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Mr. Thomas Bennet remained at his desk after his favorite daughter departed his study, the door closing behind her with rather more force than usual.

He had dismissed Elizabeth’s plea that he put a stop to her youngest sister’s trip to Brighton more out of inertia than for any particular reason.

Once she was gone, however, he was struck by the urgency of her little speech.

What had she said? “Our importance, our respectability in the world, must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia’s character.

” If any female but his Lizzy had uttered such words he would have disregarded them as missish diatribe and returned to his beloved Plato.

But his second eldest was no temperamental miss.

She had not come to him lightly nor due to envy of Lydia’s opportunity to travel.

Mr. Bennet stood and moved to his window, looking out across the yard to the stables.

He firmly believed that children should be allowed to live and explore—not dressed as miniature adults and forced to sit stiffly, never speaking unless spoken to.

Jane and Elizabeth had enjoyed such freedom as children and were both growing into lovely, interesting young ladies (he shuddered to think of any of his girls growing up).

Why would Lizzy be so adamant that a child like Lydia could do something that would, how had she put it?

“Bring censure and disgrace upon the family.”

He shook his head and sighed, ready to dismiss the issue, when he caught sight of Elizabeth striding across the yard toward a copse that had been allowed to grow wild.

He could not dismiss the unhappiness in her posture and, after some internal debate, he forced himself to walk out and continue their discussion.

Shutting the door to his study behind him, Mr. Bennet turned down the hall only to collide with a young lady in such a sudden fashion that he was knocked to one knee.

As he rose, Thomas could not avoid noticing an impressively buxom figure framed by a low cut bodice.

Then Thomas received quite a shock when, expecting to look into the face of a visitor, he was instead presented with the laughing eyes of his youngest daughter.

“Papa! Oh Lord, I’m in such a rush—we’re walking into Meryton to see Mrs. Forster and the officers!” And in a rustle of petticoats and lace she was off skipping up the stairs.

Mr. Bennet remained frozen for some moments, mind reeling.

His baby girl was quite a well-developed young woman.

How old was Lydia? After some rapid calculations his feet began moving, as swiftly as his second eldest’s and in the same direction.

Elizabeth was not concerned over the potential antics of a little girl on her first trip to the seaside but the very real danger that a lively but na?ve young lady could get into while living largely unchaperoned amidst an entire camp full of soldiers.

He groaned and very nearly slapped his own forehead.

Thomas Bennet might be inclined toward solitude and scholarship but he did care about his family and, once awakened to his own obliviousness, applied his native intelligence to the matter. The longer he considered, the more disturbed he became.

When he reached the copse, he paused for a moment by an ancient oak planted by one of his own ancestors. As his eyes adjusted to the shade, Mr. Bennet noted first that Elizabeth appeared to be reading a letter and second, that she seemed to be staring through the pages rather than reading.

“Lizzy, I apologize for disturbing you but after further consideration I believe it necessary to continue our discussion.”

The sound of her father’s voice wrought an unexpected change upon his favorite.

Blushing violently, Elizabeth started to her feet and in her distraction, loosened her grip on her letter.

She moved quickly to catch up one page but the breeze carried the other to her father’s feet.

Reaching down to retrieve it for her, Mr. Bennet could not help but notice that the writing was very close and in a distinctly masculine hand.

Glancing at the salutation his concern deepened.

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you.

“Good heavens, Lizzy! What is this? What man is writing to you in such a manner?” Bennet’s emotions, already heightened by his revelation over his youngest daughter, were rapidly deteriorating. This was not helped when the usually steady Elizabeth lowered her face to her hands and burst into tears.

Though not normally a demonstrative parent, Mr. Bennet cautiously gathered his weeping daughter into his arms. Eventually her sobs slowed and he was relieved when she finally raised her head from his shoulder and accepted his handkerchief with a watery smile.

Patting his now dampened shoulder she attempted a tease; “Mr. Mabberly shall not be pleased with me for mussing your coat, Papa.”

Pleased to see the reemergence of his normally even-tempered daughter, Mr. Bennet smiled back.

“Well, I shall take care of my manservant. Perhaps I shall venture into the stables before returning to dress for dinner. Old Nelly has a cold and might be convinced to sneeze upon me. Although I suspect Mabberly has long since come to accept my tendency to return my wardrobe in a less than pristine condition. As has your own maid, might I conjecture?”

Seeing his daughter smile wanly he continued in a more serious tone, “But Lizzy, you must tell me about this letter. Does it have something to do with your concern over Lydia?

Elizabeth took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself.

“Oh Papa! I do not know what to think about anything— I certainly do not know myself anymore!” Unsure of how to begin, she thrust the second page of her letter at him and stood to pace.

“You remember Mr. Bingley and his party from last autumn?”

Mr. Bennet nodded, though still confused. “Of course.”

“You may not recall but I was quite decided in my dislike of one of his guests, a Mr. Darcy.” After noting her father’s nod of assent, she seemed to struggle with herself before continuing.

“I suppose I should not have been so quick to judge a new acquaintance, but he was so silent, and his looks were so severe… and the things he said…”

When his daughter trailed off, Mr. Bennet waited a moment before prompting, “What did he say, child?”

“Oh, it sounds so silly now, but at that first assembly where we all met, I overheard Mr. Bingley trying to convince Mr. Darcy to ask me to dance. That gentleman was quite blunt in his refusal. I laughed about his incivility to Charlotte but I must admit that he hurt my feelings.” She looked up at her father who was smirking slightly.

“Well, Papa? I am expecting some suitably educational proverb on the evils of eavesdropping.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Actually my dear, I was thinking of the one that goes, ‘Do not speak unless you can improve on the silence.’”

“Hmmm… and bees with honey in their mouths have stingers in their tails.” Elizabeth stilled for a moment, looking off across the oat field that adjoined the copse.

After a minute she roused herself and turned back to her father.

“Charlotte told me on several occasions that she thought Mr. Darcy admired me.” Seeing her father’s look of surprise, she added, “I judged her to be quite fanciful…

I did notice that he stared at me a great deal but I believed he only looked to find fault…

to criticize a girl he consid ered ‘not handsome enough to tempt him’ at an unimportant country dance. I was quite impertinent to him, Papa.

“And then, of course, there was Lieutenant Wickham and his stories. His father had been the steward at Pemberley, the Darcy family’s estate in Derbyshire.

Mr. Darcy’s father gave young Mr. Wickham the benefits of a gentleman’s education and the assurance of a comfortable living if he took orders, but the Lieutenant claimed that Mr. Darcy had refused to honor the promise after his father’s death.

Oh Papa, I was so eager to believe every ill word he spun and they were all half-truths and lies. ”

Elizabeth picked up a long stem of grass and began using it to prod a clump of daffodils whose only fault was to grow along her path.

Mr. Bennet watched her for a moment. He remembered Lieutenant Wickham vaguely— the young man was fair of face but his silver tongue covered for a mind with no depth of understanding.

“And how did you discover these truths, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth shut her eyes and sighed before turning back to her father.

“I went to Kent in March to visit Charlotte and Mr. Collins, you remember Papa?” After receiving her father’s nod, she continued, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh is Mr. Darcy’s aunt— his mother’s sister.

He and his cousin, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, came to visit Rosings Park for Easter and, as our own cousin is so fond of telling us, the parsonage is separated from that great estate by just a lane.

“Mr. Darcy still stared at me a great deal and I met him walking in the park on several occasions but truly Papa, I thought nothing of it except how unpleasant he was. I truly believed that he desired my company as little as I wished for his. And his own aunt let it be known that he was to marry her daughter!”

While Elizabeth paused to sort her thoughts, Mr. Bennet rubbed his chin and worked very hard to control the chuckle rising in his chest. He well knew the scathing wit that his daughter could unleash upon anyone who irritated her.

His vague memory of Mr. Darcy was of a tall, serious, young man who had appeared distinctly ill at ease in the drawing rooms of Hertfordshire. Another memory tugged at him.