Chapter Six
Elizabeth patted her skirt again, smoothing the wrinkles from her traveling attire. Aunt Olivia glowered at her across the carriage. “Stop that, Lizzy. Your fidgeting is making me nervous.”
She stopped and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You are nervous?”
Aunt Olivia glared back. “No.”
Elizabeth smiled weakly. “It is only that I haven’t seen them in so long. They will all be so different.”
“Yes, they will,” Olivia replied frankly. “You have been with us…” She drew in her lips, but an impatient huff of air escaped. “You have been with me as long as you were at Longbourn.”
“It will not be such a shock with Papa, Jane, and Mary,” Elizabeth admitted, recalling their visit in London just after her year at school, “but Mama and the younger girls…”
Olivia’s brows drew together. “Are you concerned about your mother?”
Elizabeth’s hands hovered over her skirt, but at her aunt’s pointed look, she slowly lowered them to her lap. “Perhaps I am being foolish.”
The older woman sighed. “I believe you have the memories of a confused ten-year-old girl, dearest, but you are now a woman grown. You are stronger than you were.”
“Oh, Aunt Olivia,” Elizabeth murmured, “I fear I shall always be that ten-year-old girl when I think about my mother.”
“Nonsense,” Olivia said roughly, “She may not have changed, but once you have been in her company for a time, you will see her differently.” Her expression softened, but her words were an order. “You will see yourself differently.”
“Yes, General Russell,” Elizabeth said cheekily, echoing her Uncle Phillip’s common refrain.
The women were silent, lost in memories.
Phillip had been husband and father to them in all the best ways.
He treated everyone he esteemed with consideration, dealing with the more illustrious members of his extended family the same as all his untitled friends, and they respected, indeed they liked him enough not to mind.
The two of them, however, had been his girls, and he had lavished not only his funds, but his time and his affection on them both.
It had been the three of them for close to eight years.
Then in London, just before Elizabeth was to begin her first season, Phillip had complained of congestion in his chest. He had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire, and a few hours later could not be awakened.
A second visit with Papa and Jane had been canceled, though Papa had arrived the following afternoon and remained with them through the funeral.
After the condolence visits had died down, the will had been read.
Elizabeth was invited in for part of it.
Aunt Olivia was the only one allowed to remain for the reading of the entire document.
Once the business was done, Elizabeth had whisked her aunt back into the country where the two sequestered themselves at Weymouth House. Elizabeth had then devoted herself to her aunt and to Uncle Phillip’s business concerns.
This time it had been Georgiana who, forced to remain at school and with her aunts, had written to her friend, supporting her through her terrible loss.
Her brother was traveling, she wrote, or he surely would have called at Weymouth House; her cousin Richard Fitzwilliam had been wounded in the Battle of Corunna and had been left behind with hundreds of other ill or injured English troops.
Her cousin’s father was an earl and his older brother a viscount.
Traveling to French-controlled Spain would be very dangerous for them, so Georgiana’s brother had insisted on making the journey in their stead to arrange for Richard’s care and negotiate his release.
Elizabeth had thought highly of Georgiana’s brother then, higher still when his letter had arrived for her aunt some time later.
It had made Aunt Olivia smile. Elizabeth would always be grateful to Mr. Darcy for that.
Between Georgiana’s unending praises and his kindness to Aunt Olivia, she was half in love with him herself, though she had yet to meet him.
Had she come out when she was eighteen they would have been introduced… but she had not come out.
It had been two years now, and while she and Aunt Olivia were as close as ever, Uncle Phillip’s absence was still keenly felt.
Elizabeth wished she knew how to help, for though she tried to hide it, Aunt Olivia still suffered keenly.
She did not eat well, did not sleep much, and Elizabeth worried about her aunt’s plan to travel on to London alone while she remained with the Bennets.
Olivia, however, had insisted, and she was not to be gainsaid.
Her niece would spend the summer and fall at Longbourn.
She would come to town the week before Christmas and not a day before.
“Elizabeth,” her aunt said, turning from the window and gazing into her niece’s startled eyes. She never used Elizabeth’s full name. It was always Lizzy.
“Yes, Aunt Olivia?” she replied, her heart beating fast.
“Do you know why I must go to London?” she asked, sitting straight and assuming the regal bearing Elizabeth so admired. Nobody outside of family ever saw the irreverent side of Olivia Russell. She chose her confidantes with extraordinary care.
Slowly, she shook her head. “I am sorry, Aunt,” she responded. “Should I?”
The old woman’s face stretched into a smile. “No,” she said, “Phillip wanted to tell you, but I held back. I thought you ought to have your youth first, without bearing the burden.”
Anxiety flared in Elizabeth’s stomach, twisting it into hard knots. “Burden?” she asked.
“You are our daughter, dear,” her aunt said grandly, as though the very declaration made her intentions clear.
“I am,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Well, then,” Aunt Olivia said, and turned back to the window.
“I am afraid I still do not understand,” Elizabeth said, confused. She tugged at the hem of her dusty glove.
Aunt Olivia held up one hand. Her gloves were spotless, and Elizabeth marveled at how her aunt managed. She herself always secreted a second pair in her reticule to change into at the end of a long journey, but Aunt Olivia never seemed to need to resort to such stratagems.
“I am traveling to London because you are to inherit, Lizzy,” she said firmly. “I need to meet with John and the solicitor for a review of the accounts and to formalize the details of their transfer so that when the time is right, everything will be handled properly.”
“Is not John your heir?” Elizabeth asked, confused. “Or Francis?”
Aunt Olivia was incredulous. “What need have they for Phillip’s fortune? A duke and a marquess? The pair of them are already as rich as Croesus and too busy to see to it properly.” She wrinkled her nose. “My goodness, Lizzy, and here I thought you so very clever.”
“I already have my investment account, Aunt Olivia, and the funds, and my dowry, and the house…” she protested.
The past two years had taught her that while she would never wish to be penniless, real wealth took a good deal of time and attention to manage.
Though she believed she knew most of the details of her aunt’s going concerns, the fact that she had not heard the entire will made her suspect there might be more.
The correspondence about her land and the house in Kensington took a good deal of time, without even taking the family investments into account.
She clearly recalled Uncle Phillip remarking more than once that with wealth came responsibility, and she had tried to live up to his expectations in that regard.
It struck her then, and she nearly groaned. He had planned this all along.
Aunt Olivia lifted an eyebrow and offered her the grin Elizabeth rarely saw anymore.
“I should tell you that you do not have a dowry, dear. Phillip and I removed the money set aside for that when you began to invest. We divided it equally between your other sisters and added three years of returns for each. They will now have five thousand each in addition to the interest of the past ten years when they marry.”
The women fell silent. Elizabeth calculated it in her head.
The girls had originally had four thousand pounds.
With the additional thousand each and the interest being reinvested, her sisters should each have nearly seventy-five hundred pounds.
The younger girls would have even more if they waited to wed.
Even better, the money should be left in the funds as part of their settlement, so they continued to grow.
Left alone, it would make excellent dowries for their daughters.
The news gratified her.
She had no need for a dowry. She had the fortune from her investments.
She had moved much of her money to the funds after Uncle Phillip’s death, knowing she would not have the presence of mind to manage new investments, but she had made a few additional purchases of shares in the past year.
The largest of these was a ten-percent interest in Gardiner Imports/Exports that had helped her Uncle Edward purchase a second ship.
He was an ingenious man and had four young children to support now.
Jane had written about his plans in general terms and expressed her delight that his business was doing so well.
Elizabeth had immediately stood to walk to the study and ask Uncle Phillip for advice, before she recalled that he was no longer available to be asked.
She had retired to her rooms, cried for two hours together, then written the Gardiners a note.