Lord Magister Theron said quickly, “Indeed, Mr Bennet. Such matters cannot be overlooked, even in times of crisis. Mr Darcy, as the master of a considerable estate, will naturally provide a settlement befitting his station. We may retire to the adjoining study to discuss terms.”
Every eye turned to Mr Darcy. It was apparent that he had no wish to discuss marriage settlements, but with a terse nod, a gesture that conveyed both resentful obedience and simmering insult, he said, “As the matter seems decided, I will see to the settlements.”
The simple fact of his coercion, the literal truth of the phrase ‘his hand being forced,’ struck her as so ridiculous that she was almost overcome. A most unseasonable, almost mad desire to laugh rose in her, and she quickly looked down at her lap, praying her trembling shoulders would not betray her. It was a desperate struggle, for laughter felt like the only thin barrier standing between her composure and a collapse into tears.
“Miss Bennet,” said the Arch-Chancellor gently, “Perhaps you would wish for a moment alone while the negotiations proceed. Mrs Albright,” and as if conjured, a grey-robed mage appeared at the now opened door, “will show you to a sitting room.”
Mr Darcy cast one last, penetrating look at Elizabeth before turning on his heel to follow Mr Bennet and Lord Magister Theron, who indicated the way to the smaller adjoining room.
Elizabeth watched them go, and with them, any hope she had ever harboured for a marriage of true affection. Then MrsAlbright gestured with a bony hand towards another, equally uninviting door. “This way, Miss Bennet.”
The sitting room was small and sparsely furnished with two hard, wooden settees and a narrow window that overlooked a cobbled courtyard. The moment the door clicked shut, Elizabeth’s carefully constructed composure collapsed. She didn’t weep, but she sank onto an unforgiving settee, her mind a jumble of panic and disbelief.
She was to be married to Mr Darcy.
His dismissive words at the Meryton assembly echoed in her ears with renewed, agonising clarity. How could she consign her entire being to such a man?
Her first impulse was to run. To simply turn, unbolt the door, and flee from this manor.
But then what? She had no idea where she even was.
And what of the Blight? Could she truly live with herself, knowing she had refused a path, however personally costly, that might – justmight– save her country, her family, everything and everyone she knew and loved?
The question was its own answer. A cold feeling settled in her stomach, pushing aside the frantic impulse to flee. She had to do this.
Well, she thought, her spirit attempting to rally, her mother had always insisted that a single man in possession of a good fortune would be the fulfilment of all their prayers. It had simply never occurred to her that Providence would oblige in this manner.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining study, a room lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves groaning under the weight of leather-bound volumes, Mr Bennet found himself staring at the titles wistfully, as if wishing he could lose himself in a book rather than face precisely the sort of conversation he usually so studiously avoided.
Mr Darcy, for his part, had not deigned to take a seat, but rather stood with his back to the hearth, hands clasped tightly behind his back. For a long, uncomfortable moment he allowed the silence to stretch, a clear declaration of his distaste for the proceedings, before finally addressing him in a brusque manner. “Mr Bennet. Let us dispense with any pretence and speak of settlements. Briefly, if you please.”
“My daughter’s happiness, or what little of it can possibly be salvaged from this situation is, and must remain, my primary concern in these discussions.”
“I am prepared to be financially equitable,” said Mr Darcy, with the faintest note of incredulity in his voice, “I will settle thirty thousand pounds upon her in the five percents. For Miss Bennet’s pin money, I propose an annual sum of one thousand pounds.”
Mr Bennet had spoken of the heart, and yet Mr Darcy, it seemed, had heard only the language of coin; for a man of his station, he supposed, any mention of ‘happiness’ must surely be the preamble to a discussion of price.
“That is exceedingly generous,” Mr Bennet said drily.
“It is no less than what befits a Mrs Darcy,” Mr Darcy corrected, his tone leaving no room for expressions of gratitude, which he clearly neither desired nor expected. “Furthermore, in the perhaps not entirely unwelcome event of my premature demise, the dower house, a substantial and well-maintained property located on the estate, will be hers for the duration of her life.”
The Lord Magister nodded slowly. “These are more than fair terms, Mr Darcy. Indeed, commendable, given the unusual circumstances of this alliance.”
Mr Darcy acknowledged the words with the barest of nods.
“Your financial provisions are beyond what I could ever have imagined or expected. It seems I must accept them,” Mr Bennet said, his voice gaining an unexpected strength, “But I must ask something more of you, something not quantifiable in pounds, nor in acres of land.”
Mr Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “And what more could that possibly be, sir?” he asked, his cold formality suggesting that he considered any further demands to be an impertinence.
“My daughter has a spirited, independent nature. She will not take to this arrangement kindly.” He met Mr Darcy’s gaze directly, father to reluctant son-in-law. “I do not ask for your affection; that would be an unreasonable expectation.”
He was studying the younger man’s face intently as he spoke, and he saw Mr Darcy’s wince, the twitch of his eye and the tightening of his lips, when he spoke of affection. It was a fascinating reaction. Not the sneer of a cynic, nor the simple boredom of an indifferent man.
How very interesting. This alliance had potential to become a great deal more entertaining.
“I ask only for your kindness towards her,” he continued, “Her spirit is her greatest strength. If you crush it, you will destroy the very quality this Concordance requires of her.”
The quiet dignity, his undeniable love for his daughter, seemed, against all odds, to penetrate even Mr Darcy’s icy reserve. It was neither a plea from a social inferior, nor an appeal from a man of diminishing fortunes. It was a heartfelt request from one man to another, concerning the well-being of a beloved child.
