Chapter 7 A Father’s Refusal #2
A sob escaped Elizabeth’s throat before she could prevent it. “I had grandparents who loved me.”
The carriage hit a rut, jostling them both. Elizabeth barely felt it. Her mind reeled with questions, but one rose above the rest.
“How did I survive? How did I come to Longbourn?”
Pain flickered across Mr. Bennet’s features. “Someone left you in a basket with Rose’s locket. I knew you were in danger and convinced Mrs. Bennet to keep you as her own. She only knows you are Rose’s daughter and assumed your father was from the militia.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to absorb the enormity of it all. Her chest ached with grief for parents she could not remember, for a life stolen from her before she could know it.
“Who did this?” she asked, her voice hardening. “Do you think William Darcy killed them for the inheritance?”
“William stood to gain everything,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice hard now. The hatred between the brothers had become raw and open by then. With John and his heir eliminated, William’s son inherited everything.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Elizabeth whispered. The name felt different on her tongue now—familiar yet foreign. Not just the proud, disagreeable man from the assembly, but her cousin. The man who had unknowingly usurped her birthright.
“He was but eight years old when it happened,” Mr. Bennet acknowledged.
“Too young to have been involved, but old enough perhaps to have been aware of his father’s feelings.
I cannot know what William may have told him over the years—what instructions he may have given should the truth ever emerge. ”
“But surely, Mr. Darcy would have recognized me.”
“You were but an infant,” her father said.
“There are others, though. A man like William Darcy may not have needed to act. He had servants, a steward at the time, Ralph Wickham, who was devoted to him. Friends like Benjamin Bingley, who was inseparable from him, carousing at all hours, accompanying each other everywhere—much like the current Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth felt as though the air had been sucked from the carriage. “Bingley? Wickham? You mean to say that Mr. Bingley and Lieutenant Wickham’s fathers were—”
“Potentially complicit in the murder of your parents, yes.” Mr. Bennet’s voice was hard now.
“Do you understand why I forbade all contact with the Netherfield party? Why I was so disturbed when you revealed your middle name at Lucas Lodge? You might as well have announced yourself as Rose’s daughter. ”
The implications sank in. “Lieutenant Wickham was so interested in my name. He seemed particularly pleased when I said it was Rose.”
“Of course he was,” Mr. Bennet replied bitterly. “Ralph Wickham lived at Rose Cottage after your parents’ deaths. His wife still does. The boy was only six at the time, but he may have heard things over the years. Your middle name would have been a significant clue.”
“The letter says I must claim my inheritance before my twenty-first birthday,” she said carefully. “Will you help me?”
Mr. Bennet’s face went rigid. “I will not.”
“Papa—”
“No.” His voice carried an authority she had rarely heard from him. “I will not provide funds for travel, information about hiding places, or assistance in any form. Your safety is worth more than any inheritance.”
The carriage turned onto another lane, this one bordered by hedgerows that had begun to turn brown with the advancing season. Elizabeth watched the landscape change, her mind reeling at her father’s refusal.
“But if the estate is rightfully mine—”
“Then it will remain stolen, and you will remain alive.” He leaned forward, grasping her hands with desperate intensity. “Lizzy, I have spent twenty years keeping you safe. I will not watch you throw your life away for property and money.”
Elizabeth pulled her hands free, frustration overriding her shock. “If Pemberley is mine, none of us need worry about the entailment. I could provide for all my sisters, ensure Mrs. Bennet’s comfort, and give you the literary retirement you’ve always wanted.”
“And I could attend your funeral instead.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Do you think I care about comfort or security if it comes at the cost of your life?”
“You cannot expect me to simply accept this injustice.”
“I expect you to choose life over pride.” Mr. Bennet’s voice grew firm with paternal command. “There is a solution that ensures your safety while providing for your future. You must marry Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. “Surely you cannot be serious.”
“I am entirely serious. If you marry our cousin immediately after your birthday, you become a settled matron with a respectable husband and a quiet life. No one would suspect the parson’s wife of harboring dangerous secrets.”
“I would rather face a dozen murderers than marry that pompous fool!”
“That is exactly the sort of nonsense that will get you killed.” Mr. Bennet’s tone was sharper than she had ever heard it. “Collins may be ridiculous, but he is harmless. He offers you safety, security, and obscurity.”
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling trapped between impossible choices. “I cannot marry a man I despise for the sake of hiding from dangers that may no longer exist.”
“May no longer exist?” Mr. Bennet’s voice rose with disbelief. “Lizzy, someone sent you that letter. Someone knows who you are and where to find you. Whether that person means help or harm, your secret is no longer safe.”
“You think it’s a trap.”
“I think it’s suspicious that this information arrives just weeks before your majority, delivered by someone who remains anonymous.
” Mr. Bennet’s expression was grave. “Either someone genuinely wishes to help you claim your inheritance, or someone wishes to draw you into the open where you can be eliminated permanently.”
“Are there no witnesses who could attest to my identity?” Elizabeth pressed.
“None that I trust. Everyone present at your birth is dead, save perhaps Benjamin Bingley and his wife. They are hardly likely to support a claim that would ruin their son’s closest friend.”
The trap was closing around her with suffocating precision. No money, no allies, no proof, and a father who refused to help her pursue justice. Elizabeth felt desperate anger building in her chest, hot and rebellious.
“I will consider your advice carefully,” she said. “And I understand your concerns.”
“Burn the letter, Lizzy. Forget anything you’ve heard about Pemberley or the Darcys. I would urge you not to delay too long. Collins expects an answer, and the longer you wait, the more suspicious your behavior may appear.”
The carriage rounded a bend, and Elizabeth noticed a rider keeping pace alongside them. Her heart stuttered as she recognized Lieutenant Wickham’s handsome features. He touched his hat politely, but something in his smile made her skin crawl.
Mr. Bennet rapped sharply on the roof. “Simmons, do not slow the carriage. We have no desire to converse with the gentleman on horseback. Take the next fork toward the hillside.”
Wickham kept pace, a respectable distance back, until they turned away from Longbourn, where he evidently decided to cease his pursuit.
“He was watching us,” she noted.
“He was indeed.” Mr. Bennet’s face was pale. “Which confirms my worst fears. Your time of safety is ending, Lizzy. You must choose quickly—marriage to Collins, or a very short life as Elizabeth Rose Darcy.”
Elizabeth let out a breath and met her father’s eyes.
The expression of fear mixed with love wrung her heart, but did not remove her determination.
She would not allow her parents’ murder to go unpunished, and she definitely would not lose Pemberley and her birthright to the likes of Fitzwilliam Darcy.