Chapter XVII
Loath though he was to confess it, Henry Bennet had grown accustomed to believing himself quite clever.
It was a failing, though not a surprising one—not when he spent his days in the company of a woman who could not, under any definition of the term, be called clever.
Or rather, avoiding her company as often as he could.
Bennet had no wish to malign the woman he had married.
Maggie Gardiner had made him a creditable enough wife, given him five beautiful daughters, and managed his house with a zeal he still found exhausting.
She was a good woman, for all her limitations, and Bennet knew that her fears for the future were not groundless.
Of more immediate importance to Bennet’s current situation was the recent imprudence of his youngest daughter, and the surprising conquest of the second eldest. Lydia was both easier to understand and more difficult to set to rights.
Bennet was not blind to his lack of judgment in the matter of her behavior, nor did he misunderstand his culpability—not only should he have refused her permission to go to Brighton, but he should have taken her and Kitty in hand when they showed high spirits and taught them how to behave.
Now, to Bennet’s great chagrin, his family’s salvation lay in the hands of a man whom they had dismissed as proud and disagreeable.
It was not only Darcy’s stated ability to discover where Lydia and the scoundrel Wickham had gone, but that he possessed the means to repair her situation.
Bennet did not—the amount it would require to bribe a man to marry Lydia was several times his annual income.
Gardiner might manage in a pinch, but Bennet knew it would set his business back for years.
Thus, they had no choice but to rely on Darcy’s esteem for Elizabeth.
Of the two, Lizzy’s situation was the more pressing, for the simple fact that Bennet would need to deal with it first. When Darcy came, he would request a moment of Bennet’s time, an interview Bennet dreaded.
It was not the approval that concerned him; Bennet would never deny Lizzy her right to choose.
No, it was the knowledge of Bennet’s dereliction of duty and that Darcy was a man for whom duty was a serious business.
When the sound of the door knocker echoed through the house, Bennet glanced at the clock Madeleine kept on a side table.
Even in this, Darcy was dependable, punctual to his stated intention rather than to a specific hour.
It was not yet even nine o’clock, and already he had come to Gracechurch Street.
Bennet could not claim a tenth the diligence this man possessed.
When Darcy entered the room, he was not alone, for a tall, burly man followed him inside.
His bearing was aristocratic and his posture erect, the stance of a military man, though he wore the garb of a gentleman.
Gardiner did not appear to know him, but the way Lizzy’s eyes lit up, he knew she was familiar with him, though she had not mentioned him the previous evening.
Belatedly, Bennet remembered the gossip the previous autumn had mentioned connections to the nobility—this man was one such, or Bennet had lost all his observational skills.
“Darcy,” said Gardiner in greeting. “Welcome to my home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner,” said Darcy, though his eyes fell on Lizzy and never strayed. “If I might request leave to introduce my companion?”
“Of course,” replied Gardiner.
The man with Mr. Darcy was his cousin, Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock’s younger son. Now that he stood before them, Bennet recalled some mention of the colonel from Elizabeth’s tales of Kent in the spring.
“Mr. Bennet, Mr. Gardiner,” said the colonel in greeting. Then he turned a winsome smile on Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet. How excellent it is to be in your company again.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Colonel,” replied Elizabeth.
“Though I would not contradict you, I am afraid I must. You must indulge me, however, for I must express astonishment that you have agreed to take on my overly grave cousin. Do you know what you are about?”
Lizzy’s eyes sparkled as she said: “It appears we shall learn the truth in time, Colonel.”
The colonel released a lusty laugh. Mr. Darcy, it appeared, was quite familiar with his cousin’s character, for he directed an exasperated glare at him, though Bennet could see there was little force behind it. Then he turned to Bennet.
“Mr. Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy,” replied Bennet, trying to take the measure of this serious young man in a way he had not the previous year. “You are most welcome, sir, and not only because of the situation. To own the truth, I wonder what sort of man voluntarily throws himself into another man’s disgrace.”
“I have an interest in this business, Mr. Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy.
“As do I,” added Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Yes, Lizzy tells me that you do. Perhaps we should take up that matter before we turn our attention to finding my wayward daughter.”
“I have no objection,” replied Mr. Darcy.
Bennet almost chuckled—the man’s eagerness told him that Lizzy was the most agreeable part of this business. Bennet could not blame him—Lizzy was a jewel of the first order, and he would defy anyone to say otherwise.
“Then, if you will allow us the use of your study?” asked Bennet of his brother.
“By all means,” said Gardiner. “Perhaps it would be best to come to the point—the sooner we discover Lydia’s location, the better.”
“With that, I cannot but agree.”
A moment later, Bennet led Darcy into the study and closed the door behind them. Then he turned to the man he knew would be his son-in-law and addressed him.
“Before anything else, I owe you an apology.”
Darcy returned his gaze, and for a moment he did not respond.
Bennet thought he understood the hesitation.
Darcy was not interested in apologies—he was interested in finding Lydia as quickly as possible, putting the business behind them, and securing Bennet’s blessing for his marriage to Lizzy.
Again, Bennet found himself unable to fault the man.
“If you will pardon me,” replied Darcy, caution in his response, “I have no notion of what you mean.”
Bennet sighed. “It is my inaction that has put you in this situation, Mr. Darcy.”
His frown was not unexpected. “Do you suppose I offered for your daughter for this reason alone?”
“No, I do not suppose it,” replied Bennet.
In Darcy’s manner he could see the reason Lizzy had cautioned him.
This was a man as intelligent as any other Bennet had ever known.
Though Bennet had no notion of sporting with him, he knew Lizzy was correct—he would not misunderstand, nor was he the sort to jest when there was serious business to be done.
“Rather,” said Bennet, deciding honesty would serve him best, “my inaction has put you in the position where you must take up the task of saving my silly daughter’s reputation. I am not insensible to the expense inherent in the undertaking.”
“Think nothing of it,” replied Darcy.
“Indeed, I think much of it, sir,” contradicted Bennet. “No man expects to start his married life by purchasing the reputation of the bride’s sister.”
“If Miss Bennet has told you anything of me, you know that I consider it a responsibility that I have not, until this moment, accepted. You suggested you are guilty of inaction—in that, we are equal, for my fault is the same. Had I denounced Wickham in the streets of Meryton, your daughter would never have trusted him enough to run away with him.”
Bennet snorted. “Perhaps you are correct. But the fact remains that you have undertaken a great deal for people who have very little claim upon you.”
“On the contrary, your daughter has a greater claim on me than you know.”
Silence fell over them as Bennet considered the man before him. Though he had not thought to study Darcy much before, Bennet found himself impressed by the man. He was a little severe to be certain, but if anyone could inject a little levity into a man’s life, it was Lizzy.
“Aye, that is the crux of the matter, I think.”
“Then we should turn our attention to it,” said Darcy.
“Yes, we should,” agreed Bennet. “I believe you have a question to ask of me, sir.”
“Yes, I do. As I have asked Miss Bennet for her hand in marriage and she has accepted, I now request your blessing for our union.”
Bennet grinned and decided a slight measure of teasing was not uncalled-for. “I noticed you used the word blessing instead of permission.”
“It seemed appropriate,” said Darcy, though Bennet could see he was not displeased. “She has told me herself that she is now of age.”
“She is at that!” said Bennet, shaking his head.
“If you know something of her history, including a rather infamous morning she spent refusing my silly cousin Mr. Collins—several times, I might add—you know I will protect her ability to choose for herself. Lizzy has assured me that this is her decision, so I have nothing further to say. You have my blessing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennet.”
“Not at all,” replied Bennet. “I am trusting my daughter’s judgment and respecting her wishes.”
Darcy nodded but grew introspective, fingers tapping on the desk. “I understand that you and Miss Elizabeth are particularly close.”
“We are,” said Bennet. “A father should not favor one child over another, but I confess Lizzy has a special place in my heart.”
This time, Darcy’s acknowledgement was decisive. “Please understand that my affection for your daughter is no sudden impulse—it has withstood the test of several months of suspense.”
Bennet did not restrain his amusement. “Last night, Lizzy told me something of it, so I understand something of the suspense, as you call it.”
“Perhaps, then, it is time we returned to the matter at hand.”
“I could not agree more.”
THE MOMENT HER FATHER and her betrothed retreated from the room, Colonel Fitzwilliam focused his attention on Elizabeth.