr Darcy had supported her arguments more than once; even when they disagreed, their discussions carried the ease and respect of equals rather than the condescension of a man humouring a lady.
She remembered one evening in particular when they had fallen into a debate over the education of tenants’ children around the dinner table.
“But surely you see,” she had said, “that offering them even the smallest opportunity could improve the entire estate.”
Mr Darcy had regarded her steadily, his expression thoughtful rather than amused.
“I do see it, Miss Elizabeth. I may not agree on every point, but you argue with sense, and I cannot deny its merit. In fact, my mother established a small school for the tenants at Pemberley during her lifetime, and though I have not given it the attention she once did, I continue to support it. Eventually, when Pemberley has a mistress again, I hope she will take a greater role in its management—and possibly even expand it.”
At the end of the table, Miss Bingley made a strangled sort of noise, but neither she nor Darcy so much as glanced in her direction; they remained entirely absorbed in their conversation.
Elizabeth had blinked, taken aback. “You encourage such efforts?” she asked before she could prevent her surprise from colouring her tone. “I confess, I did not expect you to give the subject so much consideration.”
His gaze had softened, only a little, yet enough for her to notice. “Then I am glad to have surprised you.”
As she now recalled the moment, she remembered the sense of relief that had accompanied it—not merely at being heard, but at being answered without dismissal.
His earlier insult had stung her pride, certainly, but with the guidance she had gained from her grandfather’s letters—and the broader view of the world they fostered—she had found it possible to extend to him the benefit of the doubt.
In truth, Mr Darcy was the first gentleman outside her own family to treat her mind as something worth engaging rather than indulging.
That gentleman remained in her thoughts, for her grandfather mentioned him several times during their short journey from Longbourn to Millwood.
He had spoken with Mr Bennet while she packed what she wished to take immediately, leaving the rest to be handled later.
Her grandfather had brought two maids from his estate, along with a wagon, and they were instructed to gather anything Elizabeth chose not to manage herself.
Once they were settled in his carriage, her grandfather began to outline his plans for her and to describe the visitors he had invited to the cottage.
“I wrote to you of Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Lord Granfield began.
“He was due to take some leave, and I have invited him to join us at Millwood for a time. He agreed readily enough, provided his cousins joined him. Therefore, I extended invitations to Mr Darcy and his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, and they have accepted. They will remain with us through the New Year, at least—mayhap a bit longer. After that, I must return to London to resume my duties in the House of Lords.”
He turned towards her then, his expression both fond and determined, the sort that told her he had been considering this for some time.
“I would have you join me in London as well, my dear girl. It is high time you take your rightful place in society. You will be quite the jewel, and your come out has been delayed long enough by my absence. Amongst other things I must do while we are at Millwood is find someone who might sponsor you in society as your grandmother or mother would have done had they lived. Still, I should like to keep you as my hostess for as long as I may; I imagine you will have no shortage of suitors once you are properly introduced.”
Elizabeth angled her head towards him, one brow arching with all the scepticism she felt. “By chance, Grandpapa, are you contemplating a bit of matchmaking?”
The earl laughed outright—a rich, warm sound that filled the small carriage. “I would like to see you settled in a suitable arrangement, certainly, but I shall allow you freedom of choice.”
For one fragile instant, relief stirred in Elizabeth’s heart—a foolish, dangerous thing—as she continued to listen.
“You know, of course, that you possess a substantial dowry: Netherfield and fifty thousand pounds. That makes you a considerable heiress, and you will require a partner who can oversee it carefully. Not a man who already has an estate of his own, but one who can devote the time and attention Netherfield requires. It is yours, after all, and you have done much for your tenants in these past years.”
Elizabeth stared at him, astonishment crashing over her before she could school her features as the meaning of his words took hold. Her mouth fell open, and for a moment she could only draw a sharp, unsteady breath, striving to comprehend the enormity of what he had revealed.
“Grandpapa…” It was all she managed; the rest of her thoughts tangled in a stunned knot.
The shock ebbed quickly, replaced by something colder. Her eyes narrowed as the pieces aligned.
“Since meeting him, you have written to me several times about Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said, her voice steadying even as it gained force.
“Nearly every mention has been full of praise for his steadfast character and admirable qualities. That is why you invited him to Millwood. I had assumed it was merely because you enjoyed his company, but now I see otherwise. You have said he is much younger than you—nearly thirty—and you have spoken more of him than of any acquaintance you have ever made.”
The warmth drained from her cheeks. Something inside her settled—not into fury, but into clarity.
“As a second son, he would require a well-dowered bride, would he not? One who comes with an estate would be all the more desirable. I should like to know, Grandpapa… whether you have already begun to arrange matters. Did you truly mean what you said about allowing me to choose whom I marry? Or have you already determined that the colonel is ‘suitable’ in your mind—and that this is the arrangement you have made for me?”
She paused only a moment. “You promised me my choice.”
Her voice did not rise—Elizabeth Bennet did not shriek—but the quiet edge in it left no room for misunderstanding.
The earl lifted both hands in a placating gesture.
“Elizabeth, my dear girl, I only meant to introduce you to him,” he said gently.
“I have spoken no word of marriage to Colonel Fitzwilliam. But just as I wrote to you of him, I wrote to him of you. In my opinion, it is a very good match, entirely suitable for one of your status.”
Her jaw tensed, but he pressed on, his tone sincere rather than forceful.
“Listen to me. I will not coerce you into any marriage—any.
You may still marry where there is respect and affection.
I simply ask that you meet him with an open mind.
Let us say no more of negotiations, for there are none.
What I have done is extend an invitation to a man I believe possesses excellent sense, admirable character, and a temperament much like your own.
He is lively and engaging, able to speak comfortably with anyone—high or low.
“You are better versed in estate management than he, but he brings connexions you were not raised to acquire. Though not the heir, he was brought up by an earl and understands well the obligations of rank. In my view, he suits you.”
He lowered his hands slightly, his gaze softening. “But I will not force your hand. The choice of whom you marry remains entirely yours.”
For a moment Elizabeth could find no words; too many emotions crowded her thoughts at once. Before she could gather them, the carriage drew to a halt before Millwood Cottage. She allowed her grandfather to assist her down and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as he led her inside.
Once the servants had relieved them of their outerwear and withdrawn, leaving them alone in the quiet entryway, she turned to him.
“Grandpapa,” she began, steadying her voice.
“While I appreciate your inviting your friends here, and I am pleased to serve as your hostess, I hope you remember that I have always sworn to marry only for love. Respect is vital, of course, but I will not marry without a deep and abiding affection. Your solicitor might have refrained from letting Netherfield so near my majority, but since the lease overlaps by only a few months, I cannot complain overmuch.”
Lord Granfield looked at her with unmistakable confusion. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Merely that, should I wish it, in less than a year Netherfield will be entirely mine,” she said, attempting to sound casual though her heart beat rather fast. “I am under no obligation to marry unless I desire it. I had even considered inviting Jane to live with me. The one drawback is its proximity to Longbourn—Aunt Bennet would certainly visit far too often—but Jane’s only true opportunity to marry well lies in being removed from her present environment. ”
Her voice softened, her words remaining resolute.
“As much as I am grateful to the Bennets for taking me in—and they have been very good to me—I am well aware how much of a disadvantage it is to be considered part of their household. Day after day, I have seen the effects of an unequal match. Whether the inequality lies in affection or in understanding I cannot say, but I have no desire to enter into anything similar. The Gardiners have shown me what a loving, respectful marriage ought to be, and I mean to hold out for one like theirs. If I do not find such a partnership, I would far rather remain single.”
Lord Granfield studied his granddaughter for several long moments, the lines of his face softening into something closer to admiration. At length, he nodded.
“Very well, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.
“I will not pressure you to choose any gentleman. But I must say this: I believe you would be happiest with both a husband and a family. You could run Netherfield competently on your own—you are more than capable of doing so and I know you have advised the steward often—but I think you would find deeper fulfilment as a wife with someone worthy by your side.”
Unwilling to continue the conversation any further, Elizabeth asked to be excused so she might settle into her room, assuring her grandfather that she would see him again at tea.
He agreed without protest, yet the silence that followed spoke volumes.
Both of them, she suspected, had far more to ponder after their exchange than either cared to admit.