“I will not do it!” Elizabeth cried in anger. “There must be another way.” She turned her pleading eyes to Fiennes, whose smile was devoid of warmth. “Please, sir, will you not grant us clemency?”
“I am a businessman, Elizabeth, not a benefactor. Debts are not cleared by sentiment. This is the solution agreed upon by your father. Now the choice lies with you. Will you see him in debtor’s prison? Will your mother be prudent when she has no one to gainsay her? What will become of your sisters—and their reputations—if Mr Bennet is sent away in disgrace?”
Each deliberate word was designed to pierce Elizabeth’s heart and tighten the invisible chains about her. Her colour ebbed; she turned towards her father in silent entreaty, but his eyes remained fixed on the desk. Next, she turned to Wilkens, but she found no comfort there.
“Come now, Elizabeth, it will not be such a trial.” Fiennes laughed outright, his mirth genuine. “I shall give you grand houses and more pin money than you can ever spend.”
“But what of affection, sir? I do not love you.” Her voice quavered, reminding Fiennes that she was still very young.
“I care deeply foryou,” he returned. “I have shown it, have I not, these many months?”
Her eyes narrowed. For the first time, Fiennes felt uneasy in her presence; he wondered whether she saw through his pretty words to the corruption beneath. The sensation was disconcerting. Could she truly perceive him? She would be the first. Such discernment made her dangerous. And then, his desire to possess her burned away the momentary doubt.
Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. “Very well. When is the wedding?”
Thank heavens she is but sixteen,he told himself.She knows nothing. A few more years and that proud Bennet spirit would have turned defiant. Youth softens the will—age sharpens it—and I have no wish to cross blades with a grown woman.
Bennet looked up at last, surprise warring with sorrow and relief.
“Three weeks,” Fiennes answered. “We shall then go to London. There is no need to shop for wedding clothes—you may purchase all you wish in town.”
“Only three weeks?” Elizabeth looked at him pleadingly. “Can it not be a longer engagement? We can sign the marriage articles, so that our betrothal be recognised in law.”
Fiennes smiled condescendingly. “It is considerate of you to seek a compromise, but the decision stands. Do not trouble your head over another thing. Now, if you will excuse us, your father and I have further business.”
Elizabeth turned to her father. He waved her away. “We shall speak later, my dear.” With that, she shot Fiennes one last look of disgust and hurried from the room—doubtless intending to seek comfort in the open air.
Bennet’s voice broke the heavy silence after the door closed, weary and broken.
“You will take care of her?”
“I shall settle fifty thousand pounds on her. She will be my heir until there are children. Will that satisfy?”
The arrangement could, of course, be amended in due time. Besides, he expected he would outlive any wife he took; women died in childbed often enough.
Bennet inclined his head, heavy with exhaustion. The man was spent, his spirit subdued, precisely as Fiennes had planned.
“There is one more matter…”
Half an hour later, Fiennes and Wilkens departed Longbourn to the sound of Mrs Bennet’s delighted exclamations. The matron’s knowledge of the betrothal would ensure that all of Meryton heard of it before the morrow. There was no escape for Elizabeth now.
Chapter Seven
October 1806
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Iammostpleasedto hear of your good fortune, my dear friend!” Charlotte took Elizabeth’s hands and kissed her cheek. “You will be exceedingly happy, I am sure, in your new situation.”
Elizabeth smiled with effort, hoping Charlotte would attribute her trembling lips to joy rather than distress. It would never do for the truth to become known in Meryton. Even her marriage to Mr Fiennes could not wholly conceal her father’s folly, which still threatened to cast disgrace on them all. Their market town was small, its memories long and its inhabitants ever eager for gossip or a chance to revel in another’s misfortune. But still, she loved her friends and her family; she would suffer anything rather than see them harmed. She had consented not from will but from weariness; defiance had no place in a house already fallen silent save for Mama’s gleeful exclamations.
In the first days after her engagement was announced, Mr Fiennes had requested to walk with her. Mama had agreed at once, shaking her finger in affected reproof and insisting they remain within sight of the house. “You will have her to yourself soon enough, sir! Let us not shirk propriety now!”
Elizabeth had complied reluctantly, which Mr Fiennes could not have failed to notice. “Are you not pleased with my attention, Elizabeth?”
She started at his free use of her Christian name. “Your attention has been most constant.” Elizabeth folded her hands before her, outwardly serene.
