Thatperhaps was the chief point. She did not need a father so that she could have a place where she belonged.
She already had a father, and she already belonged.
Oakham mount rose high to the side of the turnpike, and with seeing it, they had reached Elizabeth’s home country. She knew the streams and steeples, the roads and the rills, the manors and the men.
When at long last the carriage rolled over the gravel carriageway up to Longbourn’s lovely red doors, Elizabethhurriedly jumped out, barely waiting for the conveyance to stop moving, and she did not wait at all for a footman or Bingley.
What part of the family that still lived at Longbourn had gathered to greet the two unexpected carriages, one of them belonging to Jane and her husband. Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet stood there with deep concerned frowns.
As soon as Elizabeth hit the ground she ran to Mr. Bennet and embraced him and started sobbing.
There were confused questions from both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet about Mary’s health, and then Jane’s health, and then when Bingley’s reply to those queries did not enlighten them about what disaster had led to their unexpected arrival with a sobbing Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet imagined that the disaster must have befallen her brother, Mr. Gardiner.
“Nothing is...no one is ill,” Elizabeth managed to say. “But Papa, we must talk—you do not mind if I call you that? I wish to call you Papa.”
Mr. Bennet smiled at her with some surprise, but he then said, “My child, I would like it very much indeed if you did.”
Papa’s eye then was caught by Mr. Darcy and Lord Hartley—Robert—exiting Darcy’s carriage.
He looked at Robert with a puzzled frown, as though he almost recognized him. Mr. Darcy made the introduction. Papa started at the name. “The son of the Earl of Rochester? Rochester’s son.” The only thing which kept the look from frank unfriendliness was the confusion in it. He looked between Elizabeth and Lord Hartley. “Lizzy, do you know—of course you know.” Elizabeth smiled to see the quick way that Papa was making guesses and suppositions that were likely not far from the truth. “To the library. We really must talk.”
And thus ignoring Mrs. Bennet’s attempt to fawn over theson of an earlwhose presence her house was now honored with, he quickly walked inside, followed by everyone.
When they reached the point where the corridor allowed them to either go upstairs to the drawing room, or to the library, Papa said to Robert and Darcy, “I’ll be speaking with Elizabeth inprivate.”
As soon as the door was closed Papa exclaimed, “Jove. By Jove. Lord Rochester’s son! And Lord Rochester himself. Did you meet Lord Rochester? And—you know?”
A sort of relaxation filled her now. Perhaps it was because she was in her favorite room in the world. The warm sent of musty books, pine wood, a hint of tobacco and brandy from the rare occasions that Papa indulged.
Elizabeth stepped to her own writing desk, and ran her hand over the lovely wood grain, and the tilted writing surface.
Papa would explain everything, and he would know what to do. Even though he was merely human and fully capable of making mistakes.
“Do I know what, Papa?” With some effort Elizabeth managed to repress her smile as she replied to the question. He stood near his own big solid desk. She had shared it when a child sitting on a boosted chair, or often enough Papa’s lap. When she’d turned fifteen, he’d said that it was about time for her to have her own place to keep her papers and things. He then bought her desk and rearranged the space for it to fit.
“Lizzy!” A slow smile spread across his face. “I like that title. You know what I am referring to.”
“I know a great many things—”
“This shall shock you enormously, if you do not in factknow, but Lord Rochester is your father by law and blood.”
“Oh, that!” Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I knewthat. But why did you not simply ask?”
Papa embraced her again. “I see that you are still full anxious. And tired—what happened? Tell me everything.”
“Lady Catherine recognized me. To confirm she invited me to dine when Lord Rochester would be there. And then I entered the drawing room and saw him, and Irememberedhim. And then...”
“You knew he was your father?” Papa prompted when Elizabeth stopped talking.
“Oh, I knew he was the man who beat me and Mama! I had this ringing in my head foryears, him beating me and shouting that I was a bastard.”
Papa swallowed. He studied her closely, as though looking for bruises or signs of injury on her face. “Did he try to hurt you again? How did you escape.”
“No, no. Worse,” Elizabeth replied, tears falling again. “He told me that he was my father, and that I must obey him in everything because it was his right to command me. I do not know, I think he was rattled last night, but I fear greatly that he will attempt to pursue me somehow. To file a lawsuit against you on some basis. He demanded I live in his house. I do not know what he shall do now. I did not respecthis rights.”
“Ah.” Papa sat back after Elizabeth said this. He embraced her once more. Then he smiled. “Ah, but did he say that he was sure you were his daughter in front of respectable persons who would be likely to swear to that in your favor? That shall make a matter which I worried on a little easier.”
“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Collins, Lord Hartley. Mary and Lady Catherine also.”
