“It cannot be.” Elizabeth replied. She sobbed and sobbed. She held her father. “It can’t. Oh, why was I ever so stupid! How can you ever forgive me?”
“I was quite stupid as well. And I failed to protect you.”
“I shouldn’t cry. Crying never helps anyone.”
“I do not believe that people cry chiefly for thesakeof improving matters. We often do things for other reasons.” Papa squeezed her tighter. “There, there. Dear, dear Lizzy. It will be alright.”
“Don’t saythat!”
“Do you not want it to be alright?”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Ah.” Papa kissed the top of her head. “Ah. I see.”
“Why did you not stop me! Why couldn’t you have just stopped me from leaving? But no, I would not want that. Because then I would not have George and Emily. I was a fool!”
“And you begin to see that one would not undo the past, generally, even if one could.” Papa gave Elizabeth his handkerchief and she sniffled into it. They strolled down the cobblestoned avenue, and Elizabeth led him towards the West Cliff promenade. “Ah, I see the seagulls, and I do smell a bit of the sea air. And the stiff sea breezes, even in this sun and coat I feel almost pleasant—Lizzy, my poor Lizzy. I did curse myself for weeks.”
“And you must have cursed me. You must have.”
“Oh, I’ll not deny that I had some anger towards you, but less, much less, than was aimed towards myself. I had trusted too much in your good sense. It was a lesson that I have not yet forgotten. But talk to me, Lizzy, tell me what has happened. Why do you mean to marry this gentleman?”
“It isn’t—well it is not chiefly…George likes him. He wants him to be his papa.”
“Did he attach George in hopes of influencing you?” Papa asked.
Elizabeth laughed, “I think the true case is much more likely to be the opposite. That George arranges everything to his liking, with his native charm.” Then Elizabeth added bitterly, “Much like his father.”
“Begin the story there.Ihad not known that Mr. Wickham had abandoned you, though I had determined, despite your pretenses, that there clearly was an absence of money. In fact a few weeks ago I sent a letter to your last address to ask about your situation and offer some help, and receiving the reply that you were not in London at all rather concerned me.”
“You had? But Papa, how could you have offered us money? Youknowthat Mr. Wickham would have simply spent—or perhaps you do not. But I would rather have tossed a hundred-pound note in a bonfire than have given it to him.”
Papa laughed. “I hope you shall credit me with more sense thanthat. Offers to pay school fees directly, and to purchase books—to rent a small house for you and pay wages to the servants. I would neverdirectlygive him a penny. Not until after he grew a legal practice that earned more than Longbourn—that is to say, not unless he had no need for any money. But I wish to hear the tale of how you became so bitterly disappointed with your husband. And how he managed to get shot by Mr. Darcy. There was a rumor, though I rather discounted it until I received your letter, about him attempting to enter a bigamous marriage.”
“Thatpart was true. I never thought so ill of him as he deserved. He became even worse in the two years after we parted. Poor, poor Georgiana.”
“Miss Darcy?”
“She is the sweetest girl in the world. And she is delightful with the children. They both love her above anything. And she is half a year younger thanIwas. How dare he—and he was no longer a youth who barely touched one-and-twenty. To do such a thing to an innocent girl.”
“Is it,” Papa asked cautiously, “true, the story about…ah, I apologize, if it is true, it must be a painful thing for you to think about.”
“That Mr. Darcy found them in bed together, engaged in the conjugal act. That my husband was making the beast with two backs with a girl of fifteen who he meant to defraud of her fortune by entering a marriage that could have no validity? That we still do not know if this had any consequences beyond ruining her and her reputation? That it is starting to become likely that he got her with child?—yes.Thatall is true. Damn him. I begin to wish I spat on him before they buried him.”
“You still might spit on the gravestone,” Papa offered gravely. “I shall accompany you, if you desire.”
Elizabeth laughed in sudden startlement.
Papa smiled at her again.
“I so, so wish that I had not hurt you in such a way,” Elizabeth said.
“I only wish that you came to me for help. Two years! How have you lived for all this time?”
“What I wrote in my letter. This and that. We sold everything but a single dress for visits, though much of that money went to his debts—I sought to pay off the tradesmen, though of course none of his friends. But some was left. I had many friends who I imposed upon, and I found bits of work.”
“And you never thought to ask me for help—to eventellme that your husband had abandoned you, and that you were living wholly without support?”
