Page 19 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

“He said that Mr. Darcy would not want it!”

“Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet snapped again. “One more outburst and I shall send you to your room with nothing but The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners to keep you occupied.” Miss Lydia crossed her arms and glared at Miss Elizabeth, as though she were responsible for their current and unwelcome activity.

Darcy felt guilty by proxy. This was all his father’s doing. He had been given the same instruction by Wrayburn as the Bennets. No courtship ought to begin in mourning, his father had said. Even in death, his father found a way to order everyone about.

The eldest Miss Bennet replied in a soft monotone. “We will honor Mr. Darcy’s final wish publicly, but in private, we wish to show our respect.”

“We never use the front parlor! How is it a show of respect to decorate a room we never use?”

Mrs. Bennet fanned her face. “That is enough, Lydia. We must count our blessings. If it were not for our Lizzy, you would not have the prospects you do.” Miss Elizabeth continued stitching, the tips of her ears as red as a fiery sunset.

“And now that Mr. Darcy is dead, who will make his son marry Lizzy?” Miss Lydia huffed.

Miss Mary replied from her perch on the pianoforte bench. “No gentleman in his right mind would refuse such an inheritance as Pemberley.” Darcy had. Or rather, he had tried, for all the good it had done.

“You will not complain so much when you are invited to the fine balls and soirées in town,” Mrs. Bennet consoled.

Tying off her thread, Miss Elizabeth set aside her wreath and looked up at her uncle. “I suspect this is not a social call?”

“No, it is not, my dear, I am sorry to say.”

“Shall I take you to Papa? He has spent all morning enclosed in his study.” Worry strained her eyes.

Whether her disquiet was for her father or caused by her sisters’ obvious resentment, Darcy did not know, but it troubled him. Why had his father done this to her? This was why Darcy had left England! To put an end to that ridiculous arrangement! How else could he have made his refusal to comply more evident than to forsake his life and forge a path free from all the benefits attached to the name Darcy?

He followed her and Mr. Philips out of the drawing room and down the hall. She tapped twice before opening a door leading the way into a room bursting with leather tomes, glass cases with various specimens of insects, magnifying glasses, rolled vellums and parchments, leather folios with loose papers inside, and collections of rocks, pressed flowers, and shells. It was the sort of room a man could easily get lost in, a cave of knowledge and diverse interests.

One curtain, the closest to the desk where Mr. Bennet sat, was open, filtering light on the space he occupied and sparkling on the dust swirling in the air. A half-eaten roll of bread rested atop an empty cup surrounded by crumbs. Miss Elizabeth immediately set to straightening the room. She opened the curtains, brushed the crumbs from the table, and tossed them into the fireplace while her father rose from his chair.

In imitation of Mr. Philips, Darcy removed a coat from the back of the chair facing the desk and books and old newspapers from the seat, carefully setting them on the floor in front of a bookcase.

“Philips! It is rather early for a social call, and I see you have brought Mr. Robinson. Good day to you, sir. I hope Mrs. Bennet has plied you with the latest tea and gossip?” Mr. Bennet walked over to the fireplace, rubbing his hands near the dying embers to warm them, as blithe and unconcerned as Mr. Philips had worried he might be.

Miss Elizabeth asked the houseman to bring in more wood, and the maid removed the cup and saucer with instructions to bring in a fresh pot of tea along with a tray. In under a minute, Mr. Bennet’s daughter had restored as much order as could be managed in the chaotic space. Her efficiency was impressive.

Mr. Philips sat in one of the chairs placed in front of the desk and motioned for Darcy to occupy the other. “We came to finish the discussion we began two days ago.”

“Oh, I daresay that business will amount to nothing.”

“All the same, we are here. You might as well allow Mr. Robinson to see the correspondence.”

Miss Elizabeth’s gaze landed on Darcy. It was no secret he had spoken at length with Mr. Philips and Mr. Bennet the day he had arrived at Meryton, but he still squirmed under her scrutiny. What was wrong with him? He was here to help Mr. Bennet sort through a business matter which required his expertise. If he was to be of any use, he must work confidently. Squaring his shoulders, he met her gaze.

Then she smiled at him, and he struggled to control his complexion, though his face threatened to burst into flames. How was he going to do this? Why had he thought this was a good idea? The smile she offered carried the expectation that he would reciprocate. Despite his best intention to keep his distance from her, he could not stop himself from smiling in turn. Would she smile at him so warmly had he been introduced as Darcy? He ached to know.

Mr. Hill brought in an armful of wood and fed the fire—a welcome distraction. Mr. Bennet, too, seemed to be content with the interruption. If he noticed how his daughter lingered after Mr. Hill closed the door behind him, he said nothing to her about it. Mr. Philips, however, did. “Pardon me, brother, but do you consider it wise for us to discuss this matter in front of Lizzy?”

Mr. Bennet regarded his brother-in-law with complete calm and a dismissive wave of his hand. “This is merely a muddle of contracts, hardly anything that will affect the estate.”

Darcy sucked in a breath. Mr. Bennet was dangerously wrong or in an appalling state of denial if he thought a contract in which the British government had taken an interest would not affect his estate. How could a man responsible for the livings of everyone residing and working at Longbourn refuse to take the least step to ensure their welfare? What of his own wife and daughters?

Mr. Philips took a deep breath. “All the same, this is not the sort of business a gentleman discusses in front of a young lady.”

Mr. Bennet smiled wryly. “You must give more credit to our Lizzy. Her sensibility is stronger than that of most young ladies. Indeed, I daresay her mind is more rational than that of most gentlemen.”

Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened, flickering between him, her uncle, and her father at the slight. Darcy took no offense. Given the little he knew about her, he was inclined to agree with Mr. Bennet. However, in the man’s bold praise of his daughter and intense dismissal of his own responsibilities, it was shockingly apparent that the father was not the one making the decisions and carrying them out for the benefit of his estate and family. No, he had ceded that burden to another.

“It is highly unconventional,” said Mr. Philips in one final attempt to spare his niece. Years ago, Darcy would have agreed, but he knew too much of the world and had known too many strong-minded women to lend his support to the outdated custom.