Darcy sat across from Mr. Bennet. He tried to ignore the piles of papers and books that crowded every available space in the private room he was ushered into to have a serious talk with the father of the woman he was determined to woo. A small table to the side had a chess set with pieces piled in a heap on it.
"If I understand you, sir,' the older man began, "you wish to gain my approval before pursuing your attentions to my daughter, Elizabeth." Darcy nodded and began to speak but fell silent as the man opposite raised a restraining hand. "Two points, sir," Bennet said. "First, my agreement to allow you to pursue your interest will not have the slightest importance to my daughter… neither to aid you, nor to discourage you. If you have not yet realized it, then understand now: Elizabeth Bennet makes her own decisions about her life regardless of the opinions of any other person, including her family." Darcy nodded with a wry grin. He had certainly learned that already about the woman who had captured his heart along with his white queen!
"The second point," her father continued, "is that neither your position in life, nor your titles, nor property nor any other consideration is of the slightest import to my daughter. She is interested only in the quality of your mind and your character. If you do pursue her, do not make the slightest effort to dissemble with her. Be open in your opinions and true in your expressions of feelings and you may have a chance with her."
Darcy sat back, stunned. This was hardly the conversation he had anticipated when he had decided to ignore any differences in social status and background to approach a father for permission to advance the wooing of his daughter. Darcy reflected on the man's words and then nodded, mutely. He had certainly already understood that much of the woman who held his heart in her hand: that she would make her own decisions; but custom must be honored and so he sat here. He decided to take the man at his word and pursue his twinkling eyed ideal woman with her father's words in mind. "In that case, let me ask what her interests are that I might be assured they match mine. I have already encountered her skill and understanding of chess, which I admit far surpasses my own skill. I have resolved to improve my performance to increase my chances there." Bennet also sat back in his chair. "A good opening move, sir, for my Lizzy loves the game among many other pursuits."
Darcy leaned forward, his eagerness increasing as he sensed he might have an ally in her father. "May I ask about another interest of hers, which also coincides with a significant part of my own life?" He drew the Pemberley dagger from his boot and held it up for Bennet's inspection. The older man made no move to handle the dagger, although his eyes narrowed as he stared from it to its owner.
"I have had opportunity to observe your daughter's interest and skill at handling what is an important heirloom and talisman in my family. Was it you who encouraged her skill and knowledge of such weapons while you were also teaching her chess moves? If I may ask," he added hastily, unsure of what he was dealing with when discussing the subject of Elizabeth Bennet's interest and skill with throwing daggers.
Mr. Bennet shook his head. "I have no objection to the question, but I can only tell you from the time my daughter was a tyke she had recurring dreams of daggers. They did not always cause her great distress, although the same could not be said for my wife. I decided the best way to handle her fascination was to educate her on the subject which led to training her in the careful use of what is, after all, a tool with many uses. My idea was that by stressing the utility of a dagger, I might wean her away from any magical or uncanny ideas a child might otherwise develop. The result you apparently have had occasion to witness. She has both skill and knowledge which may indeed save a life in some unforeseeable future. Meanwhile it has not done any harm that I can see." He paused. "Have you further questions?
"I merely am curious if time spent in mastering both chess and dagger tossing have impacted the usual proficiencies expected in a young woman of society."
Bennet grimaced, although Darcy was not sure which aspect of his question distressed the man. But surely he could understand that a lady's social graces in modern London society included other elements than chess and the hurling of daggers with skill.
"I have to tell you, if you have not already discerned it for yourself, the young lady we speak of has a very, very superior intellect. Not only is she proficient at pianoforte, singing, dancing, several languages, and other skills expected of modern young woman, but her knowledge and fascination with Shakespeare and other poets and dramatists exceeds what even University educated gentlemen are expected to achieve. An altogether extraordinary young woman. And I say that without claiming any credit for her achievements other than encouraging them and keeping my wife from inhibiting her for fear she would make herself unwelcome in the social circles my wife dreams of her daughters (some of them, anyway) achieving."
Darcy mulled the man's words. "Her interests all mirror my own," he said, finally, as he replaced the dagger in its boot sheaf. "Since you have no objection, I shall pursue my wooing of your daughter with the hope I can convince her we can enjoy together what, until now, we seem to have been enjoying separately."
Bennet stood, extending a hand. "In that case, I will be happy indeed if my Lizzy has found a suitor who will succeed in convincing her to share her life with him." They shook hands, but before Darcy exited the room, Mr. Bennet asked him a seemingly casual question. "May I ask, sir, when did you come into possession of that particular blade?"
Mr. Darcy's face grew somber. "Fifteen years ago on the death of my parents. It was never out of my father's possession while he lived and it became part of my legacy on his death. His will stipulated that I must always retain possession and pass it onto my son as part of his legacy… if I am fortunate enough to have a son," he concluded, softly, and then bowed and left.
Bennet reseated himself and began to shuffle the papers in front of him, distractedly. Finally, he stood and went to a cupboard. With a small key from his key chain he unlocked the door and extracted a sealed folder. Back at this desk, he untied the cord and opened it. Silently, he studied the small drawings his two year old Lizzy had begun sketching to show him the reason her dreams made her wake up crying, and sometimes laughing. The drawing his little Lizzy hade made so long ago were exact representations of the dagger Mr. Darcy had just shown him. They were the reason he began to divert her interest from the knife of her dreams into a more general knowledge and skill with knives. Sure enough, the dreams had ceased and apparently were forgotten. He had congratulated himself on seemingly solving his little girl's nightmares. After all, as Mr. Darcy had apparently observed, Lizzy was not interested in his particular knife… just knives in general. But his question to the gentleman as to when the dagger had come into his possession made him withdraw his self-congratulations. It was fifteen years since his three year old Lizzy had ceased her dreams; the same time when that dagger had changed hands into his possession! 'What could tha mean?' he asked himself. Finally, he shrugged. Gathering and enclosing the drawings once more in their folder, he returned them to the cupboard. "Time will tell," he muttered.