Chapter 8
“If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the hill.” Mr. Philips’s carriage jolted into motion toward its destination, Longbourn.
“I am grateful Bennet was so shaken by the arrival of the King’s Messenger that he troubled himself to seek out my counsel.
Given sufficient time for the fear to pass, I am convinced he would have ignored even that! ”
Darcy had assumed Mr. Bennet’s hesitancy to take immediate action stemmed from pride. The gentleman had not met with him and Philips the day before, nor had he appeared at the assembly.
“Is Mr. Bennet expecting us?”
“He will be grateful to receive us.”
So they were not expected.
Mr. Philips removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The more time I allow to pass, the more firmly my brother-in-law will convince himself that this matter is nothing of concern and that it will disappear if he buries his head in the sand long enough.”
Darcy almost wished Mr. Bennet proud. At least then he would know how to proceed. He had little experience with indolence.
“For Bennet’s sake and that of my nieces, I am determined not to depart from Longbourn until we understand the whole of the matter and develop a plan to assist him. I am grateful to have your expertise, Mr. Robinson. This matter is beyond my knowledge.”
“Think nothing of it. I am content to be of service, especially when the gentleman has a family to protect.”
Mr. Philips scoffed. “Protect. Yes, that is what we must see to.”
While Darcy applauded Mr. Philips’s sense of duty, this reaction reflected poorly on Mr. Bennet. Darcy massaged his temples. To what kind of family had his father attached him? Into what tangled mess was he entering?
Mentally he prepared himself to meet the master of an estate which was certain to be in various stages of neglect.
His mind conjured images of muddy ruts lining a gravel path spotted with holes and overgrown with grass, uncontrolled ivy cracking stained walls and pushing off a leaking roof.
Perhaps dingy windows overlooked a sad garden.
Mr. Philips gestured at the scene through the glass pane. “We are coming up on Longbourn.”
Steeling himself, Darcy looked. He leaned closer, wiping the fog from the window.
Mature trees lined the drive in welcome.
A marked line between gravel and grass trailed as far as he could see.
The path was smooth. Encouraged, he observed his surroundings with a little less skepticism.
The grounds were neat, with practical kitchen gardens visible alongside the colorful remains of the warmer month’s flowers.
The house appeared solid and respectable, with fresh paint and clean windows.
It bore the settled look of a home that had housed the same family for generations, but in no way did it appear neglected.
To the contrary. Mr. Bennet’s estate reflected the devoted care and meticulous attention of a dedicated landowner.
Perhaps Mr. Philips had been too harsh in his description of his brother-in-law’s character. Family members often exaggerated flaws.
The doorman, clean and combed, showed them inside.
The smells of beeswax polish, lavender sachets, and that morning’s baked bread greeted Darcy like old friends.
With one whiff, he was transported to Mrs. Reynolds’s cottage at Pemberley.
Worn rugs softened their steps into the drawing room where the ladies of the house were gathered, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
Black crepe covered the tables, and ribbons were strewn over chairs.
A whisper of unease stirred through Darcy. Bowing his head, he clasped his hands together. “My condolences for your loss.”
The two youngest pouted and whimpered. Mrs. Bennet shot them a marked frown and then turned to him, gesturing that he and Mr. Philips should have a seat.
“Thank you, Mr. Robinson. I am afraid we awoke to distressing news.” Surely she did not refer to his father.
They would have heard of that a week ago.
Mr. Philips inquired after Mr. Bennet, who was certain to join them soon, as Mrs. Bennet assured them.
Miss Lydia mumbled under her breath. Darcy did not hear her, but her mother did.
“Lydia!” she snapped.
Miss Lydia’s nostrils flared. “I do not see why we are covering everything in the parlor with black crepe for a man we are not even related to! For a man we have not even met!” Darcy’s stomach sank. A large fruit basket sat like a shrine on top of the only table not covered in dark fabric.
A woman he had not met at the assembly leveled a stern look at the youngest Bennet. “A lady need not shout to make herself heard.” Ah, the governess. Miss Kitty regarded her needle and black thread with aversion. “In his letter, Mr. Wrayburn said we did not need to mourn.”
“He said that Mr. Darcy would not want it!”
“Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet snapped again. “One more outburst and I shall send you to your room with nothing but The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners to keep you occupied.
” Miss Lydia crossed her arms and glared at Miss Elizabeth, as though she were responsible for their current and unwelcome activity.
Darcy felt guilty by proxy. This was all his father’s doing. He had been given the same instruction by Wrayburn as the Bennets. No courtship ought to begin in mourning, his father had said. Even in death, his father found a way to order everyone about.
The eldest Miss Bennet replied in a soft monotone. “We will honor Mr. Darcy’s final wish publicly, but in private, we wish to show our respect.”
“We never use the front parlor! How is it a show of respect to decorate a room we never use?”
Mrs. Bennet fanned her face. “That is enough, Lydia. We must count our blessings. If it were not for our Lizzy, you would not have the prospects you do.” Miss Elizabeth continued stitching, the tips of her ears as red as a fiery sunset.
“And now that Mr. Darcy is dead, who will make his son marry Lizzy?” Miss Lydia huffed.
Miss Mary replied from her perch on the pianoforte bench. “No gentleman in his right mind would refuse such an inheritance as Pemberley.” Darcy had. Or rather, he had tried, for all the good it had done.
“You will not complain so much when you are invited to the fine balls and soirées in town,” Mrs. Bennet consoled.
Tying off her thread, Miss Elizabeth set aside her wreath and looked up at her uncle. “I suspect this is not a social call?”
“No, it is not, my dear, I am sorry to say.”
“Shall I take you to Papa? He has spent all morning enclosed in his study.” Worry strained her eyes.
Whether her disquiet was for her father or caused by her sisters’ obvious resentment, Darcy did not know, but it troubled him.
Why had his father done this to her? This was why Darcy had left England!
To put an end to that ridiculous arrangement!
How else could he have made his refusal to comply more evident than to forsake his life and forge a path free from all the benefits attached to the name Darcy?
He followed her and Mr. Philips out of the drawing room and down the hall.
She tapped twice before opening a door leading the way into a room bursting with leather tomes, glass cases with various specimens of insects, magnifying glasses, rolled vellums and parchments, leather folios with loose papers inside, and collections of rocks, pressed flowers, and shells.
It was the sort of room a man could easily get lost in, a cave of knowledge and diverse interests.
One curtain, the closest to the desk where Mr. Bennet sat, was open, filtering light on the space he occupied and sparkling on the dust swirling in the air.
A half-eaten roll of bread rested atop an empty cup surrounded by crumbs.
Miss Elizabeth immediately set to straightening the room.
She opened the curtains, brushed the crumbs from the table, and tossed them into the fireplace while her father rose from his chair.
In imitation of Mr. Philips, Darcy removed a coat from the back of the chair facing the desk and books and old newspapers from the seat, carefully setting them on the floor in front of a bookcase.
“Philips! It is rather early for a social call, and I see you have brought Mr. Robinson. Good day to you, sir. I hope Mrs. Bennet has plied you with the latest tea and gossip?” Mr. Bennet walked over to the fireplace, rubbing his hands near the dying embers to warm them, as blithe and unconcerned as Mr. Philips had worried he might be.
Miss Elizabeth asked the houseman to bring in more wood, and the maid removed the cup and saucer with instructions to bring in a fresh pot of tea along with a tray.
In under a minute, Mr. Bennet’s daughter had restored as much order as could be managed in the chaotic space. Her efficiency was impressive.
Mr. Philips sat in one of the chairs placed in front of the desk and motioned for Darcy to occupy the other. “We came to finish the discussion we began two days ago.”
“Oh, I daresay that business will amount to nothing.”
“All the same, we are here. You might as well allow Mr. Robinson to see the correspondence.”
Miss Elizabeth’s gaze landed on Darcy. It was no secret he had spoken at length with Mr. Philips and Mr. Bennet the day he had arrived at Meryton, but he still squirmed under her scrutiny.
What was wrong with him? He was here to help Mr. Bennet sort through a business matter which required his expertise.
If he was to be of any use, he must work confidently.
Squaring his shoulders, he met her gaze.
Then she smiled at him, and he struggled to control his complexion, though his face threatened to burst into flames.
How was he going to do this? Why had he thought this was a good idea?
The smile she offered carried the expectation that he would reciprocate.
Despite his best intention to keep his distance from her, he could not stop himself from smiling in turn.
Would she smile at him so warmly had he been introduced as Darcy? He ached to know.
Mr. Hill brought in an armful of wood and fed the fire—a welcome distraction.
Mr. Bennet, too, seemed to be content with the interruption.
If he noticed how his daughter lingered after Mr. Hill closed the door behind him, he said nothing to her about it.
Mr. Philips, however, did. “Pardon me, brother, but do you consider it wise for us to discuss this matter in front of Lizzy?”
Mr. Bennet regarded his brother-in-law with complete calm and a dismissive wave of his hand. “This is merely a muddle of contracts, hardly anything that will affect the estate.”
Darcy sucked in a breath. Mr. Bennet was dangerously wrong or in an appalling state of denial if he thought a contract in which the British government had taken an interest would not affect his estate.
How could a man responsible for the livings of everyone residing and working at Longbourn refuse to take the least step to ensure their welfare? What of his own wife and daughters?
Mr. Philips took a deep breath. “All the same, this is not the sort of business a gentleman discusses in front of a young lady.”
Mr. Bennet smiled wryly. “You must give more credit to our Lizzy. Her sensibility is stronger than that of most young ladies. Indeed, I daresay her mind is more rational than that of most gentlemen.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened, flickering between him, her uncle, and her father at the slight.
Darcy took no offense. Given the little he knew about her, he was inclined to agree with Mr. Bennet.
However, in the man’s bold praise of his daughter and intense dismissal of his own responsibilities, it was shockingly apparent that the father was not the one making the decisions and carrying them out for the benefit of his estate and family.
No, he had ceded that burden to another.
“It is highly unconventional,” said Mr. Philips in one final attempt to spare his niece. Years ago, Darcy would have agreed, but he knew too much of the world and had known too many strong-minded women to lend his support to the outdated custom.
Again, Mr. Bennet waved off their concern. “My estate is entailed. Longbourn will be lost to my daughters eventually. Whether it happens before my death or after hardly signifies when Lizzy’s future is secure.”
Her head snapped to face her father, her jaw clenched, her eyes sharp.
The resentment in her pained expression was impossible not to see, and Darcy knew at that moment that, if she could, she would defy the marriage arrangement.
She was trapped, the expectations of her family closed around her like prison bars.
If his suspicions were correct and she managed an estate she would never inherit—despite an arrangement that promised her wealth and security—she would take on the fight against the Customs House herself.
Without the support of her father, she was powerless.
The man sitting across from Darcy would not place his daughter’s needs before his own, nor would he protect her from the consequences of his debt.
To leave would be to abandon her to ruin. Unacceptable. He could not tell her he was Darcy without forcing her into a marriage she did not want while also losing his ability to help her. Inconvenient, but doable. Offensive to his reputation for honesty, but necessary, given the circumstances.
Her eyes met his, conveying equal measures of hope and despair. In his heart, he promised her he would stay.