Page 110 of Her Whole Heart
The days were longer now, and it was still light when he arrived at a local inn in Meryton some four hours later. The food was adequate and the room comfortable enough. In the morning, there was a small breakfast awaiting him in the private dining room. He asked for directions to Longbourn, paid the innkeeper generously, and took his leave.
The manor was about a mile and a half from the inn. As Darcy approached, he saw the house, modest in size compared to his own estate, built of quarry flint. There was a bit of wilderness on one side of the lawn and woods beyond. The roof appeared due for some work, and there were scattered weeds poking up through the gravel on the approach.
The butler asked for his card. Darcy handed it over but did not wait to be announced. Instead, he mimicked Fitz and followed the man to Mr. Bennet’s study, entering even as the butler was announcing him.
A slight man with black hair streaked with grey was sitting in a comfortable armchair near a hearth, a book opened in his lap. Behind him was a desk with a large, leather-bound ledger lying open, a number of letters and papers strewn across it.
“Mr. Bennet.”
The master addressed the butler. “That will be all, Mr. Hill.”
Mr. Hill took a step backwards out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, eyeing him laconically and neglecting to stand. “Perhaps you would like to explain who you are and why you have barged into my study without invitation?”
“I have come a long way and had no intention of being refused entry,” Darcy replied succinctly.
Mr. Bennet’s sigh was bone-rattlingly deep. “You had best have your say. Quickly, if you please.”
“If that is your wish,” Darcy said, and truly, he could not be more pleased to do so. “I come to inform you that I shall be marrying your daughter Elizabeth.”
“It is good of you to ride all this way to let me know,” the man replied sardonically. “Generally, a father is requested to bestow his daughter’s hand.”
“I am told you gave up that right to Lord Carlisle, and that is not why I am here.”
“It seemed more expedient than having young lovers appear unannounced.” Mr. Bennet arched an eyebrow in just the same way Miss Elizabeth sometimes did, but there was none of her charm in her father’s gesture. “I see I was mistaken.”
Darcy gazed down at the man. “I came to advise you that from this day forward, Elizabeth will receive no letters or visits from either you or your wife. If one day she decides to write to you, that is her prerogative, but you will not be permitted to abuse her again.”
“Abuse her?” The man stood, walked to his desk and closed the ledger. “I have not even attempted to correspond with her or her sister since theyleft here. Lord Carlisle will write to me if there is anything of import to say.”
“That in itself is a condemnation of your performance as her father, but it matters not.” He tossed the letters Mrs. Bennet had written on the desk. “Your wife’s letters. Read them.”
Mr. Bennet sputtered, his face reddening with indignation, but Darcy was undeterred.
Eventually, Mr. Bennet picked up the letters and read them. He had the good grace to frown at the contents, but when he looked up, all he said was, “What would you have me do? I cannot control what my wife writes to her daughters.”
He very well could, simply by reading what she wrote before it was sent. “I would have you do nothing other than explain to your wife that any letters that come from her or you will be refused at the door.” He motioned at the paper. “These I decided to return personally.”
“Too cheap to pay the post?” Mr. Bennet chuckled. “I wonder if Lizzy knows this side of her suitor.”
“You could not be more wrong,” Darcy said, shaking his head at this foolish man. To have Elizabeth as a daughter and to refuse to show her even the smallest sign of affection, to instead behave indifferently or even cruelly to her—it was beyond his comprehension.
“Had you deigned to show her even a fraction of the kindness and respect she deserves, you might have found yourselves the beneficiaries of my generosity.” He nodded at the letter. “Your wife was quite wrong. I am a respectable man ofconsiderablemeans, Mr. Bennet, and I have been known to share my largesse with those I hold dear. That extends to those my future wife holds dear. Unfortunately, that does not include her parents.”
“So Lizzy withheld her funds, and now you withhold yours,” Mr. Bennet replied, reaching for his abandoned book. “It makes no difference inour lives. Mrs. Bennet has been crowing over my Jane’s intended. I suspect my eldest will be more amenable.”
How could he be so wilfully obtuse? “It was Miss Bennet who asked that I read her sister’s letter, and her own. I would not count on any material assistance from that quarter.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I think I may safely say that I know my daughter better than you. Jane will not deny us.”
“You believe that, if it gives you pleasure,” Darcy said sarcastically. “You know my mind.”
With a final, withering glare and the satisfaction of watching Mr. Bennet’s complexion pale a little, Darcy turned on his heel and departed. He handed the stableboy a shilling for holding his horse and then swung up into the saddle.
He was glad he had decided to arrive quite early, for Mrs. Bennet had not yet been downstairs. It was better for her, because Darcy was still very, very angry. But her father, at least, had been put on notice: Elizabeth was not his to neglect or misuse any longer. That was the reason Darcy had come, and he reminded himself that it was all he could expect. It felt better, it felt right, to protect Elizabeth—even from her own parents. He guided his horse away from the house and was soon on the road back to London.
Mr. Darcy had promised to visit today, and so Elizabeth sat in the drawing room of Carlisle House, her ears attuned to every sound from the hall. It was too early yet, but she could not help but hope he would not keep her waiting much longer. She was wild with curiosity, for he had left her so abruptly the day he took their letterswith him.
