Chapter Two #2
Her aunt’s dark eyes, so much like Papa’s, bored into hers. “I hope you will ask many, many questions, Elizabeth,” she said seriously, “and I promise to do my very best to answer them.”
“How,” she began, stumbling for a sophisticated way to present her inquiry but failing. She waved both hands at the ceiling in a grand gesture meant to encompass it all and did not seek to temper her excitement. “How did they do that?”
“Art,” Olivia said decidedly. “Elizabeth will learn to appreciate art and she will learn to draw and paint.”
Phillip nodded amiably. “Thomas?” he asked.
Thomas sat on a plush red settee. He admired the house, what he had seen of it, for the rooms were richly but comfortably furnished.
No useless finery here. “I leave it in your hands,” he said, recalling his wife’s parting words more clearly than he wished.
“Elizabeth is a quick study. Just do not expect her to sit still for long.”
Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” He glanced askance at his wife. “Then she is more than your surface copy, Livy.”
“Hush, you,” Olivia replied, but the flash in her eyes was amusement rather than pique. “Does she play the pianoforte, Thomas?”
Thomas grunted his assent. “As well as any ten-year-old girl with other things on her mind, Aunt.”
Olivia considered that and nodded. “You have written that all of your girls are different. Phillip and I have our own opinions on the matter, but what would you say sets Elizabeth apart from her sisters?”
Thomas shrugged complacently. “I suppose Lizzy has a little more wit than most girls.”
Phillip drew his lips in and turned his face away.
Thomas could not be certain, but he thought his uncle might be laughing at him.
When he met his aunt’s disapproving expression, he was sure of it.
Fanny almost never listened to his little remarks, or if she did, she misunderstood them.
He was out of practice with formidable females.
“Thomas,” she said, her stare icy, “I would thank you not to undervalue Elizabeth or any of the other girls, for that matter. They have each of them gifts, but it is up to you and Fanny to nourish them.” She raised an eyebrow at her husband as Phillip turned to face them, his composure again under control, and added, “We shall see to Elizabeth ourselves, but Phillip and I would like to provide a governess for the other girls.”
Thomas had not blushed in many years, but his embarrassment was acute. It was as if he were a boy again, being called to account before his father. As he had on those occasions, he began to see errors where he had detected none before.
Fanny was of the mind that the girls need only be taught to run the household, treat the ill with herbs prepared in the stillroom, and see to the needs of those attached to the estate.
Music, she allowed, was useful for entertaining in the evenings.
Mathematics was useful for keeping accounts, but beyond that it was unnecessary.
Modern languages, literature, art, philosophy, and a larger understanding of the world, these she dismissed as unimportant.
Worn out with the work required to restore and improve Longbourn, he had allowed her full authority with the girls, and he could see now that this had been a mistake.
Jane and Elizabeth both read and learned what bits they could on their own when their mother had no need of them.
After a succession of indifferent masters, Elizabeth played the pianoforte with expression but not discipline, and Jane had taken well to the harp.
Elizabeth was attempting to teach Mary how to play, but a less skilled teacher he could scarcely imagine.
A more formal education in the subjects appropriate for young women could not but help each of his daughters to their best chance of a good marriage, and his aunt was offering it to him with no cost but to his pride and an unpleasant scene with Fanny.
He considered his daughters, how each still believed him a great man.
He thought of his youngest girls, sitting on his lap and waiting for a story, their eyes wide with trust, with love.
Though he knew he fell short of the mark by nearly every measure, it was his fondest wish to be the man they saw in him.
He cleared his throat. “I thank you on behalf of my daughters,” he said seriously. “I accept.”
Thomas Bennet sat in the spacious library, book open but forgotten on his lap, his vision fixed out the windows.
Elizabeth and his aunt were sitting next to one another, drawing boards and paper in hand.
His aunt was showing Elizabeth how to draw lines and circles with a pencil.
He had to admit that taking her lessons in the garden was a brilliant idea—Elizabeth was far happier out of doors than when confined to the schoolroom.
They made a pretty portrait, their backs to him, his aunt bending slightly to hear something Elizabeth had asked, Elizabeth’s face turned up eagerly to accept the response.
The brim of her bonnet shaded most of her face, but her rosy lips suddenly parted in a gesture of surprise, and though it was muffled, he could detect his aunt’s laughter.
The door to the hallway opened, and Thomas recognized the heavy step before Phillip Russell appeared and eased himself into a nearby chair.
“Thomas,” he said by way of greeting.
“Uncle,” he replied, still watching the pair outside.
The chair beside him creaked as Phillip sat forward. “Thomas,” he said, “I was hoping to speak with you while we have some privacy.”
“Indeed?” Thomas asked, casting his gaze to Phillip’s. The older man met his gaze, his good-natured face unusually pensive.
“This is a blessing you have given us, Thomas,” Philip said, his voice pitched low. “Livy is so happy. Elizabeth,” he said, motioning at the pair outside, his expression wistful, “Elizabeth is the image of Livy and exactly the little girl we always hoped to have.”
Thomas nodded. He had seen it, the bond that had immediately formed between his wildly curious daughter and his prickly aunt, as though they were mother and daughter.
Perhaps grandmother and grandchild. It was clear from the very first day that they were kindred spirits in a way Elizabeth and Fanny had never been.
Olivia did not mind Lizzy’s determined questions but rather encouraged them, taking time to answer the ones she could and helping to find the answers when she could not.
At dinner each night, they recounted their visits to the gardener, the cook, the stables, the nearby stream, in search of answers.
Even the steward had come in for his share of the pair’s inquisition.
The staff seemed uniformly charmed, though he thought that might wear off should the visits continue to interrupt their work.
No, he thought upon reflection, this is a house that has been waiting years for such a child.
He cleared his throat. “I have noticed it, Uncle.”
“That being the case,” Phillip continued, “I was hoping you might consider allowing us to use the Russell name when we introduce her to the neighborhood.” His expression remained solemn, which told Thomas the man knew the meaning and seriousness of what he was asking.
Of course, Thomas knew the seriousness of what they were offering, too.
His Lizzy would be a Russell in every way. Their daughter. Not his.
“Uncle,” Thomas said with a sigh, “she has been here barely a week’s time. This is precipitous.”
“Perhaps it is,” Phillip agreed. “Still,” he persisted, “I should like to have this decided to avoid confusion. If she is Elizabeth Bennet Russell from the first, it will spare many tiresome explanations later.”
“What does my aunt say?” He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. He had suspected they would suit admirably. Well, he had been correct. The Russells had no idea of sending Elizabeth home. No, he told himself with both joy and regret. She is home.
Fanny’s words rang in his ears: She is not ours anymore, Mr. Bennet.
The sooner you realize that, the better.
He closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the leather chair.
Phillip said nothing more, but Thomas could sense the man’s presence beside him, and knew that despite the appearance of an amiable temperament, he intended to have his way.
He could not make such a momentous decision now, not as he watched his daughter learning to sketch in the garden.
“Let me think on this, Phillip,” he said, using his uncle’s Christian name for the first time since arriving.
The man had made a wonderful, terrible offer, and it seemed only fair they be on an equal footing now.
“You shall have my answer before I leave tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Phillip replied gruffly, and setting his hands on his knees, levered himself up from his seat.
Outside, Elizabeth hopped up to give Aunt Olivia an impromptu kiss, and Thomas felt a brief stab of jealousy.
It was irrational to be envious of the Russells.
They were a godsend for all his girls and he must bow to reality.
His aunt and uncle could give Elizabeth everything she needed, far beyond material gain.
They could give her the time he could not, and the love Fanny had never learned to express.