Elizabeth was waiting with a broad smile on their return to the parlour, clearly expecting good news. Her father entered the room first, looking disgruntled. Mr Darcy stood behind him looking his usual solemn self, only raising one eyebrow to Elizabeth, from which she understood that the interview had not gone quite as he had hoped, but had not been a complete catastrophe. She looked meaningfully at the place beside her on the sofa, but before Darcy could cross the room to her side, Mr Bennet said loudly, "I suppose it is time for you to return to your house to see to your sister's comfort, Mr Darcy. I thank you for your visit." Then, noticing the dismay on Darcy's face, he gestured towards Wickham and added, "You are most welcome to call tomorrow to learn the fate of this reprobate." In the face of such a public dismissal, Darcy was left with no option but to bow politely to his hosts and all the others still assembled in the room, and to take his leave.
Elizabeth hurried to show him out, but the short hallway offered no chance for privacy, and in response to her anxious look, all Darcy could manage was to assure her he would return on the morrow, and to whisper that her father wished to speak to her before granting his consent. Within moments, he found himself standing on a street corner in Cheapside, attempting to hail a hackney cab, since Georgiana had absconded with his own carriage.
It took nearly half an hour for the cab to wend its way across town to his establishment in Mayfair. It was not long enough for him to determine how he felt about all the shocks of the past few hours. He had arrived in London warmly confident about his future with Elizabeth, and full of worries about the matter of Wickham and Miss Lydia. He had planned for all the unpleasantness of hunting his old foe down, finding some way to patch up the reputation of Elizabeth's sister, and if necessary, even reconciled to accepting George Wickham as a brother-in-law. On the other hand, he had hoped to be welcomed by Elizabeth's father as a worthy suitor for his favourite daughter, and to be able to publicly declare their courtship before the day was over.
Somehow, the world was working in reverse. Miss Lydia had managed George Wickham admirably. She had outsmarted him at his own game and neatly entrapped him into exile, at the same time securing her own reputation and, it would seem, the heart of a worthy man in Captain Denny. There was nothing for Darcy to do but watch as the Bennets and Gardiners, Dennys and, apparently, one Captain Philpot, delivered a most fitting justice. He was not used to feeling superfluous, and at the same time as admiring Miss Lydia's pluck and cunning, he could not help feeling slightly miffed that he had raced across the country to prove of no help at all.
As for securing Mr Bennet's approval for his courtship with Elizabeth, that had certainly confounded his expectations. He was not quite sure how he had earned that gentleman's distrust, but he seemed to resent the fact that Darcy had requested a courtship instead of jumping directly to engagement. Was not the proper way of things? Ought not a father prefer his daughters to be respectfully wooed before being pressed to answer a proposal? Mr Bennet should have been pleased at the idea of Elizabeth having a chance to know her suitor and to understand her own feelings in the matter before being irrevocably tied to him. Yet he seemed more angry than anything else. He seemed to have construed it as an insult that Darcy was offering anything short of marriage!
Yet that did not feel like the whole story. Darcy had gained the distinct impression that Mr Bennet was reluctant to consider parting with his daughter on any terms. Was this a reaction to so nearly losing Miss Lydia? Was his own dislike for Darcy so strong as to disdain him as a son-in-law? Darcy, himself a man of decision and action, could not understand what purpose a night of delay could serve: if Mr Bennet intended to consent, surely he would have done so immediately.
By the time the cab pulled to a halt outside Darcy House, its occupant was fretting nervously. By the time he had paid off the driver, entered the house and divested himself of his outer garments, he was dourly grim. By the time he had bid a terse hello to his housekeeper and his sister, and retreated to his study to mull over his conversation with Mr Bennet, Darcy was in a lather of anxiety.
Would Mr Bennet's reluctance to support the match discourage Elizabeth? Their newfound amity was so recent and fragile a thing - if her beloved father reminded her of all the reasons she had first refused him, would she reconsider the merits of his suit, and refuse him again? Oh, he was sure she would do it more kindly this time, but it would destroy him nevertheless. And there was nothing he could do but wait and hope. He had plenty of experience with the first, but precious little with the second. It would be a very long night indeed, but he would present himself at the Gardiners' house at the earliest possible hour tomorrow to discover his fate.
Elizabeth had thought that the difficulties in her relationship with Mr Darcy were behind her. They had been able to overcome all their misunderstandings and misapprehensions, and despite the reason for their hurried journey south, and all the attendant anxieties, they had steadily grown in understanding and affection since their unexpected reunion at Pemberley. His affections had proved steadfast, surviving not only her harsh dismissal of his first proposal, but the potential scandal of Lydia's unexplained departure from Brighton, and even the risk of being more closely connected to George Wickham than he could ever have wished for. Fitzwilliam Darcy had proved both honourable and steadfast in his affections for her, and her own feelings for him had become more certain: he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would answer all her wishes. She was quite ready to accept him should he offer, and had nursed a small hope that when he went to speak to her father he would have sought permission to propose, and not just approval for their courtship.
Yet when he emerged from that interview, he was clearly agitated and unhappy. He had smiled for the company when taking his leave, but it was a poor imitation of a true expression of pleasure, and failed to convince. The way in which Mr Bennet had hurried him from the house did not speak of a friendly understanding between the two men, and when Elizabeth had snatched a few moments with Darcy as she saw him to the door, he had whispered that her father had not yet granted his consent. At least Darcy had promised to return on the morrow, so he clearly had not given up his pursuit, but what on earth was her father thinking, to make them both wait for an answer? After such a long and difficult path to felicity, what obstacles would Mr Bennet now place in their path?
Before she had a chance to demand a private audience with her father, Captain Philpot arrived, accompanied by three of his crew, who were shown below stairs to eat with the servants while their Captain dined with the family. Mr Gardiner did his best to maintain a polite conversation about inconsequential matters, and Captain Philpot was kind enough to entertain the table with a few anecdotes of his travels, but what might otherwise have been an enjoyable meal was marred by the presence in one corner of the room of a man bound to a chair, who occasionally proclaimed that he was very hard done by indeed. Wickham was hardly good company in the circumstances, but no-one was inclined to consign his custody to the servants when they were so close to finally disposing of him to the good Captain's supervision.
Elizabeth, usually a reliable contributor to dinner-table conversation, was preoccupied with musing on her father's attitude to her courtship with Darcy, and as a result entirely missed several questions which were directed to her. Eventually, Lydia, who was seated to her left, gave her a shove with her elbow and cried, "Whatever is the matter, Lizzy? It is not like you to be so very stupid. I hope you are not feeling sorry for Mr Wickham?"
This was enough to startle Elizabeth to attention: she would not for the world leave either George Wickham or her father with the impression that she harboured any lingering affection for that man! She saw that Wickham had looked up with a flicker of hope at Lydia's words. Her father had merely raised one eyebrow and was watching her curiously.
"Indeed not!" she replied with perhaps more force than was polite. "Mr Wickham has more than earned his present situation, and is perhaps better served by the future you have devised for him than he would be by being returned to his regiment in disgrace as a deserter and attempted kidnapper. I am perfectly content never to see his face again, and only wish that he had met his comeuppance before he could wreak as much damage as he has already achieved in his life. I must say, Lydia, that I am exceptionally proud to have such a sister!"
This successfully turned the conversation to another round of congratulations for Lydia and Mr Denny and their cunning in bringing the villain to brook. Mr Bennet was pleased to see that, at least in relation to this young man, his second daughter retained her capacity to see him for what he truly was. Elizabeth noted both her father's satisfied nod and Wickham's dejected slump back into his chair.
Captain Philpot declared himself a busy man who must return to his vessel rather than remain for an evening of entertainment, however pleasant the company: once the meal was cleared away, he summoned his men and supervised the removal of his new crew member, following them into the night after taking an affectionate leave of Mr and Mrs Gardiner. Thus, with very little fuss, George Wickham was gone from their lives. Shortly thereafter, Lydia, Captain Denny and Mrs Charlton all retired to their respective guest rooms, claiming the need for a good night's sleep after so many days fending off George Wickham's overtures. The Gardiners begged off company in order to spend some time with their children before retiring themselves, and soon Elizabeth found herself alone in the parlour with her father.
It was with a mixture of worry and impatience that Elizabeth distractedly bid the others good evening. She did not know what objections her father might have to her match with Darcy, but clearly he had some reservations or he would have consented immediately. It took no great knowledge of her father's character to guess that he would rather avoid, or at least defer, any difficult conversation, so it was small surprise when he excused himself to Mr Gardiner's study without so much as a mention of Darcy's suit.
Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. Why were men such difficult creatures? Giving him no more than a few minutes to gather his thoughts, she determinedly followed him to the study. She would bring him to the point, and she would secure his consent to either a courtship or an engagement before Darcy returned for his promised visit on the morrow.
Mr Thomas Bennet sat brooding in his brother-in-law's study. He had hoped at first that his daughter had insisted on a courtship to play for time, or that she was simply toying with her gentleman admirer, but Darcy's quiet confidence in her improved opinion, together with his own reflections on the little interactions he had observed earlier in the evening, left him with the sinking feeling that Elizabeth was seriously considering marriage to the man.
He had not felt such a sense of betrayal since the second year of his own marriage, when his lady wife had happily informed him of her hopes for the future. She had, it emerged, not married him for love. Not even for affection. To her, he had been an opportunity - a way to secure a better life for herself, and social standing for her children. To marry a gentleman, she explained gleefully, had been her life's ambition, and when he had haplessly, calf-like, fallen for her abundant charms, she had seized upon his proposal as the best she was ever likely to receive. "Now," she had said, proudly holding their first-born up for his inspection, "my daughter will be raised gentle, and will have the chance to marry into true wealth. Oh, I am very pleased, Mr Bennet." Unaware that she had just broken his heart, she had turned her happy gaze back to baby Jane, the first of a brood of girls each of whom could secure their mother's future by marrying well, but none of whom could secure the future of his entailed estate.
What a fool he had been, gulled by a comely face and pretty manners into believing himself in love. He had thought himself so magnanimous, marrying a woman so far beneath him, but had felt certain their mutual affection would overcome any disparities in station, education or understanding. Of these, the only one he had achieved was to raise Fanny Gardiner's station in life, for by marrying him she immediately became a gentlewoman. Unfortunately for Thomas Bennet, that change did not work any magic on the lady's mind, and she remained a grasping, manipulative, ignorant woman, prone to histrionics and sulking, more like to embarrass him in public by opening her mouth than to grace his arm as the beautiful, demure wife he had hoped for.
No, Thomas Bennet had been well and truly burned. But he had learned from his mistake. He had exacted his rights on a regular basis (it seemed to be the only part of the wedding contract he was to benefit from), let Fanny raise the resulting brood of wedding-fodder, had not quibbled when she brought them all out far too early in order to throw them on the marriage mart, did not try to check her blatant scheming and open discussion of her ambitions for her daughters, and retreated to his book room to avoid being in her company so far as humanly possible.
But he had exacted his revenge. The first-born, Jane, was too sweet and tractable for his purposes, but when he saw his second daughter stamp her three-year-old foot and refuse to wear a frilly dress that would curtail her ability to play out of doors, he chose his tool. Over the following years, he had shaped that girl to be his ally in the family - had educated her, taught her everything she might need to know to help him run the estate, much as a son would have been educated - but more than that, he had taught her to see the folly and inconsistencies in the people around them. He had, he thought, proofed her against repeating his own mistake. She would never marry, because she would see the absurdities in any young man who sought her favour, and would wield her razor-sharp wit against the unsuspecting young bucks.
Thomas Bennet had congratulated himself on the success of his scheme when Elizabeth had so roundly refused her cousin's offer of marriage. That buffoon was too stupid to realise he had been the butt of Lizzy's sarcastic ire for weeks, and had proposed with every expectation of success - after all, seen in a prudential light, it was a sensible match, and would have kept Bennet blood at Longbourn for generations to come. But Lizzy had seen the fool for what he was, and even the prize of being the future mistress of her family estate was not enough to overcome her native disgust for the prospect of marriage to such a one. (Bennet had rolled his eyes at the irony when the very woman who had used him so ill had asked him to force Elizabeth's hand in order to secure her own future! As if he would send his one ally in the family away to Kent, only to return after his own death, in order to save Fanny from the hedgerows. Ha!)
His plan was simple. He had raised a child too clever to ever marry, competent to run the estate, able to match wits with him and provide him with a good challenge at chess, and as soon as his dear wife had managed to secure husbands for the rest of her brood, he would pack Mrs Bennet off to live with her one or another of her married daughters while Elizabeth kept him company at Longbourn for the remainder of his days.
But now, here was a young man who had somehow got past all Elizabeth's natural defences, and claimed to have won her heart. He knew for a fact that she had seen through Darcy's pretensions when they first met. She had scorned the haughty gentleman and laughed at him most heartily. She had called him proud, arrogant, disdainful. She had rolled her eyes behind his back and exchanged speaking glances with her father that had left them both on the verge of indelicate bursts of laughter. What could have happened to so confuse her? How could she have betrayed him for such a man?
Well, whatever temporary lapse in judgement had led his daughter so far from the proper path, he would put a stop to it. But he needed to be sly. He could not refuse Darcy outright - indeed, the rich, influential and domineering Mr Darcy was the kind of man to whom Bennet should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask. He would not risk his own future by earning the enmity of such a powerful man. But Elizabeth was not of age for eight months yet, and was not in a position to defy her father's commands, no matter how she had let her feelings run away with her. After Lydia's adventure, she would see the importance of avoiding bringing scandal down on her sisters, so there was no risk of an elopement. No, he had time in which to work, and a deep understanding of his daughter's character which he could bring to bear on the problem. All he needed to do in the short term was to delay any formal understanding, be it engagement or courtship.
Satisfied with his decision to defer any real action to another day, he leaned back in Mr Gardiner's comfortable chair and was musing quietly about how to convince Lizzy to withdraw her consent to this ill-considered courtship, when the daughter in question knocked on the door and entered without waiting for his call. Her obvious impatience was not a good sign, and her father sighed heavily before sitting up straight to give his full attention to what was certain to be a difficult conversation.
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