Page 32 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

“Your father’s scheme surprised me as well. He asked for my assistance on structuring the sale of Copperdale, and I agreed. He had grave concerns about your cousin discovering the land or the proceeds from its sale and laying claim to them through marriage to you or one of your sisters.”

Startled, Elizabeth felt her throat tighten. “That would be his right, as husband to one of us?”

Mr Darcy nodded. “He meant it for all of you, to protect you from the hedgerows Mrs Bennet so fears. Your father’s illness made him aware of his failure to provide for your futures.”

“Five daughters out,” Elizabeth whispered to herself. “ My mother thought only to dress us well and marry us off but neither she nor my father thought to put aside money for dowries.”

If Mr Darcy heard her speak, it went unacknowledged; she was grateful for his silence. Still in shock, still despairing of understanding, she asked the most salient question in her mind. “How, then, did a man who despised talk of lace and assemblies determine himself to be your matchmaker?”

A moment passed and the only sound was of their boots moving through the grass.

“During our conversations, he suggested you and I are well-suited, and presented me with the idea that we marry.” Mr Darcy paused, the distressed expression on her face obviously of some concern.

He took a breath. “It was not until I saw the letter he sent to my solicitor, laying out his acceptance of my assistance, that I saw it was tied to your acceptance of my hand.”

Elizabeth turned to him. “Truly? A judge and magistrate would demand our marriage, force me to exchange vows with you?”

“I am so repulsive to you?”

“No,” she cried, mortified to have induced him to such a plaintive reply. The wild accusations of her early morning ruminations seemed more ridiculous in the presence of his calm dignity. “You must know you are a handsome man, one who could wed any lady he wishes.”

Now his expression made her blush. “You, Miss Elizabeth, are the opposite of those ladies. It is refreshing.”

If he is so impatient to wed, perhaps he should consider someone equally keen. “Miss Bingley is eager for your ring, and for Pemberley.”

He rolled his eyes. “Miss Bingley’s alacrity is not met with my own.” His voice turned more serious as Elizabeth felt his gaze turn to her. “The idea of marrying me distresses you. Of course, the circumstances are not ideal, but do you hate me so much? ”

Elizabeth hoped she had turned away quickly enough that her face was hidden by the brim of her bonnet; it would not do for Mr Darcy to see the faint blush his question had provoked.

She busied herself adjusting the black ribbon under her chin before managing to speak.

“Sir, you have not answered my questions. Is this ‘engagement’ legally binding?”

She watched him take a deep breath before answering.

“No.”

As much as he understood it, the relief on her face vexed him.

“However, Mr Bennet’s intentions for Copperdale and securing its future for your family were expressed to me personally and are documented.

They are not included in the will in Mr Philips’s possession because his ownership and sale of the land was concluded before he revised it.

This, I assure you—and would assure your cousin, should he learn of it—is perfectly legal. ”

She stopped walking and turned to stare out at the distant, fallow fields.

“I loved my father and respected his mind. But I could not respect him. He wished for peace and quiet and a wife who did not shriek and daughters who would marry well, but in the interim, his guiding philosophy was ‘leave me be’. It was only my company he tolerated, until you arrived.”

“He more than tolerated you, Miss Elizabeth. Your father treasured your companionship.”

She nodded quickly at the compliment and looked away. Her voice rose, and with the volume came steadiness.

“I am confused by you.” Elizabeth began to walk again, tugging at her gloves as she did.

“I credit myself as a clever observer of people and situations. I see foibles and failings quite easily, but also credit the admirable and noble qualities. My family, as you know, have long provided fodder for both amusement and mortification. My younger sisters can be ridiculously loud and silly, and my mother is, well, indelicate in her effusions. I have seen how you look at them, or rather, how you studiously avoid interacting with them. But my father too had failings. He did not trouble himself to rein in my mother’s spending or her tirades, or give Mary the attention and praise she so needed.

He allowed Lydia and Kitty to gambol about and to be in society at too young an age. ”

Darcy said nothing. His silence could encourage her to go on or signal his agreement with all she said. It took effort to do no more than nod his head.

“Yet he took an interest in you, and you in him, and it has puzzled me. Vexed me that you took my seat with him. I did not realise it was more than a game of backgammon or chess, or a conversation about books.”

“You were angered by my presence there.”

She shrugged. It was charming. “Yes.”

He laughed softly, bitterly. “I am sorry. I was remiss in not recognising your righteous hurt, for I endured a similar situation with my own late father.”

He looked up to find her gaze on him and continued, if not with the revelations she was clearly expecting, addressing the point at hand.

“Your father, when we met, was a man aware of his failing health. His illness seemed familiar to me. I had witnessed my own father suffer while I sat with him and learned about our properties, our tenants, and our lands and commitments.”

“You had the pleasure and pain to know your father was ill. Mine volunteered no answers to my questions.”

“I suppose he feared seeing the worry in your eyes. It was not until some weeks after I brought in my own physician to examine him that he confessed anything to me.”

“Your physician?”

“I wished to help but learnt little,” he replied quickly to her incredulous stare. “His urgent desire to make haste with the sale of Copperdale told me the news was not happy.”

“So many secrets. I thought myself a close observer of the neighbourhood, but it seems I paid poor attention to my own home.” Elizabeth’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“I never knew my father capable of so much deceit. He shut himself away, selfish and cloistered, pursuing his interests while letting Longbourn suffer.”

“Do not think him deceitful. He was flawed as any man, of course?—”

“I wish to marry a better man than my father.”

“He wished that for you as well. He did not believe your cousin to be that man.”

Elizabeth took a quick breath and began to speak, then stopped. Darcy dared to touch her hand briefly.

“You said neither you nor your eldest sister have met Mr Collins. I have, for he is rector at the village of Hunsford, the parish for my estate in Kent. It was a brief encounter, but I saw his letters to your father. He is unfit to be your husband.”

“I am to accept your opinion on a member of my own family?”

“In this matter, yes,” Darcy urged her. “Marriage to me protects you and Miss Bennet. If we are betrothed, your family is under my protection, and he cannot pursue her, or any of your sisters, without my permission. If we are not,” he watched as she looked up, her expressive eyes boring into his, “he may quickly claim more than simply his inheritance, at Longbourn.”

“You have all the answers, sir.” She said it confidently but her body trembled with emotion—relief or frustration, he could not say.

He nearly laughed. He had been treated as the man with all the answers for so long, by his family, by his servants, by everyone he encountered. He had no such power, of course, yet none of them pushed back on his self-possession nor challenged his composure as she did.

“You are a widower.”

“Yes.”

“You wed your cousin, who died soon after?”

“Yes.” He searched her eyes, and seeing them limned with mistrust, wondered what she knew, what kind of twisted truths and rumours had reached this small town.

“You understand grief.”

“I do.”

Her eyes flashed. “Will you say nothing more? It is said you wed once before for reasons that enriched your holdings. How am I to understand this proposal, let alone accept it, when I have received such differing accounts of your character?”

Grimacing, determined not to show the anger now simmering beneath his flushed skin, he managed one word. “Wickham.”

“It is true, then?”

“Of what he has particularly accused me, I am ignorant, but no word that comes from the mouth of George Wickham is true. He is incapable of honest intentions or honourable actions. I would ask that you pay no heed to anything he has told you.”

Darcy stared off distractedly, realising what he must tell her but unprepared to do so. The burden of proof lies with me. To wed her will protect her and her family, and yet it is I who must prove myself. He nearly laughed at the irony.

“The sun has risen,” he said quietly. “You should return home. We shall speak on this later.”