Chapter Three #2
“Perhaps ye would think twice if ye spent more time in her company. She is a trying one, my beloved Liza.”
“She is but a girl.”
Sir Thomas chuckled ruefully. “Ye obviously have no ties to a sister.”
“Nay. My mother died whilst birthing my sister. That babe died shortly after her birth.”
“I offer my sympathies.”
“Many thanks,” Darcy replied absently.
“Well, without a girl-child around, ye would never have truly learned how wilful and obstinate they might be. My Liza has ruled this village since she was old enough to walk its streets. Not a soul here would see her come to harm, nor is there a soul who would refuse her anything she asked. Even Lady Charlotte is not as beloved as my Liza.”
The proud father beamed, and Darcy was nearly remorseful for the wretched old man as he took a seat at his desk.
During his absence from the room, the deceitful lord had thumbed through the ledgers, marvelling at the speed of Caroline's charm.
It would almost certainly be traced back to a thieving servant or some such person, but it would take weeks, perhaps months, to untangle the mess, then it would be too late.
The poor sod's daughter would already belong to Darcy.
“Your daughter's beauty is legendary in this area. Perhaps it is what endears her so.”
“She possesses more than mere beauty, my lord. Liza is kind and generous and witty. She is as smart as any man. I should call a man out who dares dispute me on that front.”
“You need not exert yourself on my behalf. I cannot disagree with you. Still, it must have been difficult to arrange a match with Master Wickham.”
“It was a love match. I never intended Liza to marry for anything but love.”
“I notice your words are of the past, Sir Thomas.”
Sir Thomas blinked his eyes rapidly, clearing away the less than masculine tears that must have stung them.
Deep in his heart, the man must know he might lose his daughter if he sold her off, but it was clear he had no choice.
If he could not match her well, he would lose his lands, his house, and his livestock—then what would the sorry man be left with?
“They are indeed. With George's flock destroyed, my financial situation cannot allow Elizabeth to marry him.”
Darcy fought the urge to gloat. He bit his lip, fiercely mocking sorrow while he hid a triumphant grin. As he sat down in a chair, he cradled his chin in hand as if he was deep in thought.
“My apologies, my lord,” Sir Thomas said suddenly. “I fear I have left too much trouble upon thy door. Forgive me.”
“It is no trouble; I assure you. I fear I have fallen into that group that would not see Miss Elizabeth come to harm. She could very soon also have me at her beck and call.”
Startled by Darcy's words, the newly acquired pen fell from Sir Thomas’s hand. “What do ye mean?”
“I have admired your daughter, good sir, since I met her at the Assembly some while ago. I dread the nearing days of my departure when I shall be remiss of her company.”
“Ye have spent much time in Liza's company?”
“Nay, but every moment is precious.”
Inside, Darcy chuckled at the old man's hope.
It was too obvious that he was more than willing to sell his daughter to save his house.
Pretending he sought Elizabeth's love instead of her body was not difficult considering the rewards his feigned love would bring: a tempting, fiery tart to keep his bedclothes warm.
“Ye have feelings for my daughter, then?”
“Aye. The deepest feelings of affection and admiration, sir.” The earnestness in Darcy's voice shocked even him.
“I am surprised. Ye are aware that Liza's regard for ye is not much more than her regard for day-old fish?”
False sadness filled his eyes. “I cannot pretend that her apparent dislike does not affront me, but that does not affect my own feelings. I should like nothing more than to request her hand, sir.”
Sir Thomas was silent for a long while. He pushed the stylus back and forth along the logbook. Darcy was confident in the knowledge that either way, Sir Thomas was bound to lose his daughter, but if she was married to him, she would be secure.
“I must insist on a proper courtship. I shall not let her go before the three months is past. She deserves that much from me, I am afraid.”
“I can be away from the North for another month at most. If we can settle the bride-price immediately, I shall court her properly during my remaining time here. However, we must be married from Pemberley. My court and my people are the priority. They must see their High Lord's wedding.”
After hesitating, and with an obvious scowl on his usually pleasant face, Sir Thomas nodded. “Very well. I shall contact my solicitor to draw up the contract.”
Darcy stood and offered his hand, and they shook on their bargain.
He turned and showed himself out. As he quit the building, he glanced up at the window of Elizabeth's bedroom—he had known which one because he had carried her to her bed.
She sat at the window staring down as he mounted his horse.
Her hair was unbound, and her white shift uncovered.
Even from this distance, her eyes were full of misery.
He tilted his head towards her, and those miserable eyes narrowed and suddenly flashed with anger. She was gone in the next moment, and Darcy grinned, anticipating that angry passion once she was in his bed.
* * *
In no way could she tolerate being near her father, so Elizabeth took dinner in her bedchamber that evening, refusing to admit him into the apartment until he finally demanded entry in an angry tone like he had never used before.
They stared at each other for a long moment as Hill slipped away.
The nurse was probably too upset to witness what was about to happen.
“When I am to be taken as his slave?” Elizabeth asked, her voice venomous.
“Ye need not be like that. What is done is done and there is no use in fighting it.”
“I am not fighting it. I am merely asking how long I have in preparation of losing my soul.”
“He is not the monster ye think him to be, Liza.”
“Hell could open beneath his feet, Father, and still, he would walk the earth for the demons below would fear his wrath!”
“Ye are making too much of thy initial impression. He seemed a pleasant enough chap when we spoke this midday.”
She shook her head and turned away from her father. He was blind with guilt and greed and trying like a madman to justify his decision to sell her maidenhead. There would be no tears, though. She would not give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her broken heart.
“Ye have said all ye need to say. Inform me of the plans and I shall follow. I ask, though, that ye not be present on my wedding day. I do not think I could bear to look at thy face, knowing I once loved ye so dearly.”
“Liza—”
“Go.”
When Elizabeth turned around to beg forgiveness, he was gone.
* * *
She had no choice but to craft a letter to be sent in secret:
Dearest George,
O, my bonny boy! It did not take long for my marriage to be remade from our good and pure plans to this mockery. My father has sold me for a bride-price to High Lord Darcy, that arrogant, repulsive prick who has looked upon me as his property from the moment we met.
If I had proof, I should say he has arranged this somehow. He has power enough. Damn him to hell.
Ye are aware that we are forbidden to see each other now that Lord Darcy is to be my groom, but I cannot bear the thought of traveling North and never seeing ye again. Hill is our one ally; she will make certain ye are given this letter and she will see that I receive the letter ye write for me.
Devise a plan, my dearest, bonny George, so we may meet again before I am banished to the wild, forbidding country to the North. Where ye go, I go. Where ye demand, I obey.
I must go. He is here to pretend he loves me so my father might ease his own conscience.
Love forever,
Elizabeth
* * *
In the garden, Elizabeth walked next to Lord Darcy, her body stiff and her demeanour, as always when with him, distant. Her arm was tucked through his because he insisted on walking in that way, but her mind wandered to Hill and the letter she now carried to Elizabeth's sweetheart.
The scandal of the broken engagement and subsequent new marriage contract had rocked the sleepy little village.
Elizabeth, still a favourite, had been treated as though she were a broken doll, which irritated her more than anything else, while her father had had to retreat to his study to avoid the admonishment of the entire borough.
She was so clearly unhappy, yet he refused to budge from his decision, and it angered those who adored her.
Many thought blackballing her father would browbeat him into submission, but that had only encouraged his decision.
She supposed she was much like him in that way.
“My sweet, you are very quiet today,” said Lord Darcy.
“I am very quiet every day, my lord. Ye talk enough for the both of us. I am surprised ye noticed. Have ye run out of stories about thyself?”
“Are you implying I have limited conversational skills?”
“Not at all. I am merely remarking that ye have a great deal to say on one subject. Ye should keep in mind that not everybody is intrigued by thy particular choice of topic.”
* * *