Chapter Sixteen
After the adventure the previous day with Lady Catherine, Elizabeth was in such a mood that she went to the drawing room window herself when they heard the clatter of a carriage in front of the townhouse.
“I do hope it is not your uncle, the Earl, come in state to also refuse his consent,” Elizabeth said as she tilted aside the chintz curtain.
It took her an astonishingly long time of staring onto the street to understand what she was seeing.
It had been a cold enough evening, due to the sea breezes, that they had kept everything closed.
George hurried up to the window, and he pressed his lips and nose against the glass.
Georgiana joined her at the window as Elizabeth did not say anything, and she said, “That’s quite an old carriage. Certainly, it is not my uncle’s. I do not know that gentleman, but he has a good air and walk for his age, despite having lost half his hair, and—”
“Good God!” Elizabeth exclaimed as her father looked towards the window, and his eyes met hers through the glass.
She flinched back away from the window.
Her heart raced.
A sharp rap on the front door.
“Who is it, Lizzy?” Georgiana asked.
“It is my father.” She walked to where Emily still played a game involving a great many finely painted toy soldiers that Darcy had bought for George. She picked up Emily and hugged her tightly as the girl squealed to be let down.
“Your papa?” George asked.
“Yes, your grandpapa.” Elizabeth paced back and forth without letting Emily down, her dress swirling around her ankles. “What can he mean? What can he be doing here?”
“Elizabeth, sit. Take a deep breath.”
Darcy’s voice broke her growing panic, but before Elizabeth could follow the sage advice the door was opened, and her father, Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, entered the room with a glowering look about him.
“Lizzy, what can you mean by this? Marrying again? You were fool enough to marry an useless man once for stupid passion, so you mean to gain revenge on yourself by marrying only for money? I’ll not let you destroy yourself again.”
It was Sally who’d let him in, and she stood behind Papa with an apologetic look.
“Not let me,” Elizabeth’s voice had a shrieky quality as she glared at her father. “And how shall you stop me.”
“I’ll not give you permission for you to waste yourself again, that is for certain. And—”
“Does not matter,” Elizabeth replied. “Does not matter! Do you think I’ll now, after years of independence, depend upon your permission?”
“As a legal matter—” Papa began to reply.
“The lawyer we spoke to confirmed that as a widow I do not need any guardian’s approval for a second marriage. The text of the Hardwicke Act is quite clear upon this.”
“The text of the Hardwicke Act!” Papa replied scornfully. “Fine. The Hardwicke Act—but let me be clear, Elizabeth Bennet, you would be a fool to marry a man who you care nothing about for money.”
He looked… younger than she had remembered him. As though the ride and the argument invigorated him.
“Oh? But I thought it was important for me to ensure that my sisters do not suffer because I married Wickham—you were right about him. I do not deny your wisdom in that matter. But I—”
“Drop these ideas. Matters are neither so desperate that you need to marry for spending money, nor that you need to—did you really plan to work as a hired nurse? You do not need to do any of this.”
“I will not be what you said. I will not rip the bread from my sisters’ mouths.”
“I never meant you to take that so seriously. Of course, I wish to help you—to care for your children. Is that Emily?” Papa stepped towards her, holding out his arms to take the child, who immediately hid her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder and squirmed away.
Papa laughed at that, “Still shy. Lizzy, you know better than this. You cannot think this is a wise choice. You do not need to—”
“And,” Elizabeth spoke over him, “it is ridiculous. It always was! Why did you never engage in any sort of economy? Why did I think I ought to earn the money for my children by working as a nurse? Your estate is large enough and unencumbered. There should have a been a little to support us. But no, you never could—”
“Lizzy, I’ll not hear you speak of me in such a way.”
“Then why on earth did you come if you did not wish to hear me speak? Only for the joy of your own voice?”
“I have in fact engaged in some economy since your marriage. So that I would be prepared for the day when you needed help. I’ve put aside enough money that certainly I can make matters easy for you while still providing for your sisters.
Nothing, I am sure, next to the estate of whatever sneering rich gentleman you mean to marry, but enough.
Stop this nonsense and come home with me—I told you that if you ever needed help you should ask me. ”
“And you told me that if I married Wickham, I would ruin my sisters’ welfare by taking everything they would need to marry. Papa, you say things. Do not expect me to listen to all of them.”
“Ahem,” Mr. Darcy said. “Elizabeth, might you introduce us to our visitor?”
Elizabeth had almost completely forgotten that there was anyone else in the room, and she suddenly felt terribly embarrassed by the way that she had argued with Papa in front of Darcy.
Papa seemed to have a similar sense of embarrassment. He drew himself up, and then bowed, as Elizabeth said to Darcy and Georgiana, “My father, Mr. Bennet of Longbourn.”
Then to Papa she said, “Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, my fiancé, and his sister Miss Darcy.”
“Aha.” Mr. Bennet looked. He rubbed the back of his head. “But wait—are you not the one who shot Mr. Wickham? I remember him complaining to me about you—about how you’d wrecked his prospects.”
“What?” Elizabeth said. “Already before we married?”
“You do not remember how he’d talk about that all the time?” Papa asked.
“I chiefly recall that he was insistent that he would make a great person of himself, no matter how many difficulties had been placed in his way by his godfather’s jealous son,” Elizabeth replied with a frown.
“I, ah, apologize for the manner of my intrusion into your home,” Papa bowed to Mr. Darcy. “But, Lizzy, that is a strangeness even I did not anticipate—marrying the man who shot your husband? You’ve been nursing him. Of course.” Papa started frowning and looking between them.
“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy said, “I have offered to marry Elizabeth because it is my duty after I killed her husband. And she is very much in need of care.”
That was a notion that Elizabeth rather disagreed with. She was fully capable of caring for herself.
“What a pagan notion.” Papa frowned. “You cannot possibly be a sensible person.”
“Papa,” Elizabeth said warningly. Though what Papa said was almost the same as what Elizabeth had said to Mr. Darcy herself when he made the offer.
“I disapprove of duels,” Papa said. “I imagine you must disapprove of them as well. You wish to punish yourself. Relieve your guilt. But still, surely you cannot think that this is a sound basis for choosing the partner of your future life.”
“I promised my father that I would care for Mr. Wickham. On the day that my father died I made that promise. I failed to do so while he was alive—I could not in truth, due to the deficiencies of his character. But now I have an opportunity to fulfil that promise. Mr. Bennet, I am glad to meet you. I know from what Elizabeth has told me that you have shown care and concern for her. What you have said now that you have come here shows that as well. I beg you to believe that I will do everything to see her happy, to see her cared for, and to see her children flourishing. I…I…” Darcy opened and closed one of his fists.
“There is nothing I wish more than that opportunity. Please give us your blessing.”
Papa stared at him. “Well, well, well.”
In turn Darcy met his eyes firmly, without any flinching.
Elizabeth hoped, for Darcy’s sake, since it mattered to him, that Papa would give his blessing. That would make Mr. Darcy happy. For her own part…
“Oh, Papa,” Elizabeth said, “I am glad to see you. I have missed you.”
“Well of course.” Papa smiled at her.
George overcame his shyness and came up to Papa, “Are you really Mama’s Papa?”
“I am, young man,” Papa picked George up easily, despite the boy’s large size. “That makes me your grandpapa. Do you remember me? We met once before, when you were still a small squalling thing.”
“No.” George said solemnly.
Papa laughed.
“Did you know,” George said, “Mr. Darcy is going to be my papa now? I never had one. Or I can’t remember. But he did kill my father in a duel. And my father pinked him—Mr. Darcy still can’t stand well. Mama said I can only call him Papa Darcy after they marry.”
“I see,” Papa said slowly to the boy.
“Did you bring me a present?”
Papa laughed in reply.
“Mr. Darcy has bought me lots of toy soldiers, and animals, and books, and he likes to read my books to me, and he has been teaching me to sound out letters. Do you like to read books?”
“Very much so.”
“Mama likes to read too!— I don’t mind that Mr. Darcy killed my father. After all, having a father who died in a duel is nearly as good as having a papa, but it will be even better when Mr. Darcy is Papa Darcy.”
“I see.” Papa now looked at Mr. Darcy with his keen eyes. “I begin to perceive that you have not simply appealed to what mercenary instincts my daughter might have, nor to her delight in the idea of participation in pagan ritual.”
“Papa, I am not delighted by that—well, only a little.” Elizabeth looked at Darcy. She suddenly had a little anxiety that Papa’s insistence that she only meant to marry him for money would have made him unhappy.
Darcy still studied Papa, with that serious expression of his. Noticing her looking at him, he looked to her, and made a small, reassuring gesture.
Elizabeth relaxed. She set Emily down and let out a long breath.