Page 27 of The Widower of Pemberley

“He should have taken Miss Bennet to the physician as well.”

“But my mother would have…” Elizabeth frowned.

“What could she have done? The laws of England are such that in almost all cases the father’s choices in the rearing of his legitimate children have superiority over the wishes of the mother. This is as it should be. The minds of many persons, and not only women, are frequently weak. When we give them toomuch scope for their stupidities, tragedy is the likely result. Your sister’s blindness is merely one example of many.”

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth several times.

“But it is not only that,” Mr. Darcy continued. “It is not your place to secure the future well-being of your family. It is your father’s. That you feel anxiety upon this matter is due to his failure. As I understand it, he has been the master of his estate these twenty years, and what I have seen of Longbourn suggests that it is not an inconsiderable place. Had he acted as he ought to have, he would have set aside an ample sum for your dowries and for the future well-being of any of your sisters who do not marry.”

“According to this accounting, the failings of my father are severe. But do you have no judgment to also put upon my mother?”

“Had your father truly acted as a man ought, he would have done his duty to his children and seen them all given Jenner’s treatment. As a well-read man of the world, he knew that it was efficacious and that the chances of an unhappy outcome were far less with the treatment than without it. Your mother, while wrong about the facts of the case, sought to protect you as best she knew how. She acted from anxiety, from love, and from proper maternal feelings. I salute her concern, even though it produced the opposite of the intended result. But your father? What was his reason for allowing Miss Bennet to go without protection from this deadly disease? Laziness? A dislike of argument with his wife? A misplaced sense of fairness? He should not have bent to the will of his wife.”

“I imagine you never bent to Mrs. Darcy’s will,” Elizabeth replied heatedly. “Did that produce good results?”

What she said seemed to strike him like a blow. For a second, Elizabeth thought she had gone too far and offended him.

But he replied with a grim smile. “A reasonable question. I seldom bent to her will, though I never denied her the freedoms that are customary amongst married women. But too much indulgence was not my failing. Miss Elizabeth, I am a cold man. I am not formed to live with a woman in such a way as to make her happy. I have little of that softness, that frivolity, that joyous ability to banter that women need. I cannot enter into the concerns of their friends, I cannot pretend that the nonsense upon which they constantly prattle is important, and, above all, when a lack of principle and an indifference to religious duties is described as ‘feminine weakness’, I do not then cease to think that evil has been done to me.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said, still offended on her father’s behalf. “I imagine it will be an unhappy woman who becomes the second Mrs. Darcy.”

“I fear that as well.” Mr. Darcy’s expression was bleak. “She saw me truly. I am too harsh, too unbending in my ways. It is my considered belief that every man has a profound flaw in their character that ought to make it impossible for them to approve of themselves. Your father should torment himself for his failures of rigor and foresight, while I must dislike myself for my too unyielding nature—yet I must marry again. I fear it. I fear that I shall make a second woman miserable. I dearly wish that when I do marry again, it is under such circumstances that my wife will have a life that is, on the whole, better than it would have been had she never met me. But I need an heir, and a man such as me has no business raising a child without a mother to soften his ways.”

“That is too much!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You are excellent with Emily and with Miss Darcy! You should not torment yourselfuponthatpoint. What I see of your fathering is such as to leave me no concern for your daughter, whether you marry again or not.”

“You see my indulgence of her. But she must have some share of discipline else she will become spoiled. But I cannot at present bear to discipline her. Not when she has no mother. This is one matter in which I do not always do as I ought.”

“You wish to marry so you may have a good conscience when you whip her?” Elizabeth said, aghast. “Poor Emily! And she adores you so. You must not!”

“No, no—that is not what I mean…”

“Then what, Mr. Darcy, do you mean?”

The gentleman frowned for a while but did not reply, then Georgiana finished her piece and came to join them. The game of whist that had occupied Mr. Bingley, his sisters, and Mr. Hurst broke up, and the conversation became general.

Elizabeth managed with the help of a heavy cane to make her way to the bedroom on her own, but she missed being carried by Mr. Darcy.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth did not speak at any length with Mr. Darcy during her remaining time at Netherfield Park.

Over the course of the next day, her offence at what he had said about her father dissolved into thinking, almost for the first time ever, aboutherpapa’sfailings andhisresponsibility for the difficulties that surrounded her: his failure to economise, his casual unconcern about what would happen to them if he died suddenly, and particularlyhispart in Jane’s condition.

Even the presence of her maid, Sarah, at Netherfield was another example of the family’s frivolous spending. They always kept a full establishment of servants.

Sarah’s presence was unnecessary. Georgiana had willingly let her Ruth attend to Elizabeth in preference to herself. However,Sarahwas happy to be at Netherfield as she and Georgiana’s lady’s maid were of the same age, and they had settled into the same sort of cheerful friendliness that their mistresses enjoyed, spending a great deal of time trading ideas and suggestions on how to make the women under their charge appear at their best.

Sarah had rather more creative flair, while Ruth was more fashionable and familiar with the techniques used in high society.

When Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy play with his daughter, she still thought his behaviour that of an exceedingly good father. But she now had some anxiety that his good instincts as a parent would one day be overwhelmed by faulty principles.

Emily begged Elizabeth not to leave, and Elizabeth solemnly promised the girl that she could visit Longbourn any time shewanted and that she would come to call on her at least once a week until the Darcys left Netherfield.

When she arrived home, she found her father in a poor mood. “I have had a headache since the morning,” he said. “I imagine it is because I have heard not a word of sense spoken since you left for Netherfield. I should not have allowed you to go on horseback.”

“No, you were quite mistaken in that,” Elizabeth agreed withfauxcheerfulness.

Mr. Bennet frowned at her. “And what does that tone mean?”