Page 1 of Elizabeth in Scotland (Elizabeth and Darcy Abroad #2)
Though it is doubtless pleasant to have great wealth and a prominent position in society, there are considerations still more important to one’s ultimate happiness.
A person of good character and quick intelligence has considerable resources at their disposal, and ones that cannot be purchased at any price.
Thus, a young woman of only moderate means but in possession of a spirited and kindly nature may be considerably better off than a young lady rich in material wealth and influence but lacking in personal resources.
So it was for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The Bennets were a landed country family of rather precarious means, for Mr Bennet’s entire estate was entailed away upon a distant cousin.
But though Elizabeth’s dowry was small and her future uncertain, she was rich in wit, courage, and the will to find enjoyment where she could.
And while Elizabeth might well have wished for greater affluence and security for herself and her sisters, she would not have traded these more essential characteristics away for anything.
“How you will strain your eyes, Lizzy dear! I cannot understand how you can read from dawn until dusk as you do!” Mrs Bennet lay prone on the settee with an arm resting over her head, exhausted from a long day of doing very little.
“Not at all, Mama. I am careful not to read by dim light. And reading keeps the mind agile.”
Jane, her eldest sister, looked up from her sewing momentarily. “I am not sure fantastical novels count, dearest.” She gave Elizabeth a tart smile.
Elizabeth placed a finger between the pages and closed the book over it to keep her place.
She stood and stretched her lower back, having grown stiff after so many hours curled up in the drawing room window seat.
“I refuse to believe that,” she said cheerfully.
“Reading of any and every kind is excellent for the mind. I fully intend to go right on reading whatever I may get my hands on!”
She sat down beside Jane and took a peek over her shoulder to see how her project was coming along. “I do not understand how you have the patience to put needle and thread to fabric night and day. I suppose we all have our own special talents and tendencies.”
“To be sure, some more practical than others,” Jane said. “And one ought to think a little of practical matters, such as gaining accomplishments. Needlework allows a gentlewoman to show her elegance and patience — qualities very likely to recommend her as a wife.”
Elizabeth would not argue with her. As the eldest, a great deal of pressure had been put on Jane from a young age.
It was hardly an overstatement to say that the well-being of the family had been put on her shoulders.
Not by their father, to be sure, but by the constant badgering of their mother to marry well, least they end their days in miserable penury.
For Mrs Bennet, marrying well was a sacred duty for each of her daughters, but none more so than Jane, oldest and most beautiful of the Bennet sisters.
Even though Jane had seemed a little ill at ease with her of late, a little sharp of temper, Elizabeth could not really blame her.
Jane was now twenty-two and had been hearing how she would end an old maid from their mother since the time she had turned fifteen.
Their mother’s urging had increased with every passing year until she feared Jane might fold under the pressure.
As so often before, Elizabeth wished she might find a way to help her sister. But there was little she could do to find a good match for Jane, or for herself. Suitable husbands did not appear for the asking.
Elizabeth could at least attempt to cheer her sister. “Those are lovely stitches, Jane. You have always excelled at embroidery.”
Jane smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Lizzy.”
From the corner of the room, the piano gave off a sour, discordant noise. Mary sighed in frustration and began her piece over again. “Without the arts, mankind is doomed to utter darkness — of the mind and of the soul,” she said earnestly.
“Oh, Mary, must you always be so morose?” Mrs Bennet complained.
“I meant only that the arts are a wonderful gift, and we should be grateful for them. If I am over-serious, I do not mean to be,” Mary said, her words growing quieter until no one could hear her, save those sitting closest to the instrument.
Their mother was not listening, for she had turned toward her youngest daughter. Of all the Bennet sisters, Lydia was decidedly most like the one who had given her birth — and thus was her mother’s favourite.
“It is so dull round here. I wish something exciting would happen.” Lydia leapt up and began to pace. “There is nothing to look forward to but the next assembly. I wish we might have a ball. Then I should be happy!”
“How right you are, Lydia,” Mrs Bennet said indulgently. She cast a glance at Elizabeth and Jane. “If only one of you could find a husband, I would be happy!”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a glance, wordlessly agreeing that neither of them believed it.
Mrs Bennet would never rest until all five of her daughters had snatched up fine husbands and were settled elsewhere.
That much was understandable, for their mother naturally wished to know she and her daughters would have somewhere to live after her husband’s passing.
It was too much to hope that the heir of Longbourn might allow them to stay at the house when he inherited.
They all looked up in surprise when Mr Bennet entered the room, holding a letter in his hand. “My dear, I hope you will prepare yourself for quite a batch of news I have just received.”
Elizabeth put down her book with alacrity, while Jane lowered her sewing into her lap.
Kitty and Lydia, the two youngest of the sisters, were not content to wait for their father to share his news in his own time, but ran to the door and began pestering him to tell them without delay.
Without stopping their chatter long enough for him to speak, they entreated their father to tell them the news, and all but dragged him over to the settee where their mother waited with bated breath.
“Well, tell me quickly, my dear,” Mrs Bennet entreated. “What has happened?” She wrung her hands, waiting for him to explain.
His expression disgruntled, Mr Bennet said nothing at first, but only looked around at the faces of his five daughters.
“On second thought, I believe it would be better for me to explain this matter by stages. I should like you to come along with me, Lizzy, so we might discuss something in privacy,” their father said.
“Will you come?” he asked his unmoving daughter.
At that, Elizabeth recovered from her surprise and rose, nodding in assent.
Mrs Bennet stood and planted her hands on her hips. “What on earth are you about, Mr Bennet? You cannot make such a fuss and expect the rest of us to wait.”
“I assure you I can,” he said dryly. “Particularly when there are complicated matters to discuss, and our youngest girls have made it abundantly clear that I cannot do so among such a crowd. Come along, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth exchanged a curious look with Jane before exiting the room behind her father.
When they arrived at the study, he instructed her to shut the door and motioned for her to join him in the far corner of the room, farthest from the door.
“Sit down, Lizzy,” he said, waving his hand toward one of the more comfortable chairs.
She did so, looking curiously at her father.
His manner made it obvious that something highly unusual was afoot, yet Elizabeth could not help but feel relaxed in this place where she had spent so many happy hours.
Her father’s study was always in a state of chaos, with books piled here and there on every surface, whether table, desk, or chair, having overflowed the shelves that lined the walls.
His collection of various flora, fauna, and insects was on boards all about the room, leaving hardly any space bare.
The sun streamed bravely through the tall windows, illuminating a space that was everything comfortable, if a little dingy from the years of wear and tear.
It was the most cluttered and yet the most creative room in the house, a temple to learning and discovery.
Perhaps that was why she loved it so. Even when Elizabeth was very young, her father had welcomed her here, had always delighted to put a book in her hand or explain anything that might further her education.
Though Mr Bennet had made it clear his patience was rather frayed, Elizabeth could hardly refrain from asking him what was going on.
She sat up expectantly, wondering what the letter could have contained that he would wish to discuss it with her, rather than her mother.
“Is something amiss, Papa?” she asked. If it was, perhaps that was why her father had asked her to hear the news before he told anyone else.
Their mother would have flown into a nervous frenzy.
Knowing she would do her best to respond calmly and rationally, Mr Bennet often chose to first discuss matters of importance with Elizabeth.
That she was his favourite daughter could not be denied, though Elizabeth had long felt gratitude and guilt in equal measure for her father’s obvious preference of her.
“There is nothing amiss. Quite the contrary,” he said, and sighed as he sat back in his chair. He held up the letter. “I have just received a very odd letter.”
“Odd in what way?” Elizabeth asked, intrigued.
He handed her the letter but continued speaking before Elizabeth could read it.
“As you will see, it is from a Mr Ewan Campbell, the estate manager of Strathalt House in the Scottish Highlands. It seems that a Mr Hamish Sinclair, the last owner of the house, has recently died.”