She nodded, taking a moment to consider his actions. Finally, she spoke again, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them.
“I do thank you. When we left his book room, I was in no mind to bother asking his permission or blessing for our marriage, but I am pleased you had the foresight to ask.”
“I always intended to do so,” he replied.
Again she nodded and, glancing around to ensure no one was paying them any attention, laid her head upon his shoulder. They remainedthus for a moment until the deliberate clearing of a throat from where the gentlemen sat drew their attention.
For a moment, Elizabeth refused to move, recognising the sound as having come from her father and wishing to push matters a little further in retribution. The slight reprimand was silent, but unmistakable. Yet just as suddenly, she realised that to do so was childish and reluctantly sat upright, although she did not relinquish Fitzwilliam’s hands.
It was obvious from the pointed look he gave her that her father had noticed their clasped hands—and that he disapproved of their familiarity. However, Elizabeth stubbornly refused to move any further away from her intended, holding Fitzwilliam’s hands a little more tightly when she thought he meant to withdraw them.
His low chuckle sounded close beside her ear.
“Just needed to move slightly, dearest. I will not allow you to let me go.”
Another clearing of a throat drew their attention to where the older gentlemen sat—one looking slightly annoyed, while the other was smiling happily at the couple. Her uncle, at least, had grown accustomed to the two of them, and having only seen them together since each had relinquished a good deal of their former pride and prejudice, was therefore far more pleased by their obvious affection.
The realisation struck Elizabeth as significant, and she thought that perhaps she ought to allow her father a little time to become accustomed to her changed feelings regarding Fitzwilliam.
Moving ever so slightly, she relinquished one of Fitzwilliam’s hands and sat up straighter, carefully arranging their remaining clasped hands between them beneath the folds of her skirt.
“Yes, Papa,” she said prettily, smiling at him. “Did you need something?”
He grunted his assent, but after what appeared to be a nudge from her uncle, drew himself up a little straighter in his chair and turned towards the two of them.
“If the two of you would come nearer, we may speak with less chance of being overheard. Gardiner and I have been discussing what ought to be done with my younger girls, and I wished to consult with the two of you.”
With a brief glance at Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth rose and followed him to the armchairs nearer the gentlemen. Once the chairs were arranged so that they might speak without attracting attention from the others in the room, Mr Bennet began.
“Lydia needs more instruction than I or my wife are capable of providing for her here at home.” He sighed heavily, as though the admission cost him something. “I am neither diligent enough nor patient enough to teach her, and I fear she would listen to very little that I might say in any case. Her mother simply cannot teach her what she does not know.” After a brief pause he continued more firmly, “Therefore, I am determined to send Lydia to some sort of school, and Gardiner suggested that you, Darcy, might know of a place.”
Elizabeth watched her father closely; it was plain that this confession did not come easily to him. When she turned towards Fitzwilliam, she saw that he was considering the matter with his usual gravity.
“There is a school called the Dark Hollow Seminary for Young Ladies, situated in the moorlands of Staffordshire,” he said at length. “It lies within a day’s journey of Pemberley, far enough removed that visits are neither easy nor frequent. The school was founded some years ago by the Reverend Samuel Conard and his wife, who believed that certain young ladies required a stricter form of instruction than is commonly provided in fashionable seminaries.”
Fitzwilliam paused briefly upon seeing the nods of those around him before continuing.
“Their establishment is small and somewhat secluded, and its purpose is less the cultivation of accomplishments than the correction of habits and the formation of proper discipline. The girls live plainly, rise early, and are expected to occupy themselves with useful work as well as their lessons. From what I understand, the Reverend and Mrs Conardmaintain a very watchful household. It is not a place from which a young lady may easily absent herself. They will not mistreat her, but they will expect proper behaviour while providing the instruction she needs to learn it.”
Elizabeth felt a quiet tightening in her chest as she listened. It was not difficult to imagine Lydia railing against confinement in such a place, nor to picture the storm of temper that would almost certainly accompany the journey there. She would not wish to be the one obliged to convey her there. Still, she could not deny that a setting so removed from society—and from officers—might accomplish what life at Longbourn had not taught her.
She folded her hands in her lap and looked again towards her father.
“It sounds,” she said carefully, “as though Lydia would find very little encouragement there for her present habits, and she might learn to conduct herself with some decorum in time.”
“She will not like it,” Mr Bennet said quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “Indeed, I suspect she will make the journey exceedingly disagreeable to whoever must undertake it.”
Then he turned towards Darcy. “I cannot suppose that you would wish to convey her there on your wedding trip, would you?”
Elizabeth felt an immediate tightening of alarm at the suggestion and glanced quickly towards Fitzwilliam. The notion of Lydia accompanying them—even for such a purpose—was enough to make her draw a quiet breath of dismay. Their wedding journey had been one of the few moments she had imagined belonging entirely to the two of them, and she would not wish to have it disturbed by Lydia’s wailings and complaints.
Fitzwilliam’s answer came promptly.
“No, sir, I would not. Once I marry Elizabeth, we will take Georgiana either to London or Pemberley, depending on where Elizabeth wishes to go for our wedding trip.” He turned to look at her. “I am amenable to visiting the seaside or the Lake District, whichever you prefer, dearest,but I will do so with companionable relatives, not one who will behave as a termagant throughout the journey.”
Elizabeth, who had been watching him with evident relief, reached over and deliberately clasped Fitzwilliam’s hand in clear view of her father. She meant to convey her frustration with her father’s attempt, yet again, to pass his duty off to another.
“I thank you, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly.
