Page 36 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 69/41: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

Darcy watched Elizabeth admiringly as she trotted around the field. A mere week ago, she had begun trotting on her own, and now she looked like quite the horsewoman: calm and confident on Belle.

After they finished the lesson, Elizabeth leaned against the fence, staring into the woods north of Bingley’s field.

The past week had been ambrosia in many respects; more and more, he feared that spending weeks with Elizabeth had all but ruined him for normal life.

“I have been thinking,” he began.

“Oh?”

Darcy slipped Belle’s reins around the fence. “About your advice.”

“Which advice?” Elizabeth asked with a small smile. “I believe I have been so impertinent as to offer you various pieces of advice.”

“About duty and desire being equally necessary.”

“Ah.” She glanced up at him. “What about it?”

Darcy tapped his fingers against the railing. “I owe a duty to my family name, but I had forgotten that I owe a duty to my fellow man.”

She shifted to face him, but Darcy could not quite meet her gaze. She, who had shown such compassion to various people in her life, had likely never forgotten this truth.

“I have always worked hard to ensure that my tenants and servants—all those for whom I am responsible—are well cared for, but I have not considered the duty of kindness that I owe to everyone whom I encounter. When I take the time to speak to someone, to smile at a stranger.... Bingley once told me that sometimes smiling is all the good one may put into the world. I did not understand at the time, but I think that I might now.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Jane has said much the same thing.”

Silence fell between them as Darcy considered for the thousandth time whether Miss Bennet would be a good match for his dearest friend. “Do you―” Darcy took a deep breath. “It is not something that would commonly be spoken of, but then, we have not been—we are in something of an unusual situation, and, as a result, there is rather more frankness between us than might otherwise be possible.”

Elizabeth nodded hesitantly. “That is so.”

“I am—Bingley is—does your sister—is Miss Bennet attached to Bingley?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “She has not confided in me; however, Jane would not show more interest than she feels, so I believe her heart is not untouched.”

“Truly?” Darcy asked with surprise. “She always seems so serene.”

Elizabeth smiled. “So I have heard. Jane is so uniformly good and always tries to see the best in every situation. Her modesty can appear to denote a lack of feeling; however, that is far from the truth. If Mr. Bingley is truly interested in her, he shall have to ask her himself.”

“I am not asking because Bingley has requested I do so. I am asking because he is my dearest friend and I would not wish to see him in a marriage of convenience.”

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “So you will choose a bride for him?”

Darcy stiffened. “Of course not! He may make his own choice; I simply wish to ensure he is not making the wrong one.”

“Mr. Darcy, you take prodigious care of your friend, but I would hope that he is mature enough to make wise decisions in the matter of his own heart. He is not a child! The man ought to know the truth of his own feelings on a far more intimate level than anyone else.”

“Can you deny that even if your sister is uninterested, she would not be allowed to reject him?”

Both her eyebrows shot up. “Allowed?”

“Your mother has made it quite clear that she desires the advantages that would come from such a marriage,” Darcy said with forced evenness.

Elizabeth turned flashing eyes on him. “Jane is no fortune hunter!”

“You cannot deny that your mother is quite open about her plans for Bingley—she views him as nearly her own property, as though she need only say the word and he will offer for Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth stiffened.

“And with the entail, I do not doubt that Miss Bennet is already primed to take advantage of any acceptable situation offered.”

Elizabeth’s glare intensified. “Mr. Darcy, I would appreciate it if you would show an ounce of gentlemanliness and refrain from casting aspersions upon my family.”

How could she ever have thought him kind? Elizabeth’s jaw tightened, and a hundred wounding words flashed through her mind and clogged in her throat.

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, his expression thunderous, and then closed it. He took a deep breath and walked several feet away before returning with a much more moderate expression. “I am not trying to start an argument with you, nor to speak ill of your family. I do not mean to be unkind, merely factual. My observations indicate that my friend would likely become entangled with your sister without regard for what is best for him. Were the two of them truly attached, that would be one thing. If they are not, then that is something else entirely. I am protective of those I care about, and perhaps, as you say, that is a fault. However, I ask out of care for my friend, not out of any desire to malign your family.”

Elizabeth closed her mouth tight, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. She and Mr. Darcy were alone in this eternal Tuesday—she literally could not cut ties with the man. And as he was attempting to be reasonable, she should do likewise.

“Would you not do the same for your sister?” Mr. Darcy asked softly the moment she opened her eyes.

Elizabeth forced herself to consider the matter. She sighed. “I suppose you are right. I am protective of Jane and would do my utmost to dissuade her from a course I believed to be opposed to her best interest. However, if Mr. Bingley is not the sort of man who can make his own decisions, quite frankly, I am not sure he would make a good husband for Jane. He is congenial, and I believe they would make an excellent match. But Jane is—tenderhearted; she would be unhappy if he is not the sort of man who can stand up for her when necessary.”

“Bingley is an affectionate sort of person, and he would be miserable in a marriage without affection. But he is also very loyal―”

“Loyal enough to protect Jane, even from his own family?”

“I believe so,” Mr. Darcy said after a moment of deliberation.

Elizabeth shrugged. “I hope so, but I trust my sister to determine that for herself. She is fully capable of doing so.”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

They resumed their previous positions, leaning on the fence once more and staring at the woods, sunshine warming their faces and birds chirping their delight in the mild day.

“I offended you, and I apologise,” Mr. Darcy finally said. “I was truly not trying to cause offence, merely attempting to ensure my friend’s welfare.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “I accept your apology. I suppose I am sensitive about my family; I do not like others to speak ill of them, even when it is based in truth.” She sighed. “My mother ought not to consider Mr. Bingley to be Jane’s property.”

“It is not uncommon,” Mr. Darcy offered. “Mothers everywhere lay claim to unmarried young men.”

“Particularly if they are wealthy,” she added dryly.

Mr. Darcy’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Indeed.”

“I am sorry if she has made you uncomfortable. I often wish she would moderate her behaviour, but she is unlikely to do so at my suggestion, so I rarely attempt to check her.”

Mr. Darcy tapped a pattern against the fence post, apparently trying to formulate a suitable response. “I suppose it is understandable, particularly with Mr. Collins here.”

“The entail is never far from her thoughts—even before Mr. Collins’s arrival,” Elizabeth confessed.

For the first time, she tried to imagine the life that her mother always prophesied: cast out of Longbourn with five unmarried daughters to support on the interest from ￡5,000. It would be—uncomfortable, at best. If Jane did not marry while Father was alive, she would be unlikely to receive offers from any worthy young gentleman. After all, they had almost no dowry and there would be no direct connection to a landholder.

She took a deep breath, attempting to loosen the bands that wrapped around her chest like a too-small corset drawn tight. Her mother’s predictions had always seemed ridiculous, given Jane’s goodness and beauty—Elizabeth simply could not fathom that Jane would not marry well. But... Jane was twenty-two, nearly on the shelf, and had yet to receive an offer from someone she could esteem.

Perhaps her mother’s concerns were more valid than she had realised.

No wonder her mother was so shrill: in her mind, she was likely witnessing a downward slide into poverty and obscurity, like sitting in a runaway carriage, careening towards a cliff, while the driver argued there was no problem and the passengers remained wilfully ignorant.

“I am not surprised that it is often on her mind,” Mr. Darcy said.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “I must confess that I have always believed her to be a trifle alarmist; however, the entail is a very real danger. I believe—though she does not approach the matter correctly, her fears are reasonable. And they consume her because no one else appears to be addressing the danger,” she mused.

Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows went up. “Addressing the danger?”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, wishing her tongue had not been quite so loose. “My father is unconcerned by the entail, as he will not be present for the matter, and as I said, I have not been sympathetic to her fears.”

“I see,” Darcy said, though he did not see at all. Even just thinking about the entail, about Elizabeth all alone in the world, forced to shift as a companion or a governess or the wife of some tradesman—he almost wished that Bingley would marry Miss Bennet and then he could ensure Elizabeth was well cared for via his friend.

How could Mr. Bennet see this future stretching out in front of his family and not be desperate to change it? Elizabeth simply must be unaware of the ways Mr. Bennet was already preparing for the event. Perhaps he should attempt to speak to that gentleman at some point. And he should definitely speak to Bingley.

The Bennets were not the sort of people he wished to see his friend tied to, but perhaps that could be changed. The three youngest were still young enough to be educated—though it might be best if they were educated away from Mrs. Bennet. It would not be Bingley’s responsibility, but were he to marry Miss Bennet, his friend could help assume the bills and thus convince the Bennets to send their daughters away.

Darcy glanced over at Elizabeth. Her cheeks were burning, and she appeared to be miserable in the extreme. He put a hand on her arm.

She did not look at him, but her shoulders relaxed.

Did he treat Bingley like a child? His friend was inexperienced but.... He tried to remember what it had been like after his father had died and he had been forced to step into his father’s shoes. He had been more experienced than Bingley and had still made a great many mistakes.

“You know,” he began, “I am only trying to keep Bingley from making the same mistakes that I did.”

“It is difficult to watch those we care for struggle, is it not?”

Darcy pursed his lips. “It is not my discomfort that prompts me to intervene; I am concerned for his well-being.”

Elizabeth was silent for several long moments. “I do not suggest that you are unconcerned with his well-being. It is simply that you appear to have taken on the role of a parent in the area of his marriage—and perhaps in other areas, though I imagine that Mr. Bingley is grateful for your assistance.” She hesitated and then sighed. “If you carry a child everywhere to save him the trouble, he will never learn to walk.”

“You believe that my assistance is detrimental?” Darcy asked with a frown.

Elizabeth looked up at him. “I do not believe you offer it in any but a genuine desire to care for your friend. However, if your help keeps him from developing, then yes, I believe it is not in his best interest and will hinder him. Growing requires mistakes, does it not? We can advise our friends and family and attempt to help them see what we are seeing, but we cannot make their decisions for them. If we make them dependent upon us, what happens when we are no longer there?”

The conversation where Bingley had asked for Darcy’s support to pursue Miss Bennet came to mind. He wished to save his friend from the pain of poor choices, but Elizabeth was right: he had no intention of making Bingley’s every decision for the rest of their lives. Someday Bingley would marry, and someday, perhaps, he himself would marry, and they would both have other obligations.

“We do what we believe to be best for those we love,” Elizabeth murmured. “You care deeply for Mr. Bingley. I would only ask that you allow him to make his own decisions about his heart—it would greatly complicate matters were you to make that choice for him.”

Darcy nodded, struck for the first time by how enormously affected Elizabeth would be, should he pry Bingley from Hertfordshire and Miss Bennet. Were he to spirit Bingley away, as had been his design, Elizabeth might never forgive him. Certainly, she would not hesitate to take him to task should the opportunity arise.

Such a step could only be taken if he planned on cutting all ties with her.

It was strange to think that a time would come when they would not see each other daily. A part of him almost wished that they could just stay in Tuesday, remain wrapped up in each other without the intrusion of anyone else. Come Wednesday, everyone else would reclaim their substance and he and Elizabeth would have to hide their closeness. Not to mention that eventually he would need to return to London; if nothing else, he missed Georgiana.

“I shall consider your words, and if you can assure me that your sister will not accept him if her heart is not engaged―” He met her gaze, his eyes asking if she could make such an assurance.

Elizabeth nodded. “Jane has already refused two offers from gentlemen she did not esteem.”

“ Two offers?” Darcy asked, blinking at her.

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “My mother does not know about them, but my father would not force any of us to accept a gentleman simply because an offer is made.”

“I see—I will not break your confidence.”

Elizabeth held his gaze. “I know. I trust you.”