“No,” she agreed. “But it was not unexpected.”
She drew a breath. “We spoke of it once, do you remember? The other path. The life I remember. One where Lydia ran off with Wickham—and you stepped in. Quietly. At great cost. Ten thousand pounds, I believe, to secure the marriage.”
Darcy’s expression tightened, but his voice remained steady. “If I could have prevented it, I would have.”
She nodded. “I know. You carried that guilt. And now I carry another. In my haste to protect Lydia, I nearly lost what was most precious to me—the man I have loved in every life. The man who, at last, will truly be my husband.”
Her voice faltered, and he reached for her hand. Their fingers met between them, familiar and warm.
“But you did not lose me,” he said gently. “And it was not your fault. You could not have known of Wickham’s wickedness, any more than I could. I am quite certain that when I carried the guilt, you told me the same.”
Elizabeth smiled through the shimmer of unshed tears. “I see you are beginning to know your future wife well.”
He returned her smile and lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss—only to be interrupted by a sharp voice from the window above.
“But I did nothing wrong! Why should I be locked in like a prisoner?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Lydia…”
She turned back to Darcy. “It seems she needs no villain to ruin her. She is determined to do so all on her own.”
He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “I had hoped it would not come to this. But during those long weeks of enforced idleness”—he glanced at her with a wry tilt of the brow—“I had ample time to reflect on all we had spoken of.”
Her eyes met his.
“I trust I have not presumed too far,” he continued, “but I made a few discreet inquiries. There are schools—reputable, restrained. Not the sort to indulge idle girls,but neither so severe as to crush their spirits. A few will admit pupils of Lydia’s age, provided the arrangements are carefully managed.”
Elizabeth exhaled slowly. “How much?”
“Seventy pounds a year,” he replied. “For the one I judged best suited to her particular… disposition.”
She studied him. “You would pay it?”
“Gladly,” he said. “But only if it is understood as a gift to you, not a charity imposed on your father.”
She touched his sleeve, uncertain. “My father would never accept such a thing—not from you. He would see it as an insult. Or worse, as a condition.”
Darcy hesitated. “Then let us speak with him plainly. I will not offer it in secret. But perhaps, if he hears it from you first—if he understands it is for Lydia’s protection, and not his humiliation—he may see reason.”
She tilted her head, considering. “That may work. In the other lifetime, Papa agreed to send one hundred pounds a year to keep up appearances. He told himself it was a small price to avoid ruin.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “If we tell him together, he may be less inclined to argue.”
Darcy nodded. “Together, then.”
With that, he stood and helped Elizabeth to her feet, and together they turned toward the house, ready at last to face her father.
Mr. Bennet was in his library with the door firmly shut when Elizabeth knocked and stepped inside, Darcy just behind her. A faint sound of protest echoed from upstairs—Lydia, no doubt, railing against her confinement.
Mr. Bennet looked up from his book, his brows lifting with weary amusement. "Sanctuary," he said dryly. "Or have you come to see what villain I’ve cast into the upper tower this time?"
Elizabeth managed a faint smile. "Neither. We’ve come to speak to you about Lydia."
His eyes flicked to Darcy, then back to her. "Ah. Well, you’ve chosen the proper man for such a conversation. He at least possesses a fortune, which may give him an edge in managing foolishness."
Darcy said nothing, but offered a polite inclination of the head.
Elizabeth stepped forward. "Papa, we have a plan. Lydia is not improving—she grows bolder by the day. You heard what Mrs. Philips said. And what Kitty saw."
