Page 47 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Elizabeth wished she could yowl her displeasure to all and sundry. She had become terribly dissatisfied. Jane continued to watch her with all the intensity of a hawk following a mouse, preventing Elizabeth from speaking with Robinson for three whole days. She could not even be in the same room with him lest Jane catch her looking at him.

“Mrs. Rokesmith asked about you. She found a piece of ribbon she told me she is saving just for you. I agree with her that it is a most becoming shade of blue,” Charlotte said, her cheer beginning to wear on Elizabeth’s spent nerves.

With a frankness possessed only by the closest of friends, Elizabeth raised her hand. “I appreciate Mrs. Rokesmith’s thoughtfulness and your obvious intent to lend me the excess of your cheer. But Charlotte, I am miserable. I cannot afford even the simplest ribbon, and I wish to be allowed to wallow in my misery for a moment before I must assume my usual contented demeanor for the benefit of my family.”

Charlotte reached forward and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “It pains me to see you this way.” Elizabeth loved her friend for her concern and felt embarrassed for causing her distress.

She saw Charlotte stiffen. “Do not tell me how you feel and then regret it, Lizzy Bennet. Now is your chance to revel in your distress. Pray, tell me all about it so that I might share your misery.” This was said with just enough humor to lighten the moment but not so much as to contradict her offer.

Elizabeth sighed. “Papa could have prevented all of this had he simply attended to the first letter,” she mumbled. It was strange to admit her father’s flaw; it had always been her habit to cover them over. Only then did she realize how often she had excused his negligence. Had she contributed to his neglect by providing him with excuses? What a horrible notion!

“That is his doing, yes. You cannot very well open his correspondence for him, can you?”

Charlotte had understood and stated it so plainly that Elizabeth was emboldened to continue. “Mr. Robinson is convinced—and so am I—that had Papa replied to the letters and acknowledged he was aware of what they were doing and was willing to denounce them, they would not have forged his signature for their debts.”

She paused, waiting for Charlotte’s commiseration, which she dutifully gave. “That is a terrible negligence.”

“It is! That is what consumes my mind. That, and how I might have prevented it⁠—”

Charlotte held up a finger. “You could not have known the contents of those letters. Do not assume the blame for your father’s decision. I know what you do for Longbourn, but Mr. Bennet is the master of Longbourn, and he is responsible for the care of his family and estate.”

Elizabeth knew it, but the truth was bitter to swallow. She had thought her father cared about their family as much as she did. She had prided herself on being the favorite daughter, his match in wit and temperament. Now she understood that it had not been his indulgence to allow her to make decisions that were his responsibility. It had been hers. She had indulged his indifference, allowing him to neglect them while she thanked him for the favor. Oh, how foolish she had been!

“For the past three days, the customs officer and the bailiff have scoured every inch of Longbourn, noting what might be sold to pay off the debt. My sisters will have to give up their gowns and the bonnets they spent so much time and pin money trimming. There will be nowhere to put them in debtor’s prison, nor will we have any need to wear them. Who will invite us anywhere once we are in prison? We will be serving a sentence we had nothing to do with that could so easily have been prevented!” Elizabeth pressed her cold fingers against her hot cheeks.

“I will visit you.” The simple statement proving Charlotte’s loyalty brought Elizabeth to the tears she had been trying to suppress. Her dear friend clasped onto her hands, squeezing them again. “I mean it, Lizzy. I will bring you what I can when I am able, and I will always wish it could be more.” There were more tears, a couple of sobs, and more gratitude than Elizabeth’s heart could handle as they sat together and imagined a bleak future neither of them desired.

After a few minutes, the pressure behind Elizabeth’s eyes reduced. She dabbed them dry and took a sip of her cold tea. Just as she had regained a semblance of composure, Charlotte said, “You think a great deal of Mr. Robinson.”

Elizabeth did not bother to contain her sigh. “He has been an immense help.”

“Yes, he has proved to be highly capable. How fortuitous he arrived when he did.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Out with it, Charlotte.”

“I have already made you cry once. I do not wish to cause you any more distress.”

“With a comment like that, you simply must continue. I am stronger now.”

“Do you love him?”

“Who? Mr. Robinson?” She almost laughed, but she stopped herself. It would have been a false reaction, and she could not be dishonest with her friend.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, her expression grave. “Who else but Mr. Robinson? He has been your hero through this ordeal, providing knowledge, capability, and consideration for your needs and those of your sisters.” Elizabeth bit her lip, restraining herself from adding to Charlotte’s list of Mr. Robinson’s merits. “Not to mention how handsome he is! More than a few ladies in Meryton have admitted that their pulses race when he is near. My father has decided to grow a beard,” she added with a sly grin that lit Elizabeth’s face on fire.

Hiding behind her handkerchief, Elizabeth groaned. Robinson—Robbie, as she often thought of him—was terribly handsome. Tall, strong. He had told her how much he enjoyed swimming in the Mediterranean, and too many times she had imagined him gliding through the turquoise water, his tanned, muscled arms and legs propelling him forward. It was not a scene a young lady was supposed to ponder.

Putting her overactive imagination to better use, Elizabeth figuratively doused herself with a pail of cold well water. She was betrothed to another and had no business entertaining such thoughts about a gentleman she had not known for a full month. Charlotte’s grave expression now held some worry. Elizabeth tried her best to reassure her. “I do not have the freedom to follow the whims of my heart. I admire Mr. Robinson, but I cannot consider him beyond that. My family depends on me.” It was a depressing prospect.

“Have you heard any word about your Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth huffed. As much as she detested the arrangement, the uncertainty Mr. Darcy’s prolonged absence created was far worse. And now it appeared he was their only hope. He would set foot on British soil, and instead of receiving him with dignity, they would be meeting him with their hands held out. “He is likely on a ship right now, his arrival delayed by the weather. It is a treacherous time of the year to travel.”

“You are determined to give Mr. Darcy a chance?”

“At this point, I have little choice in the matter. We do not have enough money to pay the debt, and our reputation will be in shambles unless he steps in on our behalf.” Society always excused the debts and excesses of their peers. They were not so lenient on others. As things stood, no gentlemen would consider her sisters for marriage.

“Your father’s debt aside, would you deny your own happiness and marry Mr. Darcy?”