Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy (Around Jane Austen #2)

Chapter 1

Elizabeth

I read Jane's letter three times before admitting the words wouldn't change no matter how hard I willed them to.

The first reading left me incredulous. The second, furious. By the third, I felt only a cold, methodical fear—one that seemed to take stock of every piece of furniture at Longbourn, every dress my sisters owned, every small expense we had always taken for granted.

My dearest Lizzy,

Papa has finally explained why he has been receiving letters these past weeks that he locks away in his study.

Years ago, he stood guarantor for a sum borrowed by an old friend.

This man died insolvent, and his creditor is now demanding five thousand pounds.

Papa cannot sell Longbourn, as you know, and would have to pledge a large portion of his income for many years to come.

He assures us we shall want for nothing.

I fear, however, that he is minimizing the situation to spare us.

Mama does not know the whole truth. She knows only that we must reduce our expenses. Please, do not be too alarmed, and say nothing to Charlotte until Papa decides to make the matter public himself.

Jane had added several lines to assure me that everyone was well, that Lydia still laughed, that Kitty had received a new ribbon, that Mary had undertaken to read a treatise on domestic economy.

Her care in describing a normality already cracked squeezed my heart more tightly than the darkest complaint could have.

I folded the letter, then opened it again.

Five thousand pounds.

My mother's entire dowry. Two and a half years of Longbourn's income, assuming no one ate, dressed, or paid the servants during that time. A debt that could transform my father's improvidence into lasting catastrophe.

From the window of the small room the Collinses had assigned me, the gardens of Hunsford appeared offensively serene.

The April sun lit the trimmed boxwoods, the daffodils, and the gate where Mr. Collins waited each morning to watch his patroness's carriage pass.

Nothing in this landscape suggested that a few days' journey away, my family risked losing the fragile comfort it had always taken for granted.

I thought of my mother, whose lamentations could exasperate me but whose fears had never been entirely imaginary.

She had known since her marriage that Longbourn would one day pass to Mr. Collins.

She knew that five daughters without sufficient fortune would depend on their marriages or their parents' generosity.

My father had answered this threat with irony, as if mocking a danger could make it less real.

I thought of Jane.

Had Mr. Bingley married her, she could have helped the others without ever making them feel it. The thought immediately filled me with shame. Jane was not a financial solution. She was my sister, wounded by a man who had let her believe he loved her before vanishing to London.

Footsteps in the corridor made me slip the letter into my pocket.

Charlotte entered without knocking, wearing that attentive expression that told me she had already noticed my prolonged absence.

“Lizzy, is everything all right?” she asked.

“Perfectly.”

She closed the door behind her.

“Your definition of perfection seems stricter than mine.”

I tried to smile.

“A letter from Longbourn. Nothing that should disturb Mr. Collins's luncheon.”

“He would be honored to sympathize, provided Lady Catherine had first shown him the proper way to do so.”

I let out a short laugh. Charlotte came closer and placed her hand on my forearm.

“Is it serious?”

I wanted to tell her. She was my friend, despite the choice that had led her to this parsonage and despite everything I still did not understand about her marriage. But Jane had asked for my silence, and my father's troubles were not mine to share.

“My father has some money troubles,” I replied. “He thinks he can resolve them.”

Charlotte asked nothing more. Her gaze only softened.

“Then come walk with me after luncheon. You bear bad news better when you can scatter it behind you on a path.”

“I fear these will run faster than I can.”

We went downstairs. Mr. Collins awaited us in the small parlor and informed us, with all the gravity of a man announcing a royal favor, that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had promised to dine at the parsonage the following day.

“Her Ladyship,” he added, “herself suggested that her nephews do us this honor. She believes, and I entirely share her view, that a clergyman attached to so distinguished a house must not be deprived of suitable connections.”

“That will certainly make up for all our deprivations,” I murmured.

Charlotte shot me an amused warning look.

I drifted through the meal in a fog of distraction that Mr. Collins generously attributed to the emotion of Mr. Darcy's upcoming visit. Afterward, I took my hat and went out alone. Charlotte was detained by a domestic matter, and I needed a silence more complete than her company could provide.

I followed the path that ran along Rosings Park. I had walked it often enough to know the places where the trees concealed me from the great house. That day, I saw neither the young leaves nor the light playing between the branches. I was calculating.

How much did my mother's annual maintenance cost?

What would become of Lydia and Kitty if Longbourn's income were reduced by half?

Mary might accept an austere existence with almost triumphant resignation.

Jane would work herself to exhaustion to spare us.

As for myself, what could I do? A young woman of good family did not find employment as easily as she found a walking path.

I could become a lady's companion or governess, if someone would hire me despite my lack of preparation.

My earnings would barely cover my own keep.

And if my father died?

This possibility, which I had always kept at a distance for the sake of my peace of mind, rose before me with cruel precision.

Mr. Collins would take possession of Longbourn.

My mother would receive the income from her small capital, perhaps diminished by debts.

Five women would be left to the kindness of relatives who loved them but had no obligation to support them.

I stopped near an old beech tree.

“Miss Bennet.”

Mr. Darcy's voice behind me made me start, which I masked by turning slowly.

He stood a few paces away, dressed with that perfect restraint that made his tall figure all the more striking. His face wore the same reserve as always, yet his gaze lingered on mine with an intensity that troubled me more than I wished to admit.

“Mr. Darcy. I did not hear you approach.”

“I fear not. You seemed deeply absorbed.”

“It is a less dangerous fault on a deserted path than in a drawing room.”

He inclined his head, without quite smiling.

“May I walk with you?”

I would have preferred to remain alone. Yet I reflected that refusing abruptly would draw his attention to a grief I could not explain.

“If you can bear a distracted companion.”

We walked side by side. His presence made the path suddenly too narrow.

He spoke little. Since my arrival in Kent, his repeated visits to the parsonage and his curiously frequent encounters during my walks had been a source of amusement to me.

I had thought him incapable of deciding whether he disapproved of me or found my faults an unwitting diversion.

That day, I had no desire to provoke him.

“You have received bad news,” he said at last.

It was not a question.

“You deduce a great deal from a little silence.”

“You are not usually silent.”

I turned my head toward him. A slight flush rose on his cheekbones, as if he regretted revealing how closely he had been observing me.

“That is a singular accusation.”

“An observation only.”

“Mr. Darcy's observations often have the misfortune of resembling judgments.”

“And Miss Bennet's pleasantries of resembling defenses.”

I ought to have answered him. A sharp reply presented itself, then faded. Jane's letter weighed against my hip.

“My family is facing a difficulty,” I admitted. “I cannot say more.”

He stopped.

“May I be of use to you?”

The offer surprised me so much that I stared at him. He appeared neither curious nor condescending. His voice had lost its stiffness. Genuine concern marked his brow.

“No,” I answered too quickly. “I thank you.”

He resumed walking, but his silence had changed. It was no longer that of a man with nothing to say. It resembled the restraint of someone who wished to bridge a distance and did not know how.

We reached the place where our paths separated. I took a step toward Hunsford.

“Miss Bennet.”

I turned around.

Mr. Darcy had gone pale.

“May I call on you this evening?”

“You know that Mr. Collins always gratefully welcomes anyone Lady Catherine judges worthy of his drawing room.”

“I do not wish to see Mr. Collins.”

His gaze fixed on me with a determination that made my heart beat faster.

“I’d like to speak with you.”