Elizabeth thumped back into her chair, dazed. “F-five th-thousand pounds?” she cried. “He cannot possibly! No, I cannot permit it!”
“I have already accepted in your stead.”
Elizabeth stared, the heat rising into her cheeks. “How could you, Papa? It is not right! Why, only think that after Mary and Kitty also claim their shares, he—”
“The offer was made for you and you alone, Elizabeth. I do not doubt Mr Bingley’s continued generosity toward his new sisters, but he made no mention of the others. He is a kind man, it seems, and whether motivated by Jane’s concern or his own esteem for you, he wished to do you this service.”
She shot to her feet. “I refuse it! I will not have him impoverishing Jane’s children because of my own past obstinacy toward suitors!”
One grey eyebrow twitched. “’Suitors’ did you say? Indeed, youhavekept some secrets from me, Elizabeth.”
Her mouth failed to close as she blinked numbly back. “I—”
Her father dismissed her excuse with a wave. “Oh, let us not trouble ourselves over the past, Lizzy. I ought to have made you accept Collins, but he was a disagreeable toad; I think we are of one mind on that. Whatever others have arrogantly presumed upon your inclinations, I have faith that you dispatched them only after proper reflection. You may have a romantic bent, as do most young ladies, but you are the most sensible of all my children. I trust that you would render due consideration to an agreeable and respectable offer.”
Elizabeth cast a doleful look from the corner of her eye. “From whom?”
“John Lucas. He came to speak to me yesterday.”
The mantle clock bore witness to Elizabeth’s silent reception of this news. Mr Bennet’s fingers drummed occasionally, but he kept respectfully quiet as his daughter absorbed these tidings. After three full minutes had passed with no response whatsoever from Elizabeth, Mr Bennet cleared his throat. “Well, say something, Lizzy!”
She blinked, her throat feeling too parched to speak. After one or two failed attempts, she whispered, “Do you mean to insist that I accept him, Papa?”
“I mean to see to your well-being, Elizabeth. I think perhaps that might be best found with a husband of your own, and John Lucas is a decent fellow, after all. He has long fancied you, and a dowry such as Mr Bingley has offered makes it possible for him to form some more serious designs.”
“So, you demand my acceptance?”
“Demand? I think we need not speak in such stark terms. If what you want is for me to lend you a bit of decisiveness, then yes, I shall insist. Know, however, that I intend it for your benefit, not your misery.”
A choking laugh rose in her throat. “There could be nothing that might make me more miserable, Papa! I beg you, do not undertake to accept John Lucas on my behalf. I may never find the sort of love I once desired, but it is too soon for me! I have no heart to give him—oh, Papa, it would be too unfair!”
Mr Bennet’s lips—thinned and grey as his hair—pressed tightly closed. Elizabeth held his steady gaze as bravely as she dared, her lashes quivering and her eyes longing to dart away from his searching.
“Then,” he mused, narrowing his eyes, “I shall put him off. Know this, though; I am not content to leave you as your sister’s caretaker. Lydia has her own troubles to chase and I will not see your life ruined on her account. I think perhaps you should return to London with your aunt and uncle next week.”
She swallowed. “Do you insist on this, Papa?”
He nodded slowly. “Unless you can convince your aunt otherwise—yes, I do.”
Porto, Portugal
“Iinsist,mydear,”Miguel carried his wife’s fingers to his lips, “do tell me what troubles you this evening. You have looked white as these linens all afternoon!”
Amália jerked her chin in an empty gesture of casual flippancy. “Pray, do not concern yourself, my husband. I have only caught the sun.”
He laughed as he turned her hand over and began to kiss her palm. “A lady who catches the sun has a distinct colour to her cheeks, my jewel. You have none at all. Come, you must not tell me your head troubles you again, for I fear I shall die of disappointment.”
“It is not my head, but my spirits that trouble me, Miguel.”
“Oh!” he turned her wrist up and began to knead it with his fingers. “And how may I soothe your spirits, my angel?”
She squirmed her hand from his with an uncomfortable little huff, and wandered nonchalantly toward the window. “I suppose,” she offered slowly—carefully, “I am still not accustomed to such a large house as this.”
“Is that all?” he laughed. He followed her and slid his hands over her hips, caressing her form through the thin gossamer of her gown. “I feared perhaps you were unhappy with other circumstances.”
Amália spread her fingers lightly on the casement, the window frame defining the farthest extent of her retreat. She could have placed herself at no greater distance without creating an obvious scene, but perhaps her stiffness might put him off… but no, a dry, warm touch nuzzled the back of her neck. A heated flush stirred from her scalp down over her back, causing her to edge one shoulder up in an uncomfortable writhing arc.
Miguel only took that to mean that she wished for him to nuzzle the other side of her neck. His hands had now crept round to the front of her hips, and his fingers trailed familiarly down the lines of her undergarments through her gown. Amália swallowed, clenching the wooden frame in a desperate quest for self-control. Her breath was coming in hot little gasps now, which surely he would mistake for desire, just as he must delight in the way the flesh over her arms and neck prickled in dread, and her body flexed as her stomach recoiled from his sensual touch. How alluring her unconscious distaste must be to one so willfully deceived as her husband!
