Page 9

“Girls!” Mrs. Bennet began, scarcely waiting for their attention.

“You may like to know that Jane and Elizabeth are to stay longer at Lucas Lodge—Mr. Darcy himself is there as a guest! And your father, as usual, would not listen to the voice of reason—my voice—when I suggested he ought to call at once. But no, he will do as he pleases, and now we are left here, left out of everything.”

Kitty’s eyes grew wide. “Mr. Darcy at Lucas Lodge? Oh, how grand! Do you suppose he brought his own carriage and horses, Mama?”

“Who cares for Mr. Darcy’s carriage?” Lydia interrupted, tossing her curls. “I want to know if Mr. Bingley was there. He is ten times more agreeable, and I am certain he would have asked Jane to dance again if he had the chance!”

“He was not there,” Mrs. Bennet declared, pursing her lips in mild frustration.

“Mr. Bennet says James reported that Mr. Bingley is about his business at Netherfield, and not at the Lucases at all. It is a great pity! I am sure he is merely detained, and perhaps will call at Lucas Lodge later—but your father will not bestir himself, not even for your sisters’ happiness! ”

Mary, who had been quietly considering the matter, closed her book and intoned, “It is perhaps for the best that our father exercises caution. Social calls must be weighed with propriety and necessity; it would be quite improper to intrude where one is not expected.”

“Oh, Mary, you are so tiresome!” Lydia protested. “Who cares for propriety if there is to be dancing or cards, or a handsome visitor from Derbyshire? I wish I were at Lucas Lodge now—I am sure they will have such fun, and we are left here with nothing but sermons and sewing!”

Kitty, her needle poised mid-air, looked thoughtful. “Do you suppose Jane and Lizzy will bring us news of Mr. Darcy’s conversation? I would so love to hear what they talked about. I heard in Meryton that he reads nothing but poetry and hardly ever smiles.”

Mary sniffed. “A fondness for poetry is no guarantee of virtue, Kitty. It is a man’s conduct and the improvement of the mind that mark true character, not his library.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You sound like Papa! All I want is to go to a party—or for something exciting to happen. Everything interesting happens to Jane and Lizzy. It is so unfair!”

Mrs. Bennet, finding her spirits revived by this flurry of discussion, sank onto a chair with a sigh. “If only your father would see matters as I do, we might not be so left behind. But mark my words, girls, the day will come when he will wish he had listened to me!”

Kitty giggled, Lydia pouted, and Mary returned to her book, all three sisters united for a moment in the lively chaos that was the very heart of Longbourn.

***

The drawing room at Lucas Lodge rang with gentle laughter and polite conversation, the kind of talk that fills an afternoon without ever truly touching upon anything of consequence.

Elizabeth smiled where required, laughed lightly when it was expected, but her thoughts wandered—again and again—back to the letter tucked deep in her writing desk.

Her father’s carelessness weighed heavily on her shoulders, its consequences looming larger with every moment of silence and every toast to domestic felicity.

Mr. Darcy, seated nearby in quiet conversation with Sir William, had glanced her way more than once, but Elizabeth had no more interest in his careful scrutiny than in Lady Lucas’s subtle hints about Maria’s accomplishments or Walter’s prospects.

It was all so polite, so safe—and so utterly false when weighed against the reality that their family stood on the brink of ruin.

She leaned toward Jane, who was listening attentively to Mr. Bingley recount an anecdote from his time in London. With a touch to her sister’s hand and a slight, apologetic smile, she whispered, “Jane—I feel rather faint. The tea has unsettled me, I think.”

Jane turned to her at once, concern softening her already gentle features. “Would you like some air? Or to lie down for a while?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice low. “I think it is best we return home.” She rose and turned toward Lady Lucas, who looked up at her with maternal concern.

“I must beg your pardon,” Elizabeth said. “It seems I am not quite myself. Jane and I shall take our leave—Mama is probably expecting us, and I would rather not overextend our visit.”

Lady Lucas was all kindness, immediately instructing Janet to retrieve their cloaks. “Of course, my dear. You have looked pale all afternoon—perhaps a little rest will restore you.”

“Pray do not worry,” Jane added with a gentle smile. “It is nothing serious.”

By the time the sisters stepped into the alley in the crisp autumn air, Tobias was already moving toward the stables. The girls stood at the edge of the gravel path, watching the light shift gold over the hedgerows, Elizabeth finally spoke.

“I am sorry to pull you away, Jane. I know how pleasant it must have been for you.”

Jane studied her sister, sensing the deeper tension beneath the calm exterior. “Lizzy... this is more than a faintness, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yes. I had hoped to speak to Papa this morning, but I couldn’t—not with Mama hovering at every turn. And I cannot bear another day of waiting.”

Jane’s brow furrowed. “Waiting for what?”

Elizabeth glanced around. Tobias was still busy securing the tack; the path was theirs alone. She turned to Jane, lowered her voice, and said, “Do you remember the letter I received before the Meryton ball?”

Jane’s breath caught. “Yes. What about it?”

Elizabeth nodded. “It was from Mr. Blunt, and it concerned Papa’s debts. They are real, Jane. One thousand pounds. And unless he pays it—soon—we may lose everything. There may be documents, signed promises... I don’t even know how far it’s gone.”

Jane looked as though she might sway where she stood. “Lizzy. Why did you not tell me before?”

“Because I needed to be sure. Because I hoped I was wrong. But now—after watching him this morning, how distracted he was, how quickly he deflected—I’m certain he hasn’t taken any step to resolve it. He is hoping it will go away.” She drew a breath. “And it won’t.”

Jane pressed her hand to her chest, eyes wide. “What can we do?”

Elizabeth’s voice was calm, almost too calm. “We are not returning to Longbourn just yet. We shall go to Meryton. I shall speak to Uncle Phillips—ask him directly what our position is. I must know the legal truth before I confront Papa. If there is any way out—any hope—I must understand it first.”

Jane’s voice trembled. “Do you think it is truly so grave?”

“I know that it is,” Elizabeth said. “But we must be brave, and we must be clever. We have no other choice.”

Elizabeth knew she could not speak to her mother without sending her into a fit of nerves.

Any of her three younger sisters would have surely let something slip, and the end result would be the same—panic and useless chatter.

A more dependable confidante was her Aunt Gardiner, though Elizabeth feared that, once informed, her aunt would not remain in London awaiting news, but would come directly to offer assistance.

She thought it likely her father had spoken with Uncle Edward, yet suspected the latter had spared his wife from worry as far as possible.

And so, Elizabeth wrote to her aunt—as she was accustomed to doing two or three times a month—but made no mention of the difficulty arising from her father’s gambling debt.

With Uncle Phillips, it was a different matter entirely—he had the rare advantage of knowing precisely when to speak, to whom, and how much.

His discretion made him an indispensable ally, and his knowledge of the law was of the utmost importance.

In a situation as delicate as theirs, such qualities were not merely helpful—they were essential.

Tobias appeared with the horse and chaise just then, tipping his cap. “Ready for you, Miss Bennet.”

Jane thanked him politely and smiled, then squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “We shall be home before sunset,” she said. “And we shall have answers.”

The sisters climbed into the chaise, and as the wheels crunched over the gravel drive, the sky above them glowed with a fragile golden promise that they would not yet let slip away.

***

The chaise rolled into Meryton as the sun dipped low, casting the buildings in a burnished glow.

Shopkeepers were closing their shutters, and the scent of cooling bread still lingered in the air from the bakery.

The sisters said little on the way—Jane sat in worried silence, and Elizabeth’s thoughts churned with questions she feared might already have answers.

Mr. Phillips’s office, tucked neatly between the apothecary and the town bookbinder, looked plain and unassuming. A brass plate on the door still gleamed. Elizabeth knocked firmly.

A moment later, Mr. Phillips himself opened the door. “Elizabeth and Jane—what a surprise,” he said, his round face creasing into a polite, if puzzled, smile. “I had not expected callers so late in the afternoon. Nothing amiss, I hope?”

Elizabeth stepped forward. “May we speak to you in private, Uncle? It is a matter of urgency.”

Mr. Phillips’s brows lifted at her tone, and he stepped back without another word, ushering them into his office’s cramped but orderly front room. He motioned for them to sit near the hearth.

“You have come about the letter, I suppose?” he said at last, lowering himself into the chair behind his desk.

Jane blinked. “You know about it?”

“Mr. Blunt sent me a copy of the correspondence,” Mr. Phillips replied. “I had hoped your father would come to me himself, but I suspected he might... delay. Or ignore the warning.”

Elizabeth folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Then tell us, please. We need to understand the truth—not a softened version.”

Mr. Phillips regarded her thoughtfully. “Very well. Your father has accumulated a gambling debt—most likely across several gentlemen’s clubs in London.

The sum is not in question. It was not lost in a single hand, but accrued through multiple smaller wagers.

The complainant even lent your father money during the play, framing it as a private loan—thus making the document technically enforceable.

I only wish he had consulted me or Mr. Blunt in due time.

The creditor—unnamed, but almost certainly a private moneylender—has now demanded payment in full.

Mr. Blunt’s letter is a final warning: if the amount is not settled within the month—twenty-five days, to be precise—proceedings will begin in civil court. ”

“Proceedings?” Jane echoed, her voice thin.

“A court order for the recovery of funds,” Mr. Phillips explained.

“They may seek to seize your father’s assets—books, furniture, any investments not tied up in the entail.

Horses, plates, and even lease income from the land if there are contracts outside the entailment. And should those prove insufficient—”

“Could they force us to leave Longbourn?” Elizabeth asked, her voice steady but low.

There was a pause.

“If things go far enough—yes,” Mr. Phillips said grimly.

“If your father cannot meet the court’s judgment and refuses to surrender personal assets, the case may escalate.

Debtors’ prison is unlikely for a gentleman, but it is not impossible.

More commonly, the household would be pressured to vacate portions of the estate or to lease it out entirely while the judgment is satisfied.

In short—your way of life would end, and your family’s reputation would suffer lasting harm. ”

Jane sat stunned, her face as pale as linen.

“And Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth asked. “Does he have any legal right to interfere—or to offer protection?”

Mr. Phillips shook his head. “None whatsoever. Mr. Collins is the heir to Longbourn, but he has no authority over it while your father lives. He cannot mortgage, manage, or even prevent your father from mismanaging it until it passes to him.”

“So the entail protects the land—but not us,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Precisely.”

She drew a breath. “Then the only solution... is to pay the debt.”

“Yes, my dear,” Mr. Phillips said. “In full. There is no clever clause, no quiet loophole. If your father has signed promissory notes—which I suspect he has—the court will uphold them without hesitation. Once proceedings begin, it becomes a matter of law, not negotiation.”

Silence settled over the little room.

Elizabeth rose slowly. “Then you have told us what we needed to know. Thank you, Uncle.”

Mr. Phillips stood with her. “Your father has not confided in me,” he admitted, “but I will make quiet enquiries. I could join a few card tables, if needed. I cannot allow such injustice to go unanswered. If anything is being whispered—or schemed—I shall hear it.”

Elizabeth, half-reassured, nodded.

He took her hand and patted it gently. “You have my word, Lizzy. I shall not leave things as they are.”

“You already have helped,” Elizabeth replied with a faint smile. “We must return to Longbourn before Mama wonders what catastrophe has befallen us.”

Jane smiled warmly at their uncle.

Mr. Phillips walked them to the door, the autumn light fading behind them. As they stepped out, he added in a low voice, “Elizabeth—your father has always respected your judgment. If he will listen to anyone... it will be you.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “Then I must make Papa listen.”