Chapter 12
Aman who has shown no interest in knowing me. It was not so much the falsity of the words that hit Darcy in the gut but the disdain with which Miss Elizabeth said them. She hated him, and he deserved it.
The temptation to tell her everything, to justify himself, overwhelmed him.
His arms shook, so he crossed them over himself.
She misunderstood him, and he had to allow it.
If he revealed himself right now, Mr. Bennet would expect them to marry immediately.
Darcy could not do that to her. She would lose too much: Longbourn, her freedom, herself…
He wished to understand her better. He would help her first, and then he would tell her.
What use was Fitzwilliam Darcy to her when Daniel Robinson’s skills were more fitted to this situation?
He was both, was he not? More Robinson than Darcy.
At his core, this was him. If he was to be allowed to see her true character under duress, then should she not be allowed the same courtesy?
Miss Elizabeth turned to the tottering stack on top of the writing desk, focusing on a paper with an intensity that could stoke a fire, the redness tipping her ears blossoming in her cheeks.
Eight weeks to save Mr. Bennet from prison and his family from ruin.
Six weeks until the reading of the will, where Darcy would have to reveal the full truth of his identity. Less if Wickham saw and recognized him.
He remembered her smiles at the marketplace, in the assembly rooms; heard her laughter. And he knew what to do. Relaxing his expression, he quirked an eyebrow and the same side of his lip. “You are the inheritance?”
A bitter laugh choked her. “I might as well be a painting or a chair.” She blinked rapidly, rebelliously.
He leaned ever so slightly toward her and dropped his voice. “I hope the son appreciates your value, that he strives to be worthy of you.”
Her eyes snapped to his. He could read the question there: What do you know of my value? And just as quickly, a more withdrawn, distant look. “I appreciate the sentiment as you no doubt intended it, Mr. Robinson.”
He lowered his chin, angling himself to see her better. Did she take offense at his compliment? Confound it if he understood how! Perplexed, he decided to simply ask. “Pray educate me, Miss Elizabeth, on how you understand my intent.”
She searched his face, and he held still, wishing he knew what she sought and equally determined that she should find it. He would not force her confidence, but he would encourage her to speak her mind when it came to him and his behavior.
Finally, her eyes locked with his, confident and resolute.
“You do not know me well enough to speak with any authority on my value, and therefore I must conclude you speak in general. After all, at some point in life, every individual is valuable to someone. Furthermore, what woman would not wish her intended to strive to be worthy of her?”
That was it? Relief restored Darcy’s humor.
Miss Elizabeth added softly, more to herself than to him, “It is a wish as improbable as it is universal.”
He leaned forward, determined to prove her wrong on one point.
“You are mistaken, Miss Elizabeth. I first saw you prevent three boys from letting a pen full of sheep loose in the marketplace, then you revealed your kindness to me after Miss Bingley’s insults at the assembly, and you conveyed uncommonly good sense upon learning that all your diligence and management might very well be for naught, and due to no fault of your own.
You have impressed me with your intelligence, industry, and unselfish concern for the welfare of others.
” She held her breath, her eyes darting all over his face.
He drove his point home. “Qualities such as these are of far higher value than connections, rank, or fortune. They are visible to anyone with an eye to observe them and ought to be praised accordingly.” That said, he crossed his arms and leaned back.
The effect of this pointed speech was instant and charming.
Her cheeks glowed becomingly. Her lips parted several times to speak but produced no words.
Darcy could not regret it, though he knew himself to be in danger.
How on earth was he going to live under the same roof as this delightful creature?
If he had any sense, he would be terrified—of discovery, of failure, of the absurd situation in which he had placed himself.
And yet, his better judgment was overcome by a confident resolve to protect her. He was a fool.
He pulled another book off the shelf and held it out to her.
She looked at him, and then at the book.
She was not a young lady to have her head turned with vain compliments.
He admired her caution. He held the book steadily, prepared to stand there all day if that was what it took.
He would wait. Her hand flinched, and it was all he could do to hold his position.
Then, with a smile, she took the book, her fingers brushing against his.
He was trying not to flex his hand in response to her touch when she waved a letter in front of him that looked to be written in Italian.
“Here is our first one!” she said triumphantly, spinning around to place it on the only clear corner of the writing desk.
Darcy cleared his throat and turned to the shelf, wondering how he was going to survive the afternoon, not to mention the following weeks.
A tap on the door signaled the arrival of the housekeeper. “Mr. Robinson’s room is ready, sir.”
Mr. Bennet lowered the newspaper, folding it with a guilty glance at his daughter. Gathering a few books together, he straightened them into a neat pile and addressed Mrs. Hill. “Very good. Show Mr. Robinson his room. Lizzy and I will continue our work here.”
Darcy doubted Mr. Bennet would be much help, but he dutifully followed Mrs. Hill up the steps to the upper floor.
A modest but comfortable guest chamber with a freshly made bed awaited him.
There was a washstand with a pitcher and basin near the door and a small writing desk equipped with paper and writing utensils.
A chair near the single window overlooked the kitchen garden.
A small fireplace kept the tidy room warm.
The entire space was the size of the dressing room in his old apartment, the ceiling half the height.
“I hope you find the room to your liking, sir. If there is anything I can do to add to your comfort, please speak with me directly. Mr. Hill is likely to return soon. Would you like him to return to Meryton to fetch your things from the inn?” She fiddled with the edge of her apron.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hill, but Mr. Philips already offered to send my portmanteau to Longbourn upon his return to the village. I imagine it will arrive before Mr. Hill does.”
She worried the seam even more. “Pray forgive me for asking, but it is done out of concern.” Darcy gave the woman his full attention. “Will the Bennets be able to stay on at Longbourn?” she asked.
He understood her motive. Both she and Mr. Hill were of an age where finding another establishment willing to hire both of them would be difficult.
He offered what reassurance he rightly could.
“My purpose here is to ensure the Bennets’ welfare, and that includes securing Longbourn. For now, your position is safe.”
Far from taking comfort in his reassurance, she stepped forward, her hands together.
“Please, Mr. Robinson, it is not so much for me that I ask but for Miss Lizzy. After all she has done―” She caught herself, her eyes warier.
“That is, what I mean to say… Longbourn means the world to Miss Lizzy. It would be a shame for her to lose it.”
The housekeeper’s concern for Miss Elizabeth when most servants would put their own welfare first added powerful testimony regarding the young woman’s character. Once again, Darcy questioned the soundness of his decision to stay on and help.
“I will do my utmost to protect Miss Elizabeth’s interest.” To avoid sounding too partial, he added, “And that of her family and their household.”
Appeased, Mrs. Hill departed, leaving Darcy to pen an urgent message.
Richard,
I am established at Longbourn as Mr. Bennet’s secretary.
Already it is a disaster, and I regret the moment of weakness which led me to accede to the plan I so adamantly resisted in London.
You may expect a full explanation of the details in my next letter, but for now I wish you to know that, while I accept responsibility for listening to you and Reynolds, I hold you accountable for concocting the idea and encouraging it in the first place.
As I am here (at your recommendation, lest you forget) and you are there, I must beg you to receive Brenner when he lands. Also, I am in need of a reliable contact at His Majesty’s Customs. What can you tell me about Sir Bradley Headstone, the Collector of Customs?
Wickham is here, and I await the ensuing disaster of our inevitable meeting with apprehension and resignation.
Daniel Robinson