"He said, and I quote, 'You are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to accept as a son,' " he replied, with very little more than the appearance of his usual sedateness.
"I don't understand," she said blankly. "He has been constantly warning me against you, but -- but from before he had ever laid eyes on you, when he knew nothing of you except your name! I don't understand why he should take such a dislike, when he has put himself to such little effort to get acquainted."
"He thinks you are infatuated with either me or my 'circumstances,' or possibly both," Darcy added. "I told him you had not yet returned home from your walk -- I wanted to warn you before you had to face . . . that."
"Let us walk a little more," Elizabeth said, holding tightly to Darcy's arm. How could he think so, of her? Had their camaraderie all these years been nothing more -- she an entertaining, sometimes useful, companion to a man worn down by the lack of intelligent, or even sensible, conversation? Had he no respect for her, his own child?
In that moment, she felt more sympathy towards her mother's complaint than at any other.
She shut her eyes and gathered her composure. She scarcely dared look at Darcy. He was silent at her side, but she knew how offended he must be -- he, who could have almost anyone he liked, and who had liked her. He must be thinking of a way to extricate himself from this disastrous union. Her mother and sisters were nothing to it, nothing at all.
She went on tormenting herself for several minutes before Darcy finally spoke.
"When is your birthday?"
Elizabeth started. "I beg your pardon?"
He almost visibly withdrew. "Forgive me, I did not mean -- I would not wish you to do anything you did not like -- "
Her mind felt slow and muddled. "I don't understand. My birthday?"
"You will be of age on your birthday, will you not?"
"Oh." The immense relief she felt told her instantly of Darcy's importance in her life -- that she would rather anything, even a quiet marriage, against her father's wishes, with none of her family, than an estrangement from him. They had had such a short amount of time together, and yet-- she sighed. "I will not be one and twenty until the first of May."
"That is problematic," he said. "You must speak with your father, of course, but I confess I doubt anyone will sway him."
"I -- I think you are right," she said, flushing. "Then what is to be done?"
"I see three options," Darcy replied briskly. "There is compliance with his demand, which I think can be dismissed out of hand."
"Oh yes," she said, and he smiled for the first time that day. She just managed one in return, feeling foolish, insipid, one of the milksop heroines that she had always detested, but above all ashamed.
"There is -- Scotland" -- he looked deeply uncomfortable here -- "or there is waiting until you are of age and then a quiet marriage."
Elizabeth hesitated. "I -- I shall talk to my father first. I must make myself clear to him, I have not spoken of -- of this at all, to anyone but Jane."
"Miss Bennet knows?" His expression altered, to one that was part curiosity and part apprehension.
"Oh yes. She thinks very highly of you."
"I am glad to hear it." He frowned, looked down, clearly wanted to speak but did not dare.
"What is it?"
"It is . . . I would not ask you to betray a confidence. But I am . . . concerned . . . about Bingley and your sister."
"Concerned?" She glanced up.
"He . . . Bingley is not -- he is a fine man," he said hurriedly, "but he is not -- steady. His present feelings for your sister may last, or they may not. Given what I know of his character, the latter seems the more likely. Beyond that, I have watched Miss Bennet. Her looks and manners are open, cheerful, engaging, but without any symptom of peculiar regard." He hesitated. "You must have a superior knowledge of your sister, Elizabeth. You have already said --"
Elizabeth eagerly seized on the opportunity. "Yes, I -- oh, I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear such an account of Mr Bingley's feelings. I have talked to Jane, and she says I may -- I may confide in you, that she would even be grateful. She is fond of him, she likes him, but she is -- we do not know if she will ever do more than like him. She -- I can say that she feels a partiality for him, beyond what I have ever witnessed in her -- but nothing more, and she is such a romantic that she cannot be easy with so little."
"She seems a most amiable young woman, but my impression is that her heart is not easily touched."
"That is quite true. She is not very like Bingley at all," Elizabeth told him. "She is so serene and sedate, it gives quite the wrong impression of her heart, I think. Her feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them; they are steady and deep, but slow to arise and slow to change." Elizabeth stopped, a little breathless. "She has a calm temper but her feelings, though little displayed, are fervent. I have heard people say that nothing affects her, even that she is cold and proud beneath her amiable appearance, but it is not so."
"Then I have the deepest sympathy with her," Darcy said quietly. Elizabeth looked up at him, realising what she had said.
"Oh, I-- "
"Elizabeth." Both turned at the harsh voice speaking from a nearby stand of trees. Her father, his face set, stood there. "I would have expected such behaviour of your sisters, but not you. You will return to Longbourn this instant."
She was suddenly overwhelmed by fury, as much for Darcy's sake as her own, and longed to resist his authority, to show that she would not be so easily constrained, she knew her own mind.
"Bingley is leaving on business tomorrow," Darcy said, paying her father no mind.
"Yes, you told me." Her brows knit together. "You still must go with him?"
"I think so. I . . . I must advise him, away from . . . here, on -- the matter we were just speaking of -- I will not tell him what you said, of course, only give my own opinion. We will back in time for the ball."
She nodded. "Of course."
Mr Bennet, looking both astonished and outraged, walked towards them. Elizabeth lifted her chin, holding on to Darcy's arm.
"There is no need to alienate him further, and I must go; you might as well return home with him," Darcy said clearly, making no attempt to avoid being heard.
"Your sense of propriety is truly a thing of wonder," Mr Bennet said dryly. "Come, Elizabeth."
She hesitated only a moment. "Yes, Father." She turned to her betrothed and kissed him, her lips lingering only a moment before she whirled and walked towards her father.
Darcy, deciding that he had greatly underestimated the virtues of defiance, bowed courteously to Elizabeth and met Mr Bennet's gaze with a triumphant look and a smile.
---
"What have I done that is improper?" Elizabeth demanded. "What has he done to so turn you again him? You do not know him, and I am starting to think you do not know me."
Mr Bennet's expression briefly gentled. "I know you better than you know yourself, Lizzy; if you will not guard yourself from heartbreak, then --"
"Heartbreak! And so you refuse to allow me to marry the man I love? You have a very strange method of showing it, sir." Later, she would scarcely believe herself capable of such behaviour; at the moment, she was so alight with fury that she could scarcely think of anything else.
"Love," Mr Bennet said dismissively. "This sort of romantic infatuation passes soon enough."
"I do not doubt that you know all about infatuation," Elizabeth told him, "I have seen the effects daily all my life. No man who felt anything deeper would expose his wife to the ridicule of her own children! And that tells me that you know nothing of what it is to properly love a woman. I would far prefer advice from my uncle, who cares for his wife and children and treats them all with the respect and affection they deserve."
He looked stricken, and she felt pity and the beginnings of self-recrimination for a moment. "You have said quite enough, Lizzy. I had thought you more sensible than your sisters, but clearly I was mistaken. You are under my authority; I will not permit this engagement to persist. You may only leave the house in Jane's company. There will be no correspondence with that man. If you dance once with him, you will only be allowed to stand up with your sisters until you have proved you can spend ten minutes in a sensible manner. Do you understand me?"
She flung her head back, her face overcome by a cold hauteur as she said, "Perfectly, sir."
---
Mr Bennet was forced to actually lock himself in his study. The matter did not end with his talk with Elizabeth, nor then with Jane when he explained her duties to her sister. Elizabeth instantly went to her mother and told all, that Mr Darcy had made her an honourable proposal of marriage, which she had accepted ("Oh, my precious Lizzy!"), but her father would not give his consent. All of her sisters were horrified at the situation and had no reserve in expressing their outrage to Mr Bennet -- except Lydia, who thought it the most romantic thing in the world and had no compunctions about writing to Miss Darcy, whom she had not exchanged a word with since that day at Ramsgate. Only Mr Collins managed anything like civility, and his approval was nearly as bad as the combined disapproval of everyone else.
Of course they could not understand. Mr Bennet knew how the matter would develop. Mr Darcy could have no honourable intentions; he knew the type well enough. There would only be small liberties at first, but they would grow by degrees until he had taken her honour, and vanished. And nobody would be much surprised.
And his poor Lizzy -- Mr Bennet's chest ached at the mere thought.
He was glad to be alone, the curtains shut and the room dim, alone to nurse his torment. She would understand -- someday.
Mr Bennet sighed, and as he finished his wine, walked to the window. He could not read without more light. He pushed the curtains aside, and saw a grand carriage there. He easily recognised the livery.
Darcy. Did the man never give up?
Mr Bennet, filled with righteous anger, got to his feet, and unlocked the door. Then he blinked. Molly stood there, appearing terrified (as did most of the servants these days). At her side was a tall woman, with dark hair liberally streaked with silver, clear dark blue eyes, and the sort of fine aristocratic features that would ensure her the description of "a handsome woman" until the day she died. She seemed vaguely familiar; he looked quizzically at the maid.
"Lady Anne Darcy to see you, sir," Molly squeaked.