Chapter 7 A Father’s Refusal
CHAPTER SEVEN
A FATHER’S REFUSAL
Elizabeth’s steps faltered as she approached Longbourn. The weight of the letter pressed against her chest, shortening her breath. The house she’d called home all her life was not hers. Her family, the sisters she loved… would they accept her if they knew?
The ordinary sounds of Longbourn—Mary’s mechanical scales on the pianoforte, Kitty and Lydia’s whispered gossip—felt impossibly distant, as if she were observing life through thick glass.
How could they continue their mundane routines when her entire world had shattered with the breaking of a wax seal?
“Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice carried sharp curiosity. “Come back at once. You cannot simply disappear without telling us about your mysterious correspondence.”
Elizabeth forced her trembling legs to carry her back to the morning room, where five pairs of eyes immediately fixed upon her with varying degrees of interest and speculation.
“Well?” Lydia demanded. “Who was it from? Was it terribly romantic? Did Lieutenant Wickham write you a love letter?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mary said primly. “Gentlemen do not send love letters to ladies of proper breeding after such brief acquaintance.”
“Then perhaps it was from Mr. Darcy,” Kitty suggested with a giggle. “To apologize for his rudeness at the assembly.”
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched at the name. According to the letter, Darcy was not merely the proud man who had slighted her, but her cousin—and quite possibly the heir to an inheritance stolen through murder.
“Perhaps it’s from Charlotte,” Jane said with gentle deflection. “And Elizabeth would like to enjoy her friend’s correspondence in private.”
“No, not Charlotte,” Elizabeth managed, forcing steadiness into her voice. “It was nothing of importance.”
“Nothing of importance? A letter delivered by a special messenger who insisted on placing it directly in your hands?” Mrs. Bennet appeared behind Jane, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “Come now, Lizzy, you must tell us who it was from.”
“I would rather not discuss it,” Elizabeth replied. “Is Papa in his library?”
“He is, but I fail to see why that should matter when we are all dying to know—”
“Excuse me, Mama.” Elizabeth slipped past her. “I believe Papa should be consulted before I discuss it further.”
She knocked firmly on the library door.
“Enter,” came Mr. Bennet’s voice, sounding tired.
Elizabeth slipped inside, closing the door firmly behind her. Her father looked up from his correspondence, his brows drawing together at her pallor and obvious distress.
“Lizzy? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. What has happened?”
“Papa,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to speak with you privately. Away from the house. Away from curious ears.”
She glanced meaningfully toward the door, where the shadow of feet could be seen in the gap beneath.
Mr. Bennet’s expression changed, a flash of fear crossing his features so quickly she might have imagined it. “What sort of private conversation?”
Elizabeth’s mind scrambled for an excuse that would get them alone without arousing suspicion. Heat crept up her neck as she grasped for the one topic guaranteed to distract her mother from further questions.
“About Mr. Collins,” she said, hating how the words tasted. “About his… expectations regarding my future.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “This is rather sudden, Lizzy. Yesterday, you declared you would rather starve than marry our cousin.”
“Circumstances have… provided a new perspective,” she replied carefully. “I find myself in need of guidance. Away from the house.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Very well. Though I suspect this conversation will prove more complex than typical paternal advice. Shall we take the carriage?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, relief flooding through her. “That would be perfect.”
They returned to the morning room together, where the family’s attention immediately focused on them with renewed intensity.
“Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, rising from her chair. “Lizzy says she wishes to discuss Mr. Collins with you privately. At last, she shows some sense about her situation.”
Elizabeth forced herself not to wince at her mother’s obvious delight gained, no doubt, from eavesdropping.
“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet replied dryly. “Such delicate matters require careful handling. We shall take the carriage to Meryton for privacy.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together. “I am so pleased you are finally showing proper consideration for your future, my dear girl. Mr. Collins will make you an excellent husband, and the security of remaining at Longbourn after your father’s death cannot be overstated.”
Elizabeth submitted to her mother’s sudden embrace, wondering whether the gesture was from love or relief.
The preparation seemed to take an eternity.
Elizabeth changed her pelisse twice, her hands shaking too badly to manage the buttons properly.
Her reflection in the looking glass showed a pale young woman with unusually bright eyes and a pinched expression around the mouth.
She searched her features for some resemblance to the Darcy family, but saw only the face she had always known—darker than her sisters’, more angular, with eyes that held secrets she was only beginning to understand.
The carriage arrived with the familiar clatter of wheels on gravel and the snorting of horses. Elizabeth settled herself on the worn velvet seat.
“Well?” Mr. Bennet asked, settling back in the squabs. “What pressing matters require such privacy?”
Elizabeth reached into her pocket and withdrew the letter, noting how her fingers trembled as she extended it toward him. “This was delivered by private messenger.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes flickered to the paper, then to her face. His fingers shook as he opened the letter, and the color drained entirely from his face.
“Dear God,” he breathed, the words so quiet she almost missed them over the carriage noise. “Dear God, no.”
He looked up at her with eyes that held a grief so profound it made her chest ache. “How much have you read?”
“All of it.” Her voice cracked on the admission. “Every word.”
Mr. Bennet closed his eyes, his head falling back against the seat. “Simmons!” he called to the coachman. “Drive in a wide circle through the countryside. Keep moving until I instruct otherwise.”
The carriage turned onto a lane that would take them through farmland and wooded areas. Elizabeth watched the familiar landscape roll past—fields she had walked through countless times. All of it looked different this morning.
“Papa?” Elizabeth’s voice emerged smaller than she had intended.
“We cannot risk being overheard,” he said heavily. “Not about this. Never about this.”
“So it is true? All of it?”
Her father’s silence stretched until she thought she might scream. Finally, he nodded, the gesture barely perceptible.
“You are Elizabeth Rose Darcy,” he said, each word seeming to cost him. “Daughter of John Darcy and my sister Rose. I have been your uncle, not your father, for all these twenty years.”
“And Mrs. Bennet?” she asked.
“She knows. Jane was two, and she was with child with Mary when you arrived. We told everyone you were sickly and had been kept from company due to your delicate constitution.”
“All my life,” Elizabeth whispered, tears spilling over. “All my life has been a lie.”
“No.” He reached across the carriage to grasp her hand, his own shaking. “Your character, your intelligence, your spirit—those are entirely your own. Your name may be different, but you are exactly who you have always been.”
The carriage wheels rumbled over a rough patch of road, jostling them both. Elizabeth barely felt it. Her mind was spinning with questions, each more urgent than the last.
“My parents,” she managed. “Were they truly murdered?”
Mr. Bennet’s face seemed to age before her eyes. “Yes. John Darcy was my brother-in-law, married to my younger sister Rose. They lived at Rose Cottage on the Pemberley estate.”
“Tell me about them,” Elizabeth pleaded. “Please. I have a right to know.”
Mr. Bennet stared out the window at the passing countryside, his face etched with pain.
“Rose was… she was like you. Spirited, intelligent, with a laugh that could fill a room. When she was eighteen, there was an incident with an officer. Nothing so severe as to be beyond repair, but enough that reputations were at stake.”
Elizabeth listened, transfixed, as the carriage swayed gently beneath them.
“John Darcy was visiting the area—he had a friend in the regiment. He met Rose at an assembly and was immediately taken with her. When he learned of her situation, he offered marriage despite the scandal.”
“But she was innocent, was she?”
“Indeed, she was.” A ghost of a smile touched Mr. Bennet’s lips.
“Two years passed, and no child appeared—proving the rumors of Rose’s ruin had been greatly exaggerated.
The officer in question had merely stolen a kiss, nothing more.
” Mr. Bennet’s voice softened with memory.
“Meanwhile, Rose proved herself a woman of remarkable character. When George Darcy’s health began to fail, she spent hours at his bedside, reading to him, ensuring his comfort, treating him with the sort of gentle attention his own family rarely provided.
Your grandmother, Sarah Darcy, was initially cold, but found herself won over by Rose’s kindness and quick wit. ”
Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes as she imagined the mother she had never known, tenderly caring for the grandfather who had initially rejected her.
“They grew to love her,” Mr. Bennet continued.
“And when you were born in their third year of marriage, they fell completely under your spell. A tiny, dark-eyed creature who gurgled with delight whenever your grandfather held you. Sarah declared you the most perfect child ever born, and George spent hours playing with you, despite his partial paralysis.”