The Noble Visitor
It was a full week before Elizabeth spoke with anyone but Fletcher, the Herberts, or their servants.
Aside from the chaos engulfing her family, and the not-negligible chance she could be forced into a life of torture, Elizabeth was enjoying the company at the lending library.
The Herberts were kind, loving, and generous.
Their servants were kind and patient, as shown by the lack of censure at her first attempt to cook (they did not even laugh at her…
very much anyway). Mr Herbert was like a naughty older brother or uncle, always ready with a quip or clever observation.
All in all, given the dramatic reduction in the silliness of her life, it was quite an improvement.
It was Monday of the third week before she had the visitor she could not decide if she anticipated or dreaded.
“Mr Darcy is here, Lizzy. Will you see him?”
“Of course!”
The Derbyshire gentleman entered the back room with his usual upright posture, noble bearing, and stony mask—but ruined it by breaking into a slight smile.
It was far more modest than Mr Bingley commenting on the quality of breakfast, but considering his usual countenance, it was as shocking as a handstand might have been.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said with his smile.
Why did he not call her ‘Miss Bennet’ since Jane was not present? It was likely habit and correct enough.
“Mr Darcy, welcome. I cannot begin to thank you for all you have done.”
“I did not do it for gratitude, but I shall accept such as long as it is in moderation and proportional to the effort.”
Elizabeth puzzled over that for a minute before belatedly remembering her manners.
“Will you have a seat? Would you like tea?”
“Yes to both, thank you.”
They sat rather awkwardly which was hardly surprising.
She finally said, “You may assume as much thanks as you can take without being embarrassed. I would have been quite lost without Mr Fletcher.”
“I doubt that,” he snorted, which left her both puzzled and laughing slightly. It seemed so out of character for the man she knew, but the lessons from Mrs Herbert reminded her she knew less than nothing about him.
“I suppose, but I shall reserve the right to declaim any such praise.”
He nodded, likely bored by the exchange already.
“I believe Fletcher keeps you abreast of most of the news?”
“He does.”
Darcy sighed. “Might we put all that aside long enough for me to proffer an apology?”
“You have more than earned my forgiveness and respect, sir. You need not, unless it will make you feel better. It is not necessary to make me esteem you.”
“That seems too easy.”
“Let us agree that in life, hard things are by necessity hard, so there is no need to make easy things hard. You had a bad night at the assembly and are not usually so… ah… disagreeable.”
“I am unconvinced that is the case, but I will accept your forgiveness gratefully, and work to reduce the risk of requiring more.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That may well be the most convoluted apology-non-apology in history.”
He laughed along with her, and for the first time since he called her not handsome enough to dance with, she liked the man.
With a lot of time to think, and none of the ridiculous chatter that passed for conversation at Longbourn, she could not know the pressures on such a man.
Was he hunted for his money every day of his life?
Was Mrs Bennet his fiftieth matchmaking mama of the year?
Had he even made five minutes in the assembly before his consequence was bandied about by all?
Did his estate require Herculean efforts?
Did he have more than one? Was his sister a difficult responsibility, as most fifteen-year-olds were? She had no way of knowing.
With the tea service underway, Mr Darcy gave them the lay of the land.
“Your parents have bet it all on a roll of the dice and keep upping the ante. Your father has put it about that you are to be married. Your mother and younger sisters suggest it will be to Mr Collins, but your father is slightly cagier about it.”
“Why is that? If he is trying to flush me out, why be cagey?”
Mr Darcy looked pained.
Before he spoke, Mr Herbert suggested, “Might I take a crack at it?”
“Be my guest,” he said, looking suspiciously relieved.
Mr Herbert began, “Based on your character, Miss Elizabeth, I know you are aware of the tactical advantages of stealth, no?”
“In a house like Longbourn, it is a survival skill. You learn early to keep anything private if you do not want it scattered about the neighbourhood.”
“Very sensible. However, I doubt you have quite as good of appreciation for a tactic your youngest sister has mastered, but where you are a babe in the woods.”
“Meaning?” Elizabeth asked with a sinking feeling.
“Meaning, you are not naturally inclined towards lying.”
Nobody raised in Longbourn would be surprised by the assertion, so she nodded for him to go on.
“Your father is… or at least, he is not averse to it. Mrs Bennet and your two youngest stretch the truth often, because it is a good tactic for getting what they want. Your father rarely needs to do so, because he is the head of the family and can usually rule by fiat.”
Elizabeth looked between the men, wondering if she would ever understand their minds.
Darcy added gently, “He need not lie in the ordinary course of events, but has that in his bag of tricks, and I doubt he would be averse to pulling it out.”
Elizabeth considered this. “He did not tell my mother about Mr Collins’s visit until the day before, even though he knew about it for a fortnight. I suppose that was a lie.”
“Lie by omission, at the very least.”
Mr Herbert said, “To the point. He is doing what soldiers call ‘keeping his powder dry’. He need not lie just yet, so he does not want to poison the well by acting prematurely. He knows full well that no matter what his wife and daughters say, he can reverse them all by simply making a definitive statement.”
Elizabeth considered that until it started making a perverted sort of sense.
“So… he is waiting until he is certain he can find me before he springs the trap.”
“Correct,” Darcy said. “He assumes your relatives in town will only keep you so long and doubts you have any allies or money. Combine that with his natural hubris and indolence; he probably believes you will be forced to crawl back home when all is said and done.”
Elizabeth frowned fit for a gargoyle, but nodded acceptance of the logic. He would wait until the end of time, but he did not know that.
Mrs Herbert added, “He understands you might know someone who can aid you in an escape, and in the back of his mind, he has made his contingency plan.”
“Which is?”
The other three exchanged glances, and Darcy finished the thought.
“If you never return, he might put it about that you are dead, but that would be rather inconvenient if you did.”
“The easiest lie in the world to disprove. All I need do is write to someone.”
“Exactly! But he could simply put it about that you are married. Your sisters’ reputations are at risk from the scandal now, though I doubt it is all that much worse than it already was.
Yours can be restored with a marriage. If you are not here to call his bluff, it is easy enough for him to say you married someone you knew from London, as he had been saying all along.
Nobody would question it, and if you eventually returned sans husband, everyone would assume you are just widowed, or he is busy elsewhere.
In that case, he assumes you would protect your own reputation by going along with the ruse. ”
Elizabeth considered it for quite some time, undecided whether she appreciated the deviousness of the scheme, detested the cold-heartedness of her father’s machinations, appreciated that he had worked out a way to keep her sisters from suffering from her disappearance, or was sad that her father was not only not the man she thought he was, but not a man worthy of respect at all.
Everyone sipped their tea while she weighed the implications; brandy and cordials may or may not have circulated while she considered her options.
When she finally returned to her senses, two things shocked her—no, three. The first was that Mr Darcy had placed his hand over hers while she ruminated. The second was that the Herberts did not seem to mind.
The third was that she did not mind.