“What can you mean? Mr. Bingley comes to your side at the earliest opportunity when we are in company and does not leave your presence if he can help it. How does that equate to behaving no differently for you than others?” Elizabeth laughed softly. “The man loves you, my dear cousin. You cannot escape it.”
“Be that as it may, I shall not behave with any less propriety. It is not my place, as we discussed.”
“Jane, should you not give him some indication of your feelings?” Elizabeth knew she herself was more demonstrative than her cousin, but Jane’s manner bordered so closely on indifference that it troubled her.
“You are, perhaps, correct, Lizzy. I shall make greater effort to show how I feel.”
They spoke of other things then, and Elizabeth told her cousin about Mr. Collins’s letter.
“What terrible things to say!” Jane looked rightly appalled. “How can a man of the cloth behave in such a manner? You were a child! How can he speak so ill of the dead?”
“These are all questions to which I have no answers. I wish I did.” Elizabeth sighed. “At least I understand now why my father’s family was so quick to accede to the Prince’s demands.” Mr. Bennet had fought to retain a relationship with his daughter’s child, but Elizabeth had long wondered why the de Bourghs had never done the same.
“I do hope you pay little heed to that man’s drivel.” Jane kissed her cheek. They spoke for a few more minutes before Jane arose to go to her room. “Goodnight, Lizzy.” She climbed off the bed and went to her own chamber.
Elizabeth lay awake long after the candle had been extinguished, sleep slow to claim her. Her thoughts returned again and again to Jane—to the simplicity of her cousin’s situation, the freedom she possessed to be courted openly and to marry where affection led her.
In a way, Elizabeth was jealous.
Not of Mr. Bingley himself, but of the hope Jane had for her future—the liberty to hope without fear, to love without negotiation, and to imagine a future shaped by choice. It wasprecisely what her aunt wished for her. Still, Elizabeth had yet to meet anyone who stirred such longings within her.
The next day, Elizabeth finally spoke to her uncle. It was a conversation she had put off for far too long.
She lingered outside his study after breakfast, her hand resting on the doorframe as she gathered her resolve. The room beyond was familiar and comforting—lined with books that had helped shape her mind, papers stacked neatly upon the desk, the faint scent of ink and leather that had always reminded her of safety and reason.If ever there were a place for plain truth,she thought,it is here.
“Uncle,” she said at last, entering the room, “may I have a word?”
“Of course, my dear. Please take a seat.” Mr. Bennet looked up at once, concern flickering across his features. He gestured to the chair opposite his desk and settled himself more firmly behind it, as though bracing for a matter of consequence. “What troubles you?”
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, surprised to find that they trembled. She stilled them with effort. “I am nearly one-and-twenty, Uncle. The…circumstances of my upbringing are not usual. I know from my aunt that any marriage must have your approval—”
He did not allow her to finish.
“It is not merely my approval that matters. By the terms of the settlement made on your behalf, the Prince Regent shares guardianship with me and must be consulted regarding your marriage. While the law grants me authority as your guardian, Ido not doubt that his Royal Highness would exert his influence should my wishes run contrary to his own. If he desired you to marry a man of whom I could not approve, I believe I should be pressed—perhaps even threatened—into acquiescence. The terms of your trust were arranged with great care; I ensured that you would command your fortune upon reaching five-and-twenty, and once you attain your majority, you are not legally required to seek permission to wed. That said, you of all people understand how easily law may be overlooked—or conveniently disregarded—when one is dealing with his Royal Highness.”
Elizabeth frowned at her uncle, the weight of his words settling heavily upon her chest. She had known much of this in theory, had sensed it in fragments and implications, but to hear it stated so plainly was another matter entirely. “So, I am bound by his wishes?”
“That is one way of saying it.” Mr. Bennet’s mouth tightened, and for once his habitual irony was entirely absent. “I cannot deny that the arrangement has benefited my family. I felt pressured into it during a time of mourning.” His gaze drifted briefly to the window, as though the memory still pained him. “If I could go back, I would do it differently.”
Elizabeth inhaled slowly. She had never blamed him—could never blame him. “As you said, Uncle, he is the Crown Prince, and now the Prince Regent. Who can refuse him?” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “We know why he granted my aunt’s request: he wanted a means through which he could control her. He has it, and he will continue to wield it.” There was no bitterness in her tone, only weary clarity. “But my life has not been so terrible.” She managed a weak smile. “I am certain all will work out as it should.”
It must,she told herself.I have endured worse uncertainty than this.
“Then you have more faith than me, my dear.” Mr. Bennet returned her smile, though it was touched with sadness. He rose from his chair and came around the desk, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. “Now, you know. Let us worry no more on the subject.”
Elizabeth nodded, though she knew such a thing was impossible. Knowledge could not be set aside once gained.
She excused herself shortly thereafter, pleading the need for fresh air, and made her way out of the house alone. The late-morning sun was pale but pleasant, the air cool enough to sharpen her thoughts. Her feet carried her along familiar paths without conscious direction.
Bound by his wishes.
The words echoed unbidden in her mind.
She had long understood that her life existed in a delicate balance—privileged yet constrained, protected yet observed. But this conversation had stripped away any lingering illusions. Her future was not hers alone to shape, not yet. Even approaching her majority did not free her entirely from the reach of power wielded carelessly and without conscience.
As she walked, her thoughts turned inevitably to Princess Caroline. To all that her aunt had endured with dignity, resilience, and a quiet refusal to be broken.If marriage is merely another instrument of control,Elizabeth reflected,then perhaps it is no prize at all.
Suddenly, the prospect of being presented—something Princess Caroline had been pressing for with cautious hope—no longer seemed so desirable. What had once appeared a doorway now looked uncomfortably like a threshold into another form of captivity.
