Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth waited until she knew the Darcy siblings would be well into their own conversation before knocking on her mother’s door. When she heard a call to enter, Elizabeth opened the door. There was Mamma, arranging flowers in a large vase with an unusual intensity. She walked over to her mother and placed one hand on her arm.
“Mamma,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could, “is everything well? You seem out of sorts.”
Mamma’s hands stilled, her eyes fixed on the blooms before her. “Lizzy,” she said slowly, “I think perhaps it is time for Mr. Darcy and his sister to return to Pemberley.”
She had thought herself prepared for this discussion, but it still felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath her feet. She reached for a chair and fell into it. “But why, Mamma? They have been such pleasant company, and Miss Darcy has been enjoying her time here so much.”
Her mother turned the flowers half-heartedly. “Lizzy, I have always wanted you girls to find a good match.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I know, Mamma.”
“I should have thought about how this inheritance would change your life. But I am sorry to say I thought only of how the entail being broken would make our lives better. And Mr. Darcy seemed a good choice for you. An honourable man, an intelligent man. Even your father likes him, and he does not like very many people.”
“I do not understand.”
Mamma sighed. “Elizabeth, you cannot marry.”
Having her daughters married, at least one of them to a wealthy man, had been her mother’s primary concern in life ever since Jane turned fifteen. That her mother, of all people, should suggest Elizabeth never wed at all—it was as though a pail of ice-cold water had been dumped over her head, so great was Elizabeth’s shock.
“Do not you see?” Mamma continued. “If you wed, the estate will no longer be yours, it will be your husband’s. I know this is selfish, but what will become of your sisters, or me, if your father dies? It will be just the same as it was before—we shall have no place to go when that odious Mr. Collins comes to take Longbourn.”
“There are ways around that, Mamma,” Elizabeth said placatingly. “It is why Uncle Phillips is forever drawing up marriage contracts. Hollydale is already in a trust for me, and Papa is the trustee.”
“But what about after your father is dead?” Her mother’s voice sank into a ghostly whisper. “Who would be your trustee then? My brother? He could not stand up against a man like Mr. Darcy, not if Mr. Darcy decided he would have the estate. If it were to go to court, who would win?”
Before leaving for Hertfordshire, Papa had indeed said that Uncle Gardiner would take on the role of trustee were anything to happen to him. However, Mr. Darcy was not interested inmarrying her, so this was a moot point. “Mamma, you are entirely mistaking the matter.”
Her mother turned to face her. “Lizzy, I . . . I think Mr. Darcy has ulterior motives for staying here at Hollydale.”
He did, of course, but her mother could not know them—could she? “Ulterior motives?”
Mamma’s breaths were short and quick. “I believe he means to marry you before your father returns. Then there would be no marriage contract, and Hollydale would be his.”
Where had this abrupt change come from? “Mamma, this is absurd! Mr. Darcy is already a wealthy man with an estate larger than this one.”
“Lizzy,” her mother scolded, “you are clever, but too innocent sometimes. A man like Mr. Darcy, with his connections and wealth can easily manage both estates, particularly when Hollydale is separated from Pemberley only by little more than a road.” She clucked her tongue. “These wealthy men are never satisfied, they must always seek more.”
That last statement did not sound like her mother at all, and Elizabeth struggled to find a response. “But Mamma, Mr. Darcy has been nothing but helpful and gentlemanly since we first met him. And on this visit, he has been assisting me with the . . . some issues we have been having with the estate.”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, very convenient, is it not? He is placing himself in the perfect position to know all Hollydale’s particulars.”
“I am certain there has been some misunderstanding. Mr. Darcy is an honourable man. He would never—”
“Lizzy,” her mother interrupted her, “I am sorry that I encouraged you. I know you have grown fond of him.”
She had. But it mattered not, as he did not return the sentiments.
“But you must be careful,” her mother implored. “We cannot risk losing Hollydale, not after Mr. Ellis left it to you and saved us all.”
Elizabeth’s world tilted. She had been so certain that her mother’s fears could be put to rest with a simple conversation, but her fears were surprisingly rational.
“I have written your father and begged him to return right away,” her mother said. “But while we wait, I think the Darcys ought to leave.”
Elizabeth knew it was not possible, what her mother was implying. Mr. Darcy was not that sort of man. She was certain of it. But her mother was not wrong about marriage in general. If Elizabeth wed, she would cease to become her own person, at least legally. There was little one could do if a husband did not feel himself bound by the contract. He could hire an attorney, but his wife could not—she would need a male relation to do it for her.
Mr. Ellis had left her his estate to secure not only her future but that of her entire family, and he had warned her to be careful whom she chose to wed. But he had known and liked Mr. Darcy. Even the servants knew and respected him.
