While Elizabeth closeted with Mr. Bennet, Darcy had the oddly satisfying experience of watching another gentleman become incensed at the way that Mrs. Bennet spoke of Elizabeth.
As soon as they entered the drawing room, Mrs. Bennet pressed Lord Hartley into a sofa with many promises of refreshments and tea. She placed Miss Catherine—Miss Bennet now—to sit next to Lord Hartley.
Bingley and his wife sat far enough away to mostly not be part of the conversation, and Miss Lydia escaped being made to sit at Lord Hartley’s other side by laughing, ignoring her mother’s suggestion, and walking over to Darcy to whisper into his ear, “Do you mean to marry Lizzy? La, what a joke that shall be! But the glory will come to me, because I caused the two of you to be introduced.”
Darcy was caught between stiff offended propriety and curiosity. “Whatever,” he whispered back, “gave you the notion that I might do that.”
The girl rolled her eyes.
Mrs. Bennet apologized at great length and with a great many words to Lord Hartley for the rudeness of her husband in ignoring such a great guest—a viscount!—for the sake of talking to Miss Lizzy. “He’s always making such a todo about Lizzy. You would think she was his own daughter, and not no one with no fortune who no one cares about in the world. I do not complain, not even when he takes the bread out of his own daughters’ mouths to feed her. But we’ve no need to worry anymore. When a woman has two daughters so well married as my Jane and my Mary, she should leave off worrying about anything. But I still have two girls who are excellently pretty. Do you not agree that my Kitty and my Lydia are lovely creatures?”
Lord Hartley deigned not to make reply.
Miss Catherine said something to him, and the usually voluble, friendly, and slightly flirtatious Lord Hartley replied with a grunt.
Darcy carefully controlled his smile.
Then Hartley said to Mrs. Bennet, “You treat Elizabeth as being of no account?”
Now it was Mrs. Bennet’s turn to look at him oddly. “She is not a bad girl. No, no, no. You could never think she is a bad girl. No one raised in my house could turn out badly. I only wish that Mr. Bennet did not spend so much upon her. I wish he did not pay so much attention to her.”
“I think,” Lord Hartley said, “from what I have seen of her, she deserves every possible attention.”
Miss Lydia whispered to Darcy again, “La! Is he in love with Lizzy too? That would be an even better joke. Will you two fight a duel? I long to see a duel fought.”
“If we did,” Darcy whispered back, unable to prevent himself from being greatly amused, “we would hardly invite you to observe.”
“I would sneak out to the field.”
“Such events are usually held at the break of dawn. Would you manage to wake yourself in time to reach the site?”
Miss Lydia tittered at the question. “I would not sleep at all! Oh, but you should marry Lizzy. Your jokes are very much alike.”
This was promising. It was like Miss Lydia was telling him that even if he had made a terrible mistake by not asking her earlier, maybe he still had a right to make an offer for Elizabeth’s hand.
Mrs. Bennet continued to worsen her position with Hartley, “I really cannot believe that Mr. Bennet is allowing Lizzy, and whatever argument she must have had with Mary, to take so much of his time. He should simply order Lizzy to make an apology. I do wonder what it could be, Mary had been most insistent that Lizzy visit. I do not see why, she can hardly be needed there , and she is very helpful to me . Lydia and Kitty never stand to ring the bell for me, or go to the kitchen to fetch tea, or to the front room to bring my shawl. But then they are the daughters of the house, so it is proper that their time be better respected.”
Before Lord Hartley could determine what cutting remark to make to Mrs. Bennet—Darcy had known him since they were both small children, and he knew his habit of pausing in conversation and frowning silently before he would find a particularly unkind and clever remark when offended—Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet came into the drawing room.
There was a cast about Elizabeth’s eyes that suggested she had been crying, but she also smiled.
Both Darcy and Hartley instantly went to her side.
Mr. Bennet shook Hartley’s hand, and he said, “After what Elizabeth has said, I am happy to know you, and I do hope we shall be friends.”
“I hope that as well.”
Mrs. Bennet frowned at Elizabeth. “That dress, Lizzy. Your hair. Lord, that is a fine dress. Did Mary give it to you?”
Elizabeth studied Mrs. Bennet with an expression that seemed…serene. And then she smiled with that mischievous glint in her eyes that Darcy loved. “Oh, no, no. Not at all. Papa did.” She tapped Mr. Bennet on the shoulder. “He thought I should have something proper to wear when I travelled. Quite right. The way I’ve dressed has been dreadful. I do not think I ever shall again. But what do you think of my hair? I consider this style quite fetching.”
Darcy wondered very much how Mrs. Bennet would reply to this. She said in a rather hollow voice, “It is lovely. I do not think I would have chosen anything different… But my dear Mr. Bennet, how did you afford such a dress for Lizzy! Are not new clothes so dear? You always tell me how we cannot afford as many as our girls need.”
“Oh, consider it an investment,” Mr. Bennet said with an amused tone. “I rather hope that she shall marry a very rich gentleman indeed.”
“ Papa !” Elizabeth blushed, glanced at Darcy, and then absolutely refused to look at him again.
“Yes, but—” Mrs. Bennet began. “Besides that would hardly benefit us. I think—”
“Ma’am,” Elizabeth said in a rush, interrupting her, “do you wish me to fetch your fine shawl? You must wish to show it to Lord Hartley. And I shall ask the kitchen if they have any of those lemon scones—” To Hartley she said, “They are a recipe which has been in the family books for many years, though with a few modifications.”
“Does that not make it a new recipe?” Lord Hartley asked. “But you must not go and serve on Mrs. Bennet’s will. You have no need to fetch anything.”
“Oh, but I want the scones for myself ,” Elizabeth replied laughingly. “They are a taste of the familiar, the nostalgic. But do not let Mrs. Bennet convince you that she is so awful as she says. She has tried and succeeded. But I have realized that she really is not so bad.”
With a laugh Elizabeth walked off.
Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, “What has entered that girl. I have never seen her act in such a manner.”
“I as well wonder what has made the change,” Darcy said. He also thought Elizabeth was different than even this morning. More confident, more erect, more fully herself. But then this amused manner had always been the way that she truly was, he had always seen that.
“What is she ordinarily like?” Hartley asked.
Miss Lydia laughed. “I perceive nothing different, except that she is not scared of you, Mama. But I can guess why. Papa did Lizzy tell you anything?”
“Me?” Mr. Bennet said. He had a sardonic note to his voice. “I would wager a great deal that the cause of her change is not what you imagine.”
Miss Lydia laughed. “I shall ask her directly then.”
And with a flounce she bounced from the room.
“Lord Hartley,” Mr. Bennet asked, “I hope you do not mind the casualness of our manners.”
“No, no. That I do not mind.” Hartley’s glance towards Mrs. Bennet showed a decided distaste.
“Yes. I see,” Mr. Bennet replied. “But about your father. Do you think he shall follow you to Hertfordshire?”
“I hardly know what he shall do. He is not often defied. But until his attack of apoplexy, he never evinced any desire for my company. I have lived in London chiefly. I believed that he...are we speaking openly?” Lord Hartley looked at Mrs. Bennet. “I would dearly like certain facts to be known.”
“Oh, no. No.” Elizabeth cheerfully reentered the room, holding a plate of scones. “Not yet. Can you believe it, Cook placed them in the oven as soon as she found that I had come? That was very kind of her. But no. Not yet.”
Miss Lydia followed Elizabeth back into the room, smirking and chewing on her own scone.
There was a thing about Elizabeth that was different.
She cheerfully engaged Hartley and himself in conversation, though it was clear to Darcy that Elizabeth was more curious about Hartley than himself. However, she always stood close to Darcy and would often look towards him and smile.
It was not in fact so different from her behavior over the past few days when they had met for walks. When the two of them walked together, she was confident, laughing, and always ready with a joke. And she had trusted him with what she thought was her greatest secret.
That must have been a mark of particular regard, and one that he should feel touched by, even if her belief about herself had been wholly mistaken.
But she was now utterly without any fear of Mrs. Bennet.
Mrs. Bennet seemed confused, but also deeply affected by the way that Elizabeth was the center of attention, with two great gentlemen chiefly directing their conversation towards her. Bingley made some effort to converse with the rest of his in-laws though, but he and Jane also often joined Hartley and Darcy’s conversation with Elizabeth.
Once Mrs. Bennet did ask Elizabeth to fetch something. Elizabeth turned to her, smiled widely, and said, “Of course I shall—once Lord Hartley has finished his story. And what happened then to the horse?”
Possibly because of Mr. Bennet’s presence, or possibly because of Elizabeth’s manner, Mrs. Bennet did not protest.
When the story was finished, Elizabeth did in fact fetch Mrs. Bennet’s book of appointments from her bedroom. But she did so with such a cheerful manner, and with a sort of grace, that made the whole appear to Darcy as an indulgent kindness given by the daughter of an earl to a valued older friend of lesser consequence, rather than the action of a husband’s ward who must always be grateful for everything given to her.
After an hour and a half, the decision was made for all to go for a walk. Darcy and Elizabeth were particularly eager to escape the confines of the house and stretch their legs.
Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Bingley remained behind to speak, while Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia hurried ahead of the rest. Bingley settled by the drawing room desk to write some notes, declaring that he’d like to see all of his neighbors who were in town presently at Netherfield before he returned to London.
Mr. Bennet walked with Lord Hartley, while Elizabeth and Darcy walked together a little ahead of them.
Darcy felt a strong sort of awkwardness because he knew that his behavior with Elizabeth was being closely watched by two keen observers who both had a strong right to have concern upon her behalf.
This did not change the joy he took in having her on his arm, nor his sense of happiness to see her looking so happy.
“You are in an excellent mood. I hardly expected that.”
“Nor did I,” Elizabeth replied. “It is easily enough explained: I have nothing to fear.”
“And what did you fear before?”
“Mrs. Bennet—but I only feared her because I feared Lord Rochester. And I suppose I only feared him because my emotions did not yet know that I could simply shoot him. Though I am extremely grateful to your cousin for stopping me. I will always think of him with kindness for that service.”
“He is a stout fellow. I know he is thought highly of by his superiors and his comrades.”
“I can well imagine. He was in a fierce fettle last night.” Elizabeth giggled. “Shouting at the footmen as whoresons.”
Darcy looked at her askance, and then he could not help but laugh at her expression. “You have a great deal more confidence with Mrs. Bennet.”
“She is not so bad. I think I feared her so much, because the fear I had towards Lord Rochester was placed on her. Perhaps I also gave all of the love I held for my mother to Mr. Bennet. But he earned a great deal of his own affection. I understand my childhood better—Papa always worried that Lord Rochester would find me. That was his first question, ‘did he hurt me again’. But for me to remain hidden, there should be nothing that created talk about me. Allowing Mrs. Bennet to loudly say that I was the worthless relation who her husband doted upon—nothing notable. No one would hear that. No one would think ‘this is a Lady Elizabeth, being raised in hiding’. Do you see?”
“You forgive him then for not having protected you from Mrs. Bennet better?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I do not think there is anything to forgive. He always chose as best he could. I do not think he realized until quite recently that the way that Mrs. Bennet and I behaved with each other was very different when he was not present. And if he had realized that I dressed to attract as little notice as possible, his rational fear that I might attract too great attention from the wrong quarter must have made it impossible to oppose that—the chief point is that I belong. I have always belonged here. Mr. Bennet is my real father. My Papa. And I have nothing to fear.”
“And do you also forgive Mrs. Bennet?”
“What a sour expression you have.” Elizabeth laughed. “That is my prerogative, if I wish to forgive her, I may. I will not deny that there is much to forgive. But...how might I explain?”
They walked together through the lovely spring woods. Thick grasses, mosses upon the trees, a large horned beetle crossed their paths. Birds hopped from tree to tree, gathering everything.
They broke out from the woods and the path now led between two fields.
Elizabeth’s arm was lightly placed on Darcy’s. She needed no support, but she liked it. She liked him very much. What she said this morning came back to him, when she said that she did not wish to be “Lady Elizabeth” to him. She would prefer to be simply “Elizabeth”.
“I refuse to be like Lord Rochester,” Elizabeth said at last. “I shall not rage and hurt another when I feel that ‘my rights’ to have been violated. If I must be ‘Lady Elizabeth’ I shall be a gracious lady who is kind to all. I wish to treat her like how you always treat dependents and servants. Those far beneath you. With kindness and courtesy.”
“I do not think,” Darcy said unable to stop an upwelling of amusement, “that Mrs. Bennet would be pleased to be considered as too far beneath you for you to resent her.”
Elizabeth laughed. “It is not my place to worry about that . But no, no. You are right. She is as much a gentlewoman as I am. No deep inequality. While I like the way that you are always kind to those far beneath you, I shall strive to be friendly also to those who are only a little beneath me.”
“I have tried these past months,” Darcy said, “to perform a little more for crowds than was my old habit. You said something to me at Bingley’s ball in November, that I treated the members of this neighborhood the way they treated those they considered beneath them. It did not sit well with me—it is not easy to modify my habits. I wish I could have you near me always so that I might follow your lead.”
She went pink and looked down.
Hartley and Mr. Bennet hurried up from behind them. Mr. Bennet said, “I shall turn back from here. I must write a letter to my solicitor in London, and if I send it by express as soon as I return home, I might be able to have him here tomorrow, if he does not have any truly pressing court business.” He nodded to Hartley. “Thank you, Lord Hartley, for answering all of my questions.”
Mr. Bennet hurried with an even pace down the road that their path had just crossed.
“Now, Bobby, whatever was he asking you?”
Hartley giggled at what Elizabeth said in a way that made the family resemblance to Elizabeth seem clear to Darcy. “No one but my father who calls me that. Oh, yes, also my old nurse when she forgets herself.”
“Bobby, the question.”
Now both Darcy and Hartley laughed at her sweet tone.
“Mr. Bennet wished chiefly to guess at how my father shall react to the events of last night. I could say nothing to quiet his concerns. I do not know . I assured him however that until such time as you have received your mother’s fortune, and what additional portion you ought to receive as my sister, I will give half of the income I control from my private fortune.”
Elizabeth looked down. It reminded him of her past manner: The quiet and demure dependent who was always grateful.
“It is only proper,” Darcy said quietly.
“Oh, oh, yes!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She looked up. “That is a proper way to think about it—I am still most grateful. Money is such a grim matter. I hope to never need any such aid.”
Hartley smiled back, and then he exclaimed with some gravitas, “O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady.”
“Bravo!” Elizabeth clapped. “Have you the rest of the speech memorized?”
“Not wholly. Let me think.” Hartley hummed to himself tapping the top of one of his hands with the other. “You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, as full of grief as age; wretched in both. If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts against their father, fool me not so much to bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, and let not women’s weapons, water drops, stain my man’s cheeks!”
Both Elizabeth and Hartley frowned, the speech about fatherhood betrayed seemed significant to both.
As they crossed a lovely small bridge over a fine creek, Elizabeth said, “I cannot imagine that he cries often.”
“I have never seen it,” Hartley said. “I think—contrary to Lear , to never cry is not seemly in a man. When I watch a deeply affecting play, I cannot stop my tears—my father always despised me for how easily I cry. But that...I always thought to myself if a murderer despises tears, should I not freely cry when I felt such an urge? But he was not a murderer.”
Hartley frowned.
“I do not think that was the Gods that stirred my heart against him,” Elizabeth said. “Robert, you do not wish to hear such, but my mother’s death was likely caused by the way he had beaten her. Three ribs broken, and the terror that forced her to flee in winter.”
Hartley did not reply.
A tear formed around the edge of his eyes. Darcy had long been aware of this sensibility in his friend. “I’d hoped...I confess it. I wish we could be a family. I always also wished to gain his approval. He always spoke slightingly of me. He always said that I have no stomach. He said that I shall fail to protect the dignity of our name. And then...when I was told that you were alive, that Lady Rochester really had fled. I hoped...maybe...I can never, never, ever forget that day. The way you screamed and sobbed as he beat you in anger. He’d given me the switch times enough, but—what he did to you was different.”
“I know. I never forgot it either.”
“I truly, truly, for so many years I thought he had murdered you both. It ate at me. I never forgot that...is it wrong for me to have wished that my father could be a decent man?”
“No, such a wish cannot ever be wrong.” Darcy spoke, though it was Elizabeth’s place.
They walked along a little. Hartley wiped his eyes.
“I find I do not hate him,” Elizabeth said. “And I fear him much less than before. But I do not want to know him—I tried to kill him. I tried to kill a man. It was fear, but the fear I felt was not reasoned fear. It was not a thinking emotion. I acted to reject what I had always been as a child. To prove that I could make him hurt as he had hurt me. And as he had hurt Mama. I knew I should not shoot him. But I wanted to, out of fear, and out of anger.”
Lowing cows. Growing wheat. Soft loam beneath their feet. They reached the wagon track and turned back towards Longbourn. Dust about them. Men on the other side of a hedge shouting and laughing at their work. A style with which they could climb into the field.
“You would forgive my father for killing your mother because you tried to shoot him?” Hartley said at last. “I confess that makes little sense to me .”
“I do not speak of forgiveness,” Elizabeth replied somberly. “The Almighty will judge him, and the Almighty will judge me. I speak more of understanding. I see something in myself that could become like him. Even my obsession with being grateful, the way I always insisted to myself that I had no right to expect anything good because I was illegitimate. That is the way he would think. I do not want anything of that in myself. No more. I wish to repent of that.” She looked at Darcy. “I said as much to you already.”
“A deuced odd way to think,” Hartley said. “But, my dear Lizzy, it very much confirms that I shall like you if you can think in such an odd way.”
“She was trying to read Parmenides while in Kent,” Darcy said. “Anyone who would even make the attempt must be quite odd.”
“That incomprehensible dialogue of Plato’s? You studied over it for weeks at Cambridge.”
“My point proven, for am I not a quite odd fellow?”
They laughed and soon reached back to Longbourn, just in time to see the man that Mr. Bennet had sent to take his message to London riding off.