She paused, considering how best to proceed, but her frustration soon came to the fore. “I warned you of the consequences of relinquishing all authority over Lydia and permitting her to go to Brighton without proper supervision. You said yourself that she would expose herself in some fashion, and now she has done so. My question is this: what harm has been done to our family—and to my own reputation—by these events, and what have you done to repair it?”
Her father looked at her for several long moments. Then, without another word, he turned upon his heel and quitted the room, the door closing behind him with alarming force.
The sound seemed to reverberate through Elizabeth.
“That was not well done, Elizabeth,” her uncle said quietly. “I will allow him some time to cool his temper, and then I will speak to him, but you must apologise.” He raised his hand when she would have spoken and continued, “Even if your words were true, you ought not to have addressed your father in such a manner, and certainly not so openly before your family—and before Mr and Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. For several moments, she was silent, conscious of every eye in the room upon her. The expressions turned in her direction ranged from shock to discomfort, though here and there she perceived something warmer—respect, perhaps, or even approval. At last, she nodded her agreement.
“I lost my temper, and I ought not to have done so,” she admitted; yet even as she spoke, heat returned to her voice. “Were any of my concerns not valid and should they not be shared by us all? Beyondconfining Lydia and declaring Kitty cannot be out, what has he done to resolve this situation? Do we know any more than we did a few days ago when he returned home with Lydia?”
The effort of it all seemed to suddenly overtake her. She closed her eyes briefly, then sank back into her seat. She sensed rather than saw Darcy cross the room and seat himself beside her, as though determined she should not bear it unsupported.
“Mama, Jane—can either of you tell me what is being said in Meryton? Do others know? What gossip is there?”
“We have had no visitors since Colonel Forster’s letter arrived,” Jane answered gently while Mrs Bennet sat quietly, wringing her hands. “When Papa left for Brighton, he ordered that none were to be admitted, and the Hills were told to say that someone in the family was unwell. A few callers came in the first days, but after hearing we were indisposed, they did not return. I cannot say what, if anything, is known in the village.”
“I will pay a call on Mr Philips shortly and see what he can tell me,” Mr Gardiner said. “For now, let us deal with matters here.” He turned to his sister. “Have you been able to speak to Lydia, to find out any of what transpired?”
Her mother only shook her head, but Kitty, after a visible struggle, finally spoke from where she sat near Georgiana. Her voice was soft, and they had to strain to hear it.
“I have spoken with her once or twice since she returned,” she began, twisting her fingers together, “but mostly she has done nothing since she came home but cry over being prevented from running off with her ‘dear Wicky.’”
Kitty hurried on, the words tumbling faster, as though she might outrun them. “She said Mrs Forster would not help her arrange to be alone with him, but instead lectured her—just as Mary always does—about the impropriety of it all.”
Here Kitty faltered. A deep, painful red crept slowly across her cheeks.
“They had… that is…” Kitty swallowed, and she dropped her voice even lower. “They meant to anticipate their vows once they left for Scotland, and Lydia was in the greatest distress that they never had the opportunity, for she is convinced that, now she is gone, Mr Wickham will quite forget her.”
Most in the room shook their heads at the child’s folly, but Mrs Bennet began to wail at this revelation.
“Oh, my poor Lydia,” she cried. “To be used so—and with no one to assist her. When Mr Wickham is recovered, he will come for her, I am certain. If he meant to marry her, he will not rest until it is done.”
“No, madam, he will not,” Darcy said quietly but firmly. “I regret the pain it must give you, but Mr Wickham would not marry without a considerable fortune. He is a spendthrift—and that is among the most tolerable of his faults. Had he managed to leave Brighton with your daughter, I doubt he would have married her, but would have used her until he no longer had any use for her.”
Darcy shook his head for a moment as though considering how much to reveal. “I know that he spoke of his connexion to my family and spoke as if I did him ill, but he lied. He never took orders nor did what was necessary to become a clergyman, and I did not deprive him of a living. Wickham asked for, and was granted, a sum of three thousand pounds in lieu of the living, and he squandered those funds just as he had every other sum of money he had ever been given. He is a debaucher and a rake, and you should be relieved not to have gained him as a son in law.”
At this, Mrs Bennet began to wail anew, and after several moments in which no effort could soothe her, Jane and Kitty coaxed her to her feet and began to guide her from the room.
Elizabeth made to follow, but her uncle’s hand closed gently about her arm.
“Allow your sisters to attend to your mother, Elizabeth,” he said. “I will speak with your father, and then I shall go into Meryton to consult your uncle Philips and learn what may be discovered there. I am sure you will be required later.”
Before Elizabeth could reply, Mary returned. “As Aunt Gardiner and I were coming downstairs, we met Mama with Jane and Kitty,” she explained. “My aunt has gone to assist Jane, and Hill is to bring her some tonic. We hope she may sleep for a time.”
“Then perhaps the three of us should speak to Papa,” she said, glancing towards Darcy. “Mary, Kitty—would you sit with Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley? I would not have left our guests alone, but I feel that I ought to speak to Papa.”
She met their eyes, silently begging for their understanding. All three nodded their agreement.
With a relieved sigh, Elizabeth turned and left the room beside her uncle and Mr Darcy, her heart already bracing itself for what awaited them in her father’s bookroom.
Seven
Mr Bennet sat in his bookroom, his eyes fixed upon the page before him, though he absorbed none of its contents. He had felt deep shame upon receiving Colonel Forster’s letter nearly a fortnight before, and he had been painfully reminded of Lizzy’s words to him in May concerning Lydia. As he had once teased his second daughter, his youngest had indeed made a fool of herself and learnt her insignificance in the world—but in a manner that threatened the reputation of them all.
Shortly after the letter arrived, Mr Bennet had set out at once for Brighton to retrieve Lydia. During the carriage ride home, he had attempted a rebuke, only to endure her ridiculous protests and complaints. The effort had exhausted him. By the time they reached Longbourn, he had little left to say.
Since their return, he had spoken scarcely at all, addressing no one beyond what was strictly necessary. When Gardiner’s letter arrived requesting further particulars, Mr Bennet read it but left Jane to compose the reply in his stead. He had not resumed conversation—not with his wife nor with his daughters.
