Page 40 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)
Brown refused her money, as he should have, and after reassuring her there was no trouble whatsoever to fulfilling her small request, she then asked after his youngest brother who was to be made a ship’s boy and sail with the fleet in a matter of weeks.
With a weary resolve, I called for Parker and casually suggested that Brown be given a brief leave in order to visit his family.
“Surely, he did not ask, sir,” Parker remarked in cold shock. To have done so would have set him back for five years in his career.
“No, of course he did not, but I happened to overhear that his youngest brother is going to sea and will be gone for some time.”
Brown himself came to thank me, coming quite close to embarrassing me. I interrupted this flow of gratitude, handed him a purse, and said gruffly, “What is his name? Adam? He will need something to keep him body and soul together. Buy him a warm coat perhaps.”
No, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not a restful woman.
I was on the constant edge of nervous fatigue from the sheer work required to keep things in hand.
But far more exhausting was the awareness of her palpable proximity.
Her presence was so great it filled all of Pemberley, and her every thought seemed to influence the entire household.
If she was delighted, the staff bubbled with willingness.
If she was quiet and sad, they fell into whispers out of unconscious sympathy.
And none of us could escape knowing that while the lady smiled and laughed most willingly, she was troubled.
If I were not in love with her, I would have been greatly annoyed by the air of tragedy which wafted around her and elicited such sighs of admiration in my servants for her ‘unspoken trials so bravely borne’.
In her defence, she had cause for low spirits—and only I knew the reality.
I had been to Longbourn, and I knew what constituted her life.
She was wasted in that tiresome little village.
Her gifts were great, and as such, they must have been heavy to bear, for she had nowhere to expend such vigour, such a wealth of generosity, such stores of affectionate interest, such an imagination, not to mention the uniqueness of a prolific mind.
To lavish attention on any particular person would cast everyone else in Meryton as callous by comparison, to express herself freely would throw all her acquaintance into the dunce box.
And who, aside from her satirical father, could follow her flashing, acutely accurate observations anyway?
She could only occasionally and with a painful restraint be herself.
It was no wonder she escaped out of doors and walked in solitude hour after hour.
I wondered what her life would be like when she left us, which she inevitably would. Would I let her go?
My father’s voice roared at me that of course I would let her go. Seen from a purely practical standpoint, the match was impossible. Our histories, social circumstances, connexions, and even our contrasting natures added up, to a rational man, as a formula for bitter failure.
Having no settled plan for the next hour, much less the rest of my life, I persisted in radiating a sense of calm in the face of our altered circumstances.
Sam, meanwhile, was dispatched to the post office on her behalf with the ‘note for Susan’, and he returned with a startling packet of letters from Hertfordshire.
How long the lady had been without news from her family could only be a matter of speculation.
As Elizabeth read her letters, I slipped into the room and sat across from her, contemplating the unsolvable quandary which followed me everywhere.
By degrees, I became aware of her face and began to read it while she read her correspondence.
Her primary expression was one of settled resignation, of chagrin perhaps, until something she read caused her eyes to widen, her cheeks to flush, and her chest to heave in agitation.
What in God’s name? I clenched my fists into balls and forced myself to speak calmly. “ Is all well?”
She spoke evasively and would not quite meet my eye, beginning with, “Oh well,” and ending with a light jest about living in a houseful of girls.
Georgiana’s ears pricked up at this, and she asked after Elizabeth’s family with keen interest which faded into uncertainty, since she had not thought to ask before.
With characteristic effortlessness, our guest brushed aside her inquiries.
Clearly, she did not wish to be reminded of her family and took my sister in search of trifles for Mrs Jennings’s entertainment.
I was once again left behind, forced to quell a strong urge to call for my horse and ride somewhere to slay someone.
Clearly, someone or something had upset her, and I was again struck by how little support she had.
If only Mr Bennet would—but, of course, if he had been the kind of father he should have been, she would not be in my house.
The pang I felt at the mere thought of never knowing her better caught me quite off my guard, so I called for my steward, and we rode out to survey the southern road taken by the market carts to plan for its seasonal repairs.