5. Elizabeth Takes Possession #2
She led them to the library first. The room was at once large and cozy. Two stories tall, lined with books from floor to ceiling, with plump leather chairs flanking a fireplace, and large windows overlooking the garden where the first crocuses were pushing through the earth.
“You will be content here, Miss Elizabeth. My father was much like yours, believing that a woman who reads is a woman who thinks, and therefore cannot be entirely controlled.” Lady Sophia’s eyes glinted with a wicked sort of mischief.
“One might even call such a woman inconvenient. Isn’t that so, Fitzwilliam? ”
Darcy offered no reply, his gaze averted. Elizabeth was once again struck by how much her benefactress knew about her.
“Lady Sophia,” she said, and the question she had carried since Longbourn surfacing before she could weigh the propriety. “Your letter mentioned a connection to my family and correspondence with friends in my neighborhood. May I ask who they are?”
“You may ask, and I may decline to answer. Suffice it to say, Miss Bennet, that while you were busy being ‘tolerable’ in Hertfordshire, I was being told that you were anything but.” Her eyes flashed, as if she’d found Elizabeth a kindred spirit.
“This library is yours, Miss Bennet. Every volume. I ask only that you do not rearrange the lower shelves, as I have spent forty years establishing a system that no one else understands, and I should hate to lose the advantage of a well-placed mystery.”
The music room was adjacent to the library, connected by a pair of double doors that stood open.
A Broadwood pianoforte dominated it the way a grand old tree dominated a garden.
Dark mahogany with brass fittings, and even Elizabeth, whose musical education was adequate but never passionate, could see that it was extraordinary.
Mary stopped in the doorway. Her hand went rigid in Elizabeth’s.
“Go on,” Elizabeth whispered, nudging her forward.
Mary looked at Lady Sophia, who nodded, and then she crossed the room, almost stealthily. When she reached the Broadwood, she pressed a single key, the middle C. The note filled the room, rich and clear, and the defeated expression Mary wore dissolved into pure, unguarded wonder.
A young lady entered from the garden door, dark and elegant, and Elizabeth knew at once that this was the sister Darcy had written about. Things that she had no right to know, in Darcy’s haste to justify her objections to his suit.
“Miss Darcy,” Lady Sophia said. “Do come in. May I present Miss Mary Bennet? She is a fellow devotee of the pianoforte. I suspect you will find much to discuss.”
“You like the Broadwood?” Georgiana whispered, coming to stand beside Mary. “The action is… it is very responsive. It does not resist the hand.”
“It has a voice,” Mary replied. “Most instruments merely make a noise. This one speaks.”
“Do you know the new Clementi sonatas?”
“The one in G minor?” Mary’s eyes ignited. “The Allegro con spirito is… demanding.”
“I find the Adagio more truthful,” Georgiana replied.
Before long, the two were sitting side by side on the bench, their skirts touching and their hands resting on the keys. A sting filled Elizabeth’s eyes.
She caught Darcy’s gaze across the room. He stood near the door, observing his sister with the conflicted attention of a brother torn between affection and apprehension. For a moment, they shared a look, as if he feared she would betray his trust. She hadn’t, not even to Jane.
Nettle barked once, a sharp sound, wagged her tail, and eagerly trotted to the garden door.
“Ah, the garden,” Lady Sophia said. “I suspect it will become one of your favorite places.” She placed a hand on Elizabeth’s elbow. “Walk with me, dear.”
Darcy opened the garden door, and together, Elizabeth and Lady Sophia stepped into the small walled garden nestled between two grand houses.
It was enclosed on three sides, with gravel paths, a sundial, and flowerbeds just beginning to bloom.
Her cane tapping the gravel, Lady Sophia led Elizabeth on a stroll, Nettle darting from bush to stone bench and back around their skirts, her nose eagerly exploring the new scents.
“Miss Bennet,” Lady Sophia said, stopping at the bench near the sundial and sitting.
“I have shown you your library, the music room, and this garden. Now I should like to show you my hand, as you have been searching for it since you arrived. I see no point in making you search for what I can lay before you plainly.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “I was not?—”
“You were, and you should have been. Your father raised a clever girl. I shall give him credit for that, whatever else he may deserve credit or blame for.” Lady Sophia turned her penetrating brown eyes on Elizabeth.
“I have given you everything I own, Miss Bennet. The house, the fortune, the investments, and the country estate. All of it. I have kept nothing for myself except the clothes on my back, my dowry, and the books I cannot bear to part with, which is, I concede, rather a lot of books. And I have done this for reasons that are my own, which I ask you to trust are not malicious, however mysterious they may appear.”
“That is a great deal of trust to ask of a stranger.”
“It is, granting my sources are trustworthy.” Her voice was steady. “But I am not foolish, and while I might gamble, I know your character enough to be confident you will grant my humble request.”
Elizabeth studied her. There was no mockery, only an accurate appraisal.
“And here is what I ask in return.” Lady Sophia’s tone remained level, but Elizabeth heard the slightest tremor of a woman who, for all her self-sufficiency, had taken a risk.
“I should like to remain here in this house. As your godmother and your companion. Whatever you will have me be. I have no other home and no children. I have outlived most of my friends and all of my patience for beginning again. This house has been mine for over forty years, and I have given it to you freely, but I should like—very much—not to leave it.”
Her breath caught on those last words, and Elizabeth felt the full weight of her vulnerability.
What sort of woman parted with her entire livelihood first, without preconditions, and then trusted the charity of the recipient?
Elizabeth’s suspicions shifted, although they did not entirely recede.
She would very much like to know the reasons, but if Lady Sophia trusted her with her well-being, and she had shown herself both generous and perceptive—perhaps Elizabeth could relax and trust her good fortune, one that exceeded her wildest dreams.
“Lady Sophia,” she said. “This is your home, and it will remain your home for as long as you wish it. That is not a condition I accept—it is a condition I insist upon.”
“And should you intend to live elsewhere? Bellwood Park is also yours,” Lady Sophia mentioned, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
“Then you shall be welcome there, too, even if I return to Longbourn or make my home elsewhere.” Elizabeth shocked herself with such an open-ended commitment. “I do not forget those who have been kind to me.”
Lady Sophia nodded, as if she knew Elizabeth would do as she’d requested, but when she placed her hand over Elizabeth’s, the slight change in her balance showed her more about the cost of this gamble than any legal document ever could.
“Now.” The briskness returned to Lady Sophia’s voice.
“To practical matters. Your fortune requires management. The investments must be reviewed quarterly, the estate accounts audited, and the tenants at Bellwood Park attended to. I managed these affairs for many years, but I am sixty-three, my eyesight is not what it was, and I confess that columns of figures now give me a headache that no amount of Madeira will cure.”
“I intend to learn to manage them myself,” Elizabeth said.
“And so you shall. But in the interim, you will require guidance, and I have taken the liberty of ensuring you have the most competent guidance available.” Lady Sophia’s tone was light, conversational, almost an afterthought—which was precisely how Elizabeth knew it was nothing of the sort.
“Mr. Darcy has managed my affairs—your affairs, now—for the past ten years. He is meticulous, scrupulously honest, and quite incapable of cheating you, which is more than can be said for most men in London. He has agreed to continue in this capacity. I suggest you meet with him twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays.”
“Mondays and Thursdays,” Elizabeth repeated. Her voice was admirably steady, and her teeth were admirably clenched. “How very convenient.”
“I thought so.” Lady Sophia stood and tucked Elizabeth’s arm through hers, leading her back toward the house with the assurance of a hostess whose evenings always ended precisely as she had arranged.