Page 153 of Companions of Their Youth
He nodded slowly, eyes searching hers. “The body often recovers faster than the spirit. You will let me know when the weight begins to settle?”
“I will,” she said softly. “But other things are pressing more on my mind at the moment.”
He lifted a brow. “More serious than someone attempting to kill you?”
She managed a faint smile. “Yes,” she said. “In a way. I am… wrestling with a dilemma, and I am unable to reconcile it.”
Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair, folding his arms loosely. “Of course, my dear. That is what fathers are for. Wrestle away.”
She looked down, fingers curling into the folds of her skirt. “It is… that is, I know you said not to speak of it again…”
Her voice faltered, and when she looked up again, she saw that his expression had grown more grave.
“I understand the topic,” he said gently. “What is troubling you? I will do my best to answer.”
She took a steadying breath. “I only wish to know… whether Mr. Darcy ought to be told. About you. And Stephens. And the true nature of your—ofhis—position here.”
Mr. Bennet was silent, watching her closely.
“I do not like the idea of beginning our marriage with a secret,” she continued, more quickly now. “But it is not my story to tell. It is yours, and Stephens’s.”
He was still for a long moment. Then he asked, “Do you worry about his reaction?”
She shook her head, a little. “Not as much anymore. At first I did—fiercely. That is why we quarreled so badly. His only experience was with Mr. Wickham, who…” she paused, searching for the words, “who has been in love with him since school days. And you see how that turned out. Such a dissolute character.”
Mr. Bennet grunted. “Aye. That I do.”
“But Fitzwilliam—he wrote me a letter explaining everything, all his past, and I do not think he would react the same way again.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah. Isthatyour concern?”
She nodded. “Yes. That he would forbid me from seeing you again. Or worse, the entire family. And I—I do not think I could bear it.”
He leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the desk. “But you do not wish to go into your wedding day with a secret.”
“No,” she said softly. “What if I tell him after and he feels betrayed, lied to? What if he believes I married him under false pretenses?”
“Once you are married, your loyalty does shift from your father to your husband.”
“Precisely!” Elizabeth exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “You see my dilemma?”
“I do, my child.”
Mr. Bennet was quiet. His gaze dropped to the edge of the blotter, his thumb rubbing slowly across the grain of the wood. At last, he said, “Let me speak with Stephens. This will affect him just as much as it does me.”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched with relief.
“For now,” her father continued, “let us remain silent—perhaps a week or so. Normally we would not expect callers beyond the Lucases coming to relive the ball, but I imagine your gentleman will call to check on your welfare. And after last night’s announcements, our neighbors will most likely come to offer congratulations.” He smiled faintly. “We may be busier than usual in the coming days, and I will not have as much time alone in my study to contemplate the situation.”
She rose and came to him, and he kissed her forehead gently as she leaned over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“You are welcome, my child.” He squeezed her hand. “I thank God every day that He sent you—and your brother—to me.”
Chapter 32
The days that followed passed in a blur of conversation with well-wishers, signatures and letters about marriage settlements, and strained civility with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.
