Chapter Thirty-Three
The room fell silent at Lord Ashcombe’s declaration. Then Mr. Bennet recovered himself.
“I believe there is some confusion, sir. I am Miss Bennet’s guardian, and I do not recollect ever seeing your face before today, much less signing a contract on your behalf.”
“My father, Alfred Montclair, seventh Earl of Ashcombe, drew up a betrothal contract between myself and Miss Bennet while she was still in her cradle,” Ambrose replied. “As her legal guardian, he possessed every authority to do so.”
“The Earl of Ashcombe her guardian?” said Mr. Bennet. “Because when Trevelyan died, your father wrote to inform me that nothing of the kind had occurred, and that I retained full guardianship over the girl.”
“If he did not become my guardian until my grandfather died,” Elizabeth said, “then I was apparently a remarkably large infant, for I was certainly no longer in a cradle at five.”
Mr. Bennet made a noise that sounded suspiciously like approval. Ambrose continued as though Elizabeth had not spoken.
“My uncle Stephen,” he said, in the tone of a man correcting an insignificant mistake, “had already succeeded in having your guardianship revoked before his death, with my father’s assistance.
Upon my uncle’s death, guardianship passed to my father, and the contract was drawn up under that authority. ”
“How exceedingly diligent of him,” said Mr. Bennet.
“And yet the same man also assured me that no such alteration had taken place, that I remained her guardian in every legal sense, and that Trevelyan had left his estate to him outright. One begins to suspect your father was either a remarkably conscientious guardian or a remarkably accomplished liar, and I confess I find it difficult to make him both simultaneously.”
“You must forgive me if I question the accuracy of your recollection,” he said. “My father was not generally in the habit of discussing private family arrangements beyond those directly concerned by them.”
“As he understood it,” repeated Mr. Bennet. “Yes. I daresay that clarifies everything.”
“I find,” said Elizabeth, “that my own wishes in the matter remain of considerably greater importance to me than any contract drafted over my cradle.”
“Does that mean cousin Elizabeth possesses property? That estate must naturally belong to me. I am to marry her.”
“You are to marry no one,” said Ambrose.
“I have a contract,” said Collins.
“You have a worthless piece of paper.”
“I have Mr. Bennet’s word.”
“Which,” said Ambrose, “appears to carry exactly as much legal authority as Mr. Bennet himself.”
Mrs. Bennet rose in outraged astonishment.
“If that girl has property, it ought to belong to this family. We raised her. Twenty years we clothed her and fed her and kept a roof over her head, and never once did anyone mention an estate. If there is money to be had, we deserve our share of it. I deserve it. I have worked myself into nervous misery for this household and I will not sit here while strangers walk away with what ought properly to belong to us.”
“I am already allowing for the five thousand,” Collins said.
“Divided fairly, of course, between Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls. A thousand apiece, precisely as agreed. The remainder, together with any estate attached to Miss Bennet, must naturally pass to her husband. One must think ahead. A large establishment requires planning.”
“I want a new dress,” said Lydia. “If everyone is discussing money, I do not see why I should be left out of it entirely.”
“Lydia,” said Mary, from the corner, with the tired disapproval of a woman long resigned to being the only serious person in the room.
The room descended into precisely the kind of argument that Longbourn did best. Mrs. Bennet claimed injustice, Mr. Collins claimed rights, Lydia claimed a new dress, and Mary claimed nobody was behaving sensibly.
Mr. Bennet appeared to find the spectacle instructive.
Elizabeth endured it as best she could, while Kitty remained quietly at her side.
Lord Ashcombe had withdrawn a little from the disturbance, and Jane crossed directly toward him.
"My lord," she said, resting her hand upon his arm, "you must think us a very alarming family."
His eyes dropped briefly to her hand before lifting again to her face. “Only a spirited one.”
Jane smiled. “I hope you will not judge us too harshly. Sudden revelations have unsettled everyone.”
“Such matters generally do.” His gaze lingered upon her another moment. “Still, if certain arrangements are concluded satisfactorily, I think there may be room for a more agreeable understanding between us.”
Jane lowered her eyes at once, colour rising into her cheeks. Elizabeth, disgusted alike by the implication and by the spectacle her family had made of her future, lost patience entirely.
“And I will not marry anyone because papers were signed over my head before I was old enough to object. Not Mr. Collins. Not Lord Ashcombe. No one except the man I have already chosen.”
Mrs. Bennet immediately began protesting that she had not spent twenty years raising a girl to be spoken to in such a manner, while Mr. Collins declared obedience the first duty of a wife and Lydia demanded once again to know whether anyone intended to address the matter of her dress.
“Miss Bennet,” said Ambrose, “I observe there appears to be a very pretty sort of wilderness at the back of your garden. Perhaps we may continue this discussion there.”
Nothing could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth than a temporary escape from the discussion in the parlour.
“You speak as though inclination were the chief consideration in marriage, Miss Bennet,” he said as they walked toward the garden, “which is a very understandable mistake in a young woman, though not an especially practical one.”
“I think my own happiness a perfectly practical concern.”
“Happiness. You are offered position, consequence, protection, and an alliance your family ought to consider a distinction of the highest order. Few women in your situation would hesitate so long over the matter.”
“I am not most women.”
“No, most women would possess considerably more gratitude.”
“You presume a great deal, my lord, for a man who has known me less than an hour.”
Ambrose broke a branch from a hedge as he passed and stripped the leaves from it with his thumb.
“I know perfectly well what is suitable,” said Ambrose. “The arrangement was approved by your guardians, desired by our families, and settled years before either of us was old enough to interfere with it by developing opinions.”
“I am sorry to disappoint everyone so thoroughly, but I find I have developed them nonetheless.”
They had reached the far end of the path. Ambrose turned back without answering immediately.
“Obstinate, headstrong girl,” said Ambrose. “I have not been accustomed to having my offers refused in this manner.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted slightly. “Then your lordship has been unusually fortunate.”
He was not pleased by this.
“Tell me once for all,” he said, “to whom have these dangerous preferences attached themselves? Some neighbouring curate? A sentimental militia officer? I should at least like to know the gentleman for whom I am expected to surrender six thousand a year.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Darcy,” he repeated. “Of course.”
“You know him?”
“One cannot move in society without knowing Darcy. That solemn creature has spent his entire life being admired for virtues no one else has ever found particularly entertaining.”
“I was not aware amusement formed the foundation of character.”
“No, and Darcy would certainly be the first to prove it. He has no title, Miss Bennet. No distinction beyond a fortune inherited without effort, an excessively correct estate, and the talent for persuading half the women in England that solemnity is a personality.”
“He possesses honour.”
“Yes, yes, Darcy is honourable. He is also insufferably convinced of it. The point remains that he is merely Mister Darcy. I am an Earl. Whatever romantic notions you may presently entertain, society still recognises a distinction between those two conditions.”
Elizabeth made no answer immediately.
“My esteem is not regulated by the peerage.”
“No, but most sensible women eventually discover that comfort and position are preferable to admiration of a gentleman's character.”
“And if I do not?”
“Then you will be a very imprudent young woman.”
Elizabeth almost laughed.
“I have survived that accusation before.”
“You treat the matter with a levity entirely unsuited to it, Miss Bennet. Let me be rightly understood. This match must take place. You are engaged to me by the express wishes of by the express wishes of your guardians.”
“Why should I accept you?”
“Because honour, decorum, prudence, and interest require it. Do not imagine you may reject me and yet continue to expect favour and acknowledgment from those whose name and consequence you are so ready to disregard.”
“My family has shown me very little favour that I should tremble at the loss of it.”
“Your immediate family, perhaps. But you possess another guardian entirely, whose support I have fully and honourably obtained. I do not imagine he will receive this display of ingratitude and impertinence with much admiration.”
“I cannot imagine his opinion alters mine.”
“No. At present you cannot imagine it at all. That is precisely the difficulty.”
He stepped nearer. “You and I were formed for one another, Miss Bennet. We are descended from the same noble line. Our fortunes on both sides are considerable. Every person possessing authority in this matter has desired the match. And what is to divide us? The pretensions of a young man without a title?”
“Mr. Darcy requires no title to secure my esteem.”
“Esteem,” said Ambrose. “Young women are forever talking of esteem when they mean infatuation.”
“And noblemen are forever talking of consequence when they mean vanity.”
His expression hardened.
“Tell me plainly, Miss Bennet. Will you marry me?”
“I will not.”
“You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse the claims of duty, honour, gratitude, and family expectation.”
“Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude have any claim upon me in the present instance. Contracts made without my knowledge by guardians I have never met shall not determine the rest of my life.”
“Then,” said Ambrose, “I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. You deserve no such civility.”
He turned toward the house. Lord and Lady Matlock stood at the garden gate. Behind them, Mr. Darcy.