Page 57 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“Well, Kitty,” said he, “does ‘Lizzy’ sound like the proper way to address the mistress of a grand old manor or a lady in possession of a good fortune? And while we are at it, answer me this… Why would a wealthy woman be in want of a husband? Would she not be required to hand over Oakwood Manor and her fifty thousand pounds to her lord and master?”

“What nonsense you speak, Mr Bennet,” said his wife. “Who is this wealthy woman?”

Wide-eyed, Jane clutched Elizabeth’s hand. “Lizzy, is Oakwood Manor not the name of the place where you spent a se’nnight? Oh! Oh, my dear sister, did you⁠—”

“Yes, Jane, my clever girl,” said Mr Bennet. “You have hit the nail on the head. As only you knew beforehand, Elizabeth went to Buckinghamshire for the sole purpose of participating in a tournament. And you now may congratulate her on winning the prize. Your sister soon will be mistress of the aforementioned country house and possess a staggering amount of wealth.”

Struck dumb, his wife and four of his five daughters sat staring at him. Then, as one, they turned and gaped at Elizabeth.

Finally comprehending what she had heard, Mrs Bennet rose and danced round the room. “A country house and fifty thousand pounds! But is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy, how rich and how great you will be! What finery you will be able to buy for not only yourself but for all your sisters and me! Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in Buckinghamshire and a staggering amount of wealth!”

Silently rejoicing that such an effusion could not be heard by the entire neighbourhood, Elizabeth said, “There is more, Mama.”

“More?” Mrs Bennet stopped dancing and stared stupidly at her.

With a defiant look at her father, Elizabeth said, “I am engaged to Mr Darcy.”

“Oh, my dearest child!” her mother cried, taking Elizabeth’s face between her hands. “Fifty thousand pounds and ten thousand a year! An estate in Derbyshire, a country house in Buckinghamshire, and a house in town! And a tall, handsome gentleman to boot! I hope he will overlook the fact that you do not like him.”

That was enough to prove her mother’s approbation need not be doubted. As for Papa…

From across the room, Mr Bennet said, “Must I remind you, Elizabeth, that you require my consent?”

“Of course they will have your consent,” said his wife, waving her handkerchief at him. “Lizzy will marry Mr Darcy, and she will be richer than King Minus!”

Her husband scoffed. “Ah yes, good old King Minus… Everything he touched was taken away.”

Elizabeth winced. Why must he mock my mother so? “Mama, the king’s name was Midas, not minus. The myth of his golden touch warns about the tragedy of avarice and”—she turned to her father—“of what happens when true happiness is not recognised.”

“We shall continue this conversation in my library. Now, Elizabeth.” Mr Bennet opened the door and waited for her to follow him.

Once she was seated in his private domain, he paced. “So, child, tell me your theory. Why are the gentlemen returning to Netherfield at this particular time?” Shaking his head, he muttered, “From whence have all these worthless young scoundrels come? Bingley—the man who made love to Jane, then deserted her. Wickham—the seducer of almost thirty who preys upon girls half his age, working on their innocence and stupidity. Darcy—who looked down on all of us until you became a wealthy woman. Pah! From what woodwork have they all crawled?”

It had been a rhetorical question asked only to make a statement, but she refused to respond to her father’s provocation.

Hands behind his back as he paced, Mr Bennet seemed deep in thought. “Perhaps I should set Lydia upon your lover. I am confident she could frighten him back to the Midlands from whence he came.” He stopped in front of her. “Do not look so downcast, child. If Mr Darcy is too squeamish to bear connexions with a little absurdity, he is not worth a groat of regret.”

“I truly do have much to regret, Papa. I regret my hasty judgment of those two men from the Midlands. I regret not being more moderate and private in my opinions of them. I regret my ill-treatment of Mr Darcy while we were in Kent.”

“Oh yes, I heard all about that. Although he has a disposition tending towards self-congratulation, your admirer actually lowered himself enough to speak of his mortification at your hands. Well done, child. Well done. I wish I had been there that evening to have given him one of my own set- downs.”

“I do not understand this bitterness and vitriol towards the gentleman I love.”

“Love! Pshaw. What do you know of it?”

“I know I love him enough to surrender Oakwood Manor and fifty thousand pounds if it means I can marry him. Except my conscience will not allow me to do that because of the entail on Longbourn. But Mr Darcy will not fritter away my inheritance. He is a good man, and you will understand that when he presents the marriage settlement to you. He will not touch my wealth. His sole condition is that Oakwood Manor be preserved for a second son or daughter, and that is only after Mama and any of my sisters might have need of it. Papa, do you not realise that if—no, when—I marry him, my fortune will benefit my future children, your grandchildren?”

That seemed to give him pause.

From above the open window somewhere, probably under the eaves, the musical twittering of barn swallows seemed incongruous with the rancour inside the library. All the discord Elizabeth experienced with her father made each minute of harmony she had spent with Mr Darcy all the more precious.

What she needed to impart next would cause additional pain and acrimony, but it had to be said. “I realise you wish to retain control of my wealth for as long as you can. However, as I told you in town, only when I reach my majority shall I claim my inheritance. Mr Darcy and I shall marry on the eleventh of July. Soon afterwards, he and I shall meet with the attorneys at Pemberton & Monroe. I trust Mr Darcy to do whatever is best with my property. He is conscientious that way.” Her vehemence made reserve impossible. “Unfortunately, I must question whether or not you would have been capable of managing my inheritance, considering how poorly you have provided for your wife and daughters.”

As though she physically had wounded him, Mr Bennet winced and pressed a palm against his breastbone. Shaking his head, he muttered, “How could I have let this happen? What a state my imprudence has reduced me to.”

Overcome, Elizabeth required several moments to keep her emotions under any sort of regulation. How unpleasant must be his reflections! “Papa,” she said, barely able to hear herself speak above the wild pounding of her heart. “I hope to honour you and our ancestors by bestowing a second Christian name, ‘Bennet’, upon any sons I may bring into the world. Mr Darcy has agreed. So, please, give him and me not only your consent but your blessing.”

Her father remained silent. Listening, no doubt, to the reproaches of his conscience.