“Then I shall have no choice but to see you in debtor’s prison.”
Bennet’s face fell. “You would not dare! Our neighbours would revolt. You would never be welcome here again!”
“And what of that? I can lease the estate or sell it, should I choose. Such matters do not concern me. There is a debt to be paid, and I demand that it be satisfied.” He paused deliberately. “There isanothercourse open to us—something beyond debtor’s prison.”
Bennet looked up, curiosity struggling with dread. Fiennes let the silence lengthen until the other man was driven to speak. “Out with it!” Bennetsnapped. “What is thissolution? If it lies within my power, I shall see it done.”
The time to strike had come. “’Tis well within your power. I shall erase your debts in exchange for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.”
Bennet gaped, colour flooding his cheeks. “Absolutely not!” He rose, voice quavering. “She is but sixteen—she has seen nothing of the world. Good heavens, by all that is decent, man, you aretwenty yearsher senior!”
“Similar matches are made every day in society,” Fiennes gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
“She does not like you,” Bennet protested further.
“I am aware. She will learn.”
Bennet sank back into his chair and pressed his hands to his face. Fiennes could all but read the thoughts that tormented him: how to sacrifice one daughter to save the rest, and himself besides; how to preserve Longbourn from ruin while condemning his favourite child; how his family might fare if he were sent to debtor’s prison—especially with a flighty woman left to manage it. It was delicious to watch the struggle.
“She is my favourite child,” Bennet whispered after minutes of contemplation.
“I am alsoveryaware of that. It would not be a true payment of the debt if it were not a sacrifice. Is that not so?” Fiennes turned the ring on his finger, as was his deliberate habit, relishing the man’s anguish. Bennet looked utterly wretched—far worse than Morgan Fields had appeared when he realised Netherfield was lost to him forever. This was true affection—a father’s love for his daughter—and it pleased him to watch it choke the life from such a pitiable, foolish man.
“There must be some other way.” Bennet looked up once more, his eyes red-rimmed and blinking hard as he attempted to suppress his tears. “I shall pay you double the interest!”
“I have no use for double interest,” Fiennes answered evenly. “I shall marry Elizabeth in three weeks. After we have exchanged our vows, we three shall burn the contracts—all copies. Then I shall take my wife to London, where we shall spend Christmastide and the season at my house in Mayfair.”
“I cannot.” Bennet’s words were scarcely audible, but Fiennes heard the surrender in them. The man was a coward; he had failed his family for years, and now he would fail his dearest daughter. Fiennes could have no sympathy for him. And so he resolved to make the moment still more excruciating—more painful—with one final demand.
“There isonemore thing I require to settle this debt.” He spoke in a casual manner, looking through a window as if he had not a care in the world. “You will summon Elizabeth and pronounce her fate yourself. Every detail will be laid bare—nothing spared. She will see you for what you are, and learn what a man will do for the sake of his own comfort.”
Fiennes watched as Bennet’s pallor deepened, pressing a trembling hand to his chest as though stricken.Oh no, this will not do at all. You cannot die before my plans are complete.
“Have a care, man.” His words oozed false solicitude as he crossed to a small sideboard and poured Bennet a generous measure of brandy. The drink restored him, and he leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“You set your trap very neatly.” Thoroughly defeated now, Bennet bowed his head. After a moment, he pulled the bell cord. At the knock that followed, Wilkens opened the study door at the knock that came a few moments later. Mrs Hill appeared, expecting a request for tea.
“Send Miss Elizabeth to me, Hill.” He did his best not to appear devastated in front of his long-time servant, but he doubted his success. The housekeeper withdrew.
Very neatly, Fiennes mused. There was pleasure in agreement freely given; it made the snare appear invisible. He had learnt long ago that gratitude bound more tightly than force.
The three men waited in silence until, after several long minutes, light footsteps were heard in the passage. Elizabeth opened the door and entered.
“Close the door, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet said wearily.
She obeyed and advanced hesitantly, her eyes fixed on Mr Fiennes with a mixture of distaste and trepidation. His lips drew up into a knowing smile, and he offered a deliberate wink. She frowned and turned her face away.
“You asked for me, Papa?” She moved nearer to the desk, the disorder of the study drawing her onwards. Fiennes watched the tension stiffen her posture. Her brow furrowed; concern shadowed her features. “What has happened here?”
“I have wronged you, Elizabeth—wronged you most grievously.” Bennet’s throat tightened with emotion. “You, who are the most deserving of my daughters. I must beg your forgiveness.” As she reached the side of the desk, he reached for her hand and held it briefly. He could not look up, keeping his eyes fixed on the desk before him.
“Whatever has happened, you have it,” she vowed.
“Pray, do not offer it so freely until you have heard all.” His words faltered as he confessed his folly and the dreadful consequences that would fall onherbecause of his own ill-judged decisions. His shoulders sagged as he finished.
“So, you see, my dear Lizzy, you have every reason to think ill of me, and it would not surprise me if, when you leave this house, you never wish to hear of me.”
An intriguing notion,Fiennes thought. It would torment them both to believe the other would rather never speak to them.
