Page 3 of Darcy in Distress (Pride and Prejudice Variation #17)
Elizabeth tapped on the door of the library and was rewarded when her father called out, “Come in, Lizzy! Come in!”
She stepped inside and smiled at Mr. Bennet, who was leaning over the desk, his fingers stained with ink, his pen clutched in his hand, with a pile of loose leaf papers scattered hither and yon.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked affectionately, strolling over to the desk.
“My dear girl, given that all my daughters were dancing the night away at the assembly, I do not expect to see anyone but you until close to noon.”
“That is reasonable enough,” Elizabeth agreed, reaching forward to pour herself a cup of tea from the urn placed on a small table near her father. Next, she took a warm yeast roll from a plate and took a bite as she sank into a chair next to the desk.
“Is that the beginning of your new book?” she inquired, looking down at the piles of foolscap.
“Some notes regarding an outline, yes,” her father said. “I have not started actually writing it yet.”
“Do you wish to tell me about it? ”
“Of course, Lizzy. I would not wish to begin without your assessment, though I warn you that it will be quite a different sort of book. I am weary of writing romances.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Truly? You have been quite successful.”
“Indeed I have, but after a time, writing the same sort of story becomes dreary. No, I intend to write a swashbuckling book with the flavor of The Mysteries of Udolpho .”
“Tell me about it, please.”
Mr. Bennet leaned back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “I am not certain where it will take place; I looked over the map of Europe and all the countries have potential problems. I am considering using an imaginary world.”
“Like in Gulliver’s Travels ?”
“Precisely, though not as absurd. It will be an ordinary sort of country, except I can place my rivers, streams, mountains, roads, and cities where I wish.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“At any rate, the essential plot I have in mind is that a queen gives birth to twin identical daughters, and her husband the king sends one of them away to be raised in secret because he fears that his nefarious younger brother will attempt to take the throne. In time, perhaps when the daughters are sixteen or so, the younger brother, the girls’ uncle, arranges for the king and queen and the princess to disappear, and attempts to take the throne. ”
“So there are no other children born?
“No.”
“Will it be a tragedy?”
Mr. Bennet chuckled and took a sip of his own cup of tea. “Not at all. It will be more a satire, with significant absurdity. The unknown daughter looks exactly like her sister, you see.”
“So like Shakespeare, there will be mistaken identities...”
“And sword fights, yes, and a prince from another land who falls in love with the wrong sister.”
Elizabeth contemplated this before awarding her father an approving smile. “It sounds most enjoyable, Father, as it will be quite entertaining with your satirical wit shining through. Do you think Mr. Ludlow will be distressed?”
Mr. Bennet huffed and set his cup down onto the desk with some violence. “I daresay he will not be particularly pleased, but I will not be swayed by my publisher’s desire to make more money. Fortunately, I am a landed gentleman, and I write because I wish to, not because I need money.”
“True, though money is useful,” Elizabeth said drily.
Her father reached out to cover her right hand with his own.
“I know, Lizzy, I know. With Longbourn entailed, and your mother extravagant, more money is always welcome. But you know that I cannot write when I am bored with the process. I promise you that all advances and royalties of the books are being carefully invested by your uncle Gardiner, and the money will be available for you girls and your mother when I pass on through Heaven’s gates. ”
She hesitated and said, “I do not wish to know exact numbers, sir, but would you be willing to tell me approximately how much money is involved?”
Mr. Bennet pulled open the lower right hand drawer of his desk, rooted around for a moment, pulled out a letter, inspected it, grunted with satisfaction, and handed it over. “Go ahead, my dear. That is the latest quarterly report from your uncle Gardiner.”
Elizabeth stared at her sire in confusion before turning her attention to the letter.
“It has not been opened,” she pointed out .
“No, I have not opened the financial reports from your uncle for at least ten years,” the master of Longbourn replied calmly, picking up his pen.
“What? Why?! ”
Mr. Bennet grimaced and lowered the pen again, regarding his favorite child with wry affection.
“Because I do not want to know how much money is in those accounts, Lizzy. As you know, your mother is a spendthrift. When I first married your mother, we assumed we would have a son to cut off the entail, and thus economy was deemed useless. Lydia’s birth was a challenging one, and the midwife warned that your mother would probably never conceive again.
She was correct, and I should have started saving some of our income then, but it was difficult.
Your mother has no notion of economy and I dislike fusses – it was impossible for me to hold the line when first your mother, and then your younger sisters, begged and pleaded for additional funds to spend on their fripperies.
I was determined, however, to stay out of debt.
If I knew that there were substantial funds at my disposal, I would lose that little bit of determination to keep your mother in line financially.
Thus, only you and Jane know of my publishing career, and I have arranged that all monies from the books go directly to Mr. Gardiner so that I know nothing about the size of the sums involved. ”
Elizabeth smiled tremulously and looked down at the unopened letter in her hand. “I completely understand, Father. I do not need to know the amounts involved either.”
“By all means, read it, so long as you pledge not to tell anyone else in the house, including me. Well, you may tell Jane. She is as sensible as you are and can keep a confidence.”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment and then quickly broke the seal, spread open the letter, and read it rapidly. She managed to keep her face studiously calm as she closed it again, sealed it with wax from a candle sitting nearby, and handed it back to her father.
“Thank you,” she said, standing up and kissing him.
“You are welcome. Now go away and leave me to write in peace before Kitty and Lydia begin thumping around noisily.”
“Yes, Father,” Elizabeth replied, wandering away in something of a daze.
Her uncle Gardiner was a sensible, intelligent man, with a substantial understanding of trading and investment. In the twelve years since her father had started publishing books under a pseudonym, the investment accounts had grown to over six thousand pounds .
It was an incredible relief; Mrs. Bennet’s marriage portion was only five thousand pounds, which was not nearly enough to support herself and her daughters if all were unwed when Mr. Bennet passed away.
With the additional funds from Mr. Bennet’s writing, the Bennet ladies would be able to support themselves in moderate comfort.
It was a great pity that her father did not feel at ease about telling his wife about the extra funds.
Mrs. Bennet was an anxious ball of nerves much of the time, fearful of being ‘thrown into the hedgerows’ if she failed to marry off at least one daughter to a wealthy man.
If she knew that her brother Gardiner was holding substantial funds for the Bennets – well, she would fuss and wail and howl until her husband gave her more money to redecorate her bedchamber and dress her girls up in expensive finery.
No, Mr. Bennet was right. Far better to keep Mrs. Bennet in the dark than to fritter away the financial security of their daughters.
/
“Good morning,” Fitzwilliam Darcy said, stepping into the sunny sitting room where Lady Anne and Miss Georgiana Darcy had settled with Mrs. Lockwood, Lady Anne’s companion and nurse, and Mrs. Younge, Georgiana’s companion.
Darcy’s fastidious eye noted that the room’s furniture and draperies were old and the carpet faded, but it was a cheerful, cozy place, and he knew neither of his dearest relations cared a whit about the lack of fashionable accouterments.
“Fitzwilliam, my dear,” Lady Anne responded, her thin face lighting up at the sight of her only son. “How are you this morning?”
“I am well, Mother,” he answered, walking over to plant a gentle kiss on the lady’s cheek. “I hope you slept well?”
“I slept better than I have in many weeks. I believe the country air agrees with me.”
“I am glad. Georgiana, did you sleep well?”
Georgiana Darcy nodded and said, “I did sleep well, thank you. My bedchamber is very comfortable.”
Darcy looked down on his sister with uncertainty.
She was more than a decade younger than he was, and he had not spent as much time with her as he wished.
The struggles and challenges of the last years had been hard on them all, but perhaps on Georgiana the most; she was a sensitive girl who was both shy and anxious.
He was tempted to leave the room and write letters or discuss estate business with Bingley; that was far more comfortable for him than forging a relationship with his gentle sister. But no, he would not be a coward. He would persevere in mending the cracks in their relationship.
Thus, he sat down on a chair nearby and said, “Mrs. Hurst tells me that the pianoforte here at Netherfield is a good one. She has already had it tuned so it is in order.”
This prompted a genuine smile on Georgiana’s face. “That is wonderful, Brother. I love to practice. Is there a harp here as well?”
“I am not certain. Do you … do you play the harp?”
How could he not know that about his own sister?