Mary said gently, “Sit and tell us what concerns you.”
“Do you remember when I was about 12 or 13? I used to sneak around eavesdropping on everyone.”
“I can remember last week—” Mary began, but stopped when Lydia’s face fell.
Contrite, Mary took her sister’s hand. “I apologise, Lydia. That was not something Aunt Gardiner would say, was it?”
Lydia giggled. “La, ‘tis harder than it sounds to be Aunt Gardiner. I have a difficult time, but I will persevere. In a decade, Papa might even call me the second or third silliest girl in England.”
Elizabeth laughed openly, and William joined in, making her surprisingly happy. The man was growing on her.
Mary said, “So, I diverted you, Lydia. What did your eavesdropping reveal?”
Lydia glanced about to be sure nobody eavesdroppedon her—an unforgivable sin.
“I heard two things of note that year. The first was from Papa and Uncle Phillips in their cups. Papa said, ‘I probably should be laying aside an annual sum to bribe worthless young men to marry my silly daughters… what say you, Benjamin?’”
The other three looked down. What answer could there be?
Lydia whispered, “Something made a noise and I had to scurry away. I never heard the answer.”
Lizzy said gently, “That was very unkind of him, Lydia, but as Jane said two nights ago, we do not know what Uncle Phillips suggested. We do know what Papa did:nothing. He has still not responded to Jane’s set-down with a single word or deed, so I suspect he never will. Should I explain?”
“Pray do, Lizzy.”
“I have not thought deeply about it, so I could be wrong, but I believe dowries and entails are related.”
Everyone else in the room shook their heads in confusion, so Elizabeth continued.
“You see, well… hmm… let me ask you a question. What do we owe our children?”
None had thought deeply about that—or at all—but Mary said, “Food on the table, a comfortable home, a good upbringing, a moral education, a profession, and a good start in life.”
“All that and more. What do you owe your grandchildren, or theirs?”
William said, “I imagine it depends on the prominence of your family. At that point, you are not thinking about your grandchildren per se, but I imagine you are thinking about yourfamily.”
“Exactly. You think about your family legacy—if you can. A blacksmith probably does not think very far beyond having someone to pass his forge on to, and someone to care for him when he grows old—but hedoesthink of those things if he has any sense. Who do you suppose will take care of him when he is old, while his wife may well be dead?”
“His children, I should think,” Mary said.
“You would hope so. That is thinking of family dynasties on a small scale. Now, imagine you are someone very high and mighty and important and stuffy and so forth—”
Lydia giggled, proving the world had not run completely amok. “Like Mr Darcy?”
“A perfect example. A man like that inherits an estate his family held forcenturies. They did not do that accidentally, or by being lackadaisical. He willdefinitelythink about his legacy. It was no doubt fed to him since birth. He absolutely thinks, probably more than you might imagine, about the family holdings he leaves behind. Would you want to be the Darcy who broke centuries of upward progress? What sort of alliances must he makenowfor it to prosper in centuries to come?”
Everyone shook their heads, though mostly because none had the slightest idea where Lizzy was going. They presumedthey would recognise the end because she would stop talking. Lizzy was like that sometimes—actually, most of the time.
“Now, imagine an eldest son who is a profligate gambler and wastrel.”
“Like Mr Wickham?” Lydia asked.
“Mr Wickham?”
“La, Lizzy. I was going to tease you about him, but then I got to wondering whether Aunt Gardiner would do so, and the moment passed. We heard in the village that he tried to compromise shopgirls and ran up debts. I am sorry. I know he was a favourite.”
Elizabeth laughed hollowly. “He wasafavourite, but I am not very affected by learning his nature, so not much of one.”
