Chapter One #2
In this sense, the breach between he and his father that lasted so long seemed to have done him a service—he had long been angry on his mother’s behalf.
His father had been a traditional man. He did not mind Lady Anne discussing mathematics within the immediate family—however, once she left the privacy of that small sphere, she was not to converse on any topic that might lead to raised eyebrows.
Not with her parents, not with her sister or brother, not with her friends.
She had loved her husband and did as he required.
And she hid such an important part of herself from everyone but us.
What might she have had to offer that larger world had she not been forced to play such a role? His mother would have adored Elizabeth.
It occurred to him then, as he watched Elizabeth’s face break into a relieved smile, as he felt her squeeze his hands, that his mother had prepared him for just this moment.
His mother was why he could never tolerate women who fawned, who had no thoughts of their own that they were willing to reveal.
“Thank you,” Miss Elizabeth said, her voice breathy and low. “I did not think I should ever find a man who would be willing to accept me once he knew.”
Accept you? He was amazed and grateful she would even consider him.
She had plainly outlined what she saw as the drawbacks of the match for him.
She insisted he be forewarned what pursuing her might cost him.
She was willing to risk him calling off because she did not wish either of them to be unhappily wed.
No other woman I have known would do such a thing.
Elizabeth desired neither his money nor his status.
She did not covet Pemberley, though he knew she had been there many times to visit his sister.
She had told him very clearly why he might wish to reconsider, allowing him a discreet way to withdraw.
She just wanted him. For himself. Provided you do not do something stupid and let her slip through your fingers.
He felt almost giddy, but it would not do to laugh as her father had done.
He simply ran his thumb along the knuckles of her hands and rejoiced when she trembled at his touch.
She is a wonder. He shook his head. He glanced at Mr. Bennet, who lifted his thick eyebrows.
This courtship cannot last long. I will not survive it. Surely her father saw the wisdom…
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said at last, “the things you describe, they really are not performed so assiduously for the sake of husbands.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to appear baffled. “What do you mean?”
Darcy chuckled. “These activities—the visits, Bond Street, entertaining?”
“Yes?” Her tentative expression was tinged with hope.
Darcy felt his heart going out to her. She felt out of place, too, then, as he often did when he read over mathematical theorems and wished his mother was around to discuss them.
“It is the women who insist upon them,” he informed her, “not the men. Well, perhaps those who sit in Parliament might require the social connections for their work.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I am not in Parliament.”
Miss Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “So, you would not mind that I spend much of my time reading, writing letters, selecting and managing my interests?” She blushed. “Our interests?”
“I did not say that,” he replied carefully. “You must know how much I cherish fulfilling my social obligations, particularly in London.”
Her face clouded over.
“A wife who earns more than she spends, who is not a slave to the latest fashions, who does not wish to make the acquaintance of every titled family in London regardless of character, who can speak intelligently about Blenkinsop’s rack and pinion patent, who has shares in the firm designing the locomotives themselves?
It all sounds quite exhausting.” He appeared to consider it.
“But I suppose I might be able to live with it.”
She looked away, but Darcy saw the smile.
“Well then, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said quietly, bringing her free hand to rest tentatively on top of his. “I suppose we many consider ourselves courting.” She smiled brightly at her father.
Mr. Bennet smiled back. “Before we tell your mother the good news and lose all possibility of intelligent conversation, I would very much like to hear more about this locomotive.”
“Blenkinsop’s rack and pinion system was created largely to avoid a patent challenge from Trevithick,” Darcy offered as he helped her to sit and took his chair again. He was genuinely curious. “How can you be certain that no such claim will be made against Blenkinsop?”
Miss Elizabeth’s lips pursed into the little bow he loved so much. “I cannot. George Stephenson has been working on just such a thing, and his drawings are most promising. I intend to follow his progress and will likely invest in his designs as well.”
Darcy laughed and accepted the glass of wine Mr. Bennet held out to him. “It may be early for indulging,” Mr. Bennet said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “but I have a great inclination to toast my clever daughter.”
Miss Elizabeth held her own glass and blushed again, nearly the color of the wine itself.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, then turned to Darcy.
He touched his glass to hers and lifted the drink to his lips, never breaking the connection of their gaze.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and they both startled.
“The steam-engine, Elizabeth,” her father said firmly. “Tell me about it.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, once they had concluded speaking about investments, “I realize we were focused on other things, but who was the man Mr. Bingley walked away from the carriage?”
He nodded. “He ran directly at the carriage, causing the driver to pull up rather severely or risk running him down. To be honest, I wished to put distance between us before discussing him. I was not entirely certain he was… well.” He set his wineglass down. “He said his name was Mr. Collins?”
Mr. Bennet groaned, placing his own glass on his desk and leaning back in his chair. “Whatever was that fool doing accosting your coach?” His face paled. “No one was hurt, I hope?”
“No,” Mr. Darcy assured him, and gave Elizabeth a questioning look. She shook her head a fraction of an inch, and he did not inform her father that both she and Jane had been thrown from their seats.
“Who is he?” she asked.
Mr. Bennet closed his eyes. “My cousin, and the heir to Longbourn.”
“He was telling the truth, then,” Mr. Darcy said. “Bingley and I sent him on to Netherfield.”
Mr. Bennet looked at him askance. “Why would you do that?”
“Because he was an idiot of the first order,” Mr. Darcy replied, as though it was the most logical thing in the world.
Then he flinched. “Forgive me, sir.” Mr. Bennet waved off his apology.
Mr Darcy crossed his legs so that his left ankle was resting on his right knee. “Also, because it would give us time…”
“To complete your business with me?” Mr. Bennet broke in. He grunted his approval and reached for his abandoned tea. “I think Lizzy may not be the only tactician in the room.”
Elizabeth tapped one slipper on the rug. “Mama told me she sent Mr. Collins to seek me at Netherfield. She has told him I would be pleased to marry him.”
Her father almost choked. “What?” he gasped, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his mouth with it.
Elizabeth was gratified by her father’s obvious shock. “She said that she had encouraged him to ask for my hand because Jane was shortly to be engaged,” she said, the bashful light in her eyes gone. “That it was wonderful that I would be mistress to Longbourn and thus returned to my real family.”
Thomas Bennet rubbed his eyes with a hand and seemed to be stifling a stronger response.
“My apologies, Lizzy. I did tell him to amuse himself this morning. He has been driving me to distraction, and I had work to do.” He looked at her and then Mr. Darcy.
“Mr. Collins showed up here three days early, saying his patroness had allowed him additional time.”
“Without informing you?” Elizabeth was aghast.
“Now, I cannot accuse him of that—yet,” Mr. Bennet said, motioning at a stack of letters on his desk. “I have not yet gone through this week’s post. He certainly proceeded without a response from me. I suppose his esteemed patroness deemed it unnecessary.”
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and pulled at his cravat. “I am afraid that his esteemed patroness is my late mother’s sister.”
“No,” Elizabeth said in disbelief, swiveling back to meet his embarrassed face. Mr. Darcy was almost boyishly disconcerted, a spot of red appearing in each cheek. Gentlemen do not like to be told they are sweet, Lizzy. Do not tell him.
“Lady Catherine?” she asked, though she thought she knew.
“Definitely Lady Catherine.”
Mr. Bennet snorted. “Does Collins know? I cannot imagine the fawning he will subject you to.”
“He bowed so low I think he may have had dirt on his nose,” Mr. Darcy observed wryly, and Mr. Bennet propped an elbow on the surface of his desk, supporting his head in one hand as he laughed.
Elizabeth reached forward and touched her suitor’s arm. “Thank you,” she said simply.
“Whatever for?” Mr. Darcy responded. “I am afraid my thoughts were entirely on my own gain, Miss Elizabeth, and Bingley’s on his.”
“No, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice quiet and composed.
“Your first thought was to save me from a fall. Your second was to accompany Mr. Bingley and offer your assistance. Your third was likely to protect us all from a man whose character was not clear to you. Your last thought was to send him on his original errand while you tended to yours. You knew he would find nobody in residence at Netherfield.”
“That is not precisely accurate, Miss Elizabeth,” he reminded her. “My cousin is there.”