Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A little over a mile down that beautiful lane sat Elizabeth, admiring the perfect day. All she could wish for was to have her sisters with her. She missed them, but they were all happily married now, and there was much for which to be grateful.

She and Mr Bennet sat in the garden amidst a riot of vivid blooms; she with a stack of letters and he peering at a chessboard he had brought out of doors. Her father had invited her to play a game, but Elizabeth had wanted to read her letters. They compromised with she reading parts of the letters aloud and he playing himself in a match.

"Mary and Gerhard are at last settled into their house. She adores their little garden and anticipates spending many happy hours there. She has made the acquaintance of her neighbours as well as the vicar and his wife. They both feel very much at home in Cambridge."

Elizabeth shuffled pages and read sections of Kitty's letter: "Kitty says that Mrs Newfield sends us her regards. Oh! Henry has been called to the bar at last!"

Elizabeth smiled as she read Jane's most recent missive.

Come autumn, I may be too busy to assist Alex. Yes, sister, I am with child! Aunt Gardiner brought Mrs Alden, the midwife who attended her lyings-in, to see me, and that lady said that if all goes well, we can expect our child to be born sometime in November.

"Oh, Papa! You are to be a grandfather!" cried Elizabeth. "Such happy news!"

As Elizabeth expressed her joy, a peacock butterfly alighted on her knee. Within minutes, a painted lady had settled in her hair.

"Why, Lizzy, remember what your mama used to say about butterflies? Someone must be thinking about you."

No sooner had Mr Bennet spoken, when a purple emperor landed on her shoulder and a ringlet on her sleeve. "Perhaps for one butterfly, Papa, but four butterflies! Does that mean four people are thinking about me at once? Or is one person thinking of me very hard?" She waved her hand at the profusion of flowers surrounding them, which had attracted a dozen or more of the beautiful creatures. "Could not our garden in bloom be the real cause of the attraction?"

Mr Bennet shook his head. "You will note that no butterfly has availed itself of my person. No, it must be something particular to you ."

Elizabeth made a dismissive gesture, as a small blue kissed her nose and fluttered away. "Be serious, Papa. No, I shall ask Mrs Hill if perhaps my gown was laundered in sugar water!"

The day wore on so pleasantly that she called for a light luncheon to be served to them out of doors.

"Black bishop to black king's third square, sir." Father and daughter both looked up. Hill was standing with a plate of sandwiches and a teapot in her hands, but her eyes were on the chessboard.

"Mrs Hill, has my father played himself into a corner?" Elizabeth asked with a smirk.

Mr Bennet scrutinised the board again and chuckled. "Hill, I must thank you. You have shown my black queen the way out of a bind."

The housekeeper smiled and set the tray on the table. "Will you require anything else?"

"Thank you, Hill, I think not." As the older woman left them, Mr Bennet asked his daughter, "Lizzy, were you aware that our housekeeper plays chess? Apparently very well too."

Elizabeth was staring abstractedly towards the hills, a wistful expression on her face.

"Lizzy?" her father repeated.

"What? Oh yes, she told us once that she had learnt as a child." She moved to sit at the table and set out two teacups. "Oh look. Lemon cakes." Mr Bennet smiled at his daughter's pleasure, but he also saw her restlessness and dissatisfaction. Elizabeth poured his tea and then her own. They drank in silence, though unbeknownst to her, a serious conversation was in the offing.

"I would never have imagined, Lizzy, that you would be the child who had to be pushed from the nest."

Elizabeth stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You are unhappy, my dear girl."

"I am not unhappy."

"You are not happy either. Your sisters are out in the world, building futures together with their husbands. Do you not wish to find a partner to share your life? To live in London, or somewhere else to explore?" When she did not reply, Mr Bennet pressed on. "We must secure your future, child. Longbourn is not and never has been truly our own. We are merely custodians for future generations, who unfortunately will not be Bennets, though I am certain Mrs Collins will be an excellent mistress.

"I have an idea that you stay on for my sake, so that I shall not be alone. I miss your sisters, and I shall miss you terribly, but for your own welfare, I feel I must send you to your aunt and uncle Gardiner. It does not have to be immediately, though we need to plan for it."

Elizabeth did not know whether she could adequately explain her tangled, ambivalent feelings, but she would have to try.

"Papa, my reluctance to leave you and Longbourn behind is only part of my dilemma. I do not even know whether I wish to marry at all. I know it is considered the only choice for the daughters of gentlemen. My sisters have found wonderful husbands, and they are helpful in their professions, but I wish to be more than a helpmeet, to have something of my own…some sort of occupation or pursuit or…some independence…"

Failing to find the right words, she looked at him beseechingly, willing him to understand. "I want more for my life, and I doubt that I shall ever find a man who would understand that. Even if I do find a good man whom I can respect and admire, would he take me seriously?"

Her father listened to her carefully, then sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. At last, he spoke.

"I love all my daughters dearly. But you have been the one I took the most pleasure in watching grow up. I know things were difficult with your poor mama. The two of you were like chalk and cheese. You have courage, imagination, and quicksilver intelligence. You are stubborn and strong-willed, and you have a temper. You have a need to be active. Most of all, I daresay, you need a true test of your own abilities."

Her father paused, considering his words.

"For most ladies, becoming a wife, supporting their husband, raising their children, and making a home is enough to bring them fulfilment and satisfaction. Perhaps that state is not suitable for you at this point in your life.

"It will indeed take an unusual sort of man to appreciate you or treat you as an equal. One with a similar spirit to yours." He gazed at her with understanding and sympathy. "You do not have to marry. You will not be required to meet any single gentlemen if you do not wish it. However, you must admit that our little society here, even before our shunning, was confined and unvarying. I do not doubt that such men exist, but you must consider going to your aunt and uncle for a time. You will not meet the right sort of man here."

The sun was lowering in the sky when Darcy and Fitzwilliam rode into the mews and wearily dismounted. "Give them extra mash, Wilson. They have earned it." Darcy untied the portmanteau and carried it into the house.

"Let us refresh ourselves and meet in my study." Shortly after, clean, fed, and revived, they stood at a library table looking at the pathetic detritus of George Wickham's life.

A quick knock on the partially opened door sounded behind them, and Georgiana came into the study. Darcy closed his eyes in chagrin. Why did I not close the door?

Fitzwilliam muttered, "You will have to tell her at some point. Why not now?"

"Where were you off to so early this morning? Have you just now returned?" asked Georgiana. She saw the portmanteau and its contents spread out on the table. "What is that?"

Darcy steeled himself out of habit. Although his sister was long recovered from her heartbreak and now understood that she had had a fortuitous escape from the worst sort of rogue, they had not spoken of him for many months, and he had no idea how affected she would be.

"Dearest, we were recently notified that Mr Wickham died some time ago, and Richard and I were asked to remove his belongings from the militia offices in Hertfordshire. This is all he left behind."

Georgiana looked curiously at the bedraggled heap of clothing and wrinkled her nose. "Oh! Disgusting!" She peered into the portmanteau. "There were no letters?"

Darcy felt anxiety take hold of him and grasped the edge of the table. With a warning glance at his cousin, Fitzwilliam asked in a conversational tone, "Did he have letters of yours in his possession, my dear?"

Georgiana, catching sight of her brother, answered slowly, "I… Yes, he begged me to write letters to him. In Ramsgate, we saw each other most every day, but he wanted me to write to him so that he could think of me when we were apart."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and sank into a chair.

"Would you say that they were love letters?" asked the colonel.

"Yes, that is what they were. I suppose he threw them away, and I am glad," said Georgiana.

Let us hope so, thought Darcy, but likely not . Wickham had had only a few pathetic possessions left to his name; he was desperate, he was deserting, and mysteriously, he had three thousand pounds. The man had been dead for well over a year, yet Darcy could not ignore the sense of foreboding that rose in his breast.