“It is not honest,” she blurted out immediately.
Her father chuckled. “You give your opinion rather decidedly. Be that as it may, we have lost your mother and your brother—our salvation. This lad is a gift from God to keep our home out of Mr Collins’ hands.”
Mr Bennet did not often speak of his distant cousin. Two generations ago, Mr Collins’ ancestor, a second son, had taken a different name to appease the family of his future wife. After his wife's parents had died, he had spent the family fortune and then died, leaving his wife and son destitute. The son had grown up miserly and bitter, always waiting for his cousin to die and leave the estate in his hands.
“He would ruin Longbourn,” Elizabeth whispered, repeating what she had oft heard her father say. “But Papa, the entail—”
“The entail will no longer be a concern.” Mr Bennet’s voice was firm…final. “I cannot squander this chance. It is for the greater good.” He leaned back in the chair and laid the infant on his chest. “What shall we call you?” he whispered into the child’s ear.
“There is a monogram on his blanket.” Elizabeth’s heart beat painfully, this time from guilt. Her father had made his decision. She would not be able to gainsay him. “The initials are TdB.”
“Well, that is perfect, is it not? Thomas David Bennet. For my father and his.” Mr Bennet looked up. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he regarded his daughter. “You must swear to me that you will never reveal what has gone on in this house today.” His serious, solemn tone echoed around the room.
“What if he has other family?” The idea of keeping this secret filled her with dread. But she had rescued the child. Did she not owe it to him to provide? The child’s mother had as good as demanded it.“Take him,”she had said.
“Elizabeth, use your intelligence. What did you see in the carriage?” He frowned. “Indeed, you have not related it all. Tell me now—everything.”
Quickly, she related what she had witnessed. “I thought I saw a man,” she admitted at the end of the tale.
“A man?” Mr Bennet asked sharply.
“It was before I ran to the crash. There was so much dust in the air… I thought I saw him climb out and run away. But I could be wrong.”
“That does not speak to his honour. He left a woman and a child to die if you did indeed see that. But the woman—she told you to take the boy.” He sighed. “Yes, it is as I suspected. You likely came upon a couple fleeing to the Scottish border. Does it not seem clear to you?”
Elizabeth mulled it over as her father whispered to the child. His suppositions made sense. The carriage had been travelling excessively fast, as if trying to outpace something…or someone. “Then…this child is likely the product of an illicit affair?” She spoke hesitantly.
“Yes.” Mr Bennet looked up. “And where is the valise you found?”
“Oh!” Elizabeth jumped up and retrieved it from by the study door. It was battered from the wreck but finely made. The fine, hard shell had scuffs and scrapes. A plaque was mounted in one corner of the lid with an elaborateA.The boy’s mother, perhaps? Amelia? Arabella?
There was no lock, and so she sat on the ground, tucking her skirt around her, before opening it. The contents were scrambled, and inside she found an additional lady’s gown, a little black book tied shut with a ribbon, and an empty coin purse. Under those, she found a small writing box, another baby gown, a boar-bristle brush, a comb, and a stack of handkerchiefs.
“There is not much here,” she remarked.
“That only supports my supposition that the lady was fleeing to the border. Put it all back and close the lid. I shall take it to the attic myself.”
“Would it not be more prudent to burn everything?”
Her father’s hands froze for a moment above the open valise. He did not look at her when he answered.
“Your logic is sound, but something within me hesitates. Perhaps it is my conscience.”
Elizabeth almost laughed aloud. The way he said it—dry, casual, as if he were commenting on the weather—made it clear that whatever pricked his conscience, it was not guilt. If anything, he was indulging a private sense of strategy. He was a clever man, her father, too clever by half. Clever enough to know that sometimes secrets were more useful than truths, and that ashes could not be unearthed later if they ever proved valuable.
Her mind turned, as it had a dozen times since the child was brought into the house, towards possibilities—towards what this meant.If he were to marry again, and if that union produced a legitimate son…Her stomach turned.No,she thought.Do not follow that path. Not now.
“Enough,”she scolded herself.“We shall give the child a home. Here, he will be loved.”And he would. At least by her.
Oh, but I long to speak with Jane.She bit her lip.When will she and my sisters return?
“You will not tell Jane either.”
She blinked. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “But why?” she asked, her voice catching with surprise. “We have always shared everything.”
“Jane is too good,” her father said simply. “She would not be able to bear the burden of this knowledge. I am sorry, Lizzy, but a secret is no longer a secret if everyone knows it.”
“You put so little faith in my sister’s discretion?”
