Chapter Three #2
Thomas Bennet had outlived his wife and, at the grand age of eighty-three, seemed determined to annoy his heir, a silly distant cousin named William Collins, by living as long as possible.
"It is hardly as though you grew up in a one-bedroom cottage and had to milk the goat every morning," Bella continued.
"I do believe I milked our goat, Hortensia, precisely once. It was on receipt of a very silly dare from your Aunt Lydia and resulted only in my receiving a sharp kick to the shins and a very unattractive milk stain down the front of my gown. Mrs Hill, the housekeeper, was most displeased."
Bella laughed despite herself.
"I suppose what I am trying to say, very inelegantly, is that different is not always better.
And, for better or worse, your circumstances are unusual.
You are a young woman with a considerable fortune, and one day you will inherit this estate.
That gives you freedoms most women could scarcely imagine, but it also places limitations upon you.
And it makes you a target for the worst sort of people. "
Bella sighed. "I know, Mama. I must be locked in my tower, lest a fortune hunter comes to steal me away in the middle of the night."
Her mother had a distant look in her eyes and did not respond to the comment.
"Perhaps over the summer we shall take the opportunity to see a little more of the world.
I think the seaside would be wonderful for you and your sisters or perhaps we could see your Aunt Georgie in Bath.
And Aunt Jane and Uncle Charles and the boys could accompany us. Does that not sound very jolly indeed?"
Bella smiled, but it was a weak one. The sort of travel her mother imagined was their life transplanted to another place.
The same people and the same conversations, as pleasant as they were, only in different drawing rooms with different views from the windows.
A line from Byron’s Childe Harold rose unbidden in her mind.
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?
She had always thrilled at the words, so brave and decisive.
The rallying cry of heroes. Her parents, as kind and loving as they were, could not give her the freedom she wanted.
Perhaps no one could. A thought started to solidify in her mind—her freedom was something she would have to take for herself. Even if just for a little while.
Her mother kissed her temple. "Talk to your papa. Properly this time and truly listen. He loves you beyond reason, Bella. Whatever you imagine this morning has proved, never doubt that. And attend your lesson with him this afternoon."
Bella's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Mama. I will."
"And do try to attend in spirit as well as body."
Bella gave her a rueful look. "I know."
Her mother smiled and rose from the window seat, smoothing her skirts. "Good. I shall tell him you will come."
???
Bella stood outside the door to her father's study, trying to gather the courage to knock and have the conversation she knew she must. She had rehearsed what she wished to say in her head several times, but now that she stood there, the words felt hollow.
She also knew that her coming actions would disappoint and sadden him, and the guilt made her stomach twist at the thought.
She took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock, but before she could bring her knuckles to the wood, the door swung open. "Papa," she said, startled as he nearly walked straight into her.
"Arabella, sweetheart." His hands came gently to the tops of her arms and he drew her into the room. "I was going to… and well, here you are. Sit, sit. I will call for some tea."
He guided her to one of the chairs reserved for visitors, placed across from the master's seat at the broad mahogany desk.
"I do not need tea, Papa."
"Well, indulge your old father, for I find myself quite parched." He laughed nervously and pulled the bell cord. Rather than taking the seat opposite her at the desk, he folded his tall frame into the chair beside her and took both her hands in his.
"I am so very sorry, sweetheart. My behaviour this morning was reprehensible. Something your dear mama has explained to me in minute detail. I believe she called me Fitzwilliam three times, something she only ever does when she is cross."
The butler, Johnson, came into the room and nodded somberly. "Master."
"Johnson, yes," her father said distractedly. "Will you arrange for the kitchen to send a tea tray?"
"Of course, sir." Johnson disappeared as silently as he had arrived.
"Where was I?" her father said, squeezing her hands in his.
"Yes. I apologise unreservedly. I can only say that I want to ensure you are safe and secure, and that the estate is the same.
By teaching you, I hope to protect you. My intention is not to clip your wings or make you feel that your whole life has been decided for you. "
But it has, she thought, and another stab of guilt twisted inside her.
"I know you only want the best for me, Papa. And I am sorry too. I have not been fair to you. I know how much Pemberley matters and why you want me to understand it. I only wish there were some way for me to discover what else might matter to me before it becomes the whole of my life."
Her father's expression softened. "There is, sweetheart. We shall find a way. I love you, Bella, so very much."
Bella nodded and squeezed his hands in return. "I love you too, Papa, and know you will try."
That, at least, was true. He would always try to make her happy. But she feared he did not truly understand what it was she needed. How could he, when she was so uncertain herself? She only hoped her dear papa would forgive her for what she planned to do next.