Page 20 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Again, Mr. Bennet waved off their concern. “My estate is entailed. Longbourn will be lost to my daughters eventually. Whether it happens before my death or after hardly signifies when Lizzy’s future is secure.”

Her head snapped to face her father, her jaw clenched, her eyes sharp. The resentment in her pained expression was impossible not to see, and Darcy knew at that moment that, if she could, she would defy the marriage arrangement. She was trapped, the expectations of her family closed around her like prison bars.

If his suspicions were correct and she managed an estate she would never inherit—despite an arrangement that promised her wealth and security—she would take on the fight against the Customs House herself. Without the support of her father, she was powerless. The man sitting across from Darcy would not place his daughter’s needs before his own, nor would he protect her from the consequences of his debt.

To leave would be to abandon her to ruin. Unacceptable. He could not tell her he was Darcy without forcing her into a marriage she did not want while also losing his ability to help her. Inconvenient, but doable. Offensive to his reputation for honesty, but necessary, given the circumstances.

Her eyes met his, conveying equal measures of hope and despair. In his heart, he promised her he would stay.

CHAPTER 9

Elizabeth could hardly breathe. Had she heard correctly? She turned to her father. “Is Longbourn in danger?”

He met her eyes, which showed shame before he looked away. “Your security and that of your sisters and mother does not depend on Longbourn.” A poor excuse uttered feebly.

“Papa!” Her voice cracked. “Mr. Darcy is not here! He might never come.” How could he expect her to lay all of her concerns and fears on a man she had never met? To expect Mr. Darcy to want her for a wife when she now came with a debt her father expected him to assume? Her face burned at the thought.

Her uncle cleared his throat, and from the corner of her eye she saw him look away. Mr. Robinson, however, watched her with a neutral expression. She was relieved that he did not seem critical.

Her father looked at her, eyes pleading. “He will return for his inheritance. Lizzy, now more than ever, we must believe he will.”

So everyone kept repeating. For years, she had managed Longbourn, had increased its income and added to her family’s comfort, and still her father believed her incapable of doing anything other than wait for the elusive Fitzwilliam Darcy to sweep in and save them. As though she needed his help! She clamped her mouth shut and slowly inhaled, allowing the air to cool her boiling blood. Calmer, steadier, she repeated her question. “Papa, what do you mean ‘we might lose Longbourn’? What has happened?”

“A misunderstanding.” Papa waved his hand. “It will resolve itself, no doubt.”

Uncle spoke firmly, “This is not a mere misunderstanding, Bennet, nor is it a problem that will go away without taking decisive action. You received a formal demand from His Majesty’s Customs⁠—”

“Which can be cleared up with a simple letter⁠—”

Uncle sprang to his feet. “Which you would not write if left to your own devices!” He pounded his fists against the desk, leaning forward.

Elizabeth had never seen her uncle so impassioned. It startled her to silence as it must have done her father, for he offered no rebuttal.

Mr. Robinson’s confident tone cut through the tension. “Mr. Bennet, perhaps we should explain the events leading to this moment to Miss Bennet. It would be a kindness to grant her understanding.”

Her father looked at her, the sharpness she had hoped to see replaced with the glaze of disengagement as she watched him retreat into himself. She wanted to cry out for him to come back, to not leave her alone, but he was already gone. She bit her lip and turned to Uncle.

He pulled out a document bearing an official seal—the royal coat of arms. “Two days ago, a messenger of the king delivered this.”

Elizabeth took the document, her heart caught in her throat. She read each word, her legs growing weaker as she saw the words formal demand, outstanding debts, duties, and penalties owed to His Majesty’s Customs & Excise in the amount of… The number made her dizzy, the page as heavy as the amount. “There must be a mistake. This is more—much more—than Longbourn’s yearly income.”

She sank into a chair that had not been there moments ago, heard a low baritone ask for a restorative for her tea, felt a hand help her hold the cup to her lips, and the same voice instructed her to sip slowly. She did, and it burned. Mr. Robinson looked at her thoughtfully, releasing his hold once he determined she could hold the cup on her own and stepping away.

Comforted by his thoughtfulness, she only then recalled her blunder. A young lady would never have an immediate knowledge of estate income. Her uncle would overlook this detail, as he did many things for her benefit. She was fairly certain he knew how involved she was in the management of her home, but she had never admitted it to him directly, nor had he asked her to. Mr. Robinson, on the other hand, might be shocked. Most gentlemen would be. Was he? He did not seem to be…

Elizabeth felt his awareness of her. She sensed that, in both body and thought, he was prepared to rush to her assistance. If she swooned, he would catch her. Where she lacked understanding, he would provide clarity. This vexed her as much as it soothed her. She was accustomed to doing things on her own, took pride in her independence as a strong-minded woman. She did not need anyone’s help.

“Unfortunately, Miss Bennet, the document is genuine. It bears the proper seals and is signed by Sir Bradley Headstone, a known Collector of Customs for the Port of London.”

She looked at her uncle, now in full possession of her composure and reason. “Have you confirmed this?”

“I have written to your uncle Gardiner and expect his reply by this afternoon. However, I do not doubt he will confirm Sir Bradley’s position and authority.”

She tried to breathe, tried to understand. “How? How could we possibly owe this much? We are a country estate and have no international interests.”

Mr. Robinson looked to Papa, who looked down at his clasped hands. If he intended to reply, he was too slow about it. Mr. Robinson said, “Your uncle has asked for my help in the matter. I have a great deal of experience with international trade contracts and customs disputes. My intention is to stay in Meryton until this demand is settled and your family’s security is restored.”

His clear words, firm and resolved, reassured her, and yet her first inclination was to refuse. She could manage on her own, as she always had. Such was the treachery of her heart. Taking a deep breath, calming her ruffled pride, she asked, “You will help us?”