Page 55 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

“We are all fools in love.” Richard nudged him in the ribs with his pointy elbow. “She is as fine a young lady as you are likely to ever meet. Spirited. Sensible. Handsome.” With a dry laugh, “I wonder how you can bear it, knowing she was your father’s choice?”

Darcy could hardly believe it himself. He so rarely saw eye to eye with his father… no, it was worse than that… he could not recall agreeing with his father on anything. It was as if his father had decided to make Darcy’s life as miserable as he could in the time Darcy remained under his roof…

But that could not have been the case. Perhaps it had been the result, but he could no longer believe with one hundred percent certainty that his father’s motivation had been a desire to make Darcy’s life a misery.

In the same way, Mr. Bennet did not truly mean to harm his family, although that was the result of his disinterest. The man’s consideration for his own comfort before that of his family was painful to witness.

Darcy’s mother probably had often felt as he did now. How often he had seen her cheeks streak-stained after another clash of opinions between himself and his father. He had always blamed Father, but it was time that he own up to his share of the blame. Had he considered his mother’s happiness—and that of his little sister, and that of even the servants, who endured their tense moods—more than his own pride, she would not have had reason for tears. He and his father might have learned to communicate without disagreeing on every point, each determined to prove himself in the right.

Darcy’s chest tightened and he swallowed the lump swelling in his throat. “I wish I could ask him what he saw in Elizabeth, how he determined that we would make a good match.” It would be a blessing to possess the same certainty his father always had; while Darcy knew she was perfect for him, he was not as certain that he was the man she deserved.

Richard clapped Darcy on the shoulder and squeezed. They walked in silence until they reached Meryton and parted ways—Richard for London, and Darcy back to Longbourn.

CHAPTER 30

The gentlemen’s departure signaled the end of Mama’s restraint. This, in turn, fractured the fragile composures of Kitty and Lydia. Mary did her best to calm them, but the news of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s death was too shocking to be consoled with common sense and awkward embraces. They moaned that their lives were forever changed. Gone were the balls and the gowns, the handsome gentlemen in fine coats and new gloves, outings to the theater, picnics with the upper crust. All the dreams and delights anticipated for the last twelve years had been snatched away. Elizabeth did not blame them for crying. Jane sat amidst the clamor in a daze.

Mrs. Hexam, lips pursed, rose from her place and, with a pointed look at Elizabeth, disappeared through the door. Elizabeth followed the governess to her room and watched in dismay as she pulled a valise and bandbox from under the bed and began filling it with her possessions. The hastiness of her decision and suddenness of her pending departure shocked Elizabeth. “You will leave us now?”

“I intend to be on the last coach leaving for London.”

Without so much as a warning or a farewell? Elizabeth gasped. “Has your wage not been paid through the year?”

Mrs. Hexam did not pause her folding and packing. “It is already November. I must have something to live off until I can secure another position.”

So much for loyalty! Elizabeth tried to appeal to her compassion. “What will my sisters do without you?”

“They have you, your mother, and Mrs. Hill. Mary, too, is a sensible young lady and will be a wholesome influence on the younger ones.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her waist, holding herself together. Her world was crumbling into pieces. She understood Mrs. Hexam’s reasoning, but it was unfair, and the timing was terrible. Elizabeth had nothing she could offer the governess to convince her to stay, and so she turned to leave.

“I shall need a letter of recommendation,” Mrs. Hexam called after her.

Elizabeth tensed, disinclined to be helpful to a woman so prompt to leave them at the worst moment. “You may request one from my father.”

“We both know it will fall to you to write.”

Mrs. Hexam would never speak so plainly while in their employ, but Elizabeth bit her tongue, took a deep breath, and continued downstairs to her father’s study.

Papa sat on his favorite cushion, his feet propped on the corner of his desk, a book in his hand. It was the contented smile playing at the corners of his lips that poked the embers into an angry flame that burned within Elizabeth like a branding iron. How could he ignore the storm of emotions crashing through his own household on a day like this? Why did he not try to calm Mama? What had he done to prevent any of this?

Planting her feet and crossing her arms, she informed him, “Mrs. Hexam is leaving. She requires a letter of recommendation.”

He lowered his feet to the floor and closed his book. “I see. Well, I suppose it is one less mouth to feed.”

Elizabeth wanted to chuck the book at him. Would nothing make him react? Do something to help his agitated wife and daughters? Must she manage everything all the time? Hot and prickly but equally determined not to say anything she would later regret, she turned toward the door. “Papa, I must return to the drawing room. Mama is distressed, as are my sisters. I will leave you to see to Mrs. Hexam. She was already packing her things and will wish to have her letter before she leaves.” She did not wait for a reply.

She quickly returned to her mother and sisters, whose faces were as dejected as they had been when she left. What reassurance could she offer? They still had Longbourn… but no money to live on. They were young, pretty, and accomplished… but no longer had fortune or connections. They still had each other. If they worked together, they could manage. Elizabeth already had some ideas. All she needed was their cooperation.

Sitting beside her mother, Elizabeth took her hand in her own. “So long as we have each other, we will manage well enough.”

Mama sniffed into her handkerchief and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Mrs. Hexam is leaving?” Elizabeth nodded, expecting to console her mother over the unfairness of Mrs. Hexam’s abrupt departure. Another pat. “I love my girls more than my own life. When I married Mr. Bennet, I swore I would give you a better life than I had.” This made Elizabeth blink and look at her mother more closely. What she saw was regret. She would far rather hear her mother bemoan the terrible lot she had been dealt.

Elizabeth clutched her mother’s hands tighter. “You have succeeded, Mama! All of us are skilled in the usual ladylike accomplishments. Jane sings like a nightingale, and her white work is second to none. Mary has a remarkable mind for remembering useful information, and her talent on the pianoforte is magnificent. Kitty has such an eye for color and detail, and her paintings bring out the best of every wall they adorn. Lydia is⁠—”

“What else am I good at?” interrupted Kitty.

Lydia poked Kitty in the arm. “Who cares? I want to hear my accomplishments!”