CHAPTER ONE
THE MARRIAGE BARGAIN
Fitzwilliam Darcy wasthe last man Elizabeth expected to appear in her drawing room. He arrived early on a rainy spring morning and requested an audience with her father.
Her mother bustled up the stairs and squeezed into the chamber Elizabeth shared with Jane. “Lizzy, dear, you must freshen your face and arrange your hair properly. The green gown will do nicely; it complements your eyes. And for heaven’s sake, stand up straight, and pray, do not slouch.”
Jane exchanged a worried glance with Elizabeth. It was rather too inconvenient, and Elizabeth wished she had not confessed her secret fears to her sister, whose face hid nothing. Placing a hand upon her belly, she steadied her fluttering nerves and allowed her mother to begin coaxing her rebellious curls into submission.
“What could Mr. Darcy possibly want with me?” she asked her mother, who was uncharacteristically subdued. With ten thousand a year sitting under their sagging roof, Mamma ought to have been in transports of delight. Instead, she carried herself as if preparing for a rather unpleasant funeral.
“Mamma, do we owe him money?” Jane’s brow creased to impossible depths, her hands twisting around each other.
The winter had been cruel indeed. Elizabeth and Jane had spent two months in London with the Gardiners, and during their absence, the house had surrendered to its age and neglect. The roof had given way under the weight of the snow, and their father’s cough had taken a permanent hold upon his lungs.
“Mamma?” Elizabeth prodded when her mother’s face in the mirror approached the consistency of granite. “What is the matter?”
“Mr. Darcy wishes to propose.”
“To whom? Jane, or me?”
Jane’s face blanched in the mirror. “But we hardly know him, and he despised us when he left Netherfield. Miss Bingley made it quite clear that he found our family deficient.”
“Yes, but…” Mamma looked nervously at the door, as if expecting the arrival of bailiffs. “Papa will explain. Come. He is waiting.”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane as a foreboding dread settled in her chest. This was not the mother she knew. Even with Mr. Collins, Mamma had been loud, pushy, and hopeful. Her unnerving silence was far more terrifying.
Naturally, the fear of her father’s death cast a pall over everyone, worsened by his cough that had grown harsher with the rainy weather and by water seeping even into his study, now converted into a sickroom.
Elizabeth swallowed the bitter taste of uncertainty. Mr. Darcy, for reasons known only to himself, had come to Longbourn to purchase a bride, and she appeared to be his intended choice.
“Girls, girls,” Mamma commanded her other daughters. “Do be certain to appear at your best, should you be summoned. You too, Jane. Greet Mr. Darcy with your most pleasant smile. And Mary, do not present such a dour countenance. Lydia and Kitty,remain near the banisters, where you will be seen but not heard. Now, Lizzy, chin up.”
Elizabeth followed her mother down the stairs, feeling like a prisoner led to the scaffold, though in her situation, this might be the very escape she needed.
The study was still, save for the wet, rattling sound of Papa’s cough. Mamma knocked before pushing open the door. Her touch against Elizabeth’s back was almost comforting.
“Mr. Darcy, may I present my daughter, Elizabeth?” was all she said before she tried to retreat.
“Dear Mrs. Bennet,” Papa wheezed. “Please, sit.”
Mamma looked flustered, unaccustomed to being included in a matter of such gravity, but she clutched her handkerchief, cleared a stack of moldering volumes from a chair, and obeyed.
“Now, Mr. Darcy, you may address my daughter,” Papa said.
Mr. Darcy’s presence seemed to shrink the cramped room. He clasped his hands behind his back in that familiar, aloof stance she had witnessed at a dozen assemblies, as if he longed to be anywhere else. Why did he bother to occupy space he clearly despised? What did he think, surveying the water-stained ceiling and the damp encroaching in every corner?
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he enunciated her name as if making plain that she was the Bennet girl he was addressing.
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth forced a curtsy of the precise depth required by propriety. “What unexpected pleasure.”
His gaze fixed upon her for a measured moment, plainly finding no pleasure whatsoever in their encounter.
“Miss Elizabeth, I will not insult your understanding by pretending this is a morning call. I would rather set the matter before you plainly and trust you to receive it in the same spirit.”
“By all means, sir. I have always found plain speaking a great virtue.”
“Lizzy, darling, do be seated. Mr. Darcy, if you please. I shall call for tea.” Mamma rose and fluttered to the door. “Hill! The good tea, if you please. Mr. Darcy has a matter of the highest importance to lay before our Lizzy.”
