Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Frerichs
A mere two weeks later, Elizabeth swayed and jolted with the carriage's movement on the road to London. All four of her sisters and her sister-to-be accompanied her. Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Annesley were in a separate carriage. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had been invited to join their future mother, but had decided to ride on horseback instead. The conversation inside the sisters' carriage was congenial, ranging from wedding details to their upcoming visit and what Georgiana wished to accomplish in the week they planned to stay in London.
Elizabeth's feelings had been rather mercurial over the past two weeks. Losing Longbourn had given her more time to brood, and her father's constant presence left her uneasy.
The sisters had spoken together the night after he had apologised to all of them. The three younger girls had agreed that they were waiting to see whether Mr. Bennet spent more time with them, as he had promised, or not. After all, the proof of the pudding was in the eating—not in the recipe.
Surprisingly, at least to Elizabeth, Jane had professed herself unprepared to forgive their father, particularly as he had not even made a full apology. He had apologised for not taking an interest in his daughters—but not for his previous callousness or disparagements or for his abrupt and prolonged absence. After some discussion, Jane had concluded that she wished their father to recognise the pain he had caused and to apologise for his actual wrongs, rather than simply issue a generic sweeping apology.
Mr. Bennet had not yet asked how he might be a better father, nor had he suggested they unburden themselves regarding the injuries he had inflicted. Not that they had expected such an offer as it would have been highly out of character. But without such a conversation, Elizabeth did not know how her father could mend the distance between him and his daughters.
Elizabeth wondered if she ought to have been more forthcoming about how her father's behaviour had wounded her, but she still was not even sure how to phrase her pain. Could she complain when many of the things she most liked about herself—her intelligence and wit as well as her determination and impertinence, her love of books and of learning—had been honed by him in an effort to create a fit companion for himself? She was glad to have those skills honed and would not wish herself to be different . . . but tangled up in that was the pain of being his favourite. It put a burden on her to stay within certain confines, had reversed their roles as nurturer and nurtured, and had stifled her in ways that she was still struggling to grasp.
It was as though the closeness they had shared had been veined with darkness, and she could not separate out which parts had been detrimental and which had developed her in positive ways. It was much easier to focus on the wounds inflicted upon her sisters because they were more tangible.
William did not understand precisely, but he was more than willing to listen to her frustration and had been gently encouraging her to speak to her father—not because he particularly wished to have Mr. Bennet in their lives, but because he believed she would regret it if she did not.
At least her father had done as he had pledged over the past two weeks—he had moved forward with her plans for Longbourn and had spent more time with his family. He had even undertaken a minute examination of their expenses in concert with Elizabeth, Mary, Lydia, and Mrs. Bennet. The daughters had previously identified a few avenues of retrenching that had not been possible without upsetting Mrs. Bennet, but now that she was willing to consider the matter, they suggested further economizations in the household. Their mother had grudgingly acquiesced.
Elizabeth had informed her father of William's offer regarding her trousseau. He had seen the wisdom in William's argument that they could not reasonably be expected to purchase a trousseau of the calibre needed for Mrs. Darcy, yet he had also been adamant that they did not need charity. It had prompted a round of discussions between Elizabeth and William regarding a reasonable means of managing the trousseau.
In the end, Mr. Bennet had agreed to accept William's financial assistance upon condition that, as Elizabeth's father, he would provide the amount he believed reasonable for a trousseau. All funds were to be given into care of Mr. Gardiner, who would manage the bills while the Bennets were in London. No one was particularly thrilled with the compromise, but all agreed to abide by it. Mrs. Bennet was only informed of the amounts she had to work with from the Bennet estate.
Elizabeth had not forgotten William's comments regarding the Matlocks and her supposed inheritance. She did not wish to count upon such a thing occurring, but had already determined that if it did, she would provide her father with a loan (he would not accept charity) for the amounts of the wedding and trousseaus. The improvements at Longbourn could then proceed if the intended economizations were not sufficient. Or if said retrenching did prove sufficient, she would ask Uncle Gardiner to invest the funds and set aside the proceeds to augment her sisters' dowries.
As a particularly large bump jolted her into Georgiana, Elizabeth apologized; the full carriage left no room to maneuver such bumps without lurching into the person sitting next to one. Not that she was upset to have a week in London with those dearest to her. Only Georgiana's pleas to have all her sisters together had convinced the Bennets to leave the tenants to their father—even for a week. Mary had originally planned to remain behind, and Lydia, surprisingly, had offered to stay with her.
Elizabeth was still worried about her youngest sister. She and Jane had discussed the matter and had decided to speak to their aunt about having Lydia stay with the Gardiners sometime soon. Lydia remained enthusiastic about the possibility of not needing to marry, which Elizabeth could fully understand given her sister's experiences with Mr. Wickham and their parents' lack of domestic felicity. However, she wished Lydia could make that decision for herself, rather than reject the idea of marriage due to others' actions.
As Jane had pointed out though, their mother had so pressured them to find rich husbands, presenting it as the only option—despite how unlikely it had been—that Lydia might simply be enamoured with the possibility of choice.
In addition to her passion for avoiding marriage, Lydia had become rather subdued. Once she had accepted that she was partially to blame for ignoring her sisters' warnings and for lacking propriety, the difference in her character grew marked. Where she had been loud and uncaring of rules, she was now thoughtful and almost cautious. She was also far less interested in visiting; Maria Lucas had been staying with Charlotte for some weeks, but even so, Lydia had not cared to see her other friends, professing frustration at their preoccupation with soldiers since "the gentlemen would not make good husbands and might even lead the young ladies into trouble."
Elizabeth had long wished for a more quiet, thoughtful Lydia, but now that she had gotten her wish, she saw that it did not suit Lydia at all. Hopefully, the tempered young woman who would emerge from this difficult time would be able to retain the best of Lydia's vivacity while also maintaining her new care for propriety and for others' well-being.
"—is that not right, Lizzy?" Georgiana asked.
Elizabeth turned to her future sister. "I beg your pardon, Georgie; I was preoccupied. What were you asking?"
Georgiana smiled at her. "I was saying that I did not think you were listening to us at all."
"Then you were quite right," Elizabeth said with a laugh.
"Daydreaming about becoming Mrs. Darcy again, sister?" Kitty asked pointedly. "I suppose if I were marrying a man like Mr. Darcy, I might want to daydream about it a bit. Or like Mr. Bingley."
Jane blushed becomingly. "It is strange to think that it is only six weeks until the wedding."
"And then I shall finally gain sisters!" Georgiana exclaimed.
Kitty hugged her friend. "You have already gained sisters. Lydia and I told you that you became an honorary Bennet weeks ago."
"I know, but the wedding will make it feel much more official."
"I am looking forward to living with you too, Georgie," Elizabeth said. Georgiana had slipped into the place of sister with hardly a ripple. Her kindness and patience in their lessons had won all the sisters to Georgiana's side.
"And I shall visit the rest of you as often as I may!" Georgiana proclaimed.
Kitty gave Jane a sideways glance. "I doubt Mr. Bingley will let Jane out of his sight for some time."
"Oh, but William has promised that we shall invite Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and all the Bennets to stay with us at Pemberley this summer," Georgiana said, beaming. "I spoke to him about it again just this morning. He did not think that Mr. Bingley would tolerate being separated from Jane for long, nor would Mrs. Bennet accept her daughters' simultaneous absences. Last night, I was thinking about how much fun we might all have at Pemberley, and so this morning I suggested that we simply invite Mr. Bingley and your parents to join us, so that I may have all my sisters with me."
Elizabeth smiled. "That seems like an eminently reasonable solution. Perhaps we may make it a regular party and include the Gardiners as they often visit us over the summer."
Georgiana dimmed. "From everything you have told me about them, they do sound like—like genteel people."
"Do not worry, Georgie; I will not invite them if you are opposed," Elizabeth said, reminded of how shy Georgiana was when she did not know someone. "We can discuss it again after you have met them."
Georgiana looked relieved.
"I believe you will enjoy them though," Mary said. "They are very courteous people."
Talk then returned to their plans while in London. After hearing yet another mild complaint from Georgiana about her modiste, Elizabeth determined to suggest to William that Mrs. Gardiner's modiste design a dress for Georgiana as well. She wished the girl to have some positive experiences with new clothing, particularly as it would not be long before her coming-out season, and then she would likely require a great many gowns.
Elizabeth really had no idea how many gowns Lady Matlock would consider sufficient, but she feared it would be more than Georgiana desired. William had also mentioned that Lady Matlock might have suggestions regarding Elizabeth's trousseau as well. Elizabeth was unsure how to respond. She did feel entirely out of her depth in trying to determine what she really needed; it might be nice to have someone who was well-acquainted with the ton to assist her.
On the other hand, she was wary of having someone try to run her life. Out of her love for William and Georgiana and her desire that their status in the ton remain unaffected by the marriage, she was willing to submit to her future aunt a certain amount. However, Lady Matlock was much mistaken if she believed Elizabeth would bow to her every wish the way Mr. Collins bowed to William's other aunt. Elizabeth tensed as though preparing for battle and then forced herself to relax. Only time would tell how realistic her fears were.
For now, though, the time she had left with her sisters before the wedding was rapidly shrinking and she should make the most of it.
Darcy had only briefly met the Gardiners when the carriages had dropped the Bennets in Gracechurch Street yesterday. From Miss Bingley's comments, he would have expected a ramshackle residence on a street overflowing with midden. Though the residences on Gracechurch Street were more modest than those on Grosvenor Square, they were still stately homes and the streets were just as clean as those around Darcy House.
Since they had promised to return first thing in the morning, he, Bingley, Georgiana, and Mrs. Annesley were all headed to the Gardiners'. As he had seen little but the entryway of the house, he still was unsure what to expect.
Elizabeth loved the Gardiners and his Uncle Matlock approved of them, so he assumed he would find them congenial as well, but what if they did not find him congenial? He already felt indebted to them for the way they had assisted Elizabeth, both throughout her life and particularly in the last year: it had been a conversation with Mrs. Gardiner that had started Elizabeth reaching out to her sisters and another conversation with that same lady that had prompted Mr. Gardiner to speak to Mr. Bennet about the precarious position he had left his family in. From what Elizabeth had said, her feelings were thoroughly confused about whether she was grateful for the intervention given her father's response. Having attempted to speak to Mr. Bennet himself about the same subject, however, he could not imagine any possible way for the Gardiners to have put the matter that Mr. Bennet would have listened to.
Georgiana seemed to suffer from similar nerves as her complexion grew paler the closer they came to their destination, and he squeezed her hand.
After they were ushered into the sitting room, Mrs. Bennet introduced them to her brother and sister-in-law. Mrs. Gardiner immediately began a conversation with Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley, and Mrs. Bennet, while Mr. Gardiner drew Bingley and Darcy into a corner and began to discuss Netherfield.
Some twenty minutes later, Darcy had concluded that he indeed liked Mr. Gardiner. The man's manners were those of a gentleman and, given his thoughtful responses to Darcy's probing about his views on the ton, his nieces' engagements, and why he valued trade, he appeared to have real substance. The man had given an impassioned discourse about how necessary trade was for the health of a nation and how it was honourable work. Darcy could see why his uncle believed the man to be a beneficial connection and resolved to speak privately to Mr. Gardiner about investing in his business. Eventually, the talk shifted to varieties of sport, and Darcy learned that Mr. Gardiner shared his passion for fishing.
"I must confess that I angle less for fish and more for the peace and quiet of fishing," Darcy said.
Mr. Gardiner nodded understandingly. "I believe it is both the quiet and the thrill of outsmarting a particularly wily fish for me."
"You will have to come to Pemberley this summer—there are several excellent fishing spots along the river that winds through the grounds. In addition, there is a small lake which is kept well-stocked."
"You tempt me indeed, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Gardiner said, rubbing his hands together.
Bingley shook his head. "I shall be glad to eat anything you catch, but I have never seen the appeal of fishing—too much waiting around for me. I would rather hunt pheasants or something that provides a bit more action."
Mr. Gardiner laughed. "I see you are not one to let moss grow on your feet, Mr. Bingley."
"Not at all," Bingley said fervently.
Mr. Gardiner studied Darcy. "I imagine my wife would very much like to visit Pemberley—her father owned the bookshop in Lambton before he died."
Darcy frowned, trying to recall the name of the gentleman who had owned the local bookshop. "Holt's Books?"
Mr. Gardiner nodded.
"I myself only visited a few times over the course of my childhood, but my father spoke fondly of Mr. Holt. You and your family would be most welcome at Pemberley; I know that Miss Elizabeth would appreciate your company."
"I shall speak to Mrs. Gardiner about it, then. Perhaps we will visit this summer to see how Lizzy is settling in."
Darcy nodded. The man's inflection had hinted at a threat, and Darcy respected Mr. Gardiner's commitment to protect his niece. "I believe Georgiana hopes you and Miss Bennet will visit this summer as well, Bingley."
"That would be jolly fun to have everyone together!" Bingley exclaimed. "Of course, I will have to check with Miss Bennet. She may have other intentions for the summer."
Darcy smiled. "I would not expect you to do otherwise." He glanced over at Elizabeth, who was now involved in an enthusiastic conversation with Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner. As she caught his eyes, she beamed at him, and Darcy could not help but smile widely in return. Watching her happiness always left him basking in its glow.
"It is nice to see my nieces so happy," Mr. Gardiner said, looking from one gentleman to the other and back at Miss Bennet and Elizabeth. "They have had a difficult year; I am glad that you have been able to bring more joy into their lives."
"I doubt that I bring nearly as much joy to Miss Bennet as she brings to me," Bingley said.
Darcy nodded. He was blessed to have obtained Elizabeth's love and support.
"It is a great treasure to marry someone who can both give you joy and receive it from you," Mr. Gardiner said. "I hope you both will be as happy as Mrs. Gardiner and I have been."
Watching the love in Mr. Gardiner's eyes as he looked at his wife, Darcy agreed with the man; he hoped he and Elizabeth would be just as happy together too.
Elizabeth was pleased that her aunt had drawn Georgiana into conversation. Her sister-to-be had been quite shy initially, but as she interacted with Mrs. Gardiner and the younger Bennets, she had grown more confident.
As talk turned to trousseaus, Elizabeth asked her aunt about utilising her modiste.
"I believe Madam Cluett would be more than willing to accept your business. Although I imagine you will have to return in a few weeks to get the dresses properly fitted."
"I suspected as much."
Georgiana appeared interested in the conversation—perhaps because they had already compared the differences between getting fitted at her modiste and the Bennets' dress-purchasing experiences.
Kitty glanced over at her friend before clearing her throat. "Does Madam Cluett listen to your opinions?"
"About what?" Mrs. Gardiner asked kindly.
"About your dresses. Does she simply tell you what sort of dress you ought to wear or does she listen to your preferences?"
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. "Madam Cluett has always been willing to listen to my preferences. She does have decided opinions about what would suit her customers, but she has never forced them on me. In my experience, she will listen to what you wish to purchase, provide her opinions about whether that would suit you and why, suggest modifications, and then make the dress you decide upon."
"Good," Kitty said firmly. "A modiste ought not to press people to wear designs they do not like."
Mrs. Gardiner looked thoughtful. "I agree, though I believe that a modiste does someone a disservice if they allow their customers to order dresses they know will not suit at all." She smiled at Kitty. "Lizzy and Jane have been telling me about your dress designs, and I would love to see them if you brought them."
Kitty blinked at her for a moment before recovering. "O-of course. I would be glad to show them to you. I brought the ones I have done for Lizzy and Jane, but none of my other ones."
"I shall look forward to seeing them then," Mrs. Gardiner said. "Perhaps this afternoon?"
Kitty nodded.
"I think you are right, Mrs. Gardiner," Georgiana put in hesitantly. "It is not kind to let someone order whatever monstrosity they wish. It is the type of thing modistes do when they wish to increase their business through having people purchase many dresses while trying to find one that suits. My Aunt Margaret warned me about modistes like that."
"It is difficult to find the right modiste, is it not?" Mrs. Gardiner asked with sympathy.
"I do not wish to be treated like a doll," Elizabeth said firmly. "I would rather have a modiste who errs on the side of allowing me to choose poor dresses than one who refuses to take my preferences into account."
"Neither variety of modiste will last long in business," Mary declared.
Mrs. Gardiner nodded. "Well, fortunately, Madam Cluett is not at either end of that range. I believe you will enjoy her. Will you be accompanying us, Miss Darcy? You are certainly welcome to do so."
"I should like that," Georgiana said with a small smile.
"It shall be a regular party!" Kitty declared.
Lydia nodded. "Kitty will be able to keep you from ordering anything too plain," she told Elizabeth and Jane.
Kitty smiled at her younger sister. "I shall do my best. I have been doing all right with Lizzy the past few months."
"I noticed that you look more stylish today, Lizzy," her aunt commented. "Is that Kitty's doing?"
"She decided to take me in hand," Elizabeth said teasingly.
"The change is very becoming."
"Thank you," Kitty and Elizabeth said in unison.
Elizabeth mock glared at her sister.
Kitty maintained an innocent expression. "I believe that compliment was for my work."
Mrs. Gardiner chuckled. "You both are to be commended: Kitty for her artistry and Elizabeth for her beauty and good sense in taking your advice."
"Well, I intend to improve all my sisters—though I am not the sort of designer to ignore my subjects' wishes," Kitty declared.
"Next thing you know, we will all be mummified in ribbons," Mary told Georgiana. "I hope you are prepared to be 'improved.'"
Georgiana looked at Kitty questioningly.
"Of course I am including you, ninny! You are my sister too, are you not?" Kitty smiled at Georgiana. "Besides, I have quantities of ideas for you."
Mrs. Gardiner smiled at Georgiana. "Did you know what you were in for when they adopted you into their family?"
Georgiana blushed slightly, appearing discomfited before meeting Mrs. Gardiner's eyes squarely. "Not entirely, but I am pleased to have gained such a family."
"The contract we gave her was somewhat lacking in specifics," Elizabeth joked. "As one of the sisters of your heart and as your future sister-in-law, I suggest that you take greater care in reading over those pesky details before agreeing to make someone your sister."
Georgiana beamed at her. "I shall keep that in mind."
Elizabeth stood, her chin raised as though daring her fear to grow, then curtsied to Lord and Lady Matlock. William remained beside her, a comforting presence.
The past three days had flown by. Their first day they had spent the time introducing the Darcys and Mr. Bingley to the Gardiners, and then the whole group had toured Mr. Gardiner's cloth warehouse, attempting to choose fabrics. The second day had been spent at Madam Cluett's, going over designs. Kitty's abilities had been most helpful. Before leaving Longbourn, Elizabeth and Jane had already made lists of what they believed they would need (with Miss Darcy's, Mrs. Annesley's, and Mrs. Gardiner's assistance), and Kitty had come up with several designs. Madam Cluett had been impressed by Kitty's work, though she had modified the designs to be more in line with London fashions.
Elizabeth was quite pleased with the woman's openness to suggestions and with her kindness. She was determined to convince William to commission a dress for Georgie from the woman.
Yesterday, they had spent the time purchasing the accessories they needed—more gloves, shoes, ribbons, and hats Elizabeth had never possessed—and touring Darcy House.
Today, William had arranged for her to meet his aunt and uncle. Though Georgiana had spoken well of Lady Matlock, some of the comments she had made led Elizabeth to believe the woman might be cast in a similar mould as Lady Catherine.
She had felt fairly prepared though until the moment she entered Matlock house. The sheer tasteful opulence of the place left her on edge. She had been overwhelmed by Darcy House and how lovely it was, but Matlock House, a true belle of the ball, made Longbourn appear little more than a country bumpkin! Once more she blessed William's mother for decorating Darcy House with comfort in mind. It was elegant and stylish, but in a timeless way, and it was the sort of house that, while beautiful, was friendly. Matlock House appeared calculated to intimidate. Or perhaps it was only the receiving areas that were so lavish.
Regardless, Elizabeth was hard pressed to keep her nerves at bay.
William had told her over and over again that his aunt and uncle did not have any real say in his life; he was not a Fitzwilliam, and they could not forbid him to marry. And, in addition, they had already given provisional acceptance of his choice of bride. But . . . he cared deeply for the Matlocks, and she did not wish to create even the smallest rift between them.
Once introductions were completed, Lady Matlock poured them all tea. "Well, Miss Elizabeth, I must congratulate you on winning my nephew; he has long been a sought-for prize in the marriage mart," Lady Matlock began.
Elizabeth bristled at the implications that she had hunted William down and that he was nothing more than a prize before reminding herself that she did not wish to add strife. "I am fortunate that Mr. Darcy opened his heart to me," Elizabeth said coolly. "I am certainly richer for having him in my life."
"Few can match Pemberley's income," Lady Matlock returned, closely watching Elizabeth.
Elizabeth held Lady Matlock's gaze. "While that may be true, I spoke rather of the intangible riches of a similar turn of mind and heart. Finding someone who shares one's passions is a treasure far beyond that of financial riches."
"I suppose. But still, you are lucky to have secured such a well-off husband. I am certain your parents are rapturous."
"I do not believe luck had anything to do with it," Elizabeth said with a slight smile. Providence had certainly played more of a part in the Letter's arrival than luck. "Mr. Darcy mentioned that you are aware of the entail, so I imagine you can guess how relieved my mother is to have two of her daughters nearly settled."
"Two?"
"My older sister has lately become engaged to Mr. Bingley."
"Ah. I had heard that was a possibility. Congratulations are certainly due to your mother for preparing you so well."
Elizabeth merely smiled politely.
"Well." The woman leaned forward. "I assume William has already spoken to you about getting your trousseau at Madam Benaud's."
"He has."
"Good. You will certainly need to look the part if you are going to attempt to brave the ton."
Darcy suppressed a wince. His aunt would not be happy to hear their arrangement, but he was willing to try Mrs. Gardiner's modiste before passing judgement.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "We have decided to compromise. I shall have a dress made by Madam Benaud and several others made up by Madam Cluett, my aunt's modiste—if Madam Cluett produces comparable quality, I shall order the rest from her."
Lady Matlock deliberately set her tea to one side. "Pardon?"
Elizabeth bravely repeated her statement.
"Miss Elizabeth, are you familiar with the concept of a false economy?"
"I am," Elizabeth said firmly. "However, I am also confident that Madam Cluett is up to the task."
"It is not the dress making itself that is difficult," Lady Matlock said with a little laugh. "It is the designs."
"Perhaps your ladyship would care to view the sketches for my dresses," Elizabeth suggested. "You are well-versed in London fashions, and I would welcome your advice."
"Go to Madam Benaud's," Lady Matlock said with another little laugh.
Elizabeth smiled firmly at her opponent. "If that becomes necessary, I shall. However, I wish to attempt this method first. It is an economy, but more than that, I wish to have my opinion taken into account in matters of style as I shall be wearing said dresses. My understanding of many modistes is that they would treat me as little more than a doll. Is that accurate?"
Lady Matlock eyed her. "I shall expect to see the sketches before the dresses are made up. You may bring them by tomorrow."
"Of course," Elizabeth said graciously.
Lord Matlock chortled before feigning choking on his tea, and Darcy suppressed a smile. Similar to Lady Catherine, rarely did anyone stand up to Lady Matlock.
"You should tell Miss Elizabeth about the play you saw last week," Darcy suggested, attempting to steer the conversation onto more neutral ground.
From plays, it was a small step to discussing literature, and the two ladies found that they had a great deal in common on their views about what made for good poetry and what sort of stories were well written. Like Elizabeth, Lady Matlock was surprisingly well-versed in the classics, and talk even ventured to Plato and into politics, at which point Lord Matlock got involved.
Some thirty minutes later, the conversation wound down.
Lady Matlock smiled genuinely at Elizabeth. "I believe you will do just fine, Miss Elizabeth. Now, I should like to know what your accomplishments are. Darcy has already told me a good deal, but I would like to hear it from you."
And so Elizabeth listed her skills, giving concise explanations for her judgements of proficiency or her lack thereof. She also asked Lady Matlock if there were any accomplishments in particular she ought to focus on.
"I am glad to see that you are taking this venture seriously," Lady Matlock said approvingly. "London society will eat you alive if they can, you know."
Lord Matlock snorted. "As though you would let that happen, my dear. Besides, Miss Elizabeth seems more than capable of holding her own."
"Thank you, Lord Matlock," Elizabeth said with an elegant smile. "Though I was not raised in London society, I intend to do my best, so that the Darcys will not suffer any ill consequences as a result of my marrying Mr. Darcy."
Lady Matlock's lips curled up. "I am afraid, my dear, that the woman who marries my nephew will set the ton howling no matter who she is. The principal thing is not to get too attached to their approval or disapproval. If you can hold your own without becoming preoccupied with status, you will do very well."
Darcy chuckled. "I cannot see you becoming involved in society's games. You are too straightforward for such stratagems," he told Elizabeth.
"I shall avoid becoming someone like Miss Bingley," Elizabeth said with a hint of levity.
Lady Matlock gave her a horrified look. "Do not take Miss Bingley as your model! Good heavens, child, the woman is barely gentrified."
"I do not intend to take her as my model," Elizabeth repeated. "But do you not believe she has similar manners and temperament to high society? I have encountered several members of the ton in my uncle's emporium, and they have rarely struck me as people of kindness or honesty."
Lord Matlock laughed. "She has you there, Peg."
"Which is odd, given that kindness is the soul of politeness," Darcy put in. "I have lately wondered if that is why society's politeness feels so shallow—it is hollow, based upon form alone."
"I have told you several times, Nephew, that your unmarried status simply attracts the worst sorts of fortune-hunters," his aunt said frostily.
"Then I hope to encounter worthy people soon," Darcy said.
Lord Matlock smiled at Elizabeth. "You are right that many of them are a pack of harpies. But I believe you are capable of dealing with them, and I shall look forward to seeing how you handle them once you are a bit more practiced. I imagine it will be a gauntlet at the beginning, but the thing is to just get back up again whenever you fall down."
Elizabeth gave him an answering smile. "I shall do my best."
Bennet tapped a finger on his desk, his eyes unfocused. His wife and daughters would be returning tomorrow, and he still did not know how best to handle their return. All this re-evaluating was taxing beyond anything he had experienced in many years.
But it was for a good cause. Inaction had never gotten him anywhere, he reminded himself.
Longbourn had been surprisingly easy to manage in their absence. He suspected that the tenants were merely waiting until his daughters returned to make their needs known. Still, he had clear notes from the girls regarding which tenants needed what, and he had ridden through Longbourn four times in the past week, attempting to build bridges with the tenants and to familiarise himself with Lizzy's proposed improvements and what people thought of them.
Even here, his daughters had kept notes on which tenants intended to implement the crop rotation and which were waiting to see how it went with their neighbours before committing. Frankly, Bennet was impressed that his daughters had managed to talk any of the tenants into making such changes at the same time as the home farm. He was not sure that he could have accomplished the feat, regardless of the research and journals he had on his side. Perhaps Mr. Darcy's avowal of how well it had worked at Pemberley had swayed them.
Over the past three weeks, his soon-to-be son-in-law had proved willing to patiently answer any questions Bennet asked about his methods of property management. The man remained cordial without being friendly, however, and Bennet was contemplating if he ought to apologize to Mr. Darcy for brushing off the man's attempt to help him see reason while in Cambridge. Really, though, he did not think he could have spoken to anyone but Sempill. They had been such good friends for such a long time, and the way the man ran his family . . . the way his wife and daughters behaved . . . .
The wall Bennet had put up years ago to keep his longings for a better family at bay had crumbled under the daily onslaught of such congenial company. It could have resulted in bitterness, but the conversation with Sempill had been sufficient to push Bennet into the territory of growth.
His daughters, though, remained aloof. Bennet had written to Sempill for suggestions only six days after his return, and the man's answering letter had arrived today. In response to Bennet's complaint that apologising had not changed anything, Sempill had reminded Bennet of the old axiom: actions spoke louder than words; moreover, the consequences he was living with had not been forged in a day and the repairs he was attempting could not be completed in a day either. He had also asked if Bennet was sure he had apologised for the right things, suggesting he ask his daughters and wife if there was anything else he ought to apologise for.
Likewise, in answer to Bennet's query about how to be a better husband and father, Sempill had simply suggested that his wife and daughters were the best people to answer that question.
The thought of asking them was daunting, however. What if they provided a laundry list of faults? Bennet had no desire to spend all his time apologising. Nor did he wish to spend inordinate amounts of time attempting to meet his daughters' desires. He could only imagine what Kitty and Lydia would suggest—allow them to visit the officers daily? More dresses?
Well, he could not quite imagine the Lydia and Kitty he had found when he had arrived doing such a thing, but his daughters of last year would certainly have had a mountain of frivolous "needs" that they wanted fulfilled.
In fact, he could not picture what any of them would say now.
Sempill did caution that if they asked for something that was not in his power or not something he wanted to give, he could simply say "no."
Bennet was still unsure when or how or even if he wanted to have that conversation with his family, but he needed to do something differently. When even Jane had failed to thaw despite the hours of time he had spent with the family after dinner, the many times he had popped into their sitting room throughout the day, and his diligent work on the estate . . . . Well, clearly things were not going to be as simple as he had hoped.
At least his relationship with Fanny seemed to be improving. Surprisingly, he had even missed her company the past few days. Rattling around Longbourn alone had once been his favourite pastime—peace, quiet, and space to read his favourite books—but now that he had realised the need for change, that was no longer true. The thought of his daughters leaving and him being unwelcome in their homes left him far more upset than he would have previously guessed.
Fanny had remained committed to economising—or at least every time she suggested something that would cost more than they had already determined upon, a simple reminder about dowries was sufficient to change her mind. The two of them had continued the habit of speaking in the evening, and more and more, he found that Fanny was able to grasp the bits he shared about his books or the estate. The night before she had left, she had even asked him about something he had previously shared.
It was not the full sunshine of Mrs. Sempill's lively, intelligent conversations, but he felt as though he were sitting in the pre-dawn light now rather than the dead of night.
Perhaps he should speak to his daughters. Clearly, his apology had done little to bridge the gap between them. It pained him to see Lizzy so distant. Always before, when he had put distance between them, she had waited until he relented and then easily covered the distance. He had expected an apology would return things to the way they had been before.
But no. The only warmth he saw in her was when she spoke to someone other than him. Otherwise, it was like speaking to a tone-less shell.
The look in her eyes had testified more clearly than anything else that she was not marrying Mr. Darcy for his money, but on his worst days, Bennet worried that she might be marrying the man to escape Longbourn. He sighed. If only things between them were as easily repaired as they had been in the past.
A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews and engagements with the story this week! I really enjoy hearing y'all's thoughts :)
Thanks to my betas, Arendelle, Dawn, and Roberta, for all their hard work on this chapter!
And thanks to you readers who note story issues :) Please do point out mistakes! I so appreciate the help since I am not a regency expert, etc. ;)