Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Afaintly scrawled note on a small piece of paper lived in Darcy’s inner breast pocket now, enduring frequent handling. He had read it again only a short while ago, running the tip of his finger over the ink. Mr Goulding’s words were ever on his mind.
As usual, it made him think of Elizabeth, though he did not need a note to remind him of her. It had also made him think of charitable giving and the Darcy family’s strong tradition of using their fortune to aid others.
England and the world were changing rapidly.
Goulding had been aware of that and wanted his family’s fortune and estate to be used to benefit his community and ease its transition into the future.
It was the most admirable family legacy Darcy had ever heard of.
He wanted to understand whether the charitable organisations his own family patronised also demonstrated such foresight.
He retrieved several files from a drawer containing reports from each of the charities and began to read. Deep into his research, the knock on the study door barely registered in his hearing.
“Fitzwilliam?”
He startled and looked up. Georgiana was standing uncertainly by the door, her eyes questioning.
“Am I disturbing your work?” she asked, moving closer to his desk.
“No, never, dearest. I am merely reviewing some files.”
She was standing in front of the desk, cocking her head to one side and reading upside down. “Those are all philanthropic concerns, are they not?” She pointed to one. “Our mother was a patroness of this society.”
“She was indeed. You are correct, these are all charitable societies our family has taken an interest in over the generations.”
“Why are you studying them? Are you finding fault with any of them?” She seemed genuinely interested.
Darcy was pleased at that. “Please join me, and I will share my thoughts with you about the subject.”
He picked up a few of the files, and they made themselves comfortable on a settee near a window. He spread the files out on the low table before them.
“I am not finding any fault, but I have learnt of a new society that is being formed as the legacy of a gentleman, a Mr Goulding, whom I met when I was staying with Mr Bingley last autumn. It is quite singular in that it involves the entire estate and fortune of a man whose family line has played out. Before his death, he chose to have it become a legacy for his local community. He was thinking of its future. Because of that, I thought to review the objectives of the charities with connexions to our family.”
Georgiana was fascinated. “That is impressive. And you knew him? What kind of a man was he?”
Darcy leant against the back of the settee and was silent for a moment.
“He was kind, intelligent and well-educated, and had a dry sense of humour. He was a man who had suffered greatly in his life. He had endured tragedies that might have broken most other men, yet he was resilient. He found happiness in the ordinary aspects of life, keeping company with his friends and neighbours, and in carrying out his duties to the best of his ability. He lived in gratitude and saw good in others. I was privileged to have him call me his friend.” After a moment he continued.
“I think our father would have respected him as I did.”
“He must have been a very good man. I am glad you were able to make his acquaintance, even for a short time,” Georgiana said softly.
Darcy, lost in his recollections, nodded. “He even named his goddaughter as the person responsible for creating his charity. She is a young lady who recently achieved her majority, but Mr Goulding was a good judge of character, and he trusted her to do it. Quite singular.”
“Was the lady Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” his sister asked.
He blinked. Had his sister read his mind?
“I only ask because she was the only lady, besides Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, whom you mentioned in your letters from Hertfordshire. You said she was very intelligent and kind.”
I did? Darcy could not lie to Georgiana, yet he did not want to confide his history with Elizabeth to her.
He could not let her know that his heart still leapt even at the mention of her name.
He assumed what he hoped was an expression of polite interest. “Indeed, it was that lady. From what I know of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Goulding chose wisely.”
Georgiana mused, “So perhaps if Miss Bennet can do that, someday I could create a charitable society, to benefit a cause that I might personally care about.” She was silent for a while, seemingly lost in thought.
Then, with a little shake of her shoulders, she rose.
“I expect Mrs Annesley will wish to continue my lessons now,” she said and left the room.
To say Darcy was relieved at her answer was an understatement. He had been completely taken aback to hear Elizabeth’s name come out of his sister’s mouth. Even the mention of her name seemed to benefit Georgiana.
Elizabeth had promised herself that if she made it through an afternoon of reading letters of advice from charitable foundations, making notes, and planning the fate of Haye-Park and the investments, she would use her pin money to treat herself to some new linen for handkerchiefs or perhaps some new colours of embroidery thread.
Instead of taking the path to Longbourn, she turned her steps towards the haberdasher’s.
In only a few weeks’ time, her world as she had known it was gone. Her relatively carefree life as a gently born female was over. She had been given great responsibility over a fortune that was not hers, though despite her best efforts, many of her acquaintance seemed to believe it was.
You have complained in the past about needing more to do, Lizzy. Now you have it, she thought ruefully.
With Anthony as her escort, she entered Mr Swanson’s shop, the bell over the door ringing cheerfully.
The shopkeeper briefly returned her greeting, though he did not meet her eye or look up from his work.
After considering some lace trims, she stepped to a display of embroidery floss and almost bumped into Margaret and Lucy Long who were coming from the opposite direction. Both the girls gasped and jumped back.
“Margaret! Lucy! Well met!” Elizabeth cried, happy to see some friends after her tedious day. “What are you shopping for today?”
Margaret stiffened and turned her back on Elizabeth, pulling Lucy along with her. “Our aunt forbids us from speaking to you.”
“She forbids… Why?” Elizabeth gaped.
“Because we know how you got poor old Mr Goulding to leave you his money,” said Margaret with a little sniff.
“And everyone knows about all the times you visited him alone!” added Lucy, as the bell over the door jingled again.
It was Mrs Long. She stilled when she saw Elizabeth. “Girls! Come along, now.” She glared at Elizabeth for a long moment and decisively turned her back, ushering her nieces out the door.
Elizabeth stared after them. Where on earth had they got that idea?
She remembered the one time she had walked alone to Haye-Park.
That part was true. At that time, no one had cared if she did or not.
She had gone to Mrs Neeson first, and any conversation she had with Mr Goulding had been chaperoned by his valet and a maid.
“Do you mean to make a purchase, Miss Bennet?” Mr Swanson asked, walking quickly to the door and holding it open.
“I need to see to some business, so I must close the shop for a time.” His voice was brusque, and he would not meet her eye; before, he had always been friendly to her.
Only a few days prior, he had stopped her to show off an expensive bolt of fabric.
Elizabeth understood that he was, in effect, telling her to leave.
She had never been ordered to leave anywhere before and had no idea what to say. She turned and walked out of the shop.
Proceeding along the high street, it became clear that whatever rumour had been spread about her, it was widely believed.
Along the way, she overheard some barely concealed whispers.
Some people she knew nodded at her but kept their distance; a few turned away.
It was all she could do not to dissolve into tears.
What on earth was she being accused of? Dishonesty?
In complete bewilderment, Elizabeth made her way home, so upset that she almost forgot Anthony’s presence. At the kitchen door, he bowed and turned away towards Haye-Park.